tisayemate

Latest Posts by tisayemate

Hey 💌 I’m Saja — a mother trying to hold onto hope through days that feel impossibly heavy.

I know you probably see a lot online, but if you could take just a moment… I’d be so grateful.

💫 A reblog of my pinned post could help our story reach someone who cares.

🌿 And if you’re in a place to give, even a small donation could bring comfort to my daughter and help us feel safe again.

@sajagz, thank you for listening.

Even gentle support creates strength.

From one heart to another — thank you 🤍

^^

Maybe do a scene where he actually slams a clipboard on the table 😂

I saw your post...and I thought...

"Why not make that scene..."

Honestly he's so fine I definitely would be folding like a lawn chair ...💀💀💀

Tether

AD Janson x Reader

Bit of Angst, tension (lots of power play)

Not exactly proofread

Summary: She’s composed, controlled, impossible to crack… until Janson steps in, asking questions no one else dares to ask, and watching far too closely when she answers.

Story under the cut

The room is freezing.

But you never shiver.

Because shivering gets noted. And nothing in WCKD goes unrecorded.

You sit like you always do. Neutral, composed, spine aligned with the back of the steel chair. You fold your hands just loosely enough to look relaxed, but never so tight you look scared.

You’re not scared.

You’re watching.

That’s the key to survival here—watch more than you speak.

Play helpful. Play small. Play invisible.

It’s why you didn’t flinch when the guards dragged in Thomas last night. Or when Minho screamed his throat raw. Or at least, tried not to.

You watched the cameras. You watched the mirrors. You watched him.

Because Janson doesn’t operate like the others.

He doesn’t threaten.

He studies.

Ironic. The least likely to hurt her was the biggest threat of all.

When the door opens today, you know it’s him before he steps in. The air shifts. Thicker. Heavier. Like he brings the storm in with him.

He closes the door. Doesn’t bother to announce himself. You don’t look at him until he sits down across from you.

“I’ve read your file,” he says, calm as ever. “But files lie.”

You tilt your head—just a little. Feign interest.

“So I prefer asking the subject directly.”

Your lips press into a polite line.

Good. Keep the act warm. Cooperative. Non-threatening.

He opens a folder. But he doesn’t look at it.

“What did you whisper to Newt before the lights went out two nights ago?”

You blink slowly. “I told him I was cold.”

“You weren’t.”

A beat.

“You never show discomfort. Not even when they turned the vents up to freezing.”

You offer a ghost of a shrug. “Maybe I was trying to comfort him.”

“You don’t comfort people. You observe them.”

His voice is soft. Accusing.

Too accurate.

You breathe through your nose.

“What’s your point?”

He watches you for a moment. Silent. Like he’s peeling back skin.

“You play quiet. Play cooperative. But you never give.”

You open your mouth to speak—

—but he slams the clipboard down like a gavel, fast and loud.

SLAM.

You jerk slightly, then lean back just enough. Your thighs press against the edge of the chair. You shift. It’s subtle, practiced. But your lip catches between your teeth for half a second. Just one.

And it’s one second too long.

His eyes catch it. And stay there.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t speak yet.

Just watches you bite your lip and recover.

“Interesting,” he says finally.

You shake your head. “Reflex.”

His brow lifts. “That wasn’t fear.”

His tone is lower now. Controlled. Curious.

“That was something else.”

You meet his eyes again, voice cool. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

He leans in.

You feel it in your chest. The weight of his gaze. The way the air closes in like it’s watching, too.

“Tell me something, then,” he says, voice just above a whisper. “If you’re not afraid of me… if you’re so calm, so unbothered… why are your pupils dilated?”

Your throat tightens.

“I’m in a cold room. Low light.”

“Wrong,” he murmurs. “That light hasn’t changed in sixty hours.”

Silence. Thick. Loaded.

He tilts his head slowly, examining you like you’re some rare, caged creature on the verge of revealing its real shape.

“You’re trying to stay in control,” he says. “And it’s beautiful to watch you fail.”

Your nails dig into your thigh under the table, but your face? Still smooth. Still even.

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice quieter now.

He breathes out through his nose. Almost a laugh. But it isn’t kind.

“I want you to stop pretending.”

Another pause.

“Because the moment you do…we’re going to get somewhere real.”

He stands. But not to leave. Not yet.

He leans both hands on the table. Closer now. Close enough that if you wanted to, you could flinch. Or slap him. Or maybe—

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So instead, you say the only thing you can.

“I’m not pretending.”

His eyes darken. Something shifts in them. Some quiet little thrill.

Because you’re lying.

And you both know it.

He leans down, voice curling against your ear like smoke.

“Then why does your heartbeat sound like a fucking metronome?”

And then—

He walks out.

Leaves the door wide open.

But you don’t move.

You don’t chase.

You just sit there.

Heart hammering.

Pulse ringing.

Still pretending.

Still calculating.

But this time…

not so sure you’re winning.

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

^^

Sending prayers. I know some of you may be tired of seeing these posts but honestly, they are recurring for a REASON. They need help.

So if you can, donate. If not, spread the word.

Tides of Tension

Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga x Reader (ft. Jealous!Moana)

Fluff, angst

Inspired by a comment by: @eragon-and-arya98 on part one of this story called Tides of Change.

Summary: As Maui, Moana, and a reluctant eel guardian journey together, an unexpected bond forms… but jealousy and unspoken feelings threaten to tear them apart.

Story under the cut

The mist thickened again, swirling around us like a web of secrecy. I stood at the edge of the boat, my gaze fixed on the water, trying to ignore the way Maui kept glancing over at me. I wasn’t sure if it was the dim light, or something about his grin, but there was something in his eyes today. Something softer than before.

The boat rocked under us, and I shifted my weight, feeling the current pull against the hull. Moana, still gripping the oar with her usual focus, glanced between Maui and me. She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You alright there?” Moana asked, her tone casual but with an edge. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was watching us more than she needed to.

Maui gave a lazy shrug, turning his back to her. “Yeah, just… you know, taking in the view.”

I stiffened, but it wasn’t the insult that bothered me—it was the way he said it, the way he looked at me as if there was something more. Something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Moana’s eyes flickered to me, her gaze sharper now. Her lips parted, and I saw the muscles in her jaw tighten. She was pissed.

“You’re not… flirting with her, are you?” she shot out, her voice too casual for the sharpness in it.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Moana.” I turned my attention to the water, trying to ignore the unease stirring in my chest. The last thing I needed was more drama.

But then Maui’s voice broke through the silence, his tone a little too light. “Relax, Curly, I’m not flirting.” He grinned at me, and this time, it didn’t feel like a joke, it felt like something else, something I couldn’t quite place.

Moana’s glare hardened, and I saw her grip the oar a little too tightly. The tension in the air thickened, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All I could think about was the way Maui had looked at me just now. The way his eyes seemed to linger longer than necessary.

I wanted to hate him. Really, I did. He had that smug, overconfident air about him that should’ve made him unbearable. But every time he looked at me— every time he brushed past me with that cocky grin or leaned just a little too close… it did something to me that I couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t love. Of course not. I wasn’t naïve. But something in me stirred, something I’d buried deep for so long.

I didn’t know what it was, but I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Moana shifted her weight, the frustration practically radiating off her as she glanced between us again. “Maui, stop. I can tell when you’re trying to make things awkward,” she muttered.

Maui just raised an eyebrow, unbothered by the tension. “What? You don’t like my charm?”

I couldn’t help the slight smirk that pulled at my lips. “I don’t think anyone could like that charm.” My voice was sharp, but there was a hint of amusement that I wasn’t ready to admit to.

He chuckled, leaning back casually. “Fair enough, Legs. But don’t worry—I’m just here for the ride.”

The boat swayed again, and I found myself stepping a little closer to steady myself. Maui didn’t move, but his proximity was undeniable. The air between us shifted once more, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

For a second, I thought I might have imagined it, but then I felt the warmth of his hand brush against mine as he reached for the oar.

I stiffened, eyes flicking to his face. He was still grinning, but there was something else behind it now—something that didn’t belong in the quiet tension of the boat.

“You okay?” Maui asked quietly, his voice lower than before. His thumb grazed my hand, and I had to force myself to breathe normally.

I nodded, swallowing the sudden dryness in my throat. “I’m fine,” I muttered, not trusting myself to say more.

Moana, on the other hand, had had enough. “I don’t get it,” she spat, her words sharp enough to cut through the fog. “You’re not… seriously flirting with her, right? I thought we were past that, Maui.”

Maui paused, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in his eyes. It wasn’t his usual teasing, cocky expression—it was something more. “What if I am?” he asked, his voice quiet and uncertain for the first time.

I felt my heart skip a beat, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned away, my gaze returning to the mist ahead, trying to keep my composure.

Moana’s voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again. “You’re really going to mess with her, aren’t you?”

Maui didn’t answer right away, but his expression softened as he watched me, and I saw the faintest hint of something like regret flicker across his face.

But it didn’t last. Instead, he grinned again, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. “You know me. I like a good challenge.”

And with that, I felt it—my resolve weakening. Because no matter how much I wanted to pretend I didn’t care, I knew that this… this thing between us was far from over.

Moana glared at him, but her gaze flicked to me for a moment, her expression unreadable.

I couldn’t tell if she was more jealous, or if she was just worried. Maybe both.

But I didn’t care. Not anymore.

Perhaps… I was finally done pretending.

Is it weird I want to request a scene that involves Janson? I've been seeing a lot of posts about him and ngl he's kinda hot...is this just me...???

GO FOR IT. I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t know what it is but well… let’s just say I wouldn’t protest because he could slam a clipboard on the table and I’d fold like a lawn chair 😫

PLEASE PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS 🙏🙏

The Knight

OC (Duncan Patellio)

Angst, Gore (it’s quite graphic, be warned) if ‘Edge of Tomorrow’-style time looping is not your thing, this may not be the story for you.

Summary: When a knight explores the ruins of an abandoned church, he uncovers a secret that refuses to let him go.

Duncan Patellio stood before the ruin—a bleak monument of despair. The remnants of a once-hallowed church, its charred walls rose like jagged ribs against a blood-tinged sky, while blackened stone arches reached upward as if in a silent plea. The air was heavy with the acrid stench of burnt incense and scorched wood, a bitter perfume mingling with the damp earth and the faint echo of lost prayers. Every shattered shard of stained glass on the cold, ashen ground whispered memories of brighter days now buried beneath endless ruin.

Sent by the king to salvage what little remained, Duncan moved with a measured caution that belied the weight of secrets in his step. His eyes, alert and unyielding, scanned the debris—a scattered mosaic of warped candle stubs, tarnished trinkets, and splintered relics—each piece a muted echo of former sanctity. The silence, punctuated only by the occasional whisper of wind through broken walls, pressed in on him, urging him onward through the forgotten corridors of this desecrated sanctuary.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath him groaned in protest. A subtle tremor rippled through the dust-laden floor—a prelude to betrayal by the very stone he trusted. In a heartbeat, the ancient foundation shattered. Duncan’s world tilted as he plummeted into darkness, the sensation of freefall replaced by a violent, bone-jarring impact as he collided with a bed of loose rubble.

Duncan slammed into the cold, unforgiving ground with a grunt, twisting into a defensive stance in a heartbeat—a move honed by years of silent, deadly precision. His armor scraped against jagged stone as he dropped into a crouch, every muscle taut and alert. The torch in his hand flickered erratically, its quivering light revealing slick, damp walls and a maze of dark, uneven rubble that groaned under the weight of ancient secrets.

Just then, a sharp crunch—crisp and unmistakable—resounded beneath his boot. Duncan’s eyes locked onto the shattered fragments of an egg; its once-smooth, pearly shell was now a spiderweb of cracks, weeping a viscous, iridescent fluid that caught the sputtering light like ghostly tears. The scent of cold metal and decaying matter rose in his nostrils, making his skin crawl with dread.

