#I actually spelled it wrong twice didn't I?

[lurafita]

Number 6!

So, there is this thing to be found on the internet, about how biblically accurate angels look like Lovecraftian, eldritch monstrosities. Now I don't know if this is true, and I frankly don't care enough to go onto a research binge to find out, but as with anything and everything, my brain went: What can I do for Malec with this information? So now Alec has (semi-sentient) tentacles as a secondary feature. Much like a warlock's glamour, a nephilim mark can be hidden.

And most of his tentacles behave themselves, and they usually aren't out unless he wills them to (like with other shadowhunters). But that f-ing number 6! Number 6 just does whatever it (or rather Alec's subconcious) wants! Be that swatting Jace over the head when he is saying something dumb, or tripping Clary, or playfully pulling Izzy's hair, or sneakily wrapping around Magnus,... (okay, he might not be as opposed to that last one.)

[five-one-two-station]

At this point I am convinced some people are watching this show solely via the subtitle files, because that's the only thing that explains drastically misunderstanding everything that's not spelled out in dialogue to this extent.

Honestly some of the most embarrassing mass failure of media literacy I've ever seen. It's not even complicated stuff, it's basic text comprehension and story fluency.

- No, Caitlyn's "I know!" is not anger at being called out; she's saying she is very, very painfully aware of what she's done wrong. Watch it again.

- No she didn't take the guards away or go to the cell to have sex with Vi. TF?!?

It was Vi who initiated; Caitlyn was surprised she did.

She pulled the guards away to help Vi if/when she chose to do what she knows her well enough to know she probably would. Vi makes her choice - Caitlyn doesn't "let" her, she just supports it, because it's Vi's choice to make.

Vi has no idea she's done this until after, it doesn't affect her "agency" at all. That's not what any of those words mean!

- She did this as a direct acknowledgement of and response to Vi's previous criticisms.

You are supposed to be able to make the very, very minimal leap of imagination required to understand what the show is telling you here; that she is genuinely sorry, genuinely committed to getting her shit together, and that she has heard and received every word that Vi has told her.

The reason this gesture is so important is that it demonstrates she's now going out on a limb to put herself, her resources, and her privilege to work for the greater good.

And the reason Vi reacts the way she does is that she understands all of this immediately.

You should not need the show to sit you down and spell this out to you step by step Barney the Dinosaur style.

- She works very hard and sacrifices quite a lot to try to do right by people after fucking up so badly before, but not before very explicitly acknowledging that she can't undo the harm she's already done. And this isn't even an inference thing, she actually even says this bit out loud twice, and you still somehow missed it.

- For $5, what do you think the show was suggesting by having Sevika take up her seat, her final costume have no Enforcer uniform elements, and having her allude to an ongoing struggle. Come on, guess.

I am loathe to call people stupid just because some tv show stuff sailed over their heads, but... y'all are legitimately testing that. This is not exactly The Holy Mountain or something, it is very straightforward storytelling.

And just... I mean why would you be this loud about anything without making sure you didn't have it ass backways first?!? In public!?!? 💀

You guys, you have to watch shows to know what is happening in them.

[terramythos]

There are so many things to say about the Hugo controversy i dont even know where to start.

The absolute blatant racism and trans/queerphobia in the leaked emails is actually galling. I wouldn't say SURPRISING considering other recent controversy but it really feels like the committee, at least to an extent, used "fear of censorship" as an excuse to remove works with politics they didn't agree with. The assurance that committee members didn't have to actually read the entries to eliminate them. The fact they spelled Zhao's name wrong TWICE then used the completely wrong title for their book while deciding to eliminate them? They eliminated someone for going to Tibet (an insane reason to disqualify someone from a writing award) and turned out he NEVER HAD?

Considering the Hugo awards are such a career changing selling point for authors it's shameful that officials acted in this manner. And again, I would be shocked if the award has any prestige going forward since committee members can just eliminate any entries they feel like without actual justification and with no control against personal biases. If the process is not completely obvious and transparent in the future there is no salvaging it.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long? 

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever. 

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane. 

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice. 

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency. 

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons. 

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver. 

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever. 

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal. 

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault. 

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less. 

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here. 

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying. 

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go. 

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again. 

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far. 

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it. 

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust. 

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later. 

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.  

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him. 

The girl he waited for. 

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out. 

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for. 

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option. 

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you? 

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan. 

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

[reiderwriter]

NSFW Prompt Requests - I’m in dyer need of 127 or 150 if you’d be so kind?🥵

A/N: I feel like I say "I got a bit carried away" in every single one of these authors notes, but this one I think I really did...

Word Count: 3k

#127: "I can taste myself on you."

#150: "Stop clenching, baby, you're already tight enough as it is."

Summary: You're hot for teacher. So is every other girl on campus. Your Professor, however, is absolutely oblivious until you spell it out for him...

Warnings: Professor x Student, age gap, oral (M receiving), face-fucking, no birth control/ condoms, creampie, male whimpering and moaning mentioned a lot, PinV sex, both of them are Switches idc idc 18+ MINORS DNI

Check out my other stuff on my masterlist!

You had been in his class for around three weeks when you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. If you were going to keep up your GPA and progress in your grad programme, you were going to have to either drop the class with Professor Reid, or persuade him to put you out of your misery. 

You’d been intrigued by the course to start with, of course, which is why you’d picked up the criminology elective when it wasn’t a required class. But it was only available this semester as he was only Guest Lecturing while on leave from his job at the BAU, and getting that kind of insight from an actual industry professional rather than an academic really couldn’t hurt, right? You’d thought that until you’d seen him. 

Expecting some older man with a stuffy tone and a disdain for modern technology, you’d been roughly awoken when he walked into the lecture hall on the first day and you found yourself hanging on to his every word as he read through your syllabus. You were spot on with the technophobia, but for everything else, you were blissfully incorrect. He was, quite possibly, the hottest man you’d ever seen in your life. You weren’t secretive about your thing for older men, joking all the time about your “daddy kink,” but you’d never had a thing for one of your actual professors before, and it was driving you insane. 

It didn’t help that the word had travelled around the entirety of your campus as well, with multiple girls turning up to audit the class after the first week. You’d been green with envy since you’d seen them mooning over the man, and you’d felt disgusted with yourself almost instantly. He was your professor, he was damn good at his job, but he was so deliciously tempting that you couldn’t find it within yourself to actually pay attention in his classes. You knew it was only a matter of time until the man, who you realised was obviously blind to how attractive he was to a bunch of twenty-somethings with a penchant for danger and a willingness to try all kinds of new things, would catch on to how many of his students were openly lusting for him.

You hoped that you had learned enough in his classes on behaviour that you could accurately hide your feelings and thoughts, however sinful and objectively obvious they were. Your hopes were crushed on that fateful day three weeks into the semester. 

You’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed already. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, your clothes were all still wet inside the washing machine in your apartment meaning you had to throw on a short skirt and pray you didn't flash anyone, and your roommate hadn’t closed the fridge properly the night before, so the milk you wanted to use in your morning coffee had spoilt. After dragging yourself into class, the last thing you’d wanted to see was twice as many students auditing the class as the previous week. 

To give it to the man’s obliviousness, he hadn’t noticed until about two thirds of the way into the class, when he asked a student why they weren’t taking notes.  He’d seemed confused. You were almost furious that he didn’t know what effect he was having on you, on every girl in the vicinity, but, more importantly, you. Unable to help yourself, you let out a scoff that gained his attention. 

“Is there something wrong with the class materials Miss…” he trailed off, waiting for you to supply your name to him. 

“Oh, no, uh, Y/N. My name is Y/N, there’s nothing wrong, sir. I’m sorry.” His lips twitched as you replied, but he went on with his class, as you sunk into your chair in shame. You were going to have to drop the class now. He must hate you, or think you were stupid, or think that you hated him, and your thoughts were spiralling so out of control that you hadn’t noticed the class had ended, and he was calling up at you from the lecturing desk. 

“Miss Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, and his goddamned eyes were filled with such concern you hated that every part of your body was screaming with desire for him. Unable to respond, he tried again. 

“If you have the time, would you like to come talk to me in my office? I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” You should’ve said no, just based on the ridiculous scenes filling your mind, but you didn’t hesitate to nod your approval. You picked up your bags and made your way down the steps to where he was waiting with all of his stuff near the front door. He opened the door for you, and you felt your heart race as you awkwardly slid by him in the doorway. He had to be a fucking gentleman, too, right? 

