#I’ve never written anything like this before

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James���s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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[miss-dollette]

Person Of Interest - Chapter 1. Muse.

Warning: Stalking. Really fucked up opinions on the less fortunate. Remember, this is the salesman we’re talking about.

(A/N): I wrote this over the course of a few days. I haven’t written anything this long in some time, so let me know if I got anything wrong. Also, I’m not Korean and have never visited Korea, so I’m not familiar with Korean culture. Please be easy on me - I don’t even listen to K-Pop and this is my like, second Korean show I’ve watched 😭. Okay, it’s two in the morning and my eyes hurt. Enjoy :)

The little waif appeared at the train station again, as she did every day of the week except Sunday.

He knew that because he had developed a routine of his own-one where he ensured he’d catch a glimpse of her. She was a slight thing, all knobby knees and elbows, with a rounder face that still clung stubbornly to remnants of baby fat. It gave her an air of innocence that would likely never fade into maturity.

Twenty-two years old. A dropout from a prestigious university - why, he didn’t know. She lived with a roommate in a tacky apartment building and was unemployed. Instead, she earned her money playing her violin in the busier sections of the city.

A talented little thing. No matter the weather, her thin but strong fingers coaxed melodies from her instrument, drawing the attention of passersby. The locals knew her well, and they must have appreciated the way her music lured customers to their shops and stands.

The first time he saw her, she was on a concrete platform, playing one of his favorite songs. His hand had stung, his shoulder ached - a long day of recruiting Nothings - but the sound had stopped him in his tracks.

Passersby dropped won into the worn Breton cap she’d laid out in front of her, and each time, she flashed a brief, grateful smile before resuming her tune.

His breath hitched in his chest, his fingers slackening around the handle of his suitcase full of won and two dirty ddakji papers. Even dressed in an oversized coat with patched-up hemlines, she caught his attention in a way that left him stunned.

An elderly man shuffled past her, dropping a few won into her cap before bowing deeply. She paused just long enough to bow back, even lower than he had, before continuing to play.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, lingering spectators began to drift away, heading toward the station to catch their trains. Salarymen and women filed out of their offices, and nearby shops started to close for the night.

When the last stragglers were gone, she stepped down from the platform and retrieved her cap. One by one, she smoothed out the crumpled bills with delicate precision, as though each note were a treasure.

An elderly woman from a nearby food stall approached her, carrying a steaming skewer of dakkochi. Though the girl began counting her bills, ready to pay, the woman shook her head, pressing the food into her hands.

She hesitated, staring at the meat with wide, hungry eyes, before accepting it and bowing low in gratitude.

He watched as she took the first bite, her eyes fluttering shut as though she were savoring the warmth, the taste, the comfort of it. She chewed slowly, and though he couldn’t hear it, he could almost imagine the hum of satisfaction she must have let slip.

It was ridiculous. Fascination with someone so ordinary.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

How could it be that this crumpled-up, discarded girl had managed to fascinate him so completely?

If he had seen her on any other day, he would have caught her alone, offered her a game of Ddakji, and slapped her cheeks until their softness gave way to mottled bruises. Those babyish cheeks of hers, stained with tears—he could picture it so vividly. Female recruits usually cried by the third slap, but they never stopped playing. The glimmer of hope, of winning back their dignity or even just a few won, kept them in the game.

They were all the same. Male or female. Persistent, pathetic pieces of garbage. That’s what they all had in common.

When she finished her food, she stuffed the crumpled won into a sash tied around her waist, her movements quick yet deliberate. Then she turned her attention to her violin, lifting it with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. She placed the chipped instrument into its worn case so gently that anyone watching might have thought she was laying an infant into its crib.

It was laughable, really.

And yet, he kept watching.

When she stood, she practically skipped toward the train station. Light, careless steps, as though the weight of the world hadn’t settled on her shoulders like it had on everyone else’s. He watched her descend the stairs, each movement unguarded, as though she had nothing to fear.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his suitcase, and his eyes flicked to his watch. The seconds ticked away steadily, a reminder that if he wanted to catch the last train home, he’d need to hurry.

But as he stood there, staring at the spot where she’d disappeared, he felt himself torn.

Head home... or follow her?

The decision hovered in the air, tantalizing and heavy, as the seconds marched on.

He realized that if he didn’t follow her, she’d haunt his thoughts all night. The sound of her tunes, the gleam in her eyes—it would all linger, nagging at him. And what if he never saw the little waif again?

The thought was unbearable.

He took a step toward the station, then another, and another, until he found himself at the platform, watching as she disappeared through the train’s doors.

“Pardon me,” he murmured, brushing past another passenger in his haste.

The man turned sharply, venom already rising to his face - until his gaze fell on him. The glare faltered, melting into something more subdued. Respectful.

It was remarkable, really, how quickly people changed their tune when they caught sight of his tailored coat and polished shoes. They didn’t need to know him, his past, or his purpose. The price tag of his appearance was enough to earn their deference.

How pitiful, he thought, as he adjusted his grip on his suitcase. Once, he’d been nothing - just like them. But now?

Now, he was above them all.

She sat in the distance, wedged between a mother with a toddler clinging to her thighs and a weary salaryman fighting to keep his eyes open. Her violin case rested on her lap, cradled against her chest as though it were something precious, something alive.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, careful not to let his gaze linger too long. If she caught him staring, she’d realize far too soon that she had an observer - and that wouldn’t do. Not that he had any plans of revealing himself.

Fortunately, he was practiced in the art of pursuit. Years of experience had honed his craft, though his targets were typically for a very different purpose.

The train jolted forward, and he swayed slightly, using the motion to adjust his stance, keeping her just within his peripheral vision. She was so unassuming, so small in this world of hurried professionals and exhausted parents. Yet, there was something magnetic about her.

Her oversized coat hung awkwardly off her frame, the patched hemlines almost brushing her knees. It was too large, almost comical, but she wore it without a hint of self-consciousness. Perhaps she didn’t care how it looked, or perhaps she was simply used to making do. The thought both irritated and fascinated him.

He shifted his grip on his suitcase, the leather pressing against his calluses. Would she even be worth it? She wasn’t like the others he had approached. There was a quiet resolve in her, something different. She didn’t wear her desperation as plainly as the others, yet he knew it was there - lurking beneath the surface.

Wasn’t it always?

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. Everyone had their breaking point. The game just revealed it sooner.

She glanced up briefly, her eyes scanning the train, and his heart seized for a moment. Had she noticed him? No - her gaze swept right past him, uninterested and unseeing. He let out a slow, controlled breath, reminding himself that he was a master at this. Years of practice had taught him how to melt into the background, to become just another face in the crowd.

But watching her, he felt something unusual - a spark of impatience. Normally, he could bide his time, savoring the slow unraveling of his prey’s composure. But with her, the anticipation was different. Her every movement - so small, so deliberate - pulled at something in him, though he couldn’t quite name what.

The train rattled through another stop, and a few passengers shuffled off. She remained in her seat, her hands absently brushing over the scratched surface of her violin case. Did she know how fragile she looked in that moment? The way her fingers lingered on the case, as though drawing strength from it, made his chest tighten in a way that annoyed him.

Perhaps that was it - the illusion of fragility. People like her always looked so easy to break, so willing to bend under pressure. But they never went quietly. No, they always had a streak of stubbornness, a refusal to yield that made the process all the more satisfying.

He swallowed, his mind flickering between possibilities. If he approached her now, how would she react? Would she freeze, caught off guard by someone acknowledging her for any other reason besides her violin? Or would she look at him with suspicