#I have no idea what I’m doing. in general. in life. right now. I’m lost.

[tellingtell5]

The parting glass 《Remmick, sinners x reader 》

Remmick x reader

A/N: Ever since I watched Sinners, I’ve been completely mesmerized by everything—the music, the characters, the cinematography. Everything. I was captivated by all the characters. And Remmick's character brought me right back to that time in my life when I was obsessed with vampires. I'm not condoning any of the character’s actions in the film—it simply gave me an idea for a story. I’m fascinated by the idea that music could be a way to connect with one’s ancestors.

I've actually been listening to this song while writing (I still can't get over sunrise of the reaping).

Be gentle please, is my first readers pov.

Angst. Lost.

The wind tousles your hair, veiling your vision with dark strands. Through this curtain, the world appears distorted. You don't bother to brush it aside; instead, you let it conceal the tears that have been escaping since yesterday.​

An eerie silence envelops you, sending shivers down your spine. Soon, it will be broken by the pastor's deep voice, offering generic words for a soul considered only in the final tally.​

You tremble—not from the cold that reddens your ears, making them throb in a way you've never noticed before—but from a sharp pain that grips your head. You cross your arms, resisting the urge to clutch your temples, hoping the others won't think you're shielding yourself from the prayers.​

A moan of grief pierces the air, resonating in your bones. Should you display such raw sorrow for this profound loss? Yet, you feel numb, events clumping into a ball lodged in your throat—neither swallowable nor expellable.

You're suspended in a strange limbo, where sorrow whispers icy words at your nape, raising goosebumps and making your skin feel alien, as if it no longer belongs to you. A void nests in your chest, paradoxically heavy, pressing against your throat, reaching your eyes, where absence morphs into an unrelenting itch.​

Parting your lips, you inhale, hoping the air will dissolve this ghostly discomfort. Yet, the taste of freshly turned earth fills your mouth. You imagine tasting salt in the air, despite being far from the sea. Perhaps it's from the tears shed over time, saturating the atmosphere with briny sorrow.​

It's late; the sun no longer illuminates the varnished coffin. Instead, the moon's first rays cast shadows on the mourners' faces, adding a macabre hue to the scene.​

Lost in thought, you don't notice the preacher has finished speaking, now inviting others to bid farewell to the body amidst sobs. A part of you is relieved not to have heard the speech from someone who didn't truly know your grandmother. In her final years, she renounced God and avoided church since leaving her homeland. "Things are different here, love," she once told you when you were eight, urging her to attend Sunday service.​

A warm hand on your shoulder startles you, eliciting a sound akin to a whimper. You recoil from the touch that burns like embers.​

Turning, you see your father's face, and the void in your chest deepens. He's tearless—you've never seen him cry—not even now, bidding farewell to his mother. His eyes are sunken, shadowed. A chill runs through you as you imagine the corpse in the coffin isn't your grandmother, but this man, barely standing beside you. His skin sags over his bones, as if grief, not worms, is decaying him, dulling his features.​

His eyes, now dark voids, silently plead with you to do what he cannot.​

You break free from his grasp, your steps unsteady, as if loss has erased basic instincts like walking. The mourners' attention weighs on you; your heart races, each beat a wave of nausea and dizziness. A panic attack grips you—is it the anticipation of others? The fear they'll realize you have nothing to say, despite being raised by her? What could you say? She won't hear it. But this isn't for the departed; it's for those left behind.​

You open your mouth, but only erratic breaths escape, vertigo hitting hard. A song lyric surfaces—a tune you found long ago in one of your grandmother's hidden journals.​

You consider singing it but hesitate, fearing consequences. Even in her absence, the act feels forbidden. Yet, a melody rises within you, starting as a barely audible murmur, causing heads to turn in alarm.​

At home, raising your voice in song was strictly prohibited—not even humming. Your nana set that rule long before your birth, after fleeing her homeland. The reasons were never discussed, but you were taught that singing could bring dire consequences.​

You'd never heard your family sing. Your only exposure came from sneaking into the church to listen to the choir, your heart syncing with the forbidden, exhilarating rhythms.​

"Of all the money that e'er I had I have spent it in good company Oh and all the harm I've ever done Alas, it was to none but me"​

The words escape with unexpected force. It's your first time singing publicly. The mourners hold their breath; sorrow replaced by fear. Yet, no one stops you. A sob interrupts you, prompting a pause. In that moment, you recall discovering the journal, feeling the leather and coarse paper beneath your fingers. You'd hidden it under a loose floorboard, reading it only when your father allowed trips to town. You'd lie about visiting your mother's friends, instead finding solace under an old tree, imagining how to sing those words.​

"And all I've done for want of wit To memory now I can't recall So fill to me the parting glass Good night and joy be to you all.."​

Your grandmother left no instructions on how to sing it. You always wanted to ask her, to challenge the absurd rule imposed at home.​

"So fill to me the parting glass And drink a health whate'er befalls Then gently rise and softly call Good night and joy be to you all."​

Alongside that song, many others emerged. You weep, thinking of your nana's delicate handwriting, wishing you could have sung with her. When your voice breaks, you remember the first times you dared to give rhythm to those written words. They seemed beautiful, but their meaning only became clear once voiced. Each time, the surroundings felt charged with something unknown, and you never felt alone—just like now.​

"Of all the comrades that e'er I had They're sorry for my going away And all the sweethearts that e'er I had They would wish me one more day to stay"​

You continue singing, sensing a peculiar buzz in the air. The atmosphere grows dense, hard to breathe. Goosebumps rise again, but you persist. You fear you're losing your mind when you feel your nana's comforting presence beside you. You worry she's returned to scold you for disobedience. But your heart swells with longing, reminiscent of childhood nights when she'd sit by your bed, sharing ancient, soothing tales. The song falters with another sob as you feel her lips on your forehead, bidding you farewell. This time, she won't be there in the morning, helping your father prepare breakfast.

But since it fell into my lot That I should rise and you should not I'll gently rise and softly call Good night and joy be to you all

The moment you hummed that last verse, one of Nana's old notes finally made sense. You remember the ones she used to leave tucked beside songs, written in a shaky but stubborn hand. "It’s not just a meeting with our ancestors. It calls dark things, too." You never really understood what she meant—until now.

Because as you sang, you didn’t just feel her love in the warmth prickling at the back of your neck; you smelled the lilies—Mum’s lilies—the ones that always followed her like a whisper.

So fill to me the parting glass And drink a health whate'er befalls Then gently rise and softly call Good night and joy be to you all

You kept humming when the words stuck in your throat. A lump had taken root there, and all you could manage was a choked, humming mmm. Then Dad pulled you close—too fast, too tight. His arms crushed around you, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you were still a little girl. You buried your face in his shirt, grabbed fistfuls of it like it could hold you together, and felt warm drops fall into your hair.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t want to see what grief had done to your father’s face.

"Darlin'," his voice cracked. "I appreciate it—truly, I do. It was beautiful. But don’t do that again."

Your heart broke right there. Shattered like glass in your chest. You clung to him harder, trying to understand. Had he felt them too? Nana. Mum. Their presence was thick around you, like fog—real, undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but Dad’s chest jolted as he tried to swallow a sob. That was your answer. He had felt it.

Then why was he asking you to stop?

Maybe it was just the way things were.

One of your aunts stepped forward, her cheeks raw and puffy, lips pressed tight with grief and something else—anger. She'd just come from dropping a fistful of earth into Nana’s grave. You hadn’t seen her in years.

Dad let go and turned to her. You watched them, a new fury smoldering low in your gut.

"Tell the girl not to do that again," your aunt hissed. Her words were wet, her teeth clenched like she was trying to bite back a curse. "She’ll doom us all."

"She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She just wanted to say goodbye."

"We all felt it. So what else heard her, ah?"

You didn’t understand. Not the words exactly. But the fear in them struck you like cold water. Still, something inside you lit up—relief, maybe. You weren’t going mad. Nana had been there. You hadn’t imagined it.

But what did she mean by "what else"?

Who else.

Your thoughts scattered as Dad’s hand found your shoulder. Wordless, he turned you toward the house. You walked, each step sinking into the earth like it wanted to drag you under. Home didn’t feel like home.

It was too quiet. Too hollow.

You found yourself thinking: maybe it was Nana who made this place feel alive. Her muttered jokes, her laugh that didn’t match her years. Maybe she’d kept the shadows at bay just by being here.

Dad murmured an apology and vanished into his room, dragging his feet like the weight of the day had finally broken him.

You stayed behind. Alone. In the still, dark kitchen.

You closed your eyes, bracing against the swell of memories. The song had helped somehow—it had let something out, loosened that hard knot in your chest. But now those feelings were flooding back, fast and heavy, crashing over your ribs.

You dropped to your knees. The wooden floor bit into your skin. Hands clapped over your mouth to stifle the sobs. You didn’t want him to hear.

Then: knock knock.

A gentle tapping.

Like whoever was outside didn’t want anyone else to know they were there.

You froze.

Another knock. A whisper against the silence.

Your mind jumped to wild places. Madness, maybe. Maybe you’d finally cracked. But no—it was real. You felt the floor under your palms. You heard it.

Knock. Knock.

You pushed yourself up, legs trembling, and stumbled to the door.

When your fingers brushed the chain lock, a cold spark shot through your nerves. You paused. Something about this was wrong. All day, people had come to offer condolences. Friends, neighbors, even strangers with kind words and too many flowers.

But none of them had made you feel like this. Like something was watching. Waiting.

Your hand shook as you slid the chain free.

You both held your breath.

Maybe it was just another neighbor—someone who’d only just heard, coming by late to pay their respects. But it was late. The world wouldn’t stop turning just because Nana had died. Tomorrow people would go to work, carry on. Anyone who knocked now must be truly shaken by her passing.

You couldn’t leave them standing in the dark.

Despite the fear clawing at your spine, you cracked the door just an inch. Through the gap, you saw a figure—head bowed, black hair hanging like a veil.

When the hinges groaned, he looked up.

And smiled.

A trembling, broken smile.

"Evenin."

The voice doesn’t sound wrong—but it doesn’t sound right, either. It slides over your skin like a whisper of fog, too soft, too deliberate, like something that remembers how to sound human but hasn’t done it in a long time. You don’t know why, but every one of your fears sharpens at once.

He's wringing a wool cap between his fingers, knuckles white, shoulders hunched as if weighed down by something heavier than the drizzle behind him. His presence presses at you like a held breath.

"Maud?"

You freeze. Nana's name strikes you hard, straight to the chest. Maud. No one says it. Hearing it now—at your door, from the mouth of a stranger—feels like a door opening that you didn’t unlock.

Your throat tightens, and against your better judgment, you ease the door open a little more. Enough to see him properly. Enough for the rain to scent the threshold. Only your body shields the house now.

"I'm her granddaughter," you say, though your voice comes out brittle, fractured. "If you're here for the funeral, it was earlier today."

He frowns as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. For a beat, his face is blank, like a record skipping—but then he nods slowly, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.

"Aye," he murmurs, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. His accent is thick, low, full of rounded vowels that pull you back to memories you don't own. "I s’pose I’m a bit late."

Then his eyes meet yours.

It hits you in the gut—this wrongness that isn’t danger, not yet, but is watching it unfold in slow motion. There’s something familiar about him, and that’s what unsettles you most. You don’t recognize his face, but the shape of his expression, the tone of his voice, the shadow in his gaze—it stirs a memory in your blood, not your mind.