You followed him as he made his way to his office, staying silent the entire way. He looked like he wanted to make small talk but didn’t know how, choosing instead to just mirror your silence. When you reached his office, he apologised for the mess and showed you inside, letting you take a seat on the couch whilst he put all his things away. The room was littered with books of all sizes, and you noticed that the titles didn’t seem to have one common subject linking them all, or even, in fact, seem to be written in the same language. You spotted a beaten up copy of War and Peace on his desk next to an obviously used coffee mug, and some paper files that looked to be the reading from that morning’s class. 

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly plan on having guests, uh, make yourself comfortable?” He asked it as a question, and loosened his tie as he said it. You stared at the small patch of skin on his neck, your eyes lingering just a moment too long before you remembered you were in a room with an actual FBI Profiler, and that if your thoughts were any louder, he’d handcuff you himself. As tempting as that was, you really didn’t want your Professor knowing about all the ways you’d imagined him fucking you. 

“Professor Reid, I’m sorry, I have to leave, and- and I think I have to drop out of the class.” You stood up suddenly, and he stood up too from his place at his desk, shocked at your sudden anxious outburst. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, is there something wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked taking a step closer to you, but you took a step back again, accidentally pressing your back against one of his many bookcases in your haste to avoid him. 

“Yes! I mean no, it’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable. I’m not uncomfortable, really!” He had the look of a kicked puppy on his face now, and you realised this man would be the death of you. You weren’t even sure what it was about him that entranced you enough to stay and continue the conversation.

“I can’t focus in your classes, Professor,” you sighed out, letting your eyes drop with the embarrassing confession. 

“That’s perfectly fine, many people struggle to pay attention in college classes. Is there anything I can do in my lectures to accommodate to your needs?” Your eyebrows screwed up in frustration with his obvious professional kindness. 

“No, Professor, I’m sorry, unless you stop looking like that there’s nothing you can do.” You ran a stressed hand through your hair as you begged your mouth to shut and stay shut. 

“...What?” The confused tone in his voice let you know that he had no clue at all what you meant by your words, but he didn’t go further. You chanced a glance up at his face, and were met with a small blush rising to his cheeks, as you watched the words process in his brain. 

“Professor, every single person in that class that is attracted to men would kill to do absolutely sinful things to you. You’re like the campus’s collective wet dream right now. You had to know that, right?” You sigh out, finally putting the man out of his misery.

“Oh. No. No, no, I didn’t. Know that, I mean, I didn’t…Is that why there are so many people auditing the class? They want to…. Do that with me?” 

“Fuck you, Professor. They want to fuck you. You can say it, we’re both adults.” You resigned yourself to the fact that this conversation was probably going to haunt every waking hour for the rest of your life, and just let it happen, pushing through the cringe to help him come to certain realisations. 

“And that’s why you want to drop the class?” he asked finally, looking back up at you. 

“Yes.” 

“Because you want to…fuck me?” 

Your mouth dropped open at his words, as you desperately tried to back track, but all that came out was hot air and blubbering sounds as you felt your brain short circuit like his had just moments before. 

“I mean… I guess,” you finally stuttered out, your fight or flight instinct begging you to just run, but something deeper, something carnal planting you in position and making movement in that moment impossible. 

“Oh…. right.” He nodded at you, his lips spread in a thin smile as he nodded at you awkwardly. You stood there together in silence for a minute, but it became clear soon that the logical part of your brain was no longer in control of your mouth. 

“Can I?” you asked, almost startled at your own boldness. 

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice raising higher in tone at the incredulity of your statement. 

“Can I fuck you? If I do, maybe I’ll be able to, you know, pay more attention in class. Get it out of my system, you know.” Growing emboldened by your own words, you took another hesitant step towards him, reaching your hand up to gently touch his arm. His jaw clenched at the contact, but he didn’t move away, didn’t suggest you stop right there and forget this conversation ever happened. 

“Please, Professor Reid. Please fuck me,” you trailed the hand up his arm and back down his chest as he stood there just watching you beg for him. You discarded your bag on the chair, and keeping your eyes focused on his, trailed both of your hands down to his belt, slowly enough that he could push you away at anytime. 

“Do you know what you’re doing, Miss Y/N?” He asked quietly, and you smiled, finally happy to get a reaction from him. The smile had dropped from his lips and there was something suddenly dark in his tone that had you clenching around nothing. 

“Yes, Professor,” you said, letting your hands start working on his belt, undoing it agonisingly slowly as you watched him control his breaths. When you finally had it undone, you finally looked up at him again, and gave him a smile as innocent as you could muster. 

“You have my permission,” he whispered into your ears as he gently put a hand on your head and pushed you down to your knees, perching himself on the edge of the desk. You wasted no time then, desperate to live out each and every single one of your fantasies with him. Reaching into his pants, you found him already hard and pulsing, and you released his cock from its confines quickly. Spitting into your hand, you gave him a few quick strokes as you watched him grow even bigger under your touch. 

Letting out some sinful breathy moans, you looked up at him, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut as you finally reached your tongue out to lick at the tip of his cock. He twitched at the contact, and you felt the warmth pooling between your legs as you watched his each and every reaction. Finally wrapping your lips around him, you decided to put him out of his misery, sinking down on his dick an inch at a time until he was hitting the back of your throat. He was delightfully vocal the whole time, moaning and whimpering so much that you almost pulled off him completely and begged him to fuck you raw. But the taste of his cock was intoxicating and you wanted more and more of him. After a few minutes of your agonisingly slow pace, you felt his hips beginning to buck up to match your pace as he began to face-fuck you. He grabbed a handful of hair, and you did your best to relax your throat, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his thigh and sinking deeper into your open hips on the floor. 

His eyes were still screwed close, but he was moaning out your name now, with a few expletives thrown in too, having done a complete 180 from the few minutes earlier when he’d hesitated to even say the F word in conversation. You felt he was getting close when he started thrusting deeper, sloppier in his movements and more breathy in his moans. He suddenly pulled out of your mouth and lifted you to your feet, bringing you face to face with him. 

“We didn’t… we didn’t say where I would, um…” he tried to say but you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a hot kiss to his mouth, your tongues quickly twinning as he returned it in kind. You stood there, lips locked and breathless in that space for quite some time, neither of you caring about the lack of oxygen you were getting. Finally, using the hand that was still fisted in your hair he pulled you away from his lips, and you whimpered pathetically at the loss of contact. 

“I can taste myself on you,” he panted into your neck as he held you close, the words sending a shiver down your spine and forcing another moan out of your mouth. The pain from his tight grip in your hair only heightened your pleasure as he moved his lips back to your exposed neck and continued his ministrations. 

“Please, professor….” you begged again, desperate for his attention. “Please fuck me.” 

Without removing his lips from your neck, he quickly moved the two of you back to the couch you’d been sitting on before, guiding you into his lap, his cock still hard and free from his pants. Your skirt spread open, and your hard landing meant you could feel all of him pressed against you. You thanked the gods for your suddenly well-timed laundry efforts as he grabbed the base of his cock and started teasing you through your panties. You were sure they were soaked through as you sat in his lap, grinding down on his perfect cock, his mouth still pressed into your neck. 

“Fuck me, please fuck me,” you moaned, and he complied, finally hooking a finger under the seam of your panties and moving them to the side as he pushed up into you with another throaty moan. 

“Yes, thank you. Thank you Professor, thank you.” You moaned out in bliss as you sank further and further down on him, pushing further than any man had been. before. 

“Stop clenching, baby, you’re already tight enough as it is,” he ground his teeth in a hiss, and you moaned at his words, the pervertedness of them shooting straight to your core. 

“Can’t…help myself. You feel so good, sir.” He started moving then, holding your waist as he started lazily thrusting upwards. After having your mouth wrapped around him, he knew that too much too soon would mean that this wouldn’t last long, and you had begged him nicely, so he wanted this to feel as good for you as it did for him. Gripping one of your hips tightly in one hand, he let the other fall under your skirt, and started pressing into your clit. You threw back your head at the contact and started riding him, matching each of his upward thrusts with a downward thrust of your own, letting his thumb gain speed as it followed you up and down. 

“Fuck, professor, thank you…I’m gonna cum, fuck, thank you so much,” you stuttered out as you could feel your orgasm rip through you, collapsing into his arms as he thrust quicker into you now. 

“Y/N, where… where should I….” His voice trailed off, and after a few seconds regaining your sanity after your climax, you finally answered the question he’d been desperately trying to answer.

“Inside… Inside me, Professor Reid, it’s okay…” he whimpered at that, at each thrust he pushed into you, his head falling to the crook in your neck and your hands stroking the hair at the base of his neck as you clenched around him again, finally pulling the desire out of him. He came noisily, even with his face buried in you, moaning so delightfully you knew the sound would be your new distraction for the next three weeks. 