Behind him, the darkness stirred. A slow, deliberate clicking began—click… click… click—a measured, metallic cadence that echoed through the narrow passage. With each relentless tick, the sound grew louder, more insistent. Duncan’s hand went to the hilt of his sword as beads of sweat formed on his brow, his senses sharpened to every sound.

Then, without warning, the clicking gave way to a horrid chorus. A grinding, scraping noise—SCRRREE—filled the air as if something massive were dragging itself across stone. The sound was interlaced with a sorrowful, keening wail—AWWOOO—that reverberated off the cavern walls like the anguished cry of a damned soul.

Duncan’s heart hammered as he slowly turned, torch raised. Emerging from the inky shadows was a hulking, alien beast—a mass of sinewy flesh and glistening, chitinous armor. Its limbs, grotesquely elongated and ending in sharp, clawed appendages, moved with a deliberate, nightmarish grace. With every step, the creature’s feet scraped against the stone, a wet, gurgling sound that punctuated the oppressive silence.

The beast paused, its head cocking to one side. From its hide, a series of clicking sounds escaped as it advanced. Its eyes, luminescent and unblinking, fixated on Duncan with a predatory hunger. The creature’s gaping maw emitted a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath him, mingling with the relentless drip of unseen water.

Duncan’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts as he slowly shifted his stance, his gaze never leaving the beast. Every nerve in his body screamed to act, to fight, yet he remained rooted in place, acutely aware of the fatal precision required to survive this moment. He raised his sword, its blade catching the flickering light, and his fingers tightened around the grip. His eyes darted to the shattered egg at his feet—a silent, eerie omen of what was to come—and back to the advancing horror.

The creature lunged suddenly—a terrifying blur of sinew and exoskeleton. Its claws sliced through the stagnant air with a resounding slash, narrowly missing Duncan as he rolled to the side. The beast’s low, mournful wail transformed into a terrifying snarl, each sound a visceral promise of violence.

In that heart-stopping moment, as the alien predator’s form loomed larger in the swirling torchlight, the ground beneath them seemed to tremble with the echo of impending doom. The cacophony of clicks, scrapes, and guttural roars crescendoed into a singular, unrelenting assault on the senses…

And then, with a final, ear-splitting shriek that shattered the oppressive darkness, the beast pounced—its claws reaching out, its eyes burning with a merciless intent…

Duncan barely had time to exhale before the creature struck.

It didn’t just lunge—it detonated forward, a blur of sinew and chitinous plates, its momentum an avalanche of force. He tried to pivot, but it was too fast. Too massive. A split second of resistance, then—

Impact.

The breath wrenched from his lungs as a solid wall of muscle and exoskeleton drove into his ribs, lifting him clean off his feet. The world snapped sideways. A sharp, sickening pop burst through his torso, followed by a white-hot splintering sensation—bones giving way under unbearable pressure.

Then came the wall.

His body struck the jagged stone like a ragdoll hurled by an angry god. The first thing to hit was his shoulder—his dominant one. A sharp, electric burst of pain rocketed down his arm, turning his fingers numb. He heard—felt—his collarbone snap. A brittle, unnatural crack vibrated through his skull.

Then his spine.

His back arched violently, pain exploding through every nerve as something inside him shifted—something that wasn’t supposed to move. His armor crumpled inward, metal biting deep into flesh. He gasped, but the breath wasn’t there. Only agony, only raw, suffocating fire filling his ribs, seizing his lungs in a merciless grip.

His head slammed last.

The world fractured into a storm of black and red—shards of sound and light flickering in and out of existence. A deep, resonant thud reverberated through his skull, an unbearable ringing swallowing every other sensation except pain. His vision swam. He didn’t even realize he was falling until the stone beneath his feet gave way.

The ruin devoured him whole.

He plummeted through collapsing wreckage, tumbling through dust and darkness. His body twisted, weightless and broken, every jerk and jolt another fresh agony. The fall seemed endless, a slow-motion descent into nothingness.

Then—

Impact.

Again.

The ground beneath him was solid—unforgiving stone biting into his knees, his palms, his boots scraping against dust-laden rock. His breath tore free from his throat, ragged and desperate, his fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword before he even realized he was moving. His body was whole. His ribs no longer screamed with broken agony, his shoulder no longer hung uselessly from its socket, his head—his skull—intact.

But the pain was still there. 

His body remembered.

A tremor racked through him, his stomach twisting violently, the phantom ache of shattered bones making him dizzy, nauseous, wrong. He could feel the moment his ribs had caved in, could still hear the snap of his shoulder dislocating, could still taste copper on his tongue from the blood he’d swallowed when he’d hit the wall.

But none of it had happened. Not anymore.

A sharp, brittle sound echoed beneath him.

Duncan froze. His breath caught in his throat. A slow, creeping dread slithered up his spine, sinking its claws into his chest and squeezing until his heart was hammering against his ribs.

He knew that sound.

His gaze dropped to his boot, where a delicate, pearlescent shell lay shattered beneath him, iridescent fluid weeping onto the stone in slow, glistening rivulets.

The egg.

It was whole when he fell. It was whole before. But now, it lay broken at his feet, just as it had the first time, its yolk-like contents bleeding out in eerie, shimmering pools.

Behind him, the darkness stirred.

Duncan didn’t need to turn around to know what came next. He didn’t need to hear the slow, deliberate clicking—the metallic, measured cadence slithering toward him—to know what was there, waiting in the shadows. He felt it. The weight of its presence, the anticipation of its movement, the way the air shifted as it drew closer.

He had lived this moment.

Every breath, every flicker of torchlight against the damp walls, every shudder of his own broken body—he had already been here. Died here. And yet, here he stood again, whole and unbroken, standing in the exact same place, stepping on the exact same egg, listening to the exact same sound crawling toward him from the dark.

Click. Click. Click.

The noise cut through the silence, piercing, rhythmic, steady. It was waiting for him. Just as before.

But this time, he wasn’t frozen.

This time, before the beast could charge, before he could be broken and shattered all over again, before the cycle could begin anew—

Duncan moved first.

————————————————————————————————————

Thank you to @teathepumpkinmoth for the story idea: The knight (insert any name. For this example I'll use the name "sir goobus") sir goobus was sent by the king to the charred skeleton of the church, once a beacon of faith now clawed at the sky like a blackened hand. The king had sent him not to investigate the blaze, not to mourn - "a clumsy lightning strike, nothing more," the royal scholars hath declared - but to scavenge anything of value before the rubble swallowed it whole. as well as any human remains. Whilst he searched, he expected to find warped candles or perhaps a few bits of gold here and there. What he did not expect was for the floor to give way, plunging the knight into a abyss darker then he would realize. With only his dimming torch to light his way, and the way he came quickly smothered in rubble, the knight soon came to find a dark secret buried deep within the church.

send help

Y’all I wanna write but I’ve been having writers block 😭 I want some requests so badddd like it’s been so long since I’ve posted anything. I promise I’m still active but I genuinely don’t know what I should be writing about. I’ve been caught up in school so I haven’t had much time to watch or read anything new either 😔

so please pleaseeeee if y’all have any ideas, even unusual ones, send them in! I have no problem with it and in fact I highly encourage it! No judgement on my end, I swear.

The Life I Never Led

Obi Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader

Fluff, comfy cozy comfort 🥰

Summary: Obi-Wan begins to notice the quiet weight his Padawan carries, and in his own way, makes sure she doesn’t carry it alone.

Inspired by:

AN: I just auditioned for a role in a play using this song and I’ve just been so obsessed with it! Please, please go watch Sister Act if you haven’t or even just listen to the soundtrack because it’s so damn good 😭 I was inspired by this song and thought, hey. Why not write something based on this? Anyways, please enjoy.

Story under the cut

Obi-Wan had never been one to eavesdrop. It was unseemly, unbecoming of a Jedi Master.

And yet, as he passed by her quarters that evening, he found himself pausing just outside the door, breath held.

Because she was singing.

Not humming absentmindedly, not muttering a tune under her breath, but singing.

“I’ve never talked back, I’ve never slept late…”

It was soft, almost hesitant, as if she weren’t quite used to letting her voice carry. But it did. And it was full of something else, something he rarely ever saw in her.

“I’ve never sat down when told to stand straight…”

Longing.

“I’ve never let go and gone with the flow, and don’t even know really why…”

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. Force.

Obi-Wan had always known she carried… something. Not anger. Not defiance. But a distance—a quiet resistance that never quite settled. She trained, she listened, she fought when she had to, but she did not believe in the way Jedi were supposed to.

“I’ve never asked questions or taken a dare…”

That was untrue. She asked questions all the time.

Just never the ones that mattered.

“I’ve never rebelled or stood up and yelled, or even just held my head high…”

His jaw tightened. She did hold her head high, even if she thought she didn’t.

“And all of the feelings unspoken, all of the truths unsaid, they’re all I have left of the life I never led…”

Obi-Wan exhaled quietly. So that’s what this is.

He had suspected, of course. It was hard not to. The way she lingered when the Temple doors opened to the bustling city beyond. The way she watched non-Jedi with something unreadable in her gaze. The way she trained—not for peace, not for duty, but because she had been given no other choice.

And the way she never spoke of it.

He could have stepped inside. Could have said something.

But no. This was hers. A moment she hadn’t meant for anyone to hear.

So, silently, Obi-Wan turned and walked away.

The next day, he watched her.

Not openly, not in any way she would notice, but watched nonetheless. The way she fought during sparring. The way she moved—sharp, disciplined, but always holding something back.

Not her skill. Not her strength.

Something deeper.

The match ended with a sharp clang as their sabers locked. She was breathing heavily, strands of hair falling loose from where she had tied them back. But there was no fire in her eyes, no satisfaction in the fight.

There never was.

He deactivated his saber first. “You never fight for the sake of victory.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “What?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly. “Other Padawans fight to win. To test their limits, to sharpen their form. But you—” He studied her, watching as she stiffened under his scrutiny. “You fight because you feel you must.”

Her grip tightened around the hilt of her saber. “…Isn’t that what Jedi are supposed to do?”

Obi-Wan hummed, expression unreadable. “Perhaps.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Is this another lecture?”

He let out a quiet breath, then, in a tone far softer than she expected—“I heard you.”

That made her freeze.

Her eyes darted up to his, cautious, searching. “Heard me what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at her, gaze steady, unwavering. Then, finally—

“Singing.”

She inhaled sharply. “Oh.”

Silence stretched between them.

She dropped her gaze, fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I did.”

She pressed her lips together, shifting her weight. “It was just a song.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward slightly, voice quiet. “Was it?”

Her breath hitched.

He saw it then—that flicker of hesitation, that warring battle behind her eyes. The part of her that wanted to say something, that wanted to let it spill free, but held it back as she alwaysdid.

So he made the choice for her.

Without warning, he reached forward and pulled her into his arms.

She sucked in a breath, body going rigid. “M—Master—”

“Shh,” he murmured. His grip was firm, grounding. Not a gentle pat-on-the-back hug, not an awkward one-armed embrace, but solid. Steady.

She didn’t move at first. Didn’t react. Then, slowly, something in her posture unwound. Her hands gripped at the fabric of his robes—not clutching, not clinging, but holding.

For the first time, Obi-Wan felt her breathe.

They stood like that for a moment.

Then—

“I thought you weren’t a hugger,” he mused, voice tinged with dry amusement.

She let out something between a scoff and a weak laugh, muffled against his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Mm.” He smirked. “Sure you do.”

She didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t let go.

Stormbound

Thalia Grace x Percy Jackson

fluffy

Summary: Thalia and Percy navigate the unspoken tension between them, where a single confession could change everything.