You do the math. Your gran had to have known him over fifty years ago. He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

"Were you the one singin’ earlier?" he asks suddenly, angling his head toward the woods behind him. His smile is tilted, caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief.

You don’t mean to nod, but your head moves anyway.

That smile grows. Wider. Too wide. Almost to his ears. Something primal stirs in you when your eyes catch his teeth—just a flash—but it’s enough. His canines are... sharper. Longer. You blink, and he presses his lips together again, like he’s hiding something. But the smile doesn’t fade.

"Thought you were someone else," he mutters, voice low. He shakes his head. "You’re the spittin’ image, y’know. Thought for a second I was dreamin’."

You don’t think he meant for you to hear that. But he doesn’t seem to care that you did.

You cross your arms, a shiver slipping up your spine that has nothing to do with the weather. "How did you know Nana?"

His hand moves to the strap across his chest, and you instinctively tense. As if sensing your reaction, he raises his other hand, palm open, in a wordless I won’t hurt you. Slowly—deliberately—he unhooks the strap and lets an object fall against his chest. You can’t place what it is. Some kind of instrument.

"Her songs..." he says, and there's something reverent in the way he says it, like a prayer half-remembered. "They were the best I ever heard. Her voice... somethin’ sacred in it."

The words feel like betrayal.

Gran never sang. She forbade music. Even the rhythmic tap of a finger was met with thunderous silence and a warning glare. She had rules. Music was dangerous. She said it with such fire, such fury, that it left no room for questions.

"When did you hear her sing?"

Your voice cracks mid-sentence. You swallow and try again, but it barely comes out.

His smile wavers. The corner of his mouth tugs as if caught between pride and guilt. You get the distinct, dizzying sense that if you tried to shut the door on him, he’d be able to force his way through without even breaking a sweat. Your fingers grip the door harder. The old wood groans. He notices.

When his eyes meet yours again, something dark passes through them like a storm cloud blotting out the stars.

"You’ve got a gorgeous voice, y’know that, love?"

The terror comes back so fast it’s like you never stopped feeling it. His gaze isn’t just hungry—it’s famished. But his posture is casual, calm. It doesn’t match the intensity behind his eyes. You feel like a deer, caught just seconds before the pounce.

"Why don’t you let me in?" he offers, voice silk. "We could talk about how your gran used to tour the country with her band. She was a marvel, that one."

The temptation creeps up your throat like a song. You don’t know why, but part of you wants to believe him. Wants to know. You can almost feel the invitation forming on your tongue—Come in, please, tell me more. But you bite down on it, hard.

You wince. The copper taste of blood fills your mouth.

A sound escapes him—sharp, desperate.

His nostrils flare. His mouth parts. You watch his pupils swell, and for the briefest instant, his irises flash crimson. You freeze. Hypnotized. There's something in his stare that calls to you, pulls at your feet, urges you forward like a voice in the fog.

You step. Just once. Almost across the threshold.

His breath catches.

You feel the edge of it—whatever he is��waiting, reaching. But then you swallow, hard, forcing the taste of blood back. As if that tiny act breaks the spell, you stagger a step backward, your body yours again.

His face twitches. He shakes his head like a man waking from a dream. That grin returns like it never left.

Your heart is hammering now. You don’t know what almost happened. You don’t want to know. But something deep inside you, something older than memory, whispers: don’t let him in.

"Well?" he asks, almost playfully. "Will you let me come inside, lass?"

You say nothing. You press the door gently, firmly. His smile never falters. He doesn’t stop you. You close it.

Wood touches your forehead. You lean into it, breath caught in your throat. You can’t see him anymore. But somehow... you know he’s still there. Standing on the other side, his breath slow and deliberate, mirroring yours.

His voice comes like a whisper through a dream.

"I’ve come for a reason. I’ve searched too long to walk away now. Help me finish what I started… or bear the cost, my sweet."

The words slither under the crack in the door and settle inside you. Heavy.The fear you’d tried to suppress curls up beside your heart and makes itself at home. You don’t know what he meant by “the cost.”

You just pray you never have to find out

[deangirlsstuff67]

Her Biggest Fan- Part 2

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Who doesn't love a good fantasy or escape from our normal lives. When Y/N started this online adventre she never dreamed it would land her smack dab in the path of her favorite actor. Is there a chance this fantasy might become reality? And will the reality live up to the fantasy?

Warnings: talk of trauma, talk about divorce, language, fluffy Jensen

Authors Note: Here's part two that you were waiting for guys! I hope you enjoy. I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

Catch up with part one here. | Masterlist

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Jay: Do you ever regret your marriage?

You get asked this question a lot. Although it’s usually by friends and family not a complete stranger you met online.

Jay’s the only client you have that knows the truth about what went down. It’s strange but you feel like he never lies to you, in return you don’t lie to him. You leave out personal details and such but he has a general idea of what went down in your life.

Me: No. sounds weird considering what happened but I don’t. For a long time we were happy and in love. We had two beautiful babies together and at the time he was everything I wanted. People grow apart, it happens. Does that make what they did right? No, but it did make getting over him a lot easier.

It’s the truth. I don’t have many regrets in life. I’ve lived it basically the way I’ve always wanted. Sure we all make mistakes, we’re human, but I wouldn’t change what happened for the world. At that time in my life my ex husband was everything I could have wanted or needed.

Those needs and wants changed as the years went on. I grew up and he basically stayed 18 years old. That led to fights and bickering, which eventually led to him chasing my best friend and her becoming the other woman.

The day he left I lost not only my husband but my friend. It sucked. But again, I wouldn’t change how it happened. She was very much not a friend if she was willing to destroy my family instead of telling him to back off when he started flirting with her.

She’s just as much to blame as he is. I do hate her more though. I’ll be waiting to watch karma kick her ass in time.

Jay: That’s what I like about you, a horrible thing happens to you and here you are looking at the good side and taking the positive from it. So many people would be shallow and vindictive.

Me: Haha don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my moments within this divorce where I wasn’t close to happy go lucky or I was screaming at her in her drive way. I ain’t no angel. But in the long run I don’t get the point in living life in misery. I’m happy with myself and my life, my kids are happier, that’s all that matters to me.

Jay: You’re a good mom you know that.

Me: Jay, baby you don’t know me.

Jay: I know enough :) from what you say, I don’t need to know you in person. People who aren’t good parents don’t talk about their kids like you do. You put your own emotions away to make sure they have a good life… trust me that isn’t a common thing.

Me: fucking should be. Why have kids if you’re gonna be selfish.

Jay: There are people out there who have kids with their partners because either they thought it would save their relationship or they believed it was what the other wanted and wanted to make them happy. There are many reasons I'm sure, I think as you do however, shouldn't have them unless you want to be a parent and enjoy the good as much as the bad fo parenthood.

Me: Sorry if this is prying too much but you sound like you are talking from experience?

Jay: Guess I am sweetheart.

Me: Would you want to talk about it?

The two of you have been chatting for months now. You've grown close, you also don't intrude into his personal life unless he brings it up himself. This is why you don't if he's married, have kids, or in general who he is.

By no means is it that you don't want to get to know him on a deeper level, at the end of the day though that isn't why most of these men pay you and you know that.

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It's Friday and your best friend is out on the farm today with her kiddos. The two of you are working on fixing some of your fencing today as the kids run like lunatics in the field.

"He's married with kids?"

"Three of them apparently."

"How do you feel about that?" I love how concerned she is for my mental health and heart. I can guarantee properly over half of my clients are married, I'm also guessing a lot of kids. The way I see OnlyFans is no diifferent than porn. Men and women use it to escape or relax for a moment.

I love her concern for me but there is no reason for it. Jay is a great distraction and escape from my hectic life. He's amazing to chat with but I'm by no means shocked he has a wife and kids.

Lighting a smoke, we take a break from the job at hand, "I'm not shocked, most of the guys I talk with probably are honestly. It's not a dating website by any means."

"He seems perfect though, just so weird to imagine him married now."

"Thats where they fantasy comes in to play girl. That's the whole point."

Your phone dings on the back of your truck.

Jay: How's fencing going darling?

Me: Good, taking a break right now. Watching the kids be crazy in the field.

Jay: So jealous right now :)

Me: Haha jealous of me sweating, arms sore from hammering in staples and stretching fencing? God what are you doing that this sounds better to you haha?

Jay: We have family over for the weekend. There isn't a moment of peace today. I am hiding in my bathroom right now.

Me: Family is nice once in a while though. I do understand the peace thing.

Jay: Family isn't the problem sweetheart.

Me: Then what is?

Jay: Umm...

.....

Moments passed and the bubbles at the bottom of the screen and disappear repeatedly before they are gone for a couple minutes.

Going back to the task at hand you can't shake the feeling that he is struggling with something much worse than he has let on in the past.

Ding.

Grabbing you're phone you are shocked when a paragraph comes through.

Jay: My marriage hasn't been the best the last couple years. We are staying together for the kids. However, we haven't shared any of the problems with anyone in our family or friends, keeping up the happy couple facade is tiring. She tries too hard to show that we love each other still when in reality for years we've been sleeping in seperate rooms, barely interacting, I throw myself into work more and more. However, divorce is tricky considering how our life is.

Wow. You weren't expecting that at all. Would explain why he had no problem opening up and getting close with you as much as texting each other daily allows.

Me: Divorce sucks no matter why it happens. Trust me I know how that feels. I also understand the drama that can come from friends and family. All I can say is if you aren't happy Jay, suffering to keep your family together for your kids sake will be more damaging for them than you and your wife being miserable together.

Jay: It goes beyond that.

Me: What do you mean?

There is a pause again after you press send. Your friend looking at you with a confused look on her face, "What's up?"

"Oh just stuff Jay and I are talking about. He's confessing some shit to me is all and I'm trying to help him as best as I can."

She doesn't press because she knows I don't tell her personal information. I share vague details or stuff that I have said to him but nothing more. You're clients pay for you to keep your mouth shut about what they say or do. Unless it's something dangerous or concerning there is no reason to run my mouth with information people trust me to keep to myself.

We are working on the last strand of fencing when your phone goes off again about 10 minutes later.

Your phone tells me its an image that has been sent.

Oh my fucking god, he is going to reveal who he is to me. You are both excited and scared to open the message. You aren't sure why he would send a photo in response to what you sent to him, but you know he has a reason for it.

Half figuring it may be a dick pic to get you both off the heavy subject and create a fun atmosphere for you to play in again. Opening his message thread, you're jaw fucking drops as you stare at your screen.

What the fuck.

No god damn way is this real.

There sitting on your texting thread is a photo of a beautiful, green eyed man with a sad smile on his face. The selfie has been taking in a bathroom, assuming it's the one he's currently hiding in.

For the past 5 months you've been playing out this fantasy in your head everytime the two of you text to one another. Dear god you've seen his cock hard, soft, leaking pre cum, and full on cumming from the images you have placed in his mind. Turns out your fantasy has been reality.

You've been getting close with Jensen Ackles... Jensen fucking Ackles pays to talk with you every freaking day. You brain miss fires as you try to understand the reality that has hit you square in the face.

Me: Wow. I'm not going to lie that was the last thing I was expecting when I opened your message. With that being said I understand what you mean about it being more complicated, that still doesn't mean that you have to live a miserable life because of who you are. Yes, you are famous. You are still just a human and you deserve to live a life full of happiness and excitement and adventures. To love someone who loves you back just as much. Someone who would be honoured to lay next to you and talk about what you did at work that day.