When he finally regained his composure, he let his hands drop from your waist, his head rolled back on the couch, and you fell with him, wrapping yourself around him as if  you never wanted this coupling to end. You stayed there, head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and drifted to sleep. 

You awoke an hour later, but there was no sign of the Professor. He’d cleaned you up somehow, because there was no unpleasant feeling between your legs, and he’d wrapped a blanket around you as you slept, making sure you were comfortable. Collecting your things and making to leave, you almost convinced yourself that it had all been another fantasy, and that you were becoming seriously delusional about the man. As you approached the door, however, you spotted a small note taped to the handle, and quickly pulled it into your hands. 

Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for visiting me today. I hope you decide to stay in the class, I certainly could learn a thing or two from you. 

- Spencer Reid. 

P.S. You’re lucky I’m an MIT Graduate with a job in the FBI. There’s a security camera in my office. 

[radiance1]

A castle mysteriously appears in Gotham one night.

Nobody who noticed it knows where it came from, nor how it got there as it seemingly appeared overnight. It wasn't anything big, as far as castle's were concerned, it seemed to be on the smaller side of things.

However, no one could truly estimate it's actual size. For there seemed to be an ever-present fog that never seemed to stray past the castle's gates.

Just like the fog, you always seemed to hear the cawing of crows and the flapping of bats whenever you step close enough. Yet their visibility was kept hidden in the fog.

Appearances aside, there did seem to be something... off, about the castle and not just because it appeared from thin air, no. It seemed to have a distinct aura of something... other.

No one knew how to explain it, but they could tell there was nothing natural about it. There was something fundamentally wrong with the castle, it wasn't the way it appeared out of nowhere, nor it's appearance.

===

When Sam finally became an adult, she didn't have to think twice about moving out. It was a bit difficult, with her parents not wanting to let her go just yet, but her grandmother managed to persuade them, thankfully.

When she was younger, Sam had always dreamed of owning a castle. Though its appearance did change in her mind when she grew older, from pretty and pink to one of darker colors and crows, which is why she never got one when she was younger, she realized.

But now that she was an adult, what was stopping her?

Nothing, that's what.

So, Sam buys one that matches her tastes and moves in. There was a lot of space, far more than she really ever thought about and now had to find a use for.

Magic.

Was something that enthralled Sam ever since she was young, that and the occult as a whole. So, for a few months after moving did she try and get her hands on things like magical tomes, items, scripts and learn it.

Surprisingly, she was strongly successful in her attempts of learning magic. It was surprising to be sure, but now that she compares it to the portal to the afterlife, having a half dead friend and having hunted down ghosts, she realizes that magic wouldn't be that much farfetched in the equation.

A fair bit of her time now was spent covering her castle in wards, sigils, and runes, ones that would strengthen themselves over time, various protection wards and multiple others that she found useful. Most of them were ones that she found through text, though others were ones she personally made.

After she finished the entirety of the castle, she studied thoroughly to gain more knowledge and power for herself, she even made a few spells of her own along with various potions. Unfortunately, she was interrupted in her studies by various other witches, because apparently having such a powerful fledgling witch on her lonesome was too tempting of an offer to pass up for the nearby covens.

So she had to... move, before they tried to force her to join them. As for how, well, she moved her entire castle! What better way to refuse, really?

Unfortunately, it was her first time using such large-scale teleportation magic and she messed it up. Not that her calculations on where the castle was supposed to be were wrong, but while in the midst of moving through space she was... thrown off kilter.

She didn't even know how or what caused her to mess up. But her castle both was and wasn't where she wanted it to be. Her original destination was coordinates near Amity Park, and while they were on said coordinates.

This wasn't Amity Park.

To say she worried was an understatement. She scrambled to find something about where she ended up, and realized not only was she thrown off kilter, but she was also thrown off so badly that she ended up in an entirely different dimension. Luckily, she managed to make the philosopher's stone.

To say making it was easy would be wrong, for even she didn't know how she created it. It was by accident and for a while she didn't even know she had made it, when she had and tried to do something with it the stone had, uh, well.

It fused into her skin.

It had placed itself right over her face, on her chest, and it granted her immortality it seemed. Though that wasn't the effect she was currently thankful for no, the effect of making gold would be valuable to her, she wouldn't have the Manson wealth, but she could at the very least sustain herself.

For now, though, she did have her studies to get back to.

[screechingfromthevoid]

@disastertourwaterdeepedition

Sorry for the weird fucking post but like tumblr straight up ate your ask?? I had to search and screenshot from my email??

Its like super fine I love big rants and big feelings (especially about the blorbo of the month).

Whoa buddy if you wanna talk about a rant. This got so long I'm putting it under a read more.

I'm not sure any of this is above board conscious thought process. When he looks to Orym, when he thinks about how he feels about Orym, I think Dorian, king of compartmentalizing, gets a rush of all three of the things in the post. He gets a little too lost in thought looking at the way Orym's hair now tries to curl against his ear or how well tailored the armor is to his body, he first gets hit with the Will guilt. Then he thinks about "ohmygodtheresawaron" and he'd shovel all of that down. Because its not time to think about Orym and him. But he knows by the way Orym watches him "sleep". He knows by the way Orym refused to be princess carried in Aeror. (Seriously dude Dorian princess carries everyone. It would have been less suspicious if you let it happen). He knows because Orym didn't see his husband when they were in Zephrah. But when he dares himself to actually think about a possible future together, he uses the big three to shove it down. And no, he has no clue that Orym thinks he doesn't return his feelings. (Wow you're right. Pronouns are hard)

Lol to finally answer your question: I'm not sure! Because the thing is! Orym has gone down twice in a battle with Dorian there! And honestly if Orym being on death's door doesn't make either of them confess, i'm not sure what will! (thats a lie I do have an idea). But like Orym went to the moon and back and almost died on the moon and all the count communicate to Dorian was "I miss you"!! Orym nearly died twice in one battle and he didn't think to give Dorian a sloppy, "If I die again I want to have kissed you once" kiss before going in for another round of getting hacked on. Dorian watched him go down and had to bring him back from death's door (one failed save scared the shit out of me) and he didn't think to give Orym a "We need you, I need you" kiss.

My unfortunate thought process, which I can't decide if I want it to come true or not, is that Dorian has to get hurt. Like when I say hurt I fucking mean it. Taken down in a round or two, two failed death saves, hurt. Because then Orym will have to face losing Dorian again. Face losing the man he loves, again. He pours a healing potion into Dorian's mouth because warlocks don't have a single healing spell. (Just checked). Orym feels so helpless in saving Dorian, because a healing potion isn't nearly enough to keep him up. He starts to cry over Dorian's (now conscious) body. He whispers between sobs "Not again, not again. Dorian you can't leave me. I love you, please, I never got to tell you, please stay alive." and Dorian, having heard all of that, reaches up to cup Orym's cheek and says. "Alright, just for you though."

Or something like that.

As much as I would love for them to be adults and just talk to each other. I know thats not going to happen. (Please, Robbie, Liam, prove me wrong.) So I think major tragedy will be the reason they confess to each other. Because they're idiots in love with a lot of weight on their shoulders.

[demon-country]

One thing I like about Stolas is that he learns, and then he takes action of his own accord. He's not stagnant. Sure, he can be a bit oblivious and lost in his own head, but once he's finally informed that there is a problem he always makes a real effort to reflect on it and then do something about it.

We see it as early as Loo Loo Land, where he misses all the cues that Octavia is upset, but once she actually tells him what's wrong he immediately reassures her. He then promptly leaves with her, asks her what she wants to do instead, and takes her there despite not understanding the appeal. His focus is on her the whole time from the moment he finds her crying. He even carries her like she's a small child again the entire way back to the van, and she lets him because physical comfort is something she needs and he knows it.

We see it again after Ozzie's, where Blitz is finally honest about his belief that Stolas wants him for nothing but sex. After a night of heavy drinking, he immediately starts to reflect on things and comes to the correct conclusion that their deal needs to end, because in hindsight Blitz didn't seem happy or like he was having a good time like Stolas previously assumed, and then he tries to find Blitz a way to stay in business without relying on him. He gets a little side tracked because of the divorce, but he never gives up on getting Blitz an Asmodean Crystal, even when it requires him to wait several hours in Asmodeus' waiting room fresh out of the hospital.

We also see it in Apology Tour, where he reflects in his song and starts to realize that his behavior early on wasn't taken as him being cute and playful like he intended, but pushy and overbearing. Despite how Blitz hurt and yelled at him both that morning and the night before, he acknowledges that it wasn't malicious and doesn't try to put the blame for things going wrong on Blitz, although he doesn't yet realize that it's not because Blitz doesn't care, it's because he cares too much and is scared of that.