Request by @Blake7255 on Wattpad:

I have a request for Perlia from Percy Jackson where Thalia has a big crush on Percy when she first sees him when she gets out of her tree without realizing that he has a even bigger one on her 1 year later she decides to give herself a makeover to try to get his attention dyeing her hair blonde and giving herself big curly hair and wearing a purple dress after she gets done she decides to tell Percy how she feels and asks him out they go on their first date and kiss at the end and on Percy 21 birthday he asks her to marry him and the end can be the wedding thank you for your time

story under the cut

The First Glance

Thalia Grace wasn’t the type to swoon, okay? She didn’t do hearts-and-flowers crap. But the moment she stepped out of that stupid tree, she locked eyes with Percy Jackson, and the world stilled.

He was sweaty, shirt clinging to him as he fought some monster she couldn’t care less about because—damn it—why did he have to look like that? Her pulse quickened, and her lip curled to hide it. Great, my first day back, and I’m already losing my edge.

Meanwhile, Percy froze mid-swing, staring at her like she’d walked out of a dream. He shook it off and grinned, that lazy, lopsided grin that made her stomach flip. “Thalia, huh? You’re taller than I imagined.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he murmured, but his heart was pounding because—yeah, Zeus’s kid was terrifyingly gorgeous.

The Year That Followed

Their banter became routine. A jab, a smirk, a laugh that lingered just a second too long. Everyone saw it—the way Percy’s eyes lit up when Thalia entered a room, the way she softened (just barely) when he was near. But they ignored it, both too stubborn to admit what was blindingly obvious.

It came to a head one night during a campfire. Percy, oblivious as ever, was joking with Annabeth, and Thalia’s stomach twisted. She hated how her chest tightened whenever he laughed with someone else, how her eyes darted to him even when she didn’t mean to. Get it together, Grace.

Later, when she caught him by the lake, she couldn’t help herself. “You and Annabeth sure are cozy.”

Percy turned, confused. “Annabeth? She’s like my sister.”

“Sure she is,” Thalia snapped, hating the heat in her voice.

He stepped closer, brows furrowed. “What’s your deal, Thalia? You’ve been acting weird.”

“My deal?” she shot back, stepping closer too, electricity crackling in the air between them. “You’re the one who—” She cut herself off, clenching her fists. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Percy stared at her, his voice softer now. “Thalia…”

She shook her head and walked away before he could see the storm in her eyes.

The Makeover

Thalia hated feeling vulnerable. That’s why she decided to take control. If Percy couldn’t see her as more than his sparring buddy, then she’d make him.

The golden curls were Aphrodite’s idea. “Blonde will make his heart stop,” the love goddess had said with a wink. Thalia hated that she was probably right.

When she finished, she barely recognized herself. The purple dress felt strange, too soft against her skin. But her reflection smirked back at her. Let’s see you ignore me now, Jackson.

The Confession

When Percy saw her, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He blinked, twice, as if trying to process what he was seeing. “Thalia… you… wow.”

Her heart raced, but she played it cool. “You like it?”

“Uh… yeah, you could say that,” he stammered, cheeks flushing. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.” She shrugged, stepping closer, her confidence wavering only slightly. “I just… wanted to try something new.”

He was staring at her like she’d hung the stars herself, and it made her stomach flip.

“Look, Percy,” she started, her voice quieter now, “I need to say something, and I need you to not laugh.”

“I’d never laugh at you,” he said, his voice steady now, serious in a way that made her chest ache.

“I like you,” she blurted. “And not in the let’s-train-until-we-drop way. I mean, I really like you. I think I have since the day we met.”

Silence. The kind that stretched too long and made her want to bolt.

Then Percy took a step forward, his voice low. “Thalia, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”

Her breath hitched. “What?”

“I’ve liked you since… forever,” he admitted, his hand brushing hers. “I just thought you’d deck me if I told you.”

“Not deck you,” she said, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Maybe zap you, though.”

He grinned. “I’d take it.”

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t soft or tentative—it was a storm, wild and consuming, leaving them both breathless.

The Proposal

On Percy’s 21st birthday, he knelt on the same beach where they’d shared their first kiss. Thalia stood before him, arms crossed but eyes shimmering.

“What are you doing, Jackson?” she asked, though her voice was lighter than usual.

“Something I should’ve done ages ago,” he said, pulling out a ring shaped like a thunderbolt. “Thalia Grace, will you marry me?”

For once, she was speechless. She stared at him, her mind racing, her heart pounding. Then, with a shaky laugh, she muttered, “Took you long enough, Seaweed Brain.”

The Wedding

The wedding was chaos, of course. Leo set something on fire, Apollo flirted with the entire bridal party, and Zeus glared at Percy the whole time.

But when Thalia walked down the aisle, curls bouncing, blue eyes locked on Percy’s, none of it mattered.

“You ready for forever, Jackson?” she whispered when they met at the altar.

“With you? Always,” he said, grinning.

And when they kissed, the sky erupted in lightning and waves, a perfect storm for a perfect pair.

Hello again Lauren! I'm positively giddy about the newest post you wrote, and would like you to create another one, perhaps some angst this time. I watched Death Cure and Scorch Trials with my friend, and I was swooning over Aidan Gillen, but my friend didn't get me. If they wanted to cast a rat looking person, they casted the completely wrong person, I mean, Aidan Gillen is the hottest person in that movie, no denial.

Slip of the tongue

AD Janson x Runner!Reader

Angsty, confrontation

Summary: A single slip up reveals that you happen to know more than you should and that makes you a threat— to Janson.

AN: You ask for angst, I deliver. I hope this is better bcs I wanted something different from the usual Doctor-Lab setting.

story under the cut:

The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, the sound blending into the sterile silence of the interrogation room. You sat at the cold metal table, posture composed, hands folded neatly in front of you. No fear, no fidgeting—just enough calm to look cooperative, but not weak.

Janson stood across from you, his presence filling the room despite his unassuming posture. His pale blue eyes studied you like you were a specimen under glass, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ll ask again,” he began, his voice smooth, controlled. “You woke up in the Box. No memory, no understanding of who you were or where you came from. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you adjusted well to the Maze,” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “Better than most.”

You shrugged. “Instincts, I guess.”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Instincts.”

The silence stretched, heavy and taut, as though he was waiting for you to slip, to flinch. You didn’t.

“And when the Griever serum was administered,” he pressed, stepping closer, “you didn’t recover any…memories?”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your face neutral. “No. Just the same flashes everyone else got. Useless stuff.”

Janson hummed, circling the table now, his boots echoing faintly in the small room. “And yet, you seem remarkably…intuitive. Observant.”

“Survival’s a good teacher,” you replied, your voice even.

“And yet,” he said, pausing behind you, “survival doesn’t explain everything, does it?”

The tension coiled tighter in your chest, but you didn’t respond.

Janson moved back into your line of sight, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “So tell me, how did you know about the Control Rooms?”

Your blood ran cold.

“What?” you asked, the word coming out too fast, too startled.

“Control Rooms,” he repeated, his tone calm, but the weight in it made your stomach drop. “The ones monitoring the Variables. Something you shouldn’t even know existed.”

“I don’t—”

“You slipped,” he cut in, his voice low and deliberate. “You mentioned it when Ava was briefing us. Quietly, but I heard you.”

Your mouth went dry, the memory flashing back. A careless comment, a muttered observation during the chaos of a group debriefing. You hadn’t thought anyone had caught it, let alone him.

“I was just guessing,” you said quickly, your voice firm despite the fear clawing at your chest. “Everyone knows you were monitoring us—cameras, sensors. It wasn’t hard to piece together.”

Janson didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, his face inches from yours. “A guess?”

“Yes.”

His lips twitched, just barely. Not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Before you could respond, his hand shot out, gripping your arm in a vice-like hold. The chair screeched against the floor as he yanked you to your feet.

“Hey!” you protested, struggling against his grip. “What are you doing?”

Janson didn’t answer. He was already pulling you toward the door, his pace brisk, his silence more unsettling than any threat he could have made.

“Where are you taking me?” you demanded, your voice rising with panic.

He didn’t respond, his grip tightening as he dragged you into the hallway. The bright, sterile lights overhead did nothing to ease the sense of dread clawing at you.

“Janson, stop!” you snapped, trying to pull free. “You’re hurting me.”

He ignored you, his jaw set, his eyes forward.

The corridors blurred together as he led you deeper into the facility, each turn making you feel more disoriented, more trapped.

“Janson, please,” you said, your voice breaking now. “I don’t know anything. I swear.”

He finally stopped, spinning to face you. His expression was cold, calculating, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes—something dangerous.

“You expect me to believe that?” he asked, his voice quiet but cutting.

“It’s the truth!” you insisted, your chest heaving.

He stared at you for a long moment, the silence heavy and suffocating. Then, without another word, he turned and dragged you forward again.

The hallway ended at a heavy metal door. Janson entered a code on the keypad, the soft beep sounding louder than it should have. The lock clicked, and the door opened with a low hiss.

“What’s in there?” you asked, panic bubbling in your throat.

Janson didn’t answer. He pulled you inside, the door hissing shut behind you.

The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of machinery filling the space. It was empty, save for a single chair bolted to the floor in the center.

He released your arm, gesturing to the chair. “Sit.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “Janson—”

“Sit.”

The authority in his voice left no room for argument. Slowly, you moved to the chair, sinking into it as your hands trembled slightly.

Janson stepped back, his gaze fixed on you like a hawk watching its prey. “You’re smarter than you let on,” he said quietly. “That much is clear.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry.

“But if you’re lying to me,” he continued, his voice dropping, “you’ll regret it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel and left the room, the door sealing shut behind him with a final, ominous hiss.

And you were alone.

The hum of the machinery grew louder in the silence, pressing against your skull as you stared at the door, your chest tight with fear.

For the first time, you realized just how dangerous Janson really was.

Hello Lauren!

Would I be able to request a one shot between Janson and the reader? I have seen the two posts you have of Janson x Reader and I was disappointed as the second one shot was left at a cliffhanger as I am a simp and can never get enough of Aidan Gillen and his on screen performances. Preferably with some fluff and angst here and there, perhaps a kiss.

Thank you!

Dr Pepper

AD Janson (Maze Runner) x OC (Lauren Patellio)

Fluff, tension, lil’ kiss

Summary: The tension rises when Janson finds an error in the reader’s work.

AN: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS— I THOUGHT I WAS THE BLOODY WEIRDO FOR CRUSHING ON RATMAN AND I TOO LOOKED UP SO MANY OTHER OF HIS ON-SCREEN PERFORMANCES BUT HE DOES NOT HAVE MANY SO IM SO STOKED TO HAVE SOMEONE ELSE ON THIS!! I sort of changed it up this time, I hope that’s alright…. BUT STILL, LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE ANYTHING CHANGED!!

(Inspired by my Cherry Dr Pepper flavoured chapstick)

Story under the cut

The hum of the lab equipment barely registered as he entered, the faint chemical tang in the air sharper than usual. She was seated near the vending machine, her back to the door, utterly engrossed in the mess of equations and notes sprawled across her workstation.

Janson paused, letting his eyes trace over the scene in silence. The way she worked—pen tapping idly, lips pursed in thought—was fascinating. She looked like she was untouchable, lost in her own world of formulas and data.

She was good, no doubt. Competent. Sharp. But she wasn’t flawless.

And tonight, that mistake was glaring.

“You missed a variable.” His voice cut through the quiet like a knife, smooth but unrelenting.

Her pen skidded across the page as she startled, spinning around to face him. For a moment, her eyes were wide, her lips parted in surprise. Then she masked it with a glare.

“God, could you make a little noise when you walk?”