Jay: Does this change things between us?

Me: Fuck no! I mean we've talked about how I'm a fan of your shows, so if it does for you than I would understand. As for me, I'm going to treat you as I do normally. Hate to break it to you Jensen, you're just a guy ;)

Jay: Fuck me woman. You are incredible you know that. Most woman would find out who I am and completely freak out. They would treat me different and try so hard to impress me. You on the other hand, you humble me with one sentence haha.

Me: You're a human. You have a good job, that you are great at. You are a dad. You have good days and bad days. You are funny, smart, make dumbass choices, and live a life you want. You are like everyone else. My guess is the last thing you want is someone who has spent numours nights making you cum and seeing your cock fan girl over you.

Jay: Yeah that would be awkward. Thank you sweetheart. So I have to ask, I'm guessing -your screen name- isn't your real name, any chance I can know your actual name?

Me: It's y/n.

Jay: Beautiful name for a beautiful woman :) I should get back out there. Talk later?

Me: Of course. I'm here when you need me Jay.

Your friend left a few hours later. You made supper for your kids and dropped them off with your ex husband for the weekend. By the time you got home Jensen has messaged you again. You can't fight the smile that crosses your face when his name pops up on your screen.

You never thought your fantasy would ever become a reality.

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Read Part Three Here

Taglist:

@impala67rollingthroughtown @bitchykittenconnoisseur @deansimpalababy @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @lessons-of-red @spnaquakindgdom @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @nancymcl @tspmoff @idontwannabehere78 @foxyjwls007 @senjoritanana @leigh70 @neii3n @maggiegirl17 @jamerlynn @mostlymarvelgirl @kimxwinchester @multiversefanfics @supershygirl @justwhisperingfantasies

[floral-hex]

Denim jacket came in the other day. It’s a hefty boy. Heavy heavy. Sleeves are kind of long, but I have nefarious plans for them, so it should work out. Stocked up on supplies. Big bucket. Big bleach. Armful of fabric dyes in varying shades of black and yellow. It’s been in the 100°s here, and I already sweat like a swamp beast. Strictly fall & winter wear. Plenty of time to make something garish and gauche. It’s a good distraction. My life is falling apart. I need good distractions.

[kingkaisen]

ALONE || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: Yuji goes to Satoru for relationship advice, not knowing that the only love his teacher has ever known has been lost forever.

♡ — CONTENT: angst, mentions of reader’s death/dying during childbirth.

♡ — WC: 1.1k

“Are you busy?”

Yuji’s worrisome voice caught Satoru’s attention. The white-haired man, who sat on an outdoor bench, lost in thought, curiously looked up at the teenager standing in front of him.

“Hm?” Satoru paused. “Nope, I’m not busy at all. Something wrong?”

When Yuji didn’t answer immediately — his brown eyes glaring at the concrete ground as a telltale sign that something was bothering him — Satoru nodded at the empty spot on the bench, inviting him to sit.

Without hesitation, Yuji sat down and slumped over.

“I’m having girl problems.”

“Oh?” Satoru raised his eyebrows. “Do you need pads or-”

“Hey! Not like that,” with a frown, Yuji buried his face in his hands, the tips of his ears turning red from utter embarrassment.

Coming to his teacher for advice in general was humiliating enough for him, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone else would have been able to help him out.

Satoru was one of the very few people he knew who seemed to think about life outside of being a jujutsu sorcerer and could potentially offer him some advice.

“There’s a girl I’m interested in. I really like her, ya know? But I’m not sure how I should ask her out. I wanted to go see Human Earthworm 3 with her, but Nobara said that most girls aren’t into stuff like that. But if I ask her to see a chick flick, then what if she gets mad at me for assuming she’d wanna see that stuff because she’s a girl? But if I ask her to pick a movie, then it might seem like I’m putting pressure on her to make all the important decisions because I don’t care enough or something. What should I do?”

Satoru smiled softly. Looking at his dear student was like looking at his own reflection. Years ago, he too was a teenager, frustrated and flustered over a girl.

“Well, there are a bunch of movies that aren’t chick flicks or creepy films that you could take her to see. You could suggest three films and have her pick one. That way, it shows that you care, but you don’t make the mistake of assuming what she’d like. Also, I’d recommend going to dinner after the movie instead of before, that way you both have something to talk about.”

Yuji glanced up at his blindfolded teacher and blinked, taking in the valuable advice.

“Right! Good idea!” Breaking out into a smile, Yuji said, “I knew I made the right decision by asking you!”

“You sure did. I’m an expert, you know.”

Yuji laughed softly. Suddenly, the upturned corners of his mouth slowly fell into a frown, and his eyebrows furrowed as a thought crossed his mind.

“Hey,” Yuji turned his head to face Satoru, his eyes squinting from the afternoon sunlight. “You’re not really an expert, are you? I’ve never seen you with anyone before. Are you in a secret relationship or something? What goin’ on?”

A gentle, sad smile graced Satoru’s face, his voice soft and tender as he spoke. “Nope, I’m all alone.”

“Oh.” Yuji dropped his gaze to his red shoes. “Wait a minute, what about that one lady you went to go see?”

“What lady?”

“Uh . . .” Scratching his cheek awkwardly, the teenager mumbled, “I kinda overheard you telling Nanamin that you were gonna buy flowers on your way to see . . . uh . . . I think her name was Y/N. That was about a week ago. What about her?”

Typically, Satoru wasn’t the sort of person to find himself at a loss for words. But, right now, his mind, body, and soul seemed to have disconnected, caused by a broken spirit.

He was quiet only for a moment, but it was long enough for Yuji to innocently look up at him with great concern.

A lump formed in Satoru’s throat, but he spoke anyway.

If there was one thing he excelled at, it was being able to function through his pain. He had years of experience with that sort of thing.

“You misunderstood. That’s what you get for eavesdropping,” Satoru suddenly removed his blindfold, ignoring the ache in his head when he did so. He brought the soft black fabric to his lips, and gently kissed it. You had given it to him. “Y/N was someone I was in love with. I met her when I was around your age. She died five years ago, and I was getting flowers before heading to her grave.”

“Oh man, that sucks. I’m really sorry,” A flash of guilt washed over Yuji’s innocent face. “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,” Satoru interrupted, locking eyes with his student. “It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

The soft buzz of insects bouncing around in the nearby grass filled the silence as the sky darkened, the sun kissing the world goodbye. Satoru’s eyes flickered down to Yuji’s fidgeting hands, his fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie as he stared at the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru questioned. He knew his student all too well and could tell that the younger boy was biting his tongue, quite both figuratively and literally.

“I was just wondering . . . how did she die? If that’s an okay thing to ask. You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna. But I won’t lie, I’m curious, ya know?”

Satoru hummed, thinking about how death was a peculiar topic that the kind sorcerer was wholesomely interested in.

“Childbirth.”

“What?” Yuji’s spikey strands of hair shifted as he whipped his head in Satoru’s direction, eyes widening. “Seriously? That’s . . . I thought . . .”

“You thought she might have died in battle?” Satoru placed his blindfold back on, not to ease his aching eyes, but so Yuji wouldn’t see the tears starting to brim in his reddened waterline. “Sometimes we forget that sorcerers can die in other situations as well, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Yuji didn’t know if it was okay to ask another question or not. Satoru spoke with misery coating his words. But curiosity was a thirst that couldn’t be easily quenched. “What was she like?”

A heartbroken smile graced Satoru’s face.

“Well, she was shyer than most. Kind. A good person. It was pretty funny, because she could kill curses and take down enemies, but she was always too nervous to ask for oat milk instead of whole milk in her lattes whenever we’d go to a local coffee shop. And she was lactose intolerant too, but still wouldn’t ask. She was a hugger, but really only towards me. Couldn’t stand pollen. Loved watching TV and reading short romance stories about fictional characters. She was so . . . I loved her more than I can express with words.” Satoru had to clear his throat. “I wish I could say she died peacefully, but she looked scared. Died right in front of me . . . trying to deliver my kid.”

Satoru thought about your teary, bloodshot eyes, shining with fear as you held on to him while lying helplessly in a hospital bed.

He was stroking your hair, telling you that everything would be okay when the light left your gaze, and suddenly, you were nothing more than a corpse.

Yuji was silent, but Satoru knew what his next question would have been: did the child survive?

“My kid didn’t make it either.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuji mumbled. “I wish I could fix it. I wish there was something I could do. But . . . I hope you find love again someday.”

“I don’t.” As Satoru spoke, a single tear fell. “If it’s not with her, I don’t want it. I’d rather be alone.”

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @insomniacbehaviour @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @irisveinn @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace

[paarksunghoon]

what about childhood best friend hoon who has always seen you as the sweet and innocent kind until he accidentally stumbles upon your dirty mind and fantasies

this just did something to me

***

“What the fuck?!”

“Sunghoon!” your cheeks and neck feel like they’ve been set on fire. You mumble a quick apology and goodbye into your phone and end the call. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Your mom said you’d be home and I just got back into town.” He looks at you, frowning.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sunghoon steps through the threshold of your bedroom wearing a black muscle tank and sweatpants. It’s a bit unfair how beautiful your best friend is with perfect biceps and an abdomen that can be seen through the fabric of his tank top. Sunghoon doesn’t have to try that hard and people will still fawn over him.

He looks at you like he’s seen a ghost. You see his duffle bag still in his hand but his grip seems to loosen the longer he looks at you. Sunghoon gulps and hesitantly takes a step inside of your room.

“You…I overheard you talking.”

“Why did you talk to my mom before coming come?” You ask, deflecting Sunghoon’s words in an attempt to pretend he heard nothing. “Did you drive home from school? Why is my apartment the first place you go to instead of your parents’ house?”

“Y/N.” Sunghoon’s throat feels a little too dry.

“You’re awful for not texting me before coming over.” He watches you turn around and put your phone on your table. “Anyway, how was your drive?”

Sunghoon drops his duffle bag. “I thought you were a virgin.”

You sputter. “A-A virgin? Why in the world would you think that?”

A part of you already knows this answer. Unlike you, Sunghoon’s not afraid to talk to you about his sex life and started hooking up with girls the second he left for college. He told you he lost his virginity the second he got home and updates you every so often about his sexual escapades, though not in great detail. He doesn’t press on about your sex and you don’t make it a point to bring it up because you aren’t as shameless as him.

The two of you don’t really have the dynamic where talking about sex is on the table. Or rather, he’s more open to the idea and doesn’t pry any information out of you because you’d shot him down when he asked about your virginity before you had sex for the first time. Sunghoon, for the fear of making you uncomfortable and losing his best friend, kept his mouth shut and generally always thought of you as a pretty innocent person.

You get a bit warm in the face when a sex scene in a movie comes on or whenever he plays songs that have sexual undertones to them in his car. Sunghoon has always thought you were a bit on the innocent side and figures the farthest you’ve ever gone was kissing Lee Heeseung in the eleventh grade.

But right now, his perception of you is distorted. Upon coming over after your mother told him where the spare key was, Sunghoon stood outside hoping to surprise you when he overhead you talking to your friend about a recent hookup.

“No amount of porn or book smut could really describe the feeling of a guy cumming inside of you. I had to practically beg him to take the condom off because he was worried it would be risky. But I’m on the pill so he agreed and fuck, it felt so good.”