Stolas is learning and changing, but it's a slow process. It comes in pieces. Which is generally how it goes in real life, too. People don't usually change overnight, it can take years and years to fully unlearn bad behaviors and do better, but fuck if he isn't trying.

He needs problems spelled out for him though. He's been extremely sheltered and socially isolated his whole life, and there are a lot of things pointing to him being autistic as well. He's going to miss or misinterpret things that are just implied, there's simply no getting around that. For example, he was never going to realize that there are problems with how he treats imps in general without prompting, because that's been normalized for him and he's high enough on the food chain that almost no one is going to correct his unconscious bigotry. That is, until Blitz, who is perhaps the only person of a lower class Stolas knows who's not intimated by him in the slightest (other than Striker, who was torturing him at the time, which is yet another trauma barrier that will make it hard for him to reconcile with his racism/classism), tells him in a fit of rage. 

I'm sure he'll reflect on Blitz's words and what they mean about how he acts when it's not less than 24 hours since he got his heart smashed to pieces. I don't know about you guys, but I know firsthand that the humiliation and betrayal he likely felt after having his feelings mocked not once, but twice (first on accident, but the next very much on purpose. Oh Blitz, the self-sabotage is so painful to see) take a little while to get over. Let him reflect on how his over-enthusiasm had him running roughshod over Blitz first for a bit, which he's already in the process of doing, then when things aren't so fresh he'll be in a better headspace to consider his overarching biases.

And from a narrative standpoint, the fact that it's taking a while for him to work through everything is a good thing. Expecting him to just Know Better is unrealistic and would cheapen his character arc. He's fighting to do better for the people he loves despite his trauma and implicit biases making that hard for him, and if he is autistic then there are just some things he will always struggle with, like reading social cues. But for any of his improvement to feel satisfying for the viewers then it has to move at a reasonable pace, and unfortunately that kind of change takes time. It's difficult, but he's actually doing a pretty good job so far. He's making a real effort to fix his behavior. But you gotta be patient, he's basically fumbling blindly through this alone.

Anyway, I just really love that, slowly but surely, he's learning. He's not being babied by the narrative or the creators, he's holding himself accountable and changing himself for the better. If you want realistic characters with nuance and depth then you have to let them actually act in the messy, imperfect ways real people do. This is true for Blitz and his character arc as well, but that's for a whole other post.

[sufferu]

i really like ur fic so far. 10/10♥️

I have been an anastasia hater since the start. So I hope to see stuff from her perspective. What would her reaction be when she realises she duped an innocent and desperate man for her own gain and left him and his friends die Just to get a leg up on her political opponent. She can't use the excuse that anything she did "didn't matter cuz the loop failed therefore I didn't do it" BRO you did THAT. Babygirl u have the biggest information network out of anyone u didn't need to manipulate a desperate man to get what u want.

And how would Julius even react to that? The lady he swore loyalty to doing something scummy like that. To his friend too. And now she wants to butt her nose in another camps business? And tell them to do this and that? Like damn girl

I am absolutely biased but I have a point.

Thank you so much for the praise! I am very much enjoying the story and I have a lot of plans so ;) look forward to that!

Though…I see your criticism of Anastasia, but I raise you: in that loop, Anastasia was trying to teach Subaru a lesson.

Obviously it wasn’t her ONLY motivation here, but — the lady set up The Most Obvious Trap in the world that anyone with a lick of self-awareness would have been able to see through in like five seconds (fucking hell all of her men were still in uniform and they were sitting in the middle of the room), took her time to play out an actual negotiation as a test, and then when she got what she wanted took the time to spell out exactly what she saw as his greatest flaw and what he had to do in order to improve. Hell — this is directly paralleled in the (LN) final loop, where Julius goes out of his way to give Subaru a clear test the next time they meet in the form of dragging him into an impromptu negotiation table and practically frog-walking him through a shoddier version of what Anastasia had set up in that restaurant (AFTER negotiations had already been settled, as evidenced by Mimi very nearly completely blowing Julius’ cover in her confusion about what he’s doing). Hell, you could even make the argument that it’s implied she tried to teach Subaru a lesson like that on JULIUS’ behalf, considering the extent to which that man goes throughout this arc to try and guide this dumbass to a path of self-improvement.

Doesn’t change the fact that it was HORRIBLY cruel in retrospect. Like, even putting aside the fact that Subaru was crawling to her in desperation after (from his POV) watching all his loved ones die horribly TWICE and also being chained and psychologically tortured in a cave for several hours, thus making it nowhere near the time or place to try and teach him about being more self-aware — the lesson that Anastasia would have been trying to teach him in that loop was THE WRONG LESSON. Self-absorption isn’t the thing that Anastasia would likely see as Subaru’s core flaw within everything that happens in Arcs 1 and 2: she’d actually probably think that he’s WAAAY too selfless, to the point where he’s repeatedly destroying himself for the sake of other people who hardly deserve it and kinda completely ignoring any ideas of proper compensation for his effort. In fact, Anastasia might even look at it like “THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT HE SHOULD BE LEARNING RIGHT NOW. I’M MAKING IT WORSE.”

(And as for her butting into another Camp’s business — well. I have a scene planned for the next chapter, so I’ll leave it at that for now.)

[glorifiedstreetmagician]

It has been a few days since Ren has seen Haku. Sure he was on and off messaging him, but he couldn't get this ghoul out of his mind!

He was still wondering about what they were going to call themselves... They kissed like twice right? Maybe three times, but does that mean they were together together?

Ren wanted to ask him, but he hasn't been able to have a chance to see him in person and texting it seems a lot easier to do, but when he got the message typed up he would automatically delete it, embarrassed about having to ask the other about what is between them.

Then again... Ren actually doesn't know what Haku liked?

Haku was a cool guy, but what does he like to do? What was his favorite food? Ren didn't know that kind of thing.

He was sure even his dorm mates were suspecting something with him, he was asked. But he didn't say anything.. Not that he doesn't want to keep Haku a secret, but he didn't know what to say. He doesn't see any reason keeping it a secret if that is what they were...

But were they?

Fuck it. He wanted to see Haku anyways. This was good as time as any!

" Hey.. Are you free sometime today? Would you be into going to an arcade with me"?

It was typed and ready, but Ren was hesitate about sending it... What if Haku didn't like arcades..? This was a bad idea.

He let his guard down and his baby kraken friend came and was trying to take away his phone to watch a live stream...... Probably Kurosagi's streams...

But in the fight.... The message was sent...

Now Ren is pacing back and forth.... Anxiously waiting for a reply..

@loser-gamer-boy

Haku considered himself a lazy person. This was generally common knowledge to anyone that had heard or met him. But he had never been so distracted as he was in the days following his sleepover at Jabberwock.

A paranoia whispered to him that he could be under a spell or a curse with the way he or someone else caught Haku staring off at nothing, current task forgotten, or just wandering off to walk around the lakes, paperwork be damned. He was just lost somewhere else in his mind. Even at night, he could be found sitting by his window and gazing dreamily up at the moon or sitting on the piers with an umbrella as he watched the lake's surface ripple.

Maybe Ren really was a siren. They'd known each other technically for a short time, but Haku could not get the ghoul out of his head. He could not stop seeing those beautiful blue eyes, ever so slightly tinged green like the clear waters of a grotto.

And his dark brown hair, shining with an almost green sheen too, falling in lengthy and messy soft waves. Skin pale like a seashell that could turn as darkly pink as the inside of one too.

Every time he thought about Ren, it was like Haku caught a sudden fever. His body flushed with heat, his pulse quickened, and he just kept seeing the guy in his mind between all their texting since they last saw each other.

What was wrong with him? Haku had once been used to casual hook ups in his first year, and he had a veritable portfolio of romantic interests over the years in general. What made Ren so... different?

Of course, Subaru and Zenji had noticed. A lot of people who knew Haku noticed. Though not many were bold enough to ask about it.

Haku was finally getting back into some sort of rhythm of work, using it to distract his newfound distraction as it were, when his phone lit up with a notification. From Ren.

The reply is quickly typed: 'Are you asking me out on a date, Shiranami? Because if so, the answer is yes, I'm into anything if it's with you. I can meet you this afternoon at the train station.'

[writingbyshiloh]

Cautious yet Optimistic and Graceful Part 2

Part 1 & Part 3

CW: Morally gray reader, F!Reader, John Wick-type universe (ie, killing, the reader thinks about past injuries from fights. training not descriptive). Not smut but suggestive thinking from both Vincent and the reader, mutual pinning, and worldbuilding but no description of the reader. Smoking, a nonsexual cigarette burn on the reader, brief drinking. MAYBE OCs (Fictional staff for the fictional hotel). NO BETA

Summary: The Marquis de Gramont still annoys you. But he needs help from you(r hotel). Like a good manager, you help. 