Janson didn’t move. He simply stood there, arms crossed, letting her irritation wash over him. “Would you have preferred I knock?” he asked dryly, his tone making it clear how little he cared about her preferences.

Lauren narrowed her eyes, turning back to her work with an air of dismissal that almost made him laugh. “Some of us are actually trying to get things done.”

“I can see that.” He stepped closer, his boots deliberately heavy now, the faint echo of each step slicing through the lab’s sterile silence. His gaze dropped to the notebook, his smirk deepening when he saw the same glaring error.

“Dedicated, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement.

She didn’t look up, but he caught the subtle clench of her jaw, the way her pen stilled for just a second too long. “If you’re just here to waste my time, Janson, I suggest you leave. Some of us actually have deadlines.”

“Deadlines,” he repeated, dragging the word out like it amused him. He stepped around her desk, leaning slightly as his shadow loomed over her work. “You mean like the one you’ll miss if this entire experiment collapses because of a basic miscalculation?”

She finally looked up, her glare sharp enough to cut. “I don’t make basic mistakes.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t you?”

Before she could fire back, his hand moved. Quick. Precise. His fingers curled around her throat—not to hurt, but to hold, to command. He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze as he loomed closer.

She didn’t flinch.

Her pulse thrummed against his fingers, but her eyes burned with defiance.“Does this little display make you feel powerful, Janson?”she asked, her voice cool despite the tension crackling between them.

His thumb brushed over her jaw, slow and deliberate. He leaned in, his lips hovering close enough to catch the faintest scent of her chapstick.

“No,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something darker. “It’s that face you make that’s far more interesting.”

Her lips quirked, a daring smirk tugging at the corners. “Then you’ll be disappointed to know I’m not scared of you.”

His laugh was soft, almost inaudible, but it carried a weight that pressed against the air between them. “Are you?”

And then, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a gentle meeting of lips—it was calculated, like everything he did. His mouth pressed against hers with purpose, his hand tightening slightly on her throat as her breath caught. He didn’t rush it; he let the moment stretch, drawing it out until the faintest hint of surrender flickered across her features.

When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered on her jaw, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek as his gaze locked on hers.

“Dr. Pepper,” he said suddenly, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He gestured faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Your chapstick. Dr. Pepper. Good choice.”

Her eyes narrowed, heat rising to her cheeks. “I—what does that even—”

“Sweet,” he continued, cutting her off. “Unexpected. Like you.” His fingers finally dropped away from her throat, his smirk softening into something almost…genuine. “But you’re still wrong about your stabilizing agent.”

Lauren’s mouth opened, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but he was already moving toward the door, his coat shifting with the turn of his shoulders.

“Next time,” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with that infuriating calm, “try not to let distractions cloud your focus.”

Hours later, when the lab was empty and the air felt heavier with the weight of the day, she stepped out into the breakroom to grab her things.

And there he was.

Janson leaned against the counter, a bottle of Dr. Pepper in his hand, the cap already twisted off. He met her gaze as he raised it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

When he pulled it away, his smirk was back, paired with a faint glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Told you it was a good choice,” he said simply, his voice low and teasing.

She didn’t respond. She just shook her head, biting back a smile as she walked away.

Damn him.

Tides of Change

Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga x Reader

fluff, betrayal

Request by @whiteeaglestudent : do you think you could write a Moana 2 oneshot with a Maui x Female Nalo's Eel Minion Reader, where Y/n is one of Nalo's eel minions that guards the island of Motufetu, but she isn't evil like the other eels and can change into a human form but others are still slightly afraid of her, and when she meets Maui during his and Moana's journey, she decides to change her ways and turn good just to love Maui?

Summary: A reluctant guardian of Motufetu betrays her kin to save Maui and Moana, discovering courage and unexpected warmth in the process.

Story under the cut

I watched them from the depths, my sleek form slipping between jagged rocks as their canoe cut through the mist. They were too loud—laughing, bantering, utterly unaware of what they were sailing into. Mortals were always so cocky, so stupid. But the figure at the helm… something about him made me pause.

“Who does this guy think he is?” I muttered to myself, my voice rippling through the water like a growl. His stupid, smug grin and the way he flexed his muscles as if he were some kind of hero.

Wait.

I blinked, swimming closer for a better look. The light on the canoe shifted, and my stomach flipped. Oh no.

“Maui,” I hissed. The demigod of the wind and sea. Nalo had warned us about him.

Panic surged through me. If I didn’t act now, they’d reach Motufetu, and Nalo wouldn’t care that I’d been watching instead of attacking.

I surged upward, transforming mid-leap. My tail became legs, my scales shifted to skin, and I landed on the edge of their canoe with a splash.

“Turn back,” I growled, water dripping from my hair as I crouched like a predator. “Now.”

The girl—Moana—yelled and scrambled for an oar. But Maui? He just blinked at me, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Well, hello there,” he said, leaning on his hook like he wasn’t facing an ocean’s worth of trouble. “Didn’t realize we’d be picking up passengers.”

“I’m not your passenger,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “You’re trespassing.”

“Technically,” Maui said, scratching his chin, “we’re sailing. Different thing.”

“I could drag you both to the depths right now,” I threatened, baring my teeth.

Moana jabbed her oar in my direction. “I’d like to see you try!”

Maui waved her off, still grinning at me like I was some kind of joke. “Relax, Curly. She’s just doing her job, right?” He winked at me. “Big, scary eel thing. Super intimidating.”

My face burned. Intimidating?! He was mocking me! “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” I snapped.

“Oh, I think I do,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re one of Nalo’s little minions, aren’t you?”

“I’m not little,” I shot back before I could stop myself.

Maui raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I should’ve shoved him into the water right then and there. But something about the way he looked at me—like I wasn’t a threat, like he saw right through me—made my resolve falter.

“Look,” I said, straightening up. “You need to leave. Motufetu isn’t safe for you.”

“Gee, thanks for the warning,” Maui said, smirking. “But we’re good. Demigod here, remember?” He flexed an arm unnecessarily, and I had to bite back a scoff.

“You’re an idiot,” I muttered.

“Yeah, but you’re still talking to me,” he shot back, his grin widening.

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t understand it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to scare them off, drag them under if I had to, but instead…

“Wait,” Moana said suddenly, frowning at me. “If you’re one of Nalo’s minions, why haven’t you attacked us yet?”

I stiffened. “I—”

“Good question,” Maui said, stepping closer. “What’s the holdup? Not feeling it today?”

“I’m giving you a chance to leave,” I snapped, turning my glare on him. “Take it before I change my mind.”

But he just kept smiling. “Sure. You’re totally terrifying me right now.”

I clenched my fists, my mind spinning. I should’ve just thrown him overboard. Instead, I found myself hesitating, my gaze lingering on the way his stupid hair caught the moonlight.

“Listen,” Maui said, his tone softening. “Whatever Nalo’s got on you? It doesn’t have to be like this.”

I laughed, but it came out bitter. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, shrugging. “But I know you’re stalling.”

The words hit harder than I expected. He wasn’t wrong.

I looked away, my resolve crumbling. If I let them go, Nalo would know. The others would come for me. But when Maui’s hand brushed against mine, warm and steady, something shifted.

“You don’t owe him anything,” he said quietly.

For a moment, the world was still. His touch sent a strange warmth through me, cutting through the cold I’d carried for so long.

“I—” I began, but a distant rumble cut me off.

The waters churned, and I knew the others were coming.

“Go,” I said, stepping back. “Now.”

“What about you?” Maui asked, his brow furrowing.

“I’ll handle it,” I said firmly. “Just… don’t stop rowing.”

He hesitated, but Moana grabbed the oar. “Come on, Maui!”

I stalled them as long as I could. The other eels—my kin, my tormentors—swirled around me in the dark waters, their hissing voices filled with betrayal.

“Traitor,” one spat, circling closer.

“You dare betray Nalo?” snarled another.

I kept my movements quick and deliberate, dodging their lunges and leading them in chaotic loops away from the canoe. Every second I bought was a second they needed to escape.

The fog thickened, the dark sea churning around us, and finally, I saw my moment. With a sharp kick of my legs, I shot upward and broke through the surface, gasping for air as I clambered onto the canoe.

Maui and Moana whipped around, both startled by the sudden splash.

“What the—!” Moana exclaimed, reaching for the oar like it was a weapon.

I collapsed against the side of the boat, panting, water streaming off my trembling form. “They’re… they’re distracted,” I managed, barely able to speak. “But you need to move. Now.”

Maui crouched beside me, his face uncharacteristically serious. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than I expected.

“I’m fine,” I lied, pushing myself upright. My legs burned, and my lungs ached from the effort, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Just focus on the sea ahead. There are currents here that will tear this boat apart if you don’t steer properly.”

Moana frowned, still gripping the oar. “What currents?”

“The kind that’ll drag you down faster than you can scream,” I said bluntly, pointing toward a jagged rock formation barely visible through the mist. “You need to steer between those rocks and the smaller ones behind them. Trust me.”

Maui stood, his gaze flicking between me and the treacherous waters. “You seem to know a lot about these currents, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s almost like I’ve lived here my entire life,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.

He grinned at that, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place. “Fair enough, Legs.”

I sighed, sitting back as they worked to navigate the canoe. Moana steered with precision, her movements quick and focused. Maui, for once, didn’t crack a single joke, his eyes scanning the water like a hawk.

As the boat slipped through the final set of rocks, the mist began to clear. The sea ahead stretched out, calm and endless, the danger of Motufetu fading behind us.

Only then did I allow myself to relax, leaning against the edge of the boat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Moana said, glancing at me.

I shrugged. “Guess I’m just full of bad decisions today.”

“Bad decisions, huh?” Maui’s voice was playful, but when I looked up, his expression wasn’t. His gaze held something else—something softer, more appreciative. “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

My breath caught, and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. “Don’t get used to it,” I muttered, looking away too quickly.

“Too late,” he teased, but there was warmth in his voice.

The air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, until Moana cleared her throat loudly.

“So,” she said, glancing between us, “are we just gonna ignore the whole ‘betraying Nalo and almost dying’ thing, or…?”

I laughed, though it came out a bit shakier than I intended. “Yeah, let’s just focus on not dying for now.”

Maui’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, and I could feel it even without looking. When I finally dared to glance at him, his smirk was back, but his eyes still held that softness.

I quickly turned my attention to the sea, trying to calm the warmth spreading through me. Stupid demigod.

But as the canoe drifted further from the island, I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe, just maybe, I’d made the right choice after all.

Also, note that if yall want to make a request or suggestion, pop into my inbox and ask away! Completely fine. No need to ask if you can make a suggestion/request. I’m okay with most suggestions so feel free to speak whatever comes to mind. (I’ve been so excited for requests man yall have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this 😭)

Hello, could I make a oneshot request?

of course! My inbox is open, so please do give me your suggestions and requests 🥰

Hi Lauren, happy new year!! 🥳 I hope you had a great start to the year and that it’ll bring you all good and joyful things!!

Would it be okay to make a request with Newt Scamander and reader? You see I’ve watched the 2nd movie again, and I was so sad that Teddy got hurt while helping Newt retrieving the blood pact pendant, I know he healed well, but I felt like ripping Newt a new one, although know he must feel bad for it too. She’s very kind, quiet, intelligent, and usually very calm, but when she finds about this, she really rips a new one and everyone is shocked of her outburst and Newt is all on his own in this. She tends to Teddy and spoils him rotten while he heals and Newt is in the dog house (no kisses, no hugs, no nothing for a while).

Frost

Newt Scamander x reader

Angsty but cute

Summary: When Teddy gets hurt, she turns cold, leaving Newt to earn back her trust while she spoils their injured Niffler rotten.