He stands there, dumbfounded by the revaluation but can’t stop picturing you with your legs spread open for him on the bed next to you like he has for the past few weeks. Sunghoon’s face is red, no doubt.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

He whips his head to look at you. “I’m not acting funny. You’re acting funny.” Sunghoon watches you scoff and get up from your desk.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised that I fuck, Hoon.”

He sputters. “I don’t think about it.” That’s a lie.

“You don’t have to.” You shrug it off like it’s no big deal. “Do you use condoms?” Sunghoon chokes.

“No.”

Your wicked grin makes his cock jump.

“Me either.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! xx

[lady-iskra]

I can’t get over the fact that Bryke decided Katara should believe she deserves no thanks in The Promise. I mean, they literally made her feel guilty for being uncomfortable spending the night with her bfs groupies fangirls.

I’ve seen people claim that Aang was oblivious to this. Don’t they get what this is about? His obliviousness doesn’t even matter. Katara's feelings are valid no matter what, and talking about it would have been the only healthy thing to do.

And don’t get me started on those who insist that this shows how both of them had grown since Book 1... This is no growth to me. It seems like Katara, who has always been vocal about her feelings, learned in this one year of her relationship to repress them instead. Either to avoid conflict altogether or because she's been told to 'control herself'. And unfortunately, this is the reality for so many women in RL.

If this is Bryke’s idea of a healthy relationship, I’m actually so glad that Zutara isn’t canon. They could’ve easily made up for the forced K@taang endgame in ATLA by showing a relationship where both sides are validated equally, but instead we got this bs.

If this wasn’t already a bad enough example for girls and young women of what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like, Bryke took it even further: They made the very girls who openly flirted with Aang in front of his girlfriend the official Air Acolytes. In other words, unless Katara and Aang are off on their next adventure, they are surrounded by them almost 24/7.

Yeah, that’s right. Just keep smiling, Master Katara Avatar’s girl.

I mean, what does her life look like surrounded by those Aang-worshiping girls and her boyfriend, who remains oblivious? Constantly smiling, acting as though she doesn't hear the obvious advances happening right in front of her? Ignoring the catty comments directed at her by some of them? And, in general, adjusting to her boyfriend's—later, husband's—life while forgetting her own ambitions? Now, we could argue that she wouldn't stay with Aang if she eventually realizes that she has put up with too much and lost herself. But, I think, we all know that lifelong relationships like this exist in RL.

[my-body-likes-you-in-control]

Dormant Power

I was always quite clear in my Grindr profile—never shy about my age. Yeah, 57 was a bit older to be on here, but I kept myself in nice shape these days. Look at these abs. Not bad for a man pushing sixty.

It wasn’t always like this. Back when I was younger, I was out of shape, awkward, and kind of a loser. That was even with my power.

You see, I was 18 when I first realized I could swap bodies with people if we had sex without a condom. It wasn’t automatic; I had to choose to do it. If I focused just right on their body and let my energy flow, I could transfer myself into their head and push them back out into mine.

Over the years, I’d swapped with a few boyfriends—just for fun, just to see what it was like as them. I never asked first, and would always just explain myself afterward. I don't think any of them would have been super eager to try. In the end, we always switched back. None of them ever wanted to stay in my body, and honestly? I couldn’t blame them.

Then came John.

I’ll never forget that day. I was 22, freshly dumped, sulking on the rooftop bar of some grimy gay bar, drowning my sorrows in overpriced vodka. That’s when he walked up—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of confident swagger that only comes with being 37 and knowing exactly who you are.

"Rough day?" he’d asked, sliding into the seat beside me.

I sniffled into my drink. "You could say that."

He chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Kid, trust me—this ain’t the end. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you."

I remember staring at him, at the way his shirt clung to his chest, at the stubble along his jaw. "I just wish I could fast-forward to the part where I look like you," I muttered.

He laughed, shaking his head. "Hell, I’d switch with you in a heartbeat. Be young again? Sign me up."

That’s when I told him about my power.

He scoffed at first, of course. Who wouldn’t? But then he shrugged, that same easy grin on his face. "Sure, why not, kid? I’d love to do my 20s over again."

We slipped into the club bathroom, locked the stall, and—well.

We never switched back.

Twenty years later, and I still don’t think it was a bad deal. John’s body was hot back then, and now? It’s mine, still strong, still fucking sexy if I do say so myself. But it still seemed that John fared better. In my old body, he got into fantastic shape, met the love of his life, and settled down. Last I checked, he didn’t look a day over 35, even though technically he’s in a 42-year-old body now. Honestly, I’m happy for him, but it kind of sucks to see what could’ve been for me.

Meanwhile, I’m still on Grindr.

I’d gotten used to the rhythm of it—the flirty openers, the half-hearted conversations, the way so many guys lost interest the second they remembered they were talking to a man pushing sixty. Sure, I still had my abs, my confidence, my charm, but let’s be real: most of the younger ones just wanted the idea of a daddy. A fantasy. Something to get off to, but not actually someone to ever meet up with.

Not that it bothered me much. I’d had my fun with men closer to my age—guys who knew what they wanted, who weren’t afraid of a silver fox in their bed. But still.

And that brings me to tonight, to Charlie.

God, Charlie.

His profile is everything I’d ever wished I could be at his age. Toned but not overly muscular, sun-kissed skin, a smile that could melt steel.

And somehow, against all odds, he was into me. The only problem. He was 24.

I’d never pulled someone that young before—not in this body, anyway. I was old enough to be his father. Hell, his grandfather, if we were being generous.

But then his message popped up, and my doubts evaporated.

Charlie: "You’re way more interesting than anyone else on here. Drinks this weekend?"

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Was this a bad idea? Probably. Did I care? Not even a little.

Me: "Only if you promise not to bail when you realize how old I actually am in person."

Charlie: "Pfft. I’ve got a thing for guys who know what they’re doing."

I smirked. Cheeky little shit.

Me: "Dangerous thing to say to me."

Charlie: "Good, I meant it."

Well.

How could I say no to that?

---

Charlie picked a bar just a few blocks from my place—a dimly lit spot with leather booths and cocktails strong enough to make you forget your own name. Smart kid. Close enough that if things went well, neither of us would have far to go.

He was already there when I walked in, lounging at the bar with a whiskey neat in front of him. Fitted black t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, dark hair slightly tousled like he’d just run a hand through it. Then he turned, saw me, and his smile hit like a punch to the gut.

Damn.

"You’re even hotter in real life," he said, sliding off the stool.

I laughed. "Laying it on thick already."

"Only if it’s working." Sharp grin.

And fuck, it was.

The age difference should’ve been obvious—me with my salt-and-pepper stubble, him with that effortless youth. But Charlie had this way about him, this easy confidence that made the years between us feel irrelevant. He asked about my career, my travels, the things I’d learned—not in that fake, polite way people humour an old man, but like he actually wanted to know.

And the flirting? Relentless.

A brush of fingers when he handed me a drink. A slow bite of his lip when I mentioned the gym. Leaning in too close when he laughed, thigh pressing against mine under the table. Then, finally, his hand sliding up my thigh as I talked about my dating life.

By the third round, I was done pretending.

"My place is five minutes away," I said, voice rough.

Charlie didn’t hesitate. "Lead the way."

The walk back was a blur—his fingers hooking into my belt loop, the hitch in his breath when I crowded him against my front door, fumbling with the keys.

"You sure about this?" I had to ask. Even with all those cheeky smiles and hungry eyes, he was still twenty-four.

Charlie answered by grabbing my collar and dragging me into a kiss that tasted like whiskey and bad decisions.

"Of course, sir," he murmured against my mouth.

---

Damn, he felt good.

I moved with slow, deep strokes, savouring every inch of him. Charlie’s eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, but his hands wandered over my biceps, his touch light and teasing. I flexed for him, smirking to myself, then guided his palms to my chest. His fingers traced my pecs before circling my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. My hips stuttered in response, my rhythm faltering for just a second before I steadied myself.

Then his hands drifted lower, skimming the sharp V of my waist before settling at the base of my cock—right where the condom clung.

His voice was a breathless whine. “Take it off.”

I froze. “What?”

“I want to feel you.” His pupils were blown black, his chest heaving. “Please. I’m clean, I’m on Prep—fuck, just give it to me raw, sir.”

That last word sent a shiver down my spine.

I hadn’t done this in years. Not without protection. I should’ve been on Prep myself, but I just never got around to it. But Charlie—god, Charlie—was already a wreck beneath me, his legs locked around my waist, his rock hard uncut cock at attention against his stomach.

“You sure?” I growled, gently, but firmly stroking his lubed up cock.

His answer? A sharp gasp as he ripped the condom off himself.

I hesitated before slowly sliding myself back in.

“Fuck—”

Then I was inside him again, bare this time, and—Christ. The heat. The tight, velvety clutch of him. I’d forgotten how good it felt. How primal.

“That’s it,” Charlie moaned, head thrown back. “Fuck me just like that, sir.”

I lost myself in the rhythm, in the way his body moved under mine, in the filthy, desperate sounds spilling from his lips. He was perfect. Young. Gorgeous.

And then, a thought...

I could take this.

I could.

The condom was off. The power hummed under my skin, electric, waiting. All I had to do was want it.

Charlie’s hips stuttered. “I’m close—I’m so close—”

Then, trembling: “Take me, daddy. Take me.”

There it was. The universe had given me a sign.

I felt the shift before I even realized I’d made the choice—my consciousness unravelling, slipping—

And then—

I was looking up at my own body.

My old face twisted in pleasure above me, thrusts turning erratic as my new body clenched around him. The orgasm hit like a freight train, white-hot, all-consuming. Charlie’s—no, mine—back arched off the bed as I came all over my new chest.

“Fuuuuck,” my old voice groaned, hips jerking as he spilled inside me.

And just like that—

It was done.

I was him. I was 24 again.

[plumbieyt]

Planting Plums Legacy Challenge by Plumbie and The Plum Family

Do you enjoy wholesome family gameplay, storytelling and the cosy side of The Sims 4? If so, the Planting Plums Legacy Challenge is for you.

My Inspiration For the Challenge:

My favourite aspect of The Sims is the family gameplay and all the stories that can arise from it. I love using the game as a vessel for telling stories, with that in mind, I thought I would create a legacy challenge built around all my favourite things in the game.

Each generation will have a focus on cosy and wholesome gameplay, primarily focusing on big families, but this doesn’t mean it will shy away from drama. It wouldn’t be realistic if I weren’t to include some sort of tension, so in each generation there will be conflicts but they will be mild and used in order to add depth to the family.

What Makes it Different:

One thing that separates this legacy challenge from the usual one is that I’ll be writing it one generation at a time. I’m doing this because I want to build this legacy with my community (the Plum family) on YouTube so that the Sims and stories will be a joint effort, making it a unique legacy due to the many inputs. It also means the story will grow organically, as it won’t necessarily be planned. This doesn’t mean you can’t take part in this legacy until we’ve reached the final generation because I’ve created the first generation, and we can play alongside as we grow the legacy.

The goal for this legacy challenge is to create a beautiful family that you’ll fall in love with and cherish all the members, even the troublesome ones. If this sounds like something you’d want to be part of, you can always comment, email or DM me your ideas for the legacy, as this is a community effort. So, let’s begin growing the family that will be known as the Plumtrees. 🌱🌸

General Rules & Packs Needed:

There won’t be any rules for this legacy challenge, as I want storytelling to be the focus point of it, but I’d recommend only using cheats if you absolutely need to use them, as sometimes, there is more fun and imagination in the limitations.