AN: PART 2 everyone!!! Thank u for the likes/comments/reblogs! This takes place a few months after part 1. IDEK if this is ooc the man had like 30 minutes of screen time overall and I’ve been writing this for a week. I read it a few times for spelling but something got messed up copy and pasting and a para or 2 got dropped. Part 3 will be out ???? soon(ish)

Something about today had his words bouncing around in your head. Out of all the ways to describe someone, he narrowed it down to three (well technically he used six). 

Cautious. Sure, you can see that. Out of a love of being alive, you tried not to take any unnecessary risks in your fighting days. You also tried to avoid having a marker whenever you could. There was one in existence with your blood on it. A favour for someone you thought was a friend. You held up your end, the bloody fingerprint stored in the New York Continental as proof. 

Optimistic. That also makes sense. You actually enjoy what you do, loving being part of the criminal underworld before and now. You haven't been the manager for too long but would already die for this hotel. 

The part that was throwing you was graceful. You didn't think you were that graceful physically. You have scars to prove that you've taken a hit, slash, or burn many times. Did he mean gracefully with people? Camille did so much for the hotel, you just deal with regular hotel things (like getting Monument Historique status for a collection of French weapons, take that, Vincent). The other part was implanting rules from the high table. Maybe just being graceful and polite when you were resisting the urge to claw your eyes out. 

It could also be flirting. You felt he wasn't the type to hit on someone out of the blue. Sure he was smart and confident, but it seemed like too big a risk for him to take. Unless he is just a playboy, which is something you find yourself tempted to google twice a day. 

You would rather die than admit it, but you almost like when he called you Mademoiselle. Almost. It was like a nickname, plus it brought out his accent more. When you found yourself enjoying.

To make things worse Camielle caught on to your crush immediately. While embarrassing, it did show how clever she was and you were glad she was the concierge. Her knowing also gave you an excuse to just tell Vincent your direct number, so Camille would stop reminding you how frequently he called.

You love the bar in the hotel. It is beautiful, decorated in an Art Nouveau style, with large windows allowing for the sun to filter in during the day. You were almost pleased that Vincent asked to meet you there, allowing you to subtly show off your business. 

Finding him at the bar wasn’t hard, no one else was wearing a dark green three-piece suit, complete with a complexly tied tie and their coat of arms pin. He looks good but tense, one long leg crossed over the other. Plus, you could see Chidi and another guard in their gray suits keeping an eye. You were thankful that you took extra time this morning on your outfit. 

You slid into the chair next to him, after shaking a few hands with other big names down in the bar for a late-night drink. 

“I hear you have a problem.” You say, while not knowing the full details, just that he wanted to meet you in the bar and something was wrong. It kicked your heartbeat up, even if you only told yourself it was the stress of him being here. 

“Correct.”. 

“I’m sure you know because of your love of rules, but I can only help those who are using the hotel services.” 

You didn't care that much, and would absolutely bend the rules to do him a favour, but couldn't resist a chance to get a dig in.

The Marquis pulls out two gold coins and slides them across to the bartender. He orders a top-shelf spirit before his eyes cut to you. Now he's buying you a drink in your own hotel. You would want him to buy you a drink in a different situation but at least he didn't order for you. That may cause you to actually kill him.  

Clearing your throat you order your usual, quietly thanking the bartender when the drink was placed in front of you. 

The bar wasn't loud, but he dropped his head towards you so you could hear him better and to give the conversation some privacy. 

“You have a cartographer here, no?”

You nodded. The cartographer is excellent. He had blueprints for buildings past and present, as well as the catacombs. He also had knowledge and keys to abandoned buildings if something had to be desponded and not be found. 

“How soon do you need him?” While one of the best, he was away for his daughter's wedding

“Tonight.” 

You took a small sip of your drink. You could probably get the information he was looking but you wouldn't be as efficient. 

“While we do have a cartographer, he's gone to a family event. If your plans are that urgent I can try my best to fill in.” 

Content with your answers, Vincent leaned back into his seat taking a swig of his drink. You took the finishing sip of yours before pushing out of your chair. 

“I have spare keys in my office. I’ll meet you back here in five.” 

For how commanding and prideful he is, you never expected him to need the services from your hotel.

The maps room was fairly boring. Three out of the four walls were filled with lockboxes to various maps. Blueprints, and documents for France and even some other countries nearby. 

“Are these your beloved catacombs?” The Marquis asks, studying the paper taped to the wall. You asked the map maker for more information and for ideas on what you could do with them. 

You hum in agreement, deep down thrilled that he remembered such a small part of your conversation ages ago. 

Your eyes jump over the numbered lock boxes in front of you, trying to find the one he needs. 

You half expected him to help you pull out maps and building plans, a blend of chivalry, showing off his height, and getting under your skin. He didn’t, letting you struggle with the lock instead. 

Vincent knew he should help you, but the way your back was arched as you tried to open one of the lockboxes out of the dozens was more interesting. His gaze moved over your legs, before looking at your ass in your skirt. 

Feeling the lock give a turn to the side, you peek inside the box to make sure the plans were there. Hand sliding in, you pulled the thin tube out, double-checking the label on the front to make sure it is the one you need. Leaving the box unlocked you turn to face Vincent, a triumphant grin on your face.

Maybe your grin and pride in getting the correct documents were a bit unprofessional but he didn't care. Not since the small room amplified the smell of your perfume and how the spent the better part of the last five minutes checking out your legs. 

Uncapping the tube, you pulled out the blueprints and spread them on the backlist glass table in front of you.

“Here are your prints,” you state awkwardly. You're not sure why he needs them, and why he personally came here. Chidi is keeping guard outside the map room, despite you repeating the hotel policy of no business. 

The Marquis nods in response already focusing on the table. You flatten a small map from the tube in case he needs context on the area. Not likely since he already knows what to look for, proven by his notebook and the constant sound of his pen against the paper taking notes. 

Watching him study the map may have been alright at first, but three hours later you are tired. There are only so many times you can look at his hair and wonder if he would get mad if you run your hands through, or gently tug it. Or what his hands would feel like, especially with his signet ring. 

The grandfather clock tells you that it's only 2:36 am but you feel like it's later. Even Vincent looks slightly less than perfect, hair falling out of place from where he had gelled it that morning.

He is a guest of your hotel so you're going to keep helping him no matter how long he stays. Just with a bit less optimism. 

“Mademoiselle?” Your eyes snap to his face at the sound of his voice, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“You look tired. You should go to bed,” he comments. 

Wow. Thanks, you think. 

“I’m okay. I’m happy to stay here as long as you need,” you say while hoping he leaves soon. “How are the plans going? The cartographer can help you with the finer details when he gets back.” 

“That is not necessary. I have all I need here.” He slowly stretches and starts to stand. You never considered it but being hunched over the table must have been hell on his back given his above-average height. Finally seeing your chance to go to bed, you quickly make it over to the door, opening it for him. 

“Merci, again.” He thanks you as if this is not your job. 

“Do you want me to walk you to the main door?” You have all your floor plans memorized. 

“We are fine.” He replies. 

He looks at you and you can't read his expression. He's less tense, obviously getting what he needed from the plans. 

“The high table did a good job making you the manager.” 

You feel pride swell in your chest, despite the exhaustion you feel behind your eyes. 

“Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle” 

“Bonne nuit. Bon matin.” You quietly wish him as he leaves, wasting no time putting the plans away and locking the map room door. 

You let out another exhaust of bitter smoke, watching it curl away on the cool night air. You didn't start smoking in Paris, but dropped and picked the habit a few times.

“Fumes-tu, Mademoiselle?” a voice behind you makes you flinch. You didn’t tell anyone that you have a secret smoking place, let alone that you went out to smoke. 

You spin around before relaxing at the sight of the Marquis, clad in a dark suit, his signature pin on the lapel reflecting the light. 

You nod, before realizing he probably can't see you well under the lights in the alcove. He is by your side quickly, long legs carrying him the short distance. 

You tip your head to the small table, where your rolling papers, tobacco and other smoking paraphernalia sit in a silent offer. Vincent looks at the table before facing you again. Guess he's too fancy to smoke you assume while taking a drag.

You turn your head to blow out more smoke, careful not to blow it in this direction, a hard feat considering he was extremely close to you. The smell of his cologne drifted under the smell of smoke. 

You move your cigarette down and out to the side, fully ready to see why the Marquis interrupted you. Watching his face, his eyes dipped down to your lips and then back to your eyes almost a silent asking. The smooth and sophisticated era was still there but there was uncertainty under it. 