AN: Thank you lovely anon! Happy New Year to you too! I’d hope that you have the best, most fulfilling year you can get. I thought this was a pretty cute idea (it too broke me to see Teddy injured.) So I hope I got this plot right, this is the first ask that I’ve ever received so I’m really stoked for this. (You have no idea how excited I got when I saw this) Once again, thank you for asking. If I haven’t gotten it right, don’t be afraid to pop into my inbox/messages to drop down some constructive criticism/ amendments to make. Without further ado, let’s get to it!

Story under the cut

Newt Scamander sat at the wooden table in the small kitchen of your shared home, his hands wringing together anxiously. The usual warmth in the room seemed to have vanished, replaced by an icy tension that clung to every surface. Across from him, you paced back and forth, your quiet demeanor utterly shattered.

"You—you let him get hurt!" you snapped, your voice cracking with the sheer force of your emotions. Teddy, the mischievous Niffler who usually brought joy and chaos in equal measure, lay tucked in a makeshift bed by the fireplace, his tiny paw wrapped in bandages.

Newt flinched at your tone. "I didn’t mean for—"

"Didn’t mean to?!" you cut him off, your usual calm and gentle nature nowhere to be found. "You knew he’d follow you into danger! He always does because he adores you, Newt! And look at him now!"

Your voice, usually so soothing, now carried a sharp edge that startled even you. But the sight of Teddy injured, his usual cheeky energy dulled by pain, had unleashed a storm within you that couldn’t be contained. You glared at Newt, your chest heaving as you struggled to keep your composure.

"He was trying to help," Newt said softly, his voice thick with guilt. "I never wanted him to get hurt, love. I… I thought I could keep him safe."

"Well, you didn’t!" you snapped, and Newt’s head hung lower. "He’s just a baby, Newt! A baby! And you dragged him into some reckless mission that could have… that could have…" Your voice broke, and you turned away, blinking back tears.

Newt stood slowly, his hands reaching out to you, but you stepped away, your arms crossing protectively over your chest. "Don’t," you warned. "Not until I… not until I can trust you again."

He froze, his outstretched hand dropping to his side. The weight of your words settled heavily on his shoulders, and he looked over at Teddy, who stirred slightly in his bed. Newt’s heart ached with guilt and sorrow.

Turning your back on Newt, you knelt by Teddy, stroking his fur gently. "Oh, my sweet boy," you murmured, your voice trembling with affection. "You’re so brave, aren’t you? But no more heroics, you hear me? You’re going to rest and recover, and I’ll take care of you."

Teddy let out a small, contented chirp, his little paw curling around your finger. You smiled softly, tears threatening to spill over again as you whispered promises of treats and snuggles to the injured creature.

Behind you, Newt watched helplessly, his heart breaking at the sight of you turning all your love and attention toward Teddy while he was left out in the cold. For days, the frostiness between you lingered. You tended to Teddy with tender care, showering him with affection and little treats, while Newt remained in the doghouse. No hugs, no kisses, no soft smiles meant for him—only the occasional glance, and even those were weighted with disappointment.

One evening, desperate to make things right, Newt crept into the kitchen while you were preparing Teddy’s dinner. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant colors dulled slightly by his nervous grip.

"I picked these for you," he said tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know they can’t make up for what happened, but I wanted to… to show you how sorry I am."

You paused, glancing at the flowers before returning your focus to the task at hand. "It’s not flowers I need, Newt," you said quietly. "I need to know you’ll think before putting him in harm’s way again."

Newt’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded earnestly. "I promise. I’ll do better. I… I’ll earn back your trust."

Your hands stilled, and you turned to face him fully. The sincerity in his eyes melted a bit of the ice around your heart, but you weren’t ready to forgive completely. Not yet. "It’s going to take time, Newt."

"I’ll wait," he said without hesitation. "As long as it takes."

For the first time in days, a faint smile tugged at your lips. "Alright," you said softly. "Now go sit with Teddy. He’s missed you."

Newt’s face brightened, and he hurried to Teddy’s side, his fingers brushing gently over the Niffler’s fur. As you watched them, the warmth began to seep back into the room, a small step toward mending what had been broken.

New Years

Encanto x reader

fluff, comfort

Summary: On a lonely New Year’s Eve, the Madrigals bring warmth and joy, but it’s Camilo’s heartfelt care that makes her truly believe in love again.

AN: Happy new year, happy holidays! Also, this is sappy. Be warned... but I'll make sappy any time I need it, and I needed it-- so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing this.

story under the cut

The night air was crisp, a perfect blend of cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the day. From your perch on the balcony, the world below sparkled with the chaos of New Year’s Eve celebrations. In the Encanto, every home glowed with lights and laughter, the air heavy with the scent of roasted arepas and sweet empanadas. The Madrigals’ Casita, as always, stood out like a beacon of magic and life, bursting with energy. Yet here you were, leaning on the cold wrought-iron railing, a quiet observer in a sea of joy.

From your vantage point, you could see families giggling as they ducked under tables to eat their twelve grapes, one for each wish. Couples leaned into each other, their faces lit by the promise of midnight fireworks. And you? You were alone. No grapes, no kisses, just the sharp sting of solitude wrapped in a world full of celebration.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, the sound quickly carried away by the distant hum of music and chatter. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for them—the Madrigals, the villagers, everyone—but it was hard not to feel the weight of loneliness pressing on your chest. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, wishing, just for a moment, that someone would notice the quiet shadow you cast.

And then, like magic—or perhaps because it was the Encanto—they did.

“What are you doing out here, all by yourself?” Mirabel’s voice rang out, soft yet inquisitive, as she leaned against the balcony doorframe. Her round glasses glinted in the dim light, and her wide smile carried an infectious warmth.

You turned, startled, only to see her stepping closer, holding out a small cup of warm chocolate. “You can’t spend New Year’s like this,” she said gently. “Come on, at least have some hot chocolate with me.”

A bit later, Luisa found you sitting by yourself in a quiet corner of the Casita. She didn’t say much—she didn’t need to. Instead, she handed you a heavy woolen blanket, freshly warmed from the hearth, and sat nearby, her calm presence a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone.

Isabela, ever the perfectionist, passed by next, pausing to tuck a newly conjured flower into your hair. “There,” she said with a soft smile. “You’re part of the party now.” Her graceful departure left the faint scent of jasmine in the air, a little gift that lingered with you.

Later, Antonio bounded over, his arms wrapped around a cheerful toucan that squawked happily in your direction. “The animals said you looked sad,” he said with wide-eyed sincerity. “But you don’t have to be! They like you.” He placed the toucan on your shoulder, and for a moment, the bird’s antics pulled a genuine laugh from your lips.

Pepa’s voice carried through the bustling crowd as she handed you a small plate of twelve grapes. “Eat them,” she insisted, her eyes kind but firm. “One for every wish. And don’t forget to make them count!”

Julieta’s warmth came last but not least, as she gently pressed an arepa into your hands. “Food makes everything better,” she said, her tone motherly and soothing. “You’ll see.”

By the time Camilo arrived, the night was already alight with fireworks, laughter, and cheer. He had just rushed back from the village after a long day of work, his usual playful smirk replaced by a look of earnest concern. He found you leaning against a pillar near the edge of the balcony, the glow of fireworks reflecting in your eyes.

“There you are,” he said, slightly breathless but with a relieved grin. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You blinked, startled by his sudden arrival. “Camilo? Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the party?”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “The party doesn’t matter if you’re not enjoying it too.” Without waiting for a reply, he draped his ruana over your shoulders, the warmth of it immediately chasing away the chill in the air. “You’ve spent enough of tonight alone.”

His presence was magnetic, pulling you out of your shell without effort. He began to talk about the funny things he’d seen in the village, mimicking people’s voices and gestures until you were laughing so hard your sides hurt. When he saw you relax, he leaned against the railing next to you, his tone softening.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you mean a lot to us. To me.” He glanced at you, his eyes earnest. “I didn’t want the year to end without making sure you knew that.”

The weight of his words settled over you, warm and comforting. He reached out, his hand covering yours as the fireworks reached their peak, painting the sky in brilliant colors. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant cheers. “For everything.”

Camilo smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “You’ll never have to feel alone, not as long as I’m around.”

As the clock struck twelve, you felt a peace you hadn’t known in a long time. Surrounded by the Madrigals’ love and Camilo’s unwavering presence, you knew this New Year’s would be the start of something beautiful.

Christmas at The Burrow

Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys, Sirius, Remus (and all the other good characters) X Reader

Fluff

Summary: A bad day melts into laughter, love, and chaos at the Weasley’s on Christmas.

AN: Merry Christmas and a happy new year ya filthy animals!

story under the cut

The Burrow, as usual, was glowing with warm light and the sound of clattering dishes, laughter, and chatter spilling out even before you reached the door. You hesitated, your earlier frustrations from the day clinging to you like a stubborn shadow. But before you could even raise a hand to knock, the door burst open, and Fred’s grinning face appeared.

“There she is!” he crowed, pulling you inside as George popped up behind him.

“Late as always,” George said, shaking his head dramatically. “It’s a wonder you ever make it anywhere at all.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Ginny said, sidling up to you and taking your coat. “Come on, sit down, get comfy. Mum’s been waiting to stuff you full of food all day.”

“I have not! I’ve just made a bit of stew and treacle tart, that’s all,” Molly called from the kitchen, where she was stirring something that smelled divine.

“Stew? Treacle tart?!” Ron perked up from the table, where he was already halfway through a biscuit.

“Save some for the rest of us, Ron,” Hermione scolded, though her soft smile was already directed at you. “Come on, sit with us. You look like you need a good laugh.”

Harry leaned forward from his seat, glasses slightly askew. “We’ve been plotting how to cheer you up all day,” he said, grinning. “And we’re excellent at it, if I do say so myself.”

“We are excellent,” Fred corrected. “Harry’s role in the operation is just sitting there looking tragic.”

“Oi!” Harry protested, though he was laughing too.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Sirius’s deep voice boomed from the armchair near the fire. He stood, a cheeky grin plastered across his face, and made his way to you. “Come here, kid.”

Before you could say anything, Sirius pulled you into a firm, fatherly hug, holding you close like he’d known you needed it. “You’re with us now,” he murmured into your hair. “No bad moods allowed. Got it?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“That’s better.” He pulled back but kept an arm slung over your shoulder. “Now, sit. Eat. We’ve got plans, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

The plans turned out to be a mix of dinner, chaos, and ultimately, a movie night. After Molly served up her famous stew (with Neville nervously asking for seconds, clearly trying not to look greedy) and Fred managed to accidentally charm a bread roll to scream when bitten into, Ginny declared, “Alright, enough. It’s movie time.”

“Movie?” Luna’s dreamy voice piped up. “Oh, I do love Muggle contraptions.”

“Tonight’s feature: Home Alone 2: Lost in New York,” Hermione announced, holding up the DVD case like it was a sacred text.

“What’s it about?” Fleur asked, her lilting accent drawing curious looks from Cedric and Neville, who were already settling on the couch.

“Traps, chaos, and Christmas,” Harry explained simply, grabbing a bowl of popcorn and flopping onto the sofa next to Ron.

Soon, everyone was crammed into the Weasleys’ cozy living room. Sirius, with his arm draped around your shoulders like a comforting anchor, pulled you close.

The movie started, and it didn’t take long for the chaos to spread.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Fred said, pointing as Kevin tricked the hotel staff with his recorded messages.

“Can you imagine using that on Filch?” George added, cackling.

“Forget Filch,” Ron said, mouth full of popcorn. “I’d use it on Snape.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione scolded, though she was laughing along with everyone else.

“Well I know I’d pay to see it,” Remus mused, chuckling at the thought.

When Kevin’s elaborate traps started, Ginny groaned. “Imagine the cleanup after that. No thanks.”