As of right now, you’ll need Cottage Living, Seasons and Get to Work. But if you don’t have these packs, feel free to adapt the challenge in your own way so that you can participate. Keep in mind the list of packs needed will grow bigger once the third generation is born.

Generation I: The Plum Seed

Some of your earliest memories were of running around your grandmother’s bakery, helping her bake all sorts of treats. You always said you’d take over her business when you were older, but sadly, when you were a child, she passed away, and your family couldn’t afford to keep the bakery.

As you became older, your passion shifted from baked goods to flowers. You found great comfort in creating all sorts of bouquets and writing down the different varieties of flowers, as they gave you the purpose you lost after your grandmother passed.

Growing up in a city meant nature was scarce; you spent time after school wandering around botanical gardens and finding wildflowers in the concrete, but this wasn’t enough, so the moment you became a young adult, you made the daring decision to move to an old cottage in Henford on Bagley.

Towering buildings and busy streets have been all you’ve ever known, so living in the sticks is going to take some getting used to, but as you stand on the doorstep of a new life, with baskets full of flowers, notebooks, baking ingredients and a dream to open a florist in the heart of the village, you feel that a slip in the mud won’t bother you a single bit.

Aspiration:

Best-selling Author: You want to write nonfiction books about your interest in flowers and bouquets to share your passion with the world.

Traits:

Love the Outdoors

Creative

Ambitious

Hobbies & Skills:

Baking

Gardening

Writing

Career:

Florist & Author: You own a florist business and sell your books.

To-Do's:

Move into a small cottage (it can be in any world, but preferably Henford or a countryside world)

Build from scratch a florist shop

Reach level 10 of the flower-arranging skill

Grow every type of flower in the game (or every flower in your game. For example, if you are missing a pack with a certain flower in it, you don't need to buy the pack just to grow that flower)

Reach level 5 of the writing skill

Write and publish 5 non-fiction books

Complete errands

[kiame-sama]

[Human reader being filmed while having a rare moment to themselves] This is human reader. Human reader likes her personal space.

[next shot is Human Reader being crowded by the Monster twst cast] This is Monster Twst, they also like human reader’s personal space.

Jokes aside I love your au! I think it’s really breathed some life into the aus of twst!! I especially love your world building!! I must admit, when I first read some of the monsters that you picked for the cast I was hesitant, but now I can’t imagine them as anything else? Especially Rook!! When I first went into this au I was expecting a wolf, some breed of hunting dog, maybe a bird of prey, something like that right? But I can totally see him as a spider now!!

If I may ask, this is in regards of poachers in your au, are they strictly trying to kill reader, or are there poachers hoping to catch her as like, an exotic pet? What would be the ratio/market for that? Personally speaking, I can totally see someone trying to get close to the royals/high ranking families of the twst guys by stealing reader and presenting them as like an “exotic pet” (even though I know it would end awfully for that person) imagine Hades or Maleficant’s reaction to that… yikes. On the other hand, if someone tried to gift reader to Leona’s family, that would be like free PR for them. Like imagine the show of “we would never!” and the following act of showing how trustworthy they are in taking care of such a “fragile species” you’d have to pry Reader away from their cold, dead, furry grippers

Oh!! And do you have any old wives tales/folk legends regarding humans and, well, their body parts? Ik this sounds morbid, and I’m so sorry, but I have a headcanon that some humans were used for potions. Idk what kind of potions, but I just know someone was dripping blood or throwing hair into a cauldron. I also can’t get this thought out of my head of some guy in twst having a “lucky charm” that’s like, human hair or something, kinda like rabbits feet, that “their grandpa passed down to them and it’s been In the family for generations”, you know? Last question, I promise, do you think Crowley has a secret collection of human artifacts? I can totally see Reader snooping around and finding an ancient cookbook or a map of the island that shows you where you can finds herbs, spices, fruit, and safe places to hunt