You slowly leaned closer, not wanting to make the first move, but you want this to happen. He hand-cupped your face, the cool metal of the ring nice as he shifted closer, leaving a small gap for you to make the final push to kiss him. Just a few more inches and then -

Pain. A sharp burning pain on your pinky finger. 

You jerk back, trying to examine what happened. Your cigarette slipped while you were distracted and the glowing embers of the end dropped only to land on your pinky. 

“Shit. Sorry,” you apologize, letting out a nervous huff of a laugh while holding up your burn. The Marquis was unreadable, hand withdrawn. Does he think you rejected him? 

He reaches for your wrist and you let him take it. Slowly he brings your hand up to the outdoor lamp to inspect your burn. The stinging has subsided but you are sure the flesh is a bit swollen. 

With his free hand, he takes the offending cigarette and brings it to his lips. You can't help but stare, cigarette burns long forgotten as you watch him take a deep inhale, before exhaling over your head, so no smoke blows in your face. Part of you regret not making the final push to kiss him, while another hopes he takes another puff. 

Vincent brings your cigarette down to examine it in better lighting before placing it back in your hand, still firmly in his grasp. 

“It is not a well-rolled cigarette. It is too tight.”

There it is you think. The classic Vincent snark. But you secretly hope he rolls one so you can watch his hands and watch him smoke it. 

“You don’t have to smoke it.” 

“I just wanted to give you this.” He reaches into his suitcoat pocket, retrieving a white envelope. His hands brush yours while you grab it. 

You know his handwriting from the time with him in the map room, and you could easily tell he wrote your name on the front. 

“Thank you?” you weren't sure what was inside but you were being all the things he described you as. 

“I will go, and let you read it.” 

You watch him leave, thoughts racing too fast to try and save the situation.

Do you call out after him? Does he think you rejected him? Maybe not because he still gave you the envelope. 

You ash your cigarette before collecting your things and going back to your office. Maybe things would make more sense there.

Taglist: @heartrot666

[medlarmeadows]

/// spoilers for jrwi riptide ep 114

THIS EPISODE MAN i need to shake grizzly oh my goodness. the writing, the descriptions, the soundtrack and effects used kept me so immersed and so hooked on the episode. hands down one of my favourite episodes from start to finish.

i love how as a watcher i felt the fear and dread without it having to be spelled out for me. i love how the monsters were basically amnesia the bunker rules and i didn't even realise it until bizly pointed it out and i was like :O

i made a lot of :O faces as i watched this actually. so many jaw dropping moments in terms of plot and events, and also the choices the PCs made

so many things could've gone wrong. like if gillion hadn't cast death ward on himself the first and second time, he would've been straight up DEAD twice over. if chip had gotten eaten by the monster, who know what would happen next?

this podcast is insane man. like wow. just so amazed by this episode

kinda wished i hadn't let myself get spoiled about doppel!gilly, but somehow the reveal was still a shocking experience. and actually a truly terrifying experience watching albatrio fight doppel!gilly because it really showed how much of a tank gillion actually is and how much damage he can deal

damn. i got so many words and none at the same time. this episode just blew my socks off

[akiraruru]

(๑•̀д•́๑) " 𝘼𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙙𝙤 "

Included: Kaeya, Diluc, Albedo, Zhongli, Raiden Ei, gn! Reader

CW: Mentions of drinking.

A/n: Stan twice for better life (stream set me free on Spotify!) Possibly ooc, not proofread

Kaeya:

▶ You know when the bartender serves your drinks? And when you go and get your drink he'll snatch it before you can before giving it to you. I don't know why but I just feel like he'll do this to tease you lol, he doesn't do it often though.

▶ It's really frustrating because it's like when you're about to eat something but your siblings get to it before you. Kaeya finds it funny how your face turns when he does it.

▶ Like imagine you're so excited to get your drink but then BAM snatched.

▶ At first you'd be a tad bit confused because he didn't say anything about it so you'd just kind of ask him why after a while.

▶ When you ask Kaeya about it he'll just laugh it off and say he's just simply teasing you.

"Okay here are your drinks, hope you guys enjoy it" the bartender says while they put down your and kaeya's drink "Thank you " Kaeya says in thanks to the bartender, you went to get your drink but kaeya got it before you, you looked at him in confusion as to what he's doing "Why'd you get my drink?" You ask while he just chuckled and put it back on the table. After a while you've slowly grown used to this particular habit of his.

Diluc:

▶ Diluc has this habit where he would pop out of nowhere behind you and suddenly touch you without saying a word before greeting you hello.

▶ It's kinda creepy too because you don't really know when he arrived behind you because of his quiet ass.

▶ AND AND he would just smile at you innocently as if he didn't just pop out of nowhere and scare you.

▶ Diluc doesn't really get why you get startled because he thought you always knew he was coming right up behind you.

▶ Now this can be real annoying especially if you get startled or scared easily lol.

▶ If you ever tell Diluc about it, he'll try his best to make his presence known less scary.

Since Adelinde was on a day off you were cleaning the dishes after you and Diluc had dinner, after he ate, he excused himself as he had documents to sign so obviously you thought that he was upstairs. Well, you were kinda right but he decided to do them later and came back down to see you washing the dishes, you didn't notice him coming up behind you as you continued to sway your hips while singing. He suddenly puts his hands on your waist causing you to jump and look behind you quickly.

"What do you want to do tonight?"

He asks, you look at him with sightly wide eyes before returning your attention back to washing the dishes.

Albedo:

▶ I will be doing this in modern au because why not.

▶ Albedo has a habit of pointing out your spelling/mistakes in chats.

▶ He would correct them too.

▶ Like it would just be a tiny typo then he's be saying "you spelt ___ wrong"

▶ I love albedo but PLEASE, he's sometimes so logical at times it isn't funny any more.

▶ He will literally notice the slightest mistakes in your grammar. Like you didn't put the comma in the right place? He'll notice.

☑ [name]: Hey 'bedo you coming later?

☑ Albedo: You forgot to add a comma.

▶ Leave them grammar mistakes alone.

☑ [name]: Did you knoo about the homework yesterday?

☑ Albedo: *know. Yes I did, thanks for reminding me.

☑ [name]: okay, it's due tomorrow

Zhongli:

▶ Zhongli's annoying habit is that he sometimes speaks in deep words and would often not say what it means (this is me fr in my native language, I never understood deep words T-T)

▶ You'd be having a normal conversation with him and then he'll say something like 'Mellifluous' and then if you ask him he'll just look at you for a second then go back to what he was talking about.

▶ But if he's feeling generous he'll actually say what it means.

▶ Mellifluous is a word to describe someone's voice as sweet-sounding or musical lol.

▶ These stuff usually happens when he's telling a story that happened when he was still an archon or whenever he's talking about stuff like flowers, history, etc..

▶ It also happens often at tea time! Since that's where he mostly tell his stories and experiences.

▶ While you kinda found it confusing, it was also kinda attractive since he speaks so proper and formal.

"Guizhong is a kind girl, her voice was mellifluous and smooth. It's pleasant to hear" He said as he talked about his old friend Guizhong. "Wait, what's mellifluous?" You ask, not knowing what the word means "Ah.." He just said before looking down at his tea then continues to talk about Guizhong, about how she was when she was still alive. You sat there in confusion.

After a while he finally says what it means "Mellifluous means that someone's voice sounds sweet or pleasant to the ear"

Raiden Ei:

▶ I THINK we know what she does.

▶ Raiden would sometimes steal your mochi/sweets when you aren't looking.

▶ Like for example you got distracted by something, either by a person talking to you or when she purposely distracts you by saying things like "[name] look! There's a cute cat over there"

▶ She'll make sure you're fully distracted before getting a piece and stuffing it in her mouth lol.

▶ Sometimes you can tell she ate a piece because of the residue on the sides of her mouth lol.

▶ If you ever notice a piece is missing and you ask her about it she'll just deny it and say that you already ate it (gaslighting at its fullest)

▶ She'll just look at you confused as if she didn't just sneak a snack into her mouth when you ask her about it 😒.

▶ You can tell she ate it though, but we don't talk about that, you don't have the heart to tell her.

You were munching on some cookies while also giving bites to Ei because you know how much she loves sweet stuff "[name] look is that yae?" Ei says while pointing her finger at something in order to distract you "hm?" You acknowledged as you turned around where her finger was facing, while you were trying to see where Yae is Ei took a cookie or two from the container it was in and quickly ate it "hmm.. I don't see her" You say, not being able to see the pink haired girl. You turn back to your cookies and there was only one left "huh, I swear there were two cookies left" You said while you searched the table, you then turned to Ei and asked "Ei have you-" You cut your self off as Ei looked at you with an innocent face while you notice the crumbs on the corners of her mouth that wasn't there before.