“Cleanup?!” Sirius roared with laughter. “Ginny, it’s art! Pure, chaotic genius!”

“Poor burglars,” Luna mused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “They really should’ve worn helmets.”

As the Wet Bandits stumbled through the traps, Cedric winced every time something crashed or cracked. “That’s gotta hurt,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’d think they’d give up after the first house,” Neville added.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Harry said, grinning.

By the time the credits rolled, the room was filled with laughter and leftover popcorn scattered across every available surface. Sirius ruffled your hair affectionately. “Feeling better, kid?”

You nodded, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good,” Remus said from his spot by the fire, where he’d been quietly sipping tea and chuckling at the madness. “Because around here, happiness is non-negotiable.”

As you were pulled into a group hug orchestrated by Fred and George (complete with Ginny trying to shove Ron’s popcorn bowl out of the way), you realized that no matter how tough the day had been, you had a family here—a wonderfully loud, chaotic, loving family who could make you laugh until your sides hurt.

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year ya filthy animals!”

And as Fred squeezed your shoulder one last time before heading to the kitchen for a second helping of treacle tart, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was going to be alright.

Hello dear!

Sorry for bothering you, but it's important to remind you to turn off your asks for a few days! Bad things are going to happen on Tumblr soon...

Don t know anything about this but BETTER BE SAFE EVERYBODY!!!!!!

Dance with me

Draco Malfoy X reader Comfort, angst

Summary: Two broken souls find solace in a quiet dance, their shared pain speaking louder than words ever could.

Inspired by:

AN: Really wanted to match the vibe of this song. Sinking, but having a lifeline that’s barely there. I wrote this so you can imagine it both as a sibling-like (platonic) relationship and also maybe a romantic relationship. Either way, there’s comfort.

Story under the cut

The Slytherin common room pulsed with the kind of chaos that came after a hard-won victory. Cups clinked together in celebration, laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the sound of music hummed low and steady under it all. But neither of you cared for any of it. Not really.

Draco stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, his tie half-untied and his gaze fixed on the middle distance. His jaw was tight, and even from across the room, you could see the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked like he always did in moments like these: exhausted. Frayed. Like a rope pulled so tight it was about to snap.

You knew that feeling. You lived it, too.

Your steps carried you through the crowd, ignoring the drunken shouts of your housemates and the occasional hands reaching out to pull you into the revelry. A few people called Draco’s name, too, but he didn’t respond. He was waiting for you.

When you reached him, his shoulders relaxed just slightly, and the tension in his posture shifted. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist—not too tightly, just enough to pull you away from the noise. He led you out of the common room and into the quiet of one of the unused corridors.

The silence was almost deafening after the chaos of the party. The dim torches cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“You alright?” you asked softly, leaning against the wall beside him.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his head dropping forward for a moment before he looked at you. His gray eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were softer now. Tired. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “I think so. Maybe.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, and you knew better than to push. Instead, you nodded, your shoulder brushing against his. “Rough day?”

He let out a dry laugh, humorless and bitter. “Something like that. Winning isn’t everything, you know. Doesn’t fix…” His words trailed off, but you didn’t need him to finish.

“I know.”

And you did. You understood the way the weight of expectations crushed you, the way it felt to carry burdens that weren’t really yours to bear. That was why he always sought you out, and why you always found your way back to him.

After a moment, he tilted his head toward the faint sound of music drifting through the stone walls from the party. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his tone. Just weariness. “It’s quieter here. Less… them.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

He stepped closer, one hand hovering awkwardly near your shoulder before settling on it. His other hand reached for yours, and you let him take it, the warmth of his palm grounding you. The song was slow, haunting, and it filled the empty corridor like a whisper of something lost.

You moved together, not quite in time with the music but in time with each other. It wasn’t graceful or practiced; it was clumsy and raw and human. The kind of thing you could only share with someone who knew all the broken pieces of you because they carried their own.

For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you leaned into it, letting the silence wrap around you both like a shield.

“They don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quiet.

“No,” you agreed, resting your head against his shoulder. “They don’t.”

But you did.

And that was enough.

Wasting All These Tears On You

Finnick Odair x Reader

Tw: Regular THG angst, mentions of forced prostitution, reader and Finnick are both lowkey jerks, I think that’s it, let me know if I missed anything ☺️

(This is my first story and I’m always open to constructive feedback. I also take requests if you’d like to see more)

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶

And you left me standin’ on the corner crying

Feeling like a fool for tryin’

Finnick Odair. The pride and joy of District Four. The Darling of the Capitol. The most desirable Victor. These are just a few of his many titles. Panem adores him. He’s perfect in every way. A body specially sculpted by the gods, a smile that could entrance even the most manipulative, blue eyes that could suck anyone in and drown them like a lost sailor at sea. Even his voice. So seductive it could put a siren to shame.

So how did Y/n, the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games get involved with such a man?

Truthfully, she doesn’t even know the answer, and frankly, she would rather forget they knew each other at all.

I wish I could erase our memory

‘Cause you didn’t give a damn about me

Seeing him around District Four, the Capitol, anywhere really brought Y/n nothing but pain. Seeing him smile with the many women and different citizens of the Capitol created a sickening feeling in the 68th Victor. She pries her eyes away when she sees a wandering hand, a whisper too close to his ear, the offering of a drink. More often than not, she focuses more on him than on her own well being.

Perhaps that’s why she’s sitting outside of a very generous party, thrown by President Snow, crying.

Her nails are dug deeply into her palms as she tries to use the physical pain to stop herself from crying. Her eyes are stuck on the ceiling of the hallway, decorated with the most extravagant lights. She counts the diamonds that are stuck in each chandelier and slowly finds herself coming down from her emotional high.

She hates that he has this effect on her.

The moment she had won her Games, she could tell he was shocked. He didn’t believe she would make it out due to her low evaluation score. But she proved everyone wrong. She killed twelve Tributes in her arena. She hid her skills, appearing weak to the others so they would target her first. It was a cruel way to use the poor teens that surrounded her, but it was either her or them.

She never understood why Finnick had such a hard time believing in her. He didn’t even take the time to try and train her, pushing her off onto Mags as if she were some chore. He seemed almost regretful when she won. She didn’t understand why until Snow had crowned her at her Victor ceremony.

“You are what the elite in the Capitol consider… desirable.”

She knew what that meant. People in the Capitol always talked, especially when they had enough to drink. The night she met with her first client, she walked out feeling like an animal. No, less than. She felt appalled and wanted to crawl out of her own skin. She wanted to scratch her soft and supple skin so she would be of no use to Snow anymore.

That was until she saw him.

Finnick was exiting a room just across the hall, and when they locked eyes, everything fell into place. He knew what she had just gone through and he took it upon himself to help her through it the way no one else bothered to help him.

Over time he developed a sense of protectiveness over Y/n. They were always seen together, joint at the hip. Snow at first wanted them separated at all costs, but noticed the positive reaction from the Capitol at their close relationship, so he allowed it.

Though Y/n is starting to wish he had torn them apart when he had the chance. Life wouldn’t be so painful if he had.

You ain’t worth another sleepless night

And I’ll do everything I gotta do to get you off my mind

Many had warned her not to get involved with Finnick, but she never listened. Her heart told her that he’s what she wanted, what she craved. They kept their relationship a secret. Stealing kisses in passing, flirty touches under the dinner table, seductive whispering at parties, sneaking into each other's room undetected. They did it for almost two years, and it was pure bliss. Being with each other, spending countless hours on the beaches in District Four just relishing in each other's presence. But nothing good ever lasts long in Panem. She should’ve known that.

Things grew more and more difficult the more clients the two of them were forced to see. Fights ensued, jealousy raged, tears were shed. It all became too much. And some things can never be taken back or forgotten, no matter how hard one tries.

“Then leave!” Y/n screams, tears falling freely from her eyes.

“Maybe I will!” Finnick seethes with a harshness that she had never witnessed before. Her heart ached seeing him stare at her with such an intense anger.

He turns to storm out of the Y/n’s house, but her words cause his feet to freeze in their spot. “But I can’t promise I’ll be waiting for you when you come back,” the way she says it is so finite, but her entire being is yelling at her to take it back before it’s too late.

Finnick pauses before turning back to look at her. His face is blank, or maybe heartbroken is the better word for it. His eyes are mere shells of what they used to be, the bright green spark has faded into something she couldn’t even recognize.

“Good,” he replies, his voice barely shaking. “Why would I want to come back to you when I have women lining up to be with me?”

He knew exactly what to say to wound her the most. They both have been open and honest about their insecurities when it comes to their high end status. They tried not to be insecure, but who wouldn’t be in their position? They were sold for their bodies, no one would feel confident or beautiful after experiencing that. And both of them always had the worry that someone they met would appease the other better than they ever could. That’s why they agreed never to say things like that to each other.

Until that moment.

“Well, have fun with them,” she spits back with a lethal amount of venom lacing her tone. “Enjoy using your body to cover up your fear that no one will ever love you!”

‘Cause what you wanted I couldn’t get

What you did, boy, I’ll never forget

After that, communication ceased between them. The relationship they fought so hard for cracked, and it hasn’t been fixed since.

Y/n regrets what she said that night more than anything. Along with the amount of petty shots she’s taken at the Darling. She won’t deny that she’s been more than flirty with other men in front of him, but what hurt the most was that he never seemed to care.

Before he would always rush to her aid, making sure her drinks weren’t laced with an aphrodisiac, that the men she danced with were respectful, and that she was always well taken care of. Now, he doesn’t even look her way. He’s always on the arm of some elitist, looking so engrossed by them that anyone would believe nothing else in the world mattered to him.

Y/n tried so hard for so long not to let that bother her, but seeing him tonight with that woman practically sitting on his lap broke her. She had to leave the party. She couldn’t keep playing this game anymore. It hurt too much.

“You forgot something.”

Y/n looks up and sees Finnick standing above her, looking at everything but the sobbing woman below him. She sniffles, trying to cover up any evidence of her breakdown. She notices him holding the small bag she brought with her. Y/n stands from her spot with a high level of grace and takes her bag from him with a curt nod.

“Thanks,” she mumbles before going to walk away from him.

“You know, I used to be the guy you went to whenever you felt the need to cry,” his comment is solemn, painful almost. The way he reminisces creates a nostalgia neither of them want to feel.

Y/n stops, still not turning around. She clears her throat, “Yeah, you were.” She can feel his unwavering presence behind her, “But that was a long time ago.”

The silence surrounding them is deafening, but neither of them bother to move. Y/n doesn’t understand why he’s the one who had to follow her out. Why did he care enough to return her items? Why does it matter if he was the one she used to go to?

“Why did you come after me, Finnick?” She asks, her voice monotone. “Don’t you have your hands full catering to the three women already drooling over you?”

Once again she’s met with silence, but his breathing gives away that he hasn’t left. She’s surprised at her own level of patience. There really is nothing stopping her from walking away, but she stays. Like there’s this supernatural force that makes her desire his answer.

“I asked you a question,” she turns around, a newfound power in her voice. Her dress trails behind her intimidatingly as her heels click on the concrete. She stops directly in front of him, a scowl on her face.

His eyes dance across her face, “Something just seemed different this time.” He answers quietly. “I know we like to play the jealousy game and prey on each other's insecurities, but the way you walked out was different. It wasn’t fun anymore.”

“I didn’t realize it was ever fun in the first place.”

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never hung yourself all over the Capitol men just to get under my skin,” he chastises. “I know you, Y/n. You like to play just as much as I do.”

“Well, I’m over whatever game you think this is,” Y/n shrugs with vindication. “I want you to be happy Finnick, but I can’t watch it anymore. I just can’t. Seeing you with an array of women all the time is just too much,” she admits solemnly.