Warnings: poachers, talk of Human consumption, my monster AU, history of my AU, some Crowley history for this AU,

~~~~~~~~

- The poachers are not only trying to kill the Last Human, though there are many. Some are seeking this Human to be a pet, either for themselves or someone very influential. Some are seeking to be 'middle-men' and take the Human to sell later down the line. There are even a few older Fae poachers looking to 'raise' this Human as they lost their own adopted Human children a while back and seek to rekindle that feeling even if this Human is technically an adult already.

- Some poachers do seek to kill this Human and sell them piece by piece to whoever is buying. Human wombs and testicles were often used in 'fertility' potions as it was believed Humans were fertile universal breeders (they technically were, but consuming their parts did nothing for monster-folk fertility). Human teeth were often collected by Fae as luck charms (hence the idea of a tooth fairy) and many Fae who raised Humans still have their Human's baby teeth or have since passed those teeth on to their descendants. Many poachers are looking to get and sell the Human's teeth for charms, the meat to those eccentric monsters that want the rarest meat, their reproductive organs for these 'folk-medicines', and the other parts to whoever will pay enough for them.

- Those Poachers that seek to sell the Human as an exotic pet will absolutely go to the most influential they can think of- Hades and Malefecent are high on that list given their age and power- but several dignitaries and Kings/Queens are also on the list of potential buyers for a pet Human. Some even seek to take this Human to put in a Zoo/nature preserve as this is the last of a species after all, why not parade this specimen around for all to see? It will end very poorly regardless of who these poachers try to sell the Human as a pet to, but ESPECIALLY bad in the case of Falena, Maleficent, and Hades for different reasons.

- None of these poachers realize THE Malleus Draconia has already staked a claim and made this Human part of his Hoard. Some would stop dead in their tracks and give up the hunt if they were to find out, some are desperate enough to try their luck. None will succeed if Malleus has anything to say about it.

~•§•~

- Crowley does have a lot of Human artifacts! He is a Crow and Humans made such lovely items that he has collected quite a bit. (Y/n) isn't the only Human Crowley has tried to keep before. He is determined to keep this one, unlike the last little female Human six-hundred years ago who was unfortunately taken away from his care for reasons. He loves Humans. LOVES them. He loves that they are such a diverse species and he loves the way Humans just make things work even between monster-folk that traditionally hate each other.

- Crowley collects Human things and fully sees this current Human as his chick. He will try to parent them regardless of how old they are. He loves the idea of raising his own Human and is somewhat hoping this Human can give him that sense of parental success or even provide a half-human infant he can raise later on. Of course, he is not sure who he would ever allow to mate his precious chick in order to make that half-human infant, but the idea is still one he holds out hope for.

[moonstruckme]

i don’t know if this is something you might feel comfortable with writing but could you do something like any of the marauders or poly!marauders where they have a moment of misogyny. it could be towards reader or just in general during a conversation. i think it’s really interesting considering their time period isn’t really that progressive yet.

Thanks for requesting!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Three days ago, you’d decided to go on strike. Three days, and now the sink is completely full of disgusting, almost-smelly dishes with food still crusted to them. 

Sirius simply doesn’t do dishes. Ever. You’re not sure if it’s some kind of rich boy syndrome where he thinks he just puts them in the sink and then later they magically disappear, but the assumption that he doesn’t have to clean up after himself is really starting to grate on your nerves. 

You have to remind yourself that Sirius is a great boyfriend. For the most part, you like living with him, you really do. He brings you home sweets after he gets off work, he gives you lazy massages while you sit watching TV at night, and you may be biased, but you think he’s generally a delight to have around. 

So for a while, you tried to tell yourself that it was worth having to do a few extra dishes. You love him, and he loves you, and there’s no reason to rock the boat, right? You could do this extra thing for him, just like he does so many for you. But eventually, it was the lack of appreciation that got to you. 

When Sirius takes his plate to the kitchen after dinner, you keep your voice light as meringue. “Would you mind washing that, please?” 

“Why?” 

Ire flares to life faster than you knew it could. You think your eye twitches. 

“Why?” you repeat.

“Yeah.” Sirius turns to look at you over the kitchen counter, and the confusion is so plain on his face that it mollifies you slightly. “Can’t you do it?” 

“Why would you assume I’m going to do it?” 

He shrugs. “Because you like cleaning stuff, right?” 

You force yourself to breathe in and out through your nose, but despite your best intentions, the words come out with a sharp edge. “Not really.” 

Sirius actually blinks in surprise. “Oh. But I thought…you’re always saying Sunday is relaxing for you because it’s your cleaning day.” 

“That’s because I like to have things be clean, Sirius. Not because I like cleaning.” 

“Oh,” he says again, seeming somewhat lost. “Okay, I’ll just…wait, is that why all these dishes are in the sink? Have you been trying to tell me something?” 

“Those are all yours.” You’re burning through your fury fast, and you know what will be left after it’s used up. But you’re not going to cry about this. You will not. 

“I didn’t realize.” Sirius looks up at you, a crease forming between his brows. “I’m sorry, gorgeous, I had no idea. I just thought you liked doing them yourself.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, but it’s not, and your voice is taking on a slight wobble despite your determination to keep it out. “I just…I wish you wouldn’t have assumed that I’d always do them for you. It kind of hurt my feelings that you never asked, or said thank you.” 

“Aw, baby.” Sirius sets his plate down, coming around the counter. He hesitates a second, looking back at the pile. “I’m going to do those in a second, okay?” he reassures you before crossing the rest of the distance to where you sit on the couch. “I’m so sorry, gorgeous. I’m an idiot.” 

You nod up at the ceiling, blinking to keep your tears from falling. 

A ring-clad hand finds your shoulder, thumb rubbing into your collarbone. “Hey, just let it out.” 

“No, I’m still—” you draw in a breath, and a tear slips down your cheek. “I’m still mad at you. Just ignore this. I don’t want to cry when we’re in a fight.” 

“We don’t have to be in a fight,” he suggests. “I’m sorry for all of it, I was totally in the wrong. I didn’t mean to make you feel…baby, hey, would you look at me?” 

You take a deep breath before you do, more tears falling as soon as gravity allows them. You try to ignore them, but Sirius sets a hand to each cheek, thumbing them away. He looks miserable, lips pressed into a thin line to hide his own discontent. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel unappreciated,” he says softly. “I do appreciate you. You do so many sweet things every day, and I appreciate them so much. But you’re right, I wasn’t appreciating how you were cleaning my dishes for me. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

It all feels really good to hear. Part of you wants to let him go on, but you have too many questions to stay quiet. “You never did your own dishes before, did you?” 

His eyes drop to your shoulder, embarrassed. “No. I guess it might have been my mother, or we had some, like, help” —his face contorts as if the word tastes bitter in his mouth— “but I actually never asked who did them. Pretty fucked, huh?” You agree, but you play it down with a one-shouldered shrug. Sirius seems like he’s feeling guilty enough without your help. “And then in my last place, it was just James and I, so we used pretty much paper everything. No dishes to clean.” He shakes his head at himself, dismayed. “I never even thought about it. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I put that on you without even thinking.” 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. Then, at the look he gives you, “Okay, it wasn’t before, but I think it can be now. It was…a tad inconsiderate, but now you know, right?” 

He nods determinedly. “Now I know. Promise.” 

“And now you’re not just going to assume every woman in your life will do the housework for you?” 

Despite your teasing tone, Sirius brings a hand to his face, his head lolling back despondently. “Fuck. I’m a real piece of shit, huh?” 

“You were acting like one,” you say laughingly, reaching forward to give him an affectionate shake by the shoulder, “but you’re not.” 

When he tilts his head towards you again, hair falling in his eyes, there’s still evidence of guilt lining his features but he seems to be trying to get back to his usual levity. He pouts at you, taking your face back between his hands. His rings are cool against your skin. “I can’t believe I made you cry because I’m too much of a prick to do my own dishes.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to cry.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I don’t want your pity, Black.” 

Sirius’ pout worsens, his thumbs stroking over your cheeks. “I can’t help it. You did weeks of unpaid labor.” He kisses the skin above your nose tenderly. “My sweet girl. You should have told me earlier.” 

Your face warms a bit under his hands. “I did sort of take the petty route by letting your dishes pile up.” 

“I’ve earned some petty treatment,” he says firmly. “You should have let my dishes pile up from the first day I moved in. You should have put them in my room so I’d have to ask about them. In my bed, under the sheets.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “Jesus, I’m not that cruel. That’d be disgusting.” 

“I know, baby,” Sirius laughs, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose. “That’s because I’m the petty one. You’re just in training.”

[stevie-petey]

stug stug stug pleaseee i would LOVE to see something where bug is comforting steve maybe he had a fight w his dad or j in general. i’m so excited for season 4! but obvi take your time j know that we’re all very excited bc we just know that you will blow us away with your writing!!

really missin happy steve and bug so im writin this <33

enjoy !

"i dont think it looks that bad."

"youre a terrible liar, y/n."

"im not lying!" but the way your voice pitches gives it all away, and steve knows it.

"im ruined." he drops his head into your lap, burying his face in the flesh of your thigh. partially because hes mourning the loss of his hair, but mostly because he adores your thighs and revels in them whenever he can.

steve is in mourning. he can be as selfish as he wants when it comes to your thighs. its his god given right as your boyfriend.

knowing what hes doing, you shove steves face away from your thighs, though not unkindly. youre still shy around him, his touch against your bare skin foreign after only a month of dating. steve is gentle and patient with you, he understands that youve never really been in a relationship before, so he takes his time with you.

secretly, you adore how gentle he is. how cautiously he skims his fingers over your waist or how softly he breathes against your neck. it makes everything easier, lighter, for you. to be loved so tenderly without any falsehood behind it.

lost in your honey warmth of love for steve, your fingers tangle through his hair. that is, whats left of it. steves chest faces you, the hem of his shirt has lifted slightly during his complaining. soft skin spills out from underneath, revealing a plush tummy. with a mind of their own, your eyes draw down the lines of his abdomen. a low hum stirs in your own stomach.

"are you seriously checking me out right now?" steve taps your nose with his finger, snapping you out of your daze. "i mean, here i am, the love of your life, mourning the loss of beautiful hair that was taken from us too soon, and youre drooling over me."

you flick his forehead, he scrunches his face, and its familiar and lovely. "i wasnt drooling, i just wasnt listening to your dramatic despair."

steve gasps, hand over his chest. "my hair was murdered!"

"honey, only like, two inches were cut off."

well, more like three, but you wont tell him that.

somehow one of the kids, almost certainly mike, left their chewed up gum on the counter top of family video when they visited earlier today. they came in like a storm, turning the place upside down before you, robin, or steve could even stop them. apparently dustin had wanted a new movie, will was bored, lucas wanted max to go outside, and el forced mike to join because shes never seen a movie store before.

the wreckage they left behind for such simple reasons for even entering the store in the first place had astounded you.

then, because steve is always perpetually suffering the consequences of the partys actions the most, had dropped his head down onto the counter top in exhaustion as soon as they left.

right in the same spot the gum had been left.

never before have you ever seen steve crumble to the floor quite so suddenly. it was comical, really. the way he shrieked in horror while you and robin watched, neither having any idea what had just happened.

which leads you to now: consoling steve as you comb through his newly cut hair.

"what, are you implying two inches isnt a huge amount of length?" steve raises an eyebrow at you, teasing, and you blush furiously. sparing you, he doesnt point it out and instead changes the topic. "i hate those little heathens, i really do."

"how do we know one of them is the gum culprit?"

"because theyre cursed little shitheads who always mar my appearance one way or another." then, as an afterthought, steve adds, "plus that wheeler kid has a weird obsession with watermelon gum."

again you try to defend the kids, even though you know it was most definitely mike. sure, he shouldnt have left his gum on the counter, but it was funny. "and how do we know it was watermelon gum?"

"i could smell it when robin was cutting all my hair off, angel."

"and yet youre as handsome as ever!" you press a purposely messy kiss atop of steves head, blowing slightly into his face and making a dramatic kissing sound when you pull away. anything to distract him from realizing it was all mikes fault.

gotta protect the little shithead somehow.

steve shrieks, reminiscent of the shriek from earlier, and shoves you away as he wipes at his face. "ew!"

"how dare you wipe my kiss away, steve harrington."

"you spit on me!"

"lovingly."

steve rolls onto his stomach and throws himself onto you. now its your turn to shriek as he throws his weight on top of you, tackling you onto his bed. luckily his parents arent home, otherwise theyd have some very horrified questions.

"steve!" you land with a soft thud on his pillows, and he smiles up from above you. hes all proud, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and his eyes shine with adoration for you.

hes beautiful. you cant believe hes yours.

"youre supposed to be comforting me, angel!" steve presses himself down even more, rendering you unable to move and wiggle away from him. you squeal when his hands find your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he tickles you. "i mean, im wounded here!"

you squeal with laughter as his hands attack you, mercilessly, yet gentle nonetheless. "s-steve! stop!"

"not until you apologize to my hair."

"your hair?" more laughter rips from your chest, ribs aching.

"mhm, tell my hair that its still handsome. his feelings are hurt." steve buries his nose into your neck, causing you to giggle even more, and the sound encases his body and reminds him of everything good and lovely.

you try to pull away, but steve has you pinned. "youre-ah! youre such an-an idiot!"

"that doesnt sound like an apology, y/n."

finally giving up, you force out an apology in between breaths of laughter. "i-im sorry! your-your hair is handsome!"

steves fingers leave your sides, but he pulls you deep into his chest and collapses upon you. he nuzzles into your neck, wraps his hands around you, tries to meld the two of you into one. "much better," he mumbles into your skin.

"your hair really is handsome, you know." you draw circles into steves back, breath slowly returning to normal. fingers finding his hair once more, you play with the strands and massage his head with your nails. "youre handsome. two inches lost or not.”

"really?" steve lifts his face, looks down at you, preening at your words with an unusual shyness.

you bring your hands to his face, holding it with all the love you have for him. "the handsomest."

lips find lips, and soon the two of you get lost in each other as you inevitably always do.

“COME HOME” BLURB MASTERLIST

if you’d like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[vqnrouged]

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄 ── ᡣ𐭩

↳ 640 words

↳ tw: suggestive content below the cut!

↳ romantic . ݁₊ ⊹ .

↳ content | what it’s like to make out with the retired fae general himself, lilia vanrouge…

↳ i’ve never written anything like this before, but i had an idea so i went along with it! hope you all enjoy!

#𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 ᡣ𐭩 — where are his hands usually placed on your body?

♱ ˖° lilia tends to be rather handsy, he loves to hold you while he kisses you senseless. one hand is almost always on your waist, and the other is holding your face so he can make sure you’re only focused on him. the eye contact he maintains with you holds a lustful undertone, but the cheeky smile you feel him making against your lips tells you his intentions are something less lewd. the fae can get so lost in your taste and lips that he merely forgets where the both of you are, which is incredibly unlike him. this leads him into weaving his hands through your hair, giving you tugs every now and then to tease you. sometimes he can’t help but want to do so, you just look so cute!

───

#𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 ᡣ𐭩 — is he sloppy, calculated, or just cheeky?

♱ ˖° to no surprise, lilia is a big tease when he’s kissing you. occasionally he may peck you playfully on the corner of your lips before he brings you into a long, passionate one filled with all the feelings he can’t manage to say with words. the unpredictable nature of his affections leads to a truly entertaining intimate occasion with you, which lilia could never object to. and, this fae is also a lip biter. with his sharp fangs, and the present opportunity to take a little taste of your lips, he can almost never pass up on it. he will nip at your lips as he continues to smile against you, savoring the flavor of your blood and your taste. however, if you yelp in pain at his nipping, then he will tone it down a bit and apologize for inflicting pain on you. he wants you to enjoy the kisses he gives you as much as he loves receiving yours, so cutting it down on the nipping isn’t much of a problem for him.

“sorry, my dear! i may have gotten a little carried away, kufufu. i do hope you can forgive this old fae.”

───

#𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐒 ᡣ𐭩 — where are his favorite places to be intimate with you?

♱ ˖° the bat fae isn’t really one for indulging in that desire in front of a large group of people, but if you lead him over to a more secluded spot in the garden then he just might just give in. he enjoys the thrill of someone being able to hear you two from your hidden spot, and if you were caught he’d play it off teasingly like he wasn’t just sucking face with you. it truly bewilders you how one moment he’s kissing you so fervently, then the next he’s talking down a heartslabyul student into believing that they saw nothing. after the student left the scene, clearly not convinced, lilia walked right back up to you again. however, he didn’t kiss you. he merely whispered something into your ear before making his way to his next class, leaving you flustered in the lush green garden where you once had been so entangled.

“now, darling. i’m terribly disappointed that heartslabyul boy interrupted our romantic escapade, we were just getting to the best part. i assure you we’ll continue this later…”

───

#𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ᡣ𐭩 — what does he feel when he gets to make out with you?

♱ ˖° unadulterated adoration, you’re quite literally the love of his life. he had loved others in the past, but none of them had ever come to fruition. he thought he was going to live out the last of his days alone in the land of the red dragon, but you changed his plans drastically. you had shown him a love like no other, unintentionally sweet talking your way into his heart. now that you had made him attached, he was never letting go. the way he desperately clings to you as he holds you, the teasing yet love filled kisses he places on your lips and neck, the warm glow in his crimson eyes as he stares into your own; it all means i love you.

@𝐯𝐪𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐝 ♱

[redfoxwritesstuff]

CW: Titty fucking, large breasts, Adam being adam, oral, cum shots, facial Rating: Adult Summar: Adam and his new, large breasted lover have been fucking like rabbits but you're tired and sore. Adam though, in love with your curves will gladly take the chance to lavish your chest with some affection.

Adam was a woman’s man. That was for sure. He loved every part of the form of women. How could he not? They were shaped with him in mind. That was why he named his warriors after parts of the female body. 

That was why as he took his time, when he had the time, to enjoy the bodies of his partners. If someone grabbed him by the balls and demanded he pick a favorite part of the woman’s form, though, he’d have no choice but to pick their breasts. 

He was a father and remembered well how they would swell when seed took root within the womb. He remembered how they fed and supported life in a way nothing else could. 

And he remembered how fucking good they felt pushed together, wrapped around his cock. 

Look, Adam wasn’t always a bad motherfucker he was now, but he was created with the single goal of going forth and making babies. With that written into your very soul, how could he not think with his cock?

“Adam?” you asked, standing in the middle of his living room, bathed in the bright sunlight of Heaven. 

“Fuck, babe,” he let out a long breath, coming back to reality as his eyes ran over your form, taking in the way his silk robe clung to every generous curve. It strained to cover the massive swells of your breasts. “You look so fucking good like this. I’m getting hard again.” 