Likes, follows, reblogs, and any kind of feedback is appreciated!

[keeksandgigz]

how you get the girl- day 3 of keeks's lover house series

Day 3 of my Lover House series♡

♡Best Friend! Steve Harrington x Fem! Reader♡

modern setting, playful banter, this is tooth rotting and disgusting, a smidge of angst, all my readers are gonna be queer sorry pookies <3- i'm actually not totally sure about this one, but I hope you enjoy regardless <3

Read Day 1 here! Day 2 here!

"broke your heart and put it back together/ i would wait for ever and ever"

"Listen, it's not my fault you're going through a dry spell right now" you bolt through the door of your apartment, the boy following you with an armful of grocery bags.

"It's not a dry spell. It's not a sex thing. I just can't get anyone to like me anymore, let alone guys" you huff, setting down the groceries. It's been a continuous thing, you coming to him to complain about how slim the dating scene has been looking for you.

"Well, if you weren't an asshole maybe girls would like you more" he grins at you, at that, you proceed to punch him in the arm.

"I promise you, I'm not being an asshole. I did everything you told me" you whine, plopping yourself on the couch with a bag of spicy chips.

You'd been begging Steve to give you pointers on how to strike some luck in the dating scene. Except the pointers were all wrong.

When you asked Steve to help you to at least be able to get a date, he rose to the occasion. Or at least you thought he did.

With the amount of experience that he has, you didn't think twice about asking him. However, Steve had other plans.

He didn't seem to like the idea of you going out with other guys. Or girls. Or literally anyone who wasn't him. One small detail got in the way of him asking you out. You've been his best friend since you started college.

You were in the same orientation group freshman year and he saw you sitting all by yourself at one of the food hall tables. He was the only out of state student in your group- a match made in heaven.

Too much of a pussy to ask you out, there you are. Your senior year in college sharing an apartment off campus that his dad is very kindly paying for.

And while Steve blossomed and bloomed in the popular crowd, branching out and joining fraternities- you seemed to be okay with just being Steve's best friend.

It did give you automatic invites to countless frat parties you never went to, just because they weren't your scene, unless it was a gala, then he'd always ask you to be his plus one.

A concept you never understood, with all the girls you'd find sitting on your couch in the morning as they quietly nursed a cup of coffee- looking like Steve had cured them of every ailment- he still asked you to go with him to those things.

Tired (and maybe a little jealous) of the banging of his headboard against your shared wall, you'd started heading to the library to study. The cute guy always studying calc began to catch your eye. And with every time you'd headed to the library, he got closer and closer. Until he asked you if you wanted to grab a coffee in the morning.

In a panicked frenzy you kicked the pretty blonde in Steve's bed out and told him to get decent. It was an emergency. In no time you were plopped on the couch, phone in hand taking notes of whatever Steve was saying.

"You can't be nice to him on the first date. You have to, y'know, bully him a little bit. Show him a little banter" he runs a hand through his hair, and for a second you falter. Did you actually wanna go on that date with cute calc guy?

"I know guys like him. If you're nice to him they're gonna start thinking you're gonna give it to him, like, immediately" he scoffs. Steve knew he was pulling out these tips out of his ass, but cute calc guy needed to go.

So you follow Steve's pointers to a T. Cute calc guy never asked you for a second date.

So there you are.

"I promise you, I'm not being an asshole. I did everything you told me" you whine, plopping yourself on the couch with a bag of spicy chips.

"I mean, I was being an asshole, but it was, y'know, banter" you stuff your mouth with chips, and Steve feels like the asshole now. He shouldn't have played with you like that. Especially knowing how much it weighed on you.

So he sits down next to you, he places hand on your knee. He feels like shit.

"I shouldn't have given you those pointers" he mumbles, unable to hold eye contact. He did that when he majorly fucked up.

"And why's that?" you ask him, a concerned look in your eyes, unable to read his face.

"Because I pulled them out of my ass" he sighs, hand brushing the bridge of his nose "I didn't want you to hang out with that guy"

Your heart falls.

"Why the fuck would you not want me going out with him? Are you my fucking dad?" oh you were furious.

He couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Because I'm an asshole who can't admit I've liked you since our freshman year" he blurts out.

All he hears is silence, before you stand up and go to your room, slamming the door.

You spend the next days not being able to fathom why Steve wouldn't tell you. On the other side, however, you seemed to be relieved that Steve at least reciprocated your feelings.

You just couldn't look at him yet. And judging from how much of a pussy Steve had been hiding his feelings for you for four years, there's a long waiting game ahead of you.

It takes Steve a week to come grovel at your door begging for forgiveness. A fancy bouquet of flowers in one hand, a box of your favorite chocolates in the other. He's drenched from head to toe.

You eye him up and down, still a bit skeptical.

"I- uhhh walked in the rain to get you these. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry" he hands you the flowers and the chocolates. You take them with a bit of hesitation.

"I forgive you if you take me on a date" you lean on the doorframe of your room. Steve's eyes bug out of his head. Have you had a thing for him this whole time?

"I've liked you since about the same time you started liking me, Steve. Cute calc guy was just to make you, I dunno, jealous. Or maybe so that I could feel better about myself" you shrug, but Steve doesn't respond. Instead he cups your cheek and kisses you.

A delicate kiss, with a sigh of relief on the side. He couldn't believe that after all this time you idiots liked each other the whole time.

He detaches from you, noses still touching "You're gonna need some help eating those chocolates" he whispers. You laugh against his lips.

Later, when you're on your third or fourth Harry Potter movie, he turns and sees you've fallen asleep. Steve just smiles to himself.

At least he got the girl in the end.

Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is so incredibly appreciated!

day 4 is folklore! fill out the form here!

tagging some gals (gender neutral) <;3: @strangerstilinski, @taintedcigs, @melodymunson, @reidsbtch, @eddies-house, @eddiesxangel, @lavendermunson, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @eiightysixbaby

[starlightmeissa]

Hey! I just recently found your Magneto fic and I am absolutely obsessed. Any updates coming in the future?

i’m super glad you enjoyed magneto! this ask has gotten me to finally put a discontinued in the description of magneto. it’s not at ALL because of you in particular, but i’ve realized by putting off adding it to the description i’ll keep giving people false hope. forgive me if i use this ask for a tediously long post describing why exactly i will never update magneto, so i can link it easily for anyone with similar questions in the future. 😭

so. short answer? no. magneto will probably never be updated. i’m really sorry for that. my interests have changed since graduating high school and i don’t really want to write bnha anymore.

long answer?

i started writing magneto pre-pandemic during my junior year of high school. i had seen there was only about a 100 self inserts for bnha at the time and thought “well, if i post something it’ll probably get a lot of attention, since the fandom is growing in popularity a lot and there’s a scarcity here!” 2019 was an interesting year for fanfic in bnha, since it didn't have enough content for the growing eyes looking for it.

i ended up being very correct. too correct. i actively updated magneto over the course of half a year, roughly, and in that time it rapidly climbed in attention. since 2020 ive only updated it about twice(?) and that hasn’t deterred the new readers it’s gotten. i get comments every other day asking about updates.

magneto is currently the most kudo-ed bnha si-oc on the entirety of ao3. which is fucking insane. i don’t think it deserves it, but popularity is rarely about deserving. usually it’s about being just good enough, just novel enough, and being posted at the right time.

but i digress: it doesn’t feel possible for me to update magneto for a variety of reasons.

1) my disinterest in the setting would make any future update disingenuous.

i haven’t been actively into the bnha fandom in about four years now. i don’t really read bnha fic aside from the very occasional si-oc, nor have i kept up with the manga or anime. the only fic i’ve ever written for the fandom is magneto, and it’ll probably always be my only fic for the fandom. (watch me say that and be wrong in the next few years LMAO)

it would be really rude of me to stomp into a space i don’t even like anymore and post something lackluster and lacking in passion. especially with the express intention of gaining more engagement from readers. like it or not, magneto IS the most popular si for bnha, and i think i drive attention away from better books by updating and inadvertently preserving that position in the ranking.

I can't believe no one has written any "self-insert as Bakugou" fanfics yet what a bunch of cowards by the_incidental_author and i have jostled back and forth for that #1 kudo-ed spot for the past five years. which i admit has been fun, but i would very much like for them to overtake me. it’s clear (to me, at least) that they actually enjoy writing bnha more than me and update more often to boot.

i fully welcome ANY fic to take magneto's position at this point, if only so that less people comment how poorly written it is. which leads me into my next point.