“And you think it didn’t hurt me?” He asks, taking a step closer to her. He tilts his head the same way he always does. That simple motion silences whoever he’s talking to and forces them to listen. Y/n’ breath catches in her throat as his nose practically touches the tip of hers. “The amount of times I have wanted to murder the slimy men that have laid their hands on you. How many times I’ve wanted to sweep you off your feet and take you away from here,” he leans closer to her ear. “To apologize to you,” he whispers, nipping at her ear lobe.

She hates how his tactics are working against her. She’s never been one to deny the electrifying feeling she gets from him. “Seems a little too late for that, doesn’t it?” She whispers back.

“Only if you don’t forgive me,” he counters. The looks in his crystal blue eyes is nothing short of genuine affection and regret. He places his finger underneath her chin, “Y/n… I’m tired of seeing you waste all these tears on me. C’mon sweetheart, let me make it up to you,” he kisses her forehead softly. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have said what I did or left you like that. And I’m sorry. I need you.”

Y/n tries to keep her tears at bay, but she can’t help the bitter water stinging her eyes. “It wasn’t just you,” she manages to get out. It’s quiet because if she were to speak any louder, her composure would break. “I’m sorry for what I said too,” she tells him with a small nod before flinging her arms around his shoulders.

Finnick feels a huge weight lift off his chest as he feels her body encompass his. He’s just as tired of this manipulative game as she is. Watching her dance with the multitudes of men that would do nothing but use her made his blood boil. He wraps his arms around her legs and lifts her in the air. He holds her tightly with no intention of ever releasing her from his grip again.

Y/n pulls back only for a moment so she can plant her lips onto his. The kiss is soft and gentle, their lips meshing together perfectly. They fit together like a puzzle piece and the satisfaction they get from reconnecting can’t be described through words. Fireworks go off in both their minds as she tangles her hands in his hair.

“I love you,” he mumbles between kisses.

Y/n didn’t know how much she missed hearing those words from his mouth. She thought she’d never be able to hear them again, but she’s so happy that she did. “I love you too.”

Oh, finally I’m through

Wasting all these tears on you

Melody

George Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

Comfort, fluff

Summary: George helps you play piano

AN: I was playing a piece and this came to mind ITS SO CUTE 😭

story under the cut

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as the amber light spilled across the piano’s polished surface. You sat on the bench, determined to make the music sound right this time.

Your fingers danced across the keys—well, stumbled, really. You played the same section again, but no matter how you adjusted your hands, the notes sounded jumbled and wrong. Frustration tightened in your chest, your shoulders tensing as you pressed harder.

“Easy, love,” a voice drawled behind you, smooth and teasing.

You startled, your hands slamming against the keys in an ugly, discordant crash. Whipping around, you found George Weasley standing there, his grin crooked and far too smug.

“George!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Admiring the show,” he quipped, strolling closer. “Though it sounds like the piano’s losing this duel.”

You narrowed your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m trying to practice.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” he said, his voice light as he rounded the bench. Without asking, he slid in beside you, his knee bumping yours. “Here, let me see.”

You froze as he leaned in, his arm brushing yours as he placed his hands on the keys. His chest nearly touched your back, his warmth and the faint scent of pine overwhelming your senses.

“This part,” he said, his tone lower now, softer, as if the quiet demanded it. “You’re hitting this note.” He struck it, his finger lingering before moving to the correct one. “But it’s this one. Feel it?”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his voice rumbled near your ear. “Yeah,” you managed, barely above a whisper.

“Go on, then,” he said, leaning back just enough to let you play.

You placed your hands on the keys, but your fingers trembled slightly, and the notes wavered.

“Relax,” George murmured, leaning over again. This time, his hands slid to either side of yours, his fingers brushing yours as he guided them. His arms caged you in, but his touch was gentle. “Don’t think so hard. Just… feel it. Like this.”

He played the melody slowly, his fingers gliding over the keys with an effortless grace that left you mesmerized.

“Your turn,” he said, tilting his head so his breath fanned against your cheek.

You nodded, focusing on the keys despite how close he was. You played the first few notes, and when you faltered, his hand moved over yours, correcting your fingers without a word. The warmth of his palm sent a shiver up your spine.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low hum. “See? You’ve got it.”

You tried again, and this time, the melody came together perfectly, the music flowing like water under your fingers. A smile broke across your face, and you turned to him without thinking.

“Perfect,” George said, his grin softer now, his eyes warm as they met yours. “Told you you could do it.”

You blinked at him, realizing just how close he was. The firelight cast soft shadows over his freckled face, and there was a quiet sincerity in his expression that made your heart race.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“Anytime,” he said, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you felt the space between you keenly. “I’d hate to see a piano reduced to tears.”

You laughed, the tension easing as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” he corrected, his grin returning to its usual mischievous tilt. “And speaking of helpful, what are you doing here alone? Shouldn’t you be off saving the world or something?”

“It’s a free period,” you said, shaking your head. “I just wanted some quiet.”

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching lazily, “I’d say you’ve got the right idea. Though if you ever need another pair of hands…” He wiggled his fingers dramatically.

“Thanks, George,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft as he looked at you. “You’re better than you think, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, and before you could respond, he flashed you a wink and started for the door.

“Don’t forget to keep playing,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re a natural—once you stop overthinking everything.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stared at the piano, your cheeks still warm. His words echoed in your mind, wrapping around you like the notes of a melody you couldn’t quite name—yet.

In her shadow

Fred Weasley x reader

Angsty, but comfort from our lovely Fred

Summary: In the shadow of Cho Chang’s perfection, you find the fire to rise—and Fred Weasley lights the spark.

Story under the cut

The parchment was crumpled in your fist, the creases cutting deep as you glared at the words on the page.

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding.

Charms: Exceeds Expectations.

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations.

Potions: Acceptable.

Herbology: Acceptable.

Astronomy: Acceptable.

History of Magic: Poor.

It wasn’t a bad set of results—not really. But when you looked over at the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was holding court like a queen on her throne, it felt like nothing.

“Perfect marks again!” someone gushed, loud enough to carry over the hall.

“Professor Flitwick said she’s the best he’s ever seen,” Marietta chirped, practically hanging off Cho’s arm.

And there she was, smiling so delicately, tilting her head just so, pretending to be modest while soaking up every ounce of attention. Perfect bloody Cho Chang.

Your teeth ground together as you shoved the parchment into your bag, shoulders tense with fury. It wasn’t just that she always came out on top. It wasn’t just her stupid perfect grades or the way she walked like the whole world owed her something. It was the rumors. The lies she’d spread about you last year—saying you were desperate, a pathetic little mess chasing after anyone who so much as looked your way. And people had believed her. They still did.

The laughter around her table grew louder, and it felt like every single word was aimed at you. You shoved back from your seat, ignoring the curious stares of your friends, and stormed out of the hall.

The briefing room for the Advanced Magical Research Programme should have been a chance to prove yourself, to rise above all of it. But the moment you stepped inside, you saw her—front and center, poised like she already had the spot locked down.

Your stomach sank. You froze for a moment, your hand tightening on the strap of your bag as rage bubbled up again. She didn’t even look your way, too busy laughing with a group of Ravenclaws. And Merlin help you, if she smirked even once, you might lose it.

You slumped into a chair at the very back of the room, as far from her as possible. Your jaw was tight, your fingers trembling with the sheer effort of holding yourself together.

“Alright,” came a familiar voice to your left, light and casual. “What’s all this, then?”

You didn’t need to look to know it was Fred Weasley.

“Fred,” you muttered, keeping your gaze locked on the table in front of you. “Not now.”

“Not now?” he repeated, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “What’s wrong? Didn’t they have your favorite pudding at dinner?”

You shot him a glare. “I’m serious.”

Fred leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got that whole I’m going to set something on fire look about you. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, but he followed your gaze to the front of the room. His face darkened when he spotted her.

“Chang,” he said, his voice low. “Say no more.”

You exhaled sharply, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “She’s perfect, Fred. Always. Top marks, favorite of the professors, and now she’s here, too. Why do I even bother?”

“Alright, stop right there,” he said, sitting up straighter and turning toward you fully. His voice lost its usual teasing edge, replaced with something firm, unyielding. “Do you honestly think you don’t deserve to be here?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

“Look at me,” Fred said, his tone sharp enough to cut through your haze of anger. When you met his eyes, they were steady, unwavering. “You’re here because you earned it. You don’t need to compare yourself to her—or anyone else.”

“But she’s—”

“Annoying,” Fred interrupted. “And maybe a bit shiny in the way magpies like. But you? You’re a firecracker, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who could keep up with you when you’re not busy doubting yourself.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by his intensity.

“She doesn’t win because she’s better,” Fred continued, his voice softening slightly. “She wins because she’s louder. She makes sure everyone sees her. You don’t need that. You’ll blow her out of the water the moment you stop giving a damn about what she’s doing.”

You didn’t know what to say, but something in your chest eased. The knot of anger and jealousy loosened, just enough for you to breathe again.

“And if she so much as thinks about messing with you again,” Fred added with a wicked grin, “well, let’s just say George and I have a whole line of products that haven’t been properly tested yet.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Fred’s grin widened.

“There she is,” he said, nudging your arm. “Now, keep your head up, yeah? Don’t let her get in your way. You’ve got this.”

The briefing ended not long after, and as you walked out of the room, Fred fell into step beside you.

“Let’s grab a Butterbeer,” he said, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders. “You’ve earned it.”

For the first time all day, you felt lighter. And as you glanced back at Cho, her head high and her smile as fake as ever, you felt something shift.

Let her have her moment. Let her think she’s untouchable.

Because the next time she tried to get in your way, you’d be ready. You’d tear that bitch off the pedestal so fast, she wouldn’t even see it coming.

Hello 👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞

The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔

Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊

Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗

Yall know the drill— anyone on this app can share and spread awareness. If you can, donate and spread hope. Anyone can be a bystander and relax in their own homes, but if this happened to any of us, we’d depend on upstanders. Be an upstander. Time waits for no one, so neither should you.

And frankly, to hell with who supports who. People are dying. People are getting relocated— losing their loved ones. It’s not about who you support, its about the fact that lives are being lost. If you can do something about it, do it.

-TisAyeMate

Drowning

Draco Malfoy x Troubled!Reader

Angst

AN: Ghosted for a while, back now. Wrote this because life is fucking miserable. Wrote this during a call from my dad berating me over bullshit. Might take a while to get back to this because holy fuck I can’t do this.

Summary: Two people sink under the weight of the expectations placed on them.

Story under the cut

The forest swallowed your cries whole. The world was black and empty around you, just the way you wanted it. The air burned in your chest as you tried to catch your breath between muffled sobs, but it felt like the trees were closing in, suffocating you.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, curling into yourself like you could somehow shrink small enough to disappear completely. The damp moss seeped into your skirt, and the cold bit at your skin, but none of it mattered. Nothing did.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out here. The castle felt like a lifetime away, and that was a comfort. You didn’t have to hear their voices. Not your parents’, not your professors’, not your friends’. All their expectations, their constant demands—they couldn’t reach you here. But their words? They still echoed in your mind.

“You’ll ruin everything if you don’t listen.”

“Do you think this is about what you want?”

“Ungrateful little—”

A sharp gasp clawed its way out of your throat, and you dug your nails into your arms, trying to hold yourself together. But it wasn’t working. You were unraveling, and no one could stop it.

“Crying in the dark doesn’t solve anything, you know.”

The voice made you flinch. You hadn’t heard anyone approach, but there he was, leaning lazily against a tree as if he had every right to invade your crumbling solitude. Draco Malfoy. His grey eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp and piercing, but his expression wasn’t mocking. Not tonight.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” you croaked, your voice raw and broken.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his boots crunching on the leaves. “What are you doing out here?”