You rolled your eyes, paying more attention to trying to put the mess of your hair to rights than the man that you had spent all morning and most of the afternoon rolling around the sheets with. 

Your body was sore, satisfied, and you were ready for water and some food before you were even going to consider sixth round. Or would it be the seventh? In Adam, you had met your sexual match, and you were thriving. 

Adam walked up to you, hands eagerly running over flesh as soon as he was close enough to reach out to you. Palms smoothed over curves and worked their way under the fabric covering your body, slipping it off your shoulders. You stood naked in the bright sunlight. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Adam said in a voice as close to a whisper as he was capable of. 

“Seriously, Adam.” You tried to sound stern but lost any resolve as his large hands cupped your heavy breasts. The buds of your nipples poked out between his fingers. 

“I fuckin’ love your tits,” Adam’s voice was full of greed as he pushed you back, guiding your body to sit on the couch by your tits. 

He hit his knees, lips peppering the large mounds of your breasts with open-mouthed kisses. His tongue swirled around flesh, pulling your nipple into his mouth. Adam suckled as your breasts, kneading the handful of tissue in his other hand. 

Your head fell back, a soft moan falling from your lips as he worked over the already sensitive and bruised tissue. Your breasts, hips and thighs were covered in purple love bites, red marks from where fingers dug into soft skin. His tongue ran over skin as if you were the last meal on earth.

“Adam,” you gasped as he slotted himself between your thighs, fist pumping his cock. “I need to rest. I’m sore.” 

“Babe,” Adam whined, looking up at you from where he seemed to be putting a solid attempt at getting smothered by your breasts, “I want you again.” 

“I can’t,” you sighed, his mouth kissing your nipples. 

“I got an idea.” He leaned back, hands gathering up your tits as he stood. “Lean back.” 

“What are you doing?” you asked, even as you leaned back on the couch as he asked. 

Adam straddled you on the couch, one knee on each side of your hips. He was careful to avoid crushing you as he held his cock in his hand. He pumped his fist around it a few more times before letting go and instead grabbing your breasts and thrusting his cock between them. 

“Fuck, babe, they swallow my cock up.” He moaned as he thrust his cock up between your breasts. “Fuckin love your tits.” 

“Are you going to fuck my breasts?” Your laugh died in your throat as Adam looked down at you with pure lust.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” Adam moaned, thrusting into your chest again and again. “If you’ll let me.” 

“Alright,” you whispered, watching his face as he fucked into you. 

The way he looked at you, the pleasure on his face, made you feel powerful. While the act of having his cock between your breasts didn’t feel particularly pleasurable, the sound of his moans was. 

“Fuck, this is amazing.” Adam was panting, body tired from the rounds of sex earlier in the day. 

Looking down, you watched the head of his cock pop in and out of the space between your breasts. Curiosity won out, and you opened your mouth, pushing your head down. The head of his cock pushed into your waiting mouth. 

Adam moaned as your warm, wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock again and again. You stuck your tongue out, giving his shaft something to guide into your mouth.

“Babe,” Adam moaned, “That’s so fuckin’ hot. Keep doing that and I’ll blow my fuckin’ load.” 

Your eyes flicked up to him, daring him to. Asking him to. You felt so wanted, so desired, as he fucked your breasts faster and faster. Your saliva smeared between your breasts, dribbling onto your chest as he moaned. 

“Going to cum,” Adam moaned deeply as his rhythm became uneven. 

You moaned with him, not from sexual pleasure, but from the way Adam’s lust and desire made you feel. His cock twitched as he fucked harder through the space between your breasts. 

He came with a deep curse, cock shooting ropes of cum up between your breasts. It splattered into your waiting mouth. Ropes coated your face and landed on your breasts as he fucked his way through his orgasm. Seed smeared between your breasts, lubricating his passage. 

Legs twitching, struggling to support his tired body, Adam fell back. Wings fluttered as he realized there was nothing to catch him. It was too late to stop his plummet to the floor, wet cock slapping against his stomach as he landed. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, leaning forward while looking for something to clean the cum off your body. 

“Yeah babe, just almost had a second death due to your titties…” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[hollowed-theory-hall]

"Where do you think Harry would live after the war? I personally think he would stay at the Burrow for a while, but I can also see him coming back to Grimmauld Place. I know Harry sees the Weasleys as family, but I doubt he'd want to live there long-term. Harry's an introvert, and the Burrow isn’t the best place for someone who needs time alone. But yeah, it’s my headcanon, so I’m curious about your opinion on this."

I really like the idea of Harry returning to Grimmauld Place, though, I don't think it'll be immediately.

The first night after Voldemort is dead, he sleeps in his bed in Gryffindor Tower:

he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the fourposter bead lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there

(DH)

He might stay in Hogwarts for a bit to help out McGonagall and the others. While they're going through the bodies, preparing burials, until Mrs. Weasley insists it's bad for him, and he should come stay at the Burrow with them.

I actually think Harry would decline because I'm not sure how comfortable he'd feel there right after Fred died. How he could sit there, having died and came back, but Fred just died. He didn't come back. And, I don't think most of the Weasleys would really think it's Harry's fault, but, there will be some tension there. Like, I think Harry would feel really awkward about the whole thing and like when he's upset early in DH and in OotP, he'd want to be alone.

Harry tends to go quite and isolate himself when upset, so I see him finding himself back at Grimmauld with Kreacher, secluding himself from everyone for a bit and disassociating like early in OotP:

On the fourth night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

(OotP)

Or after Ron left in DH:

She [Hermione] threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.

(DH)

Hary, when upset and depressed, tends to just, shut down. So I can see him going into this state in Grimmauld Place for a bit early after the war. (Except for a few visits to Andromeda and Teddy, since I think he'd take his godfather role very seriously).

That is until Ron and Hermione drop by to drag him to dinner at the Burrow.

During this first time at the Burrow is when Ginny probably corners him about their relationship, how that goes depends on what AU/ship you're writing. But even in canon (with the epilogue), I'm not sure how quickly they get back together. I mean, Ginny still goes back to Hogwarts and Harry would try to find his footing in his life, so, it's up to the writer.

Anyway, I think Harry is more likely to stay most of the time at Grimmauld Place but stop by the Burrow often enough in the year after the end of the war (after that first lunch/dinner Ron and Hermione drag him to).

This guy is going to use Sirius' bedroom again (like in DH) like the traumatized mess that he is.

Now, the question is, where is Teddy in this time?

We know during the battle he's with Andromeda, and I think Harry is going to take his godfather responsibility super seriously, as I mentioned. Harry doesn't trust adults in general, so I think, initially, he wouldn't really know what to think of Andromeda, so I think he'd be more inclined to visit her and Teddy before going to the Burrow — he feels responsible for Teddy and guilty over Fred. And Andromeda I think would feel familiar to him. I think she has the same arrogance as Sirius, she carrys a similar pain to Harry — she, too, lost everyone. They both only have Teddy.

(Yes, Harry has the Weasleys, and as much as he loves them and appreciates how Molly tries to make him feel included, I don't think he really feels like he belongs, yk?

The aftermath of Fred's death shows this well:

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died. . .

(DH)

And after the war, he skips Ginny and Molly to get to Ron and Hermione:

He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. [...] Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.

(DH)

Ron and Hermione are the closest to family for Harry, not all the Weasleys. When he wants to reunite with family, it's Ron and Hermione, not Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. (And Luna earlier, but that's because she is comforting to him in general, but he doesn't see her the way he does Ron and Hermione))

Eventually, though, he'd probably move out of Grimmauld and to a different place of his own. With who and when is more up to personal headcanon and whether you consider the epilogue canon or not.

[valeisaslut]

been thinking ab what you said about ellie in her groupie era feeling wanted and knowing she could give girls a night they would never forget and i think im just too soft in general and too soft for ellie but i think i kinda broke my own heart thinking about it LMAO. not trying to mischaracter ur version of ellie/collide’s ellie but god something about the idea of her being with all of these girls more as an act of service for THEM over her own pleasure? having her heart broken so bad in highschool that she lets herself be wanted without being seen? giving other girls an experience that she technically didn’t have herself? i’m reading too much into it and i know that’s probs def not what you meant at alllll but my mind ran away with it ugh

NO BECAUSE THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED PEOPLE TO DO. i want you to overanalyze her. i want you to spiral. i want you to break your own heart with it. because YES—collide!ellie is emotionally so complex and i’ve barely scratched the surface on what’s going on in that little freak’s brain. but chapter 7 and especially 8 are gonna go all the way in on her psychology and history and why she is the way she is.

SO... A DEEP DIVE INTO COLLIDE'S ROCKSTAR!ELLIE MIND:

you hit the nail on the head. groupie-era ellie wasn’t out there for herself—she was out there because being wanted by someone else was the only way she could feel anything close to value. she slept with girls because she liked the idea of giving them a night they’d never forget, of them telling their friends “you’ll never guess who i hooked up with last night.” it was power, sure, but it was also protection. if she’s giving them everything she never got, then maybe it won’t hurt as much when they leave.

because that’s the thing—ellie doesn’t believe people stay.

she got her heart broken so bad when she was young, and then lost people again and again, and somewhere along the way, she just… shut the door. shut the windows. locked the whole damn house. and she was fine with that! she was like “cool. no one gets in. i’m chill. i’m sexy. everyone and their mom want me. i play guitar. whatever.”

and then reader comes along like a wrecking ball of emotion and chaos and glitter and sharp edges and suddenly ellie is spiraling because she wants to let someone in so bad but she doesn’t remember how. she never actually learned.

and the joel stuff? ohhh my god. she’s holding that grudge like it’s her job. like her hatred is the only thing keeping her upright some days. but the truth is? it’s eating her alive. there’s so much pain under all that bitterness. like she’s mad, yeah, but she’s also sad. sad in the way that makes your bones ache. she’s still just that kid who wanted her dad to love her right, and now she’s too proud and too angry to admit how much that rejection still hurts.

and the thing is… ellie knows she’s doing this to herself. she knows she’s burned bridges and iced herself out. she knows that reader is the first person in years who’s actually gotten through, and that terrifies her. because if she lets herself have this—if she lets herself be seen—then she has something to lose again.

so no. you’re not reading too much into it. you’re reading it exactly right. this fic is a silly popstar and rockstar romance and a devastating character study of a girl who would rather ruin her own life than admit she’s scared of being loved. and i love you for seeing it.

[stonedficz]

✰ star shaped ✰ ch. 2 ❛ i've heard about you ❜

[schlatt x streamer!reader]

ch. 1 / ch. 3 / ch. 4

note: this has lots of music. the music helps set the tone for the story. There may be formatting errors, typos, etc. Please excuse them.

and SURPRISE! Due to the high volume of music linked in this chapter, the fic playlist is live! (this fic includes some of schlatt's music :))

[accept request?]

Click.

-POV: you. 10 am-

Inevitably, after the stream, I went to sleep. A nice calm slumber with schlatt's videos in the background. It was calming. I love his voice.

The next day came fast.

"Shit!" I ran out the door, late for my monday-morning class at college. Community. I wasn't exactly the high-achieving type. Well - I guess I was, but I'm not good at school. I was really smart, charming, and funny, but if I have to sit down to take a test, I might have a panic attack. The student rep's office didn't care, either, and said I had to have a disability diagnosis to qualify to even test in a separate room away from everyone else. I'm not disabled... just late.

I slammed through the doors to the building all but one of my classes took place in. Today was gen. ed., English. God, I hated this. What good was English class if I already knew how to speak it?

Using it to read and write, I guess. Cracking my laptop open, I managed to ignore the entirety of the lecture while prepping ideas for my next stream. THIS was what I aimed high for. Stardom. I hoped for it, at least. I never really thought I would be able to do it, I just wanted attention. Good attention - the kind that made people want to share their stories with you. None of that mattered anyways. I wanted a man. Schlatt. God, he was on my mind all the time. His hands.. his arms.. God, his voice. That man was so attractive I could drool. I needed him.

-General POV.-

As your professor droned on for 2 hours, you scoured the internet for ideas, help, and schlatt fics. You even pre-wrote some of your messages to schlatt. You were incessant. Right now, you were back in his DMs writing another sweet message. You worried this would drive him away - but he never came close to begin with,

what did you have to lose?

Your breakfast, apparently.

As you typed, you noticed something. Your breath hitched, hands instantly becoming clammy, shaky, and glued to your keyboard. Vomit crept at your throat.

Instead of seeing a notice - one that reminded you every day that he was out of reach - one saying "Invite this person to message.", you saw:

read yesterday at 10:48pm

"What." your breath hollowed out your chest like the hole Alice fell into. Your wonderland. You barely muttered that into the air at the back of the lecture hall. You slammed your computer shut, packed your bag, and ran out. You threw yourself and everything into your car, aimlessly scratching at your phone. You were desperate. Panicked. Nauseous.

-

cookkizkill

hi buddy! hope you're having a great day <3 I just finished recording another video for youtube. you're a great inspiration.

cookkizkill

hey babes! i just had my first stream. i got a few viewers. i try to imagine what you felt like when you first started to give me comfort when i worry nothing will ever come of this. i loved your most recent vid <3

cookkizkill

hi handsome! i finally hit 5 twitch followers. yesterday i hit 200 subs on yt. thank you for being a great influence!! i know i wont be huge, but I’m thankful i get a chance to share my life with people. thank you for your stream today! i hope to be on one with you sometime <3

read yesterday at 10:48pm -

"WHAT THE HELL?!" a blood curdling SCREAM croaked out of your throat. Thank God your windows were rolled up. You wiped the sweat off your forehead, leaned your head on the steering wheel, and held your phone. You shook. Panicked. Lost your marbles, for hell's sake.

"It was a terrible idea to ever message him," you started to hyperventilate. Tunnel vision ate away at your already poor, astigmatism ridden eyesight. Your eyes welled up with tears. You were so confused.

"What is going on? Why can I text him? WHY WAS MY TEXT READ?!"

Your head slammed back into the seat headrest. You had one person to call about this - your childhood best friend. She wasn't exactly reliable, or smart, but by God was she a party.

riiiiiiiiing, riiiiiiiiing, riiiiiiiiing click "Bex!! Oh God, you're not ready for this," "What are you talking about? What happened? Why do you sound so freaked out?!" "Schlatt read my texts. He accepted my dm request and now I can text him." "NO FUCKING WAY" "WAY" "AAAAHHHHHHH, Y/N, this is your DREAM! Get that sucker to collab and you'll be famous!" "It's more than that, though, I'm worried this is bad. Like he's gonna blast me on his stream or something. What do I do?" "You play the part, you get his ass." "Dude. Stop. I'm not scamming him. I WANT to be like him, not be his enemy." "God, okay, fine. But when you ain't got that bag girl.. don't come crying to me." "Alright, bud. Bye." "Byee~" click

"Motherf.." your eyes glanced back down at the phone. You opened up the chat again.

What now?

A short time had passed, just enough to get home and settled, but also enough to make you feel as if father time had fallen asleep on the job and forgotten to make the clock tick. You went home and got back to your desk. Maybe now you could gather an idea as to what was going on.

c l i c k c l i c k c l i c k

You desperately tried to find the words. Any words, actually. The only thing that came to mind was to be completely honest and truthful.

cookkizkill

hi again handsome! I saw that you accepted my dms; what's going on!

-

You waited. Very impatiently at that. The time couldn't go by any slower, at this point. You anxiously sipped water at your desk. Did I mention you were waiting?

Your mind travelled all the possibilities of this - it could mean nothing, he could be belittling you, suing you, or doxxing you. Maybe this was him begging you to leave him alone. Maybe he would invite you onto a podcast, and if it didn't pan out well, you wouldn't reach the air at all? Maybe he was proposing. No, that was a weird thought for even you to think. He’s a star, not someone normal like you. You clicked off your tab and slammed your phone down onto your desk. God, you were a wreck. HE wrecked you. Emotionally at least..

bzzzt.

You ripped your phone up from the desk with your nasty, clammy hands. You were drenched in sweat.

-

read just now

jschlatt

I have a lot of respect for someone trying to make meaningful content. I've kept up with your messages since a bit ago. Doing good dude. Keep it up. Let me know when you do your next pod and I'll ft. If you want to go through with this we can get all the details and paperwork set up with my lawyer.

-

“‘Doing good-‘ ‘Keep it up’? HE’S SEEN MY VIDEOS?!” You clawed at your beet red, sweaty face. “Holy SHIT. HOLY FUCKING SHIIIIIIIITTTT!” your screamed like a little girl meeting a disney princess for the first time. That was a mistake, as it was met by angry thumping on the other side of your apartment.

“Sorry!” You yelled towards the wall. Your crotchety middle-age man neighbor hated your guts for being loud. It was broad daylight, God forbid you make noise.

-

cookkizkil

i really appreciate that! i adore the weekly slap :) you’ve been a great influence for me doing everything i do. especially the live pods. they’re a GREAT deal of fun for me, and i know you try to do content you enjoy.

I’m sure you’ve seen me with my best friend, if you’ve seen any clips or anything, but we chat just for fun. i can get all the paperwork done today! when would you be interested in collabing? and do you prefer to do a fun pod or a more philosophical leaning one?

jschlatt

Up to you. I’m already established so idgaf what we do, do your content for your socials. I’ll be the usual.

cookkizkill

usual what, if I can ask? Also, i know YOU know, but don’t expect to make more than a buck (if that) off this collab. just a warning lol. my email is cookkizkillsocials@...com. send those bad boy legal documents over!

jschlatt

Me.

I’ll have my lawyer email you the forms. Money isn’t a motive here, you enjoy my podcast, I enjoy yours. Win win.

-

You almost pissed your pants.

"HE ENJOYS MY PODCAST?!" you absolutely screeched from your desk into your hands over your face. What WAS THIS? Was it a dream? A terrible, irresistible, divine dream? Your favorite person ever, whom you were utterly obsessed with, liked YOUR podcast? You slapped yourself so hard it would burn. Why? You didn't know, but by God, you came to your senses.

"I gotta get down to business. I need time with him. Content or not, this is going to fill every gap in my heart that ever existed. Holy shit. I can't believe this." your stomach fluttered inside of you, the weigh on your chest became crushing, all at the same time. "Holy fuck. I'm gonna meet schlatt. In person or online, one way, or another."

-

cookkizkill sounds great!!! let me get some plans pulled together over the next day or so and we can discuss this further. :)

-----------------------------------

-POV: Schlatt. 12:53 pm-

"She finally saw, huh?" he muttered to himself. He sat at his desk while he uploaded the latest VOD, hearing his phone buzz. He just guessed it was her. His phone didn't go off much. Just Tucker and him exchanging wordles every day, and that had already happened. What else could it be?

-

cookkizkill

hi again handsome! I saw that you accepted my dms; what's going on!

-

Well that was a let down.

"She's not freakin' the fuck out? Jambo, what the hell is this? Bitches love me. Why isn't she spamming me gibberish?" he chuckled to himself, rubbing the cat's head.

"She makes some good shit. She's normal too. Unless she's faking it, then whatever I guess." he scoffed. "Maybe.. nah.

Fuck it."

his fingers diligently typed a reply to you. He carefully worded everything, in the event you decided to screenshot, or let all of your 5 twitch streamers what happened. He scoffed again. "The fuck am I even doing? I know I shouldn't.." he backspaced a few letters, his breath hesitating as he stared at his screen. "..What would 200 people on youtube do to someone like me? Nothin'. It'll be fine. Bitch probably won't even say yes."

He thought back to about 6 months ago, when he first read your message. You were a frequent stream watcher, donator, and you messaged him everywhere, all the time. He knew it was you, your handle was the same on every platform. You were unmistakable. Obvious. Incessant.

~~~6 mo prior...~~~

"Damn. She fuckin' likes me, huh?" Schlatt looked at ted and showed him one of your many dms, holding his phone out to him. They both let out a deep chuckle, having a few drinks with Tucker at the end of recording one of the few Chuckle episodes left.

"Yeah bud. Just like the other 13 women that watch you." Ted snorted, sipping. "I do think it's sweet though, y'know? All these people genuinely look up to us sometimes. Means a lot to me." He took another large gulp.

"Let me see!" Tucker said in a drunken stupor. "I'm a member of this podcast, by God! Fuck you!" Ted pat him gently on the back as he started hilariously laughing after yelling at Schlatt.

"C'mon bud, I'll get you upstairs. You know your wife is waiting. She went to bed three hours ago." Ted chuckled softly, smacking Tucker on the back as he tried to stand up. "BRB schlatt."

"Yea, fuck 'em. Fuck you too tucker." Schlatt drunkenly chuckled. He looked back down at the message he showed his friends.

"well, maybe.."

His thumb hovered.

[accept request?]

"Nah."

Click.

~~~now~~~

-

jschlatt

I have a lot of respect for someone trying to make meaningful content. I've kept up with your messages since a bit ago. Doing good dude. Keep it up. Let me know when you do your next pod and I'll ft. If you want to go through with this we can get all the details and paperwork set up with my lawyer.

-

He started to scroll through your Instagram. Photos of you, your favorite people, your cat, your car. You had a small black tabby and a shitbox of a car. You acted as if they were the best things in the world when you posted. Why? Grateful for the little things, Schlatt guessed. Maybe you grew up poor. Maybe.. you were just a good person.

You two were messaging back and forth for a few minutes. He let you know he didn't care about the money. You were a small influencer doing something he deeply respected: what made you happy. Now, it was all on you to get the podcast episode together. He would just sit and chat on it - no leg work needed. Easy money. Or lack thereof.

He went on your youtube. The only thing he kept up with was this. Vlogs, GRWM's (which he didn't particularly enjoy, but he wanted to see what you were all about) VOD's of the lives you deemed genuinely entertaining, recipe videos, everything.

"This chick's still got her whole damn life on the internet, huh?" he snorted in confusion. "The hell?" he glanced down at the very bottom of your channel, starting a year and a half ago. He hadn't seen this before.

"To the people who sparked my inspiration:" 15 min. 4 sec.

"Well, you got my interest sweetheart. I'll bite." he sighed with a small and unintentional chuckle. His finger hovered over the thumbnail of your sweet face.

Click.

"Hey guys! This will be one of the first videos I really get out there, but in the event I randomly blow up hehe, I needed to get this out!

I'm starting my freshman year of college soon.. I never wanted to go, but I know it's what I should do. I don't even know what I'll be going for. I don't really know what to do. One of my favorite people has a similar story - except he dropped out to follow his own path. I may end up doing the same. I don't know what my future looks like, but I do know I'm gonna do my best to GIVE myself a future, and to make it authentic. I want a community."

He listened to all 15 minutes intently.

You had him hooked.