2) my writing style has SIGNIFICANTLY changed over the past five years.

when i do my yearly reread of magneto i actively cringe and have to resist the urge to rewrite every chapter in a separate google doc. in any hypothetical world where i do add to magneto, i do a complete rewrite. in no particular order, the things i would change are:

kenzo being defined by three character traits and nothing else. her exhaustion, her mild spite for her father, and her aimless wandering through the plot

better grammar. dear god the grammar errors. dear god the SPELLING ERRORS

the pov characters being more developed and feeling more like Individual People with their own personal motivations and histories that are not defined by what the plot needs from them (cough, reacting to how cool kenzo is)

not just recapping each anime episode and stating what kenzo would do in that situation

placing greater focus on the way quirk society discriminates against those with undesirable quirks and backgrounds. what does it really mean to be the child of a criminal in a world where people assume that sort of thing is hereditary?

kenzo's classmates should've been more classist in general, especially in relation to quirk discrimination. UA is a school only the most wealthy and powerful get into, there's no way there wouldn't be social disconnects that create tension between a dead eyed daughter of a villain and more than a few nepo babies.

if you have any interest in naruto, skyrim, asoiaf or dragon age you've probably read my more recent fics. fluffy clouds and a tinge of wonder, the fic i have updated the most this year, is a really good example of how significantly my writing has evolved since starting magneto in 2019. my technical skill and style have changed enough that it just would be tonally jarring for me to update magneto without outright rewriting everything.

like. im being so fr with you right now, i didn't learn how to start outlining until about a YEAR AGO. magneto was written on a chapter by chapter basis with little idea of where exactly it was going. i implied that there would be a future confrontation between kenzo and her father, but i didn't have any idea of HOW that would occur or even what the consequences of it would be.

adding to magneto as it is would be like trying to add a sleeve to a shirt that's missing it's entire back panel and most of it's front. i'd be playing catch up with the plot and end up having to rewrite previous chapters anyways.

3) bnha commentors have been kind of really mean to me compared to other fandoms i've written for LMAO

ok. please don't draw and quarter me for this. MOST commentors have been extremely complimentary, and kind. besides the occasional bomb of like seven comments in my inbox of ten hearts from one user (which, sweet, but please don't do that) the bnha fandom has been totally fine.

but a very small minority have been really pushy about making me update a fic i have clearly not touched in two years, and realistically haven't actively updated in four. from comments just saying "wow this is great. update soon." to DETAILED reviews of how bad my fic is and how they can't believe how garbage like magneto is so popular.

which like. i don't feel personally attacked by? i fully agree that magneto is bad for the previously stated reasons. i wouldn't read magneto if i were a casual reader and hadn't written it. usually the second kind of comment really annoys me because of it's presumption of importance and for how soul crushing it would have been for sixteen-year-old me to read.

bnha as a fandom, especially in recent years, has felt more and more like they treat fic like something that is created in a vacuum. souless content that exists for readers to consume. the comments don't go to an inbox, they go to a void, so really it doesn't matter if i say something really belligerent to an author i don't know about a Self Insert Fanfic They Wrote In Between Rehearsals For Their High School Play.

but whatever. if it had just been me experiencing that i would've written it off as like just my fic, but a close friend and frequent cowriter of mine Reavv has dealt with this a lot more than me.

they wrote It's a like a time travel comedy, without the comedy, another very popular bnha fic, and had to private it because people were going to their other UNRELATED fics and badgering them to update it. people still go into their comments insisting they unprivate it, oblivious to the fact that every time they ask it adds another year to reavv's internal timer for when they will.

a combination of my own experiences and reavv's have completely put me off of writing bnha i'll be fr. even if i was still in the fandom, the majority of my fics will always be about fucking dragon age and skyrim. i do not want random bnha fans coming into my dragon age fics and, AFTER NOT READING THE FIC, saying that since im active i should clearly update my bnha fics. that's a nightmare scenario for me.

in conclusion

i am so glad that people like magneto, i'm glad that i wrote magneto. the initial jump in readers i got from magneto gave me the confidence to write other fics, and the alternating pov format is a staple of most of my writing now. some of the comments i got for that magneto when i was a teenager were the only things that kept my ass going.

but magneto is never being updated. i don't even think it's gonna be rewritten. i really am sorry about that, but it is what it is. thank you for reading it, thank you for loving it, thank you for feeling ambivalent about it. good talk.

btw to the original asker, again. this is NOT a rant directed at you, you just inspired some Thoughts in me and i had to let them loose.

[sparkling-pink-lemonade]

I've been curious to look into Springtrap and Deliah, as I've seen some of the art of it and really liked the style, and hadn't previously heard of it. All I knew was that the relation between the two title characters was suspiciously close, and I was down to see more.

So when I see a video called "The DISGUSTING Truth About Springtrap and Deliah", I just think "oh good, an anti, now I know I'm gonna get all the juicy, hardly censored, invasive details". And I was so fucking right. Not only do I get a summary of the comic so detailed, that I honestly don't even need to read it for myself, but I get to see the drama around it in one sitting.

I just wanna rant about the stupidity of the video~

The creator of the video just keeps going and going about how abusive and creepy springtrap is, and how that would be fine if it was portrayed as a bad thing, rather than trying to "guilt trip" the audience into feeling bad for springtrap. Like honey, honey noo. That's the fucking point. This may be surprising, but even the most horrific people are still fucking people. They aren't one dimensional, mustache twirling villains. Plus, don't forget that unreliable narrator is a thing that is commonly used in storytelling. Not to mention, you want the comic to show how the relationship is bad, and springtrap needs to get far far away from deliah? Why the fuck then do you think the light/good ending features springtrap leaving her life for good, and trying to figure his shit out without her?

Also, when getting into the "dark truth about the author", it's fucking hilarious to see this warning not once, but twice. The second time, censoring the word "proship" with a zero. I get that "demonetization" is a thing, but if you had even half an ounce of respect or maturity for the topic you're approaching, monetization shouldn't matter, and you'd use the full and correct spelling of the subjects you are warning about, rather than using L33T SP34K to censor yourself.

Continuing, between these warnings the youtuber goes "the creator really liked to draw them and roleplay them in romantic and sexual relationships that were extremely violent and often non-consensual in nature. Yeah, absolutely disgusting".

That's like, just your opinion man.

"And cause I know there's gonna be at least one person that's gonna say something like 'oh but it's fictional, they're just characters, it doesn't hurt anyone,' first of all shut up. It's still weird and I don't like you."

Why? Afraid of a decent argument? You just gave two opinions and one opinion was directed at your opponent, rather than backing your claim of why this is disgusting. And anyone who uses weird as an insult needs to grow up.

"Second of all, [proceeds to describe how the author was manipulative towards friends, and used their fame to pressure others into doing erp, while showing a screenshot of someone claiming the creator would threaten to self harm for attention] And if you think THAT'S okay by any means, shut up, I double don't like you."

Holy shit man, first, correlation =/= causation. Just cause the creator was extremely mentally ill, and wrongfully hurt people due to their insecurities (everyone is sooo supportive of being there for the mentally ill, until they actually start showing symptoms that aren't pretty), doesn't mean that the depiction of fictional characters in taboo fantasies causes an inherent harm or encouragement of toxic behavior.

Seriously, if you think the author didn't know these negative traits were so wrong, and desperately wanted, yet feared, being held accountable for their actions, feeling trapped by their own issues, why the hell do you think they projected onto springtrap so hard, only for the good ending to have them lose their first and only friend in order to open up the door to accountability and self improvement? The creator was fucking 16 at the time! A time where more often than not, many teens suffering from mental illness find their issues taking a sudden nosedive in severity, drowning in the deep end, desperately searching for any coping mechanism. Being able to show that level of self awareness and desire to improve while navigating their darker thoughts with art is amazing. Even if they were far from perfect and were a terrible friend at the time, it's still something for a 16 year old.

So get over your fucking high horse and stop justifying your disgust towards dark fiction with your thinly veiled ableism.

Also youtuber really said they'd be heavily censoring the more nsfw screenshots, but they are hardly censored, only blurring half the words that could refer to erogenous body parts, while keeping the others in. Plus the blurring is a weak gaussian blur, so you can still easily read the words that are blurred. It's a pathetic attempt to play the better, pure role-model, while putting in 0 effort to what you claim.

funny at the end that they ask proshippers not to interact, watch their videos, and respect their boundaries

like damn, you sure couldn't respect the fact that sharing 7 year old private sexual dms of someone who was 16 definitely violates several boundaries

anyway that is all, time to remove this from my watch history so youtube doesn't recommend me more of their shit