“Go away,” you snapped, though it lacked any real force.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he crouched down a few feet away, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze never left you, and it made you feel exposed, like he could see every raw nerve and broken piece you were trying so desperately to hide.

“You think I don’t know what this feels like?” he asked quietly.

You barked out a laugh, bitter and humorless. “Oh, I’m sure your perfect little life is so hard.”

He stiffened at that, but his jaw only tightened. “Perfect?” he repeated, his voice dripping with something that wasn’t quite anger. “You think growing up in the Malfoy family is perfect? You think having every move dictated, every thought criticized, every mistake punished is perfect?”

His words hit you like a slap.

Draco’s voice dropped, quieter but no less cutting. “You don’t get to talk about things you don’t understand.”

You looked away, shame prickling at your skin. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, you heard him exhale, the sound sharp and shaky. “I know what it’s like,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “To feel like there’s no escape. To wake up every day knowing nothing you do will ever be enough for them.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t understand. But the words wouldn’t come.

Draco sat down beside you, leaving a deliberate space between you. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Sometimes I come out here too,” he confessed. “When it gets too much. When I can’t breathe in that place anymore.”

You turned your head slightly, studying his profile in the faint moonlight. His sharp features were unguarded for once, his usual smirk replaced by something that looked suspiciously like pain.

“I didn’t think you cared about anything,” you whispered.

He let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor. “I don’t have the luxury of not caring. Not when everything I do reflects back on them.” He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “And neither do you, apparently.”

Your chest ached at the truth of his words.

“They’re never going to stop, you know,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the shadows ahead. “They’ll keep taking and taking until there’s nothing left of you.”

“I know.” Your voice broke on the words, and you hated yourself for it.

Draco turned to look at you then, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Then don’t let them win,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Don’t let them take everything.”

You laughed bitterly, tears streaming down your face. “And what’s left for me to keep?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, to your surprise, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours briefly before pulling away. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough to ground you, just a little.

“You keep the parts of yourself they can’t touch,” he said softly. “Even if it’s just a shred. Even if it’s just the fact that you’re still here.”

You didn’t answer, but something in his words stayed with you. It wasn’t comforting, not exactly. But it felt real, and that was enough.

Draco didn’t say anything else. He just stayed there beside you, the two of you sitting in the darkness like shadows made flesh. It wasn’t peace, but it wasn’t loneliness either. It was something in between. And for now, that was enough.

Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:

-weight

-appearance

-intelligence (or lack of) 

-skills (or lack of) 

-weird hobbies

-friends (or lack of) 

-body

-personality

-family

Who ever reblogs this will get a message in their inbox.

Outplayed

Stephen Strange x Spy!Reader

Fluff, flirting

Summary: A spy seduces Doctor Strange to steal crucial information and distract him for long enough to draw what she wants from him

Story under the cut

The dim light of the café cast long shadows across the wooden table where you sat, carefully stirring your coffee as you watched him from the corner of your eye. Doctor Stephen Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme. But here, in this low-key corner of the city, he wasn’t the all-powerful, stoic hero. Here, he was just a man, and you were here to take advantage of that.

Your mission was clear. He had information you needed, and you'd go to any length to get it.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was calm, controlled—a stark contrast to the excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You didn’t even have to glance up to know that the air had shifted the moment he took a seat.

“No, not at all,” you said, offering a smile that you hoped was warm and welcoming, but you knew it came across as something else entirely—calculated, like you had an agenda. Which you did.

“Good,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his own drink. "I wasn’t sure if I was being followed."

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, your eyes finally meeting his, and damn, there was that glint—sharp, almost knowing. "I’d say you’re paranoid, but you wouldn’t be wrong, would you?"

He arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair slightly, as though already analyzing you. Smart. You could see it in the way his fingers rested on the rim of his cup, in the way his eyes tracked every small movement you made. He was more aware than you’d like.

"Let me guess," he said, his voice low, tinged with amusement. "You're here to ask me questions."

You leaned in, careful to let your lips curve in a way that could either be interpreted as playful or dangerous. "It’s a bit more complicated than that," you purred, your voice a soft lull, an invitation he couldn’t resist. "I need something. Something I’m sure you’re just the man to provide."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving yours. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone full of that subtle challenge you knew too well. “And what exactly is it that you think I can help you with?”

You didn’t flinch. No, you were too good at this. Too smooth. "You know exactly what I need," you said. "Information. A little bit of knowledge that only you have."

For the briefest moment, his expression flickered—a flicker of something unreadable—before it was gone, hidden behind a cool smile. “You seem awfully confident.”

You let that linger in the air, then allowed your own smile to bloom, teasing but still sharp. "Confidence has always been one of my strengths."

He laughed softly, but the sound was cold, like it wasn’t truly a laugh at all. More like a warning. "You don't think I know exactly what you're up to?" His eyes glinted as he leaned in a little, his voice dropping just a touch. “How long did it take before you realized I could see right through you?”

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. “You don’t know a thing about me,” you countered, your voice low and deliberate.

He tilted his head, studying you with that calm, unnerving gaze. "I know enough."

It was like a game now, a cat-and-mouse dance you both played so well. You were too good at getting what you wanted, and he was just... too good, period. You could feel the tension tightening in the air, crackling between you, but you weren’t about to give up so easily. Not when you were so close.

Then, just as you leaned in slightly—just enough for him to feel the heat of your presence—you slid your hand across the table, brushing lightly against his. Not a hard touch, but deliberate, calculated. A little touch of intimacy meant to throw him off.

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

And there it was. The briefest of breaks in his usually steady composure. The smallest crack that you were quick to notice. That was all you needed.

"Careful, Doctor," you said softly, locking eyes with him as your fingers grazed the sleeve of his coat. “You’re getting distracted.”

He swallowed, eyes narrowing as he locked onto your face. For a second, the playful tension vanished, replaced by something deeper—something almost... predatory.

"You think you’ve got me figured out?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, lips curling slightly at the corners.

You held his gaze, leaning in just a fraction more, testing him. "I think I’ve already won."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, challenge, and... acceptance. He wasn’t falling for the act. But at that moment, you were okay with that. Because while he’d been focused on you, your hand had already slipped his Sling Ring off his finger, carefully palming it like you had done this a hundred times before.

You straightened up, your expression softening just enough to be disarming. “Thanks for the chat, Stephen,” you said, standing up, giving him a coy smile.

“Wait—” He reached for you, but you were already turning, already walking out, Sling Ring safely hidden.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel his gaze on your back, that quiet realization creeping in that, for once, he'd been outplayed.

The Ghosts

Sirius Black

Angst, a whole lot of it

Summary: Sirius gets haunted by the memories of his childhood

AN: cried while drafting this, hope you enjoy

Inspired by:

Story under the cut

Grimmauld Place loomed like a mausoleum, heavy with silence and shadows that seemed to cling to Sirius Black like a second skin. The house had always been oppressive, but post-Azkaban, it felt suffocating. Every corner whispered memories he couldn’t suppress, no matter how much firewhisky he drank or how hard he tried to forget.

Tonight, he found himself in the drawing room, his eyes drawn to the cursed tapestry like a moth to flame.

There it was, the family tree. Black and gold thread wove generations together, its branches curling in endless, snarling pride. His gaze landed on the burned spot where his name had once been—a violent black hole scorched into the fabric, as if even the memory of him had to be eradicated.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“Might share a face and share a last name, but we are not the same.”

The words echoed in his mind, lyrics that felt plucked from his soul. He thought of his mother, her cold, sharp voice still cutting through years of silence. “You are no son of mine, Sirius. Do you hear me? No son of mine!”

He stepped closer to the tapestry, his fingers hovering over the charred fabric. The edges of the burn were jagged, almost alive, like the fury that had once consumed her as she’d banished him from the family. His shoulders tensed, the weight of those years pressing down harder than any Dementor ever had.

“How could you hurt a little kid?”

The memories came unbidden.

He saw himself at six years old, clutching a wooden toy broomstick with trembling hands. His father loomed over him, eyes blazing with the kind of fury Sirius had never understood. “You’re a disgrace to this family, Sirius,” Orion hissed. “No Black would ever stoop to such… rebellion.”

And rebellion had meant what, exactly? Laughing at something Regulus said? Mispronouncing an ancestor’s name? It didn’t matter. The punishment had been swift. A hex, a slap, a night locked in his room with only the portraits on the wall to keep him company—ancestors who sneered and hissed, calling him a traitor even then.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head to dispel the memory. He wasn’t that boy anymore.

“I can run, but I can’t hide from my family line.”

Except he could never outrun it, could he? His reflection in the mirror showed the same sharp cheekbones, the same stormy grey eyes that his mother had once wielded like weapons. The blood coursing through his veins might as well have been chains. Even in Azkaban, he hadn’t been free of them.

His lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “Free,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

He laughed then—a hollow, rasping sound that bounced off the cold walls of the room. He was 36 years old, and it still bloody bothered him. All of it. The tapestry, the memories, the scars no one could see. He felt like a child again, stuck in the same damned house, walking the same damned halls, haunted by the same damned ghosts.

“Pathetic,” he said to himself, his voice laced with derision. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, shaking his head. “You survived Azkaban, and this—this—is what keeps you up at night? Some bloody thread and scorch marks?”

But the laughter didn’t stop. It bubbled out of him, bitter and raw, until his chest ached and his throat burned.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the tapestry. It wasn’t just his mother’s voice or the ghosts in the walls. It was the inescapable reality that no matter how far he ran, he would always carry them with him.

Sirius sank into a nearby chair, his laughter finally subsiding into a strained silence. The house creaked around him, indifferent to his misery.

He tilted his head back, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. “Cheers to you, Mum,” he muttered, raising an imaginary glass. “You win. Even from the grave, you win.”

And yet…

The corners of his mouth twitched again, not with bitterness this time but something quieter. A tired acceptance, perhaps. Because while he might never be free of the Blacks, he could choose to make sure no one else suffered what he had.

The thought gave him no comfort, but it gave him purpose. And that was enough to get him through another night in Grimmauld Place.

Surnames are just as important as given names. So, I compiled a list of the websites I use to find my surnames.

English Surnames

Dutch Surnames

Spanish Surnames

Scottish Surnames

German Surnames

Italian Surnames

Irish Surnames

French Surnames

Scandinavian Surnames

Welsh Surnames

Jewish Surnames

Surnames By Ethnicity

Most Common Surnames in the USA

Most Common Surnames in Great Britan

Most Common Surnames in Asia

🎶🤍✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (positivity is cool)🎶🤍✨

Home by Good neighbours

Youth by Shawn Mendes (ft. Khalid)

The monster by Eminem (ft. Rihanna)

Let her go by Passenger

Sex, drugs, etc. by Beach weather

And thank you 🥹

(one more thing, how do I send this ask to ten people— I’m sorry I’m still getting around to tumblr… do I just tag you in my post or?? Bcs like I’ve read though like 6 different asks for the same thing inception style and I still don’t know how to do it. I need a tutorial atp, this stressed me out more than I have to be)

So I’m just gonna tag y’all and pray that someone will teach me how to do this right:

@kitkat-moon

@h3arthese4

@ghostlyuniversityhandsthing

@peterhayesllove

@demonslikeme

@fclsebnnyodair

@im-a-whore-for-evan-peters

@xxx-ang3l-w1th-a-sh0tgun-xxx

@troyssix

@urfavfairyluvr

*Disclaimer, I don’t have too many followers, but to those I have, I love you all. I suppose it’s been a mistake on my part for not being interactive, but every follow, like and comment doesn’t go unnoticed. So I’ll try and make more friends on here (bear with me, this is not fun for an introvert) and I hope y’all could help…make the first move and reach out too. Because with exception of the first two that I’ve tagged, I haven’t spoken to anyone else and I really hope I can change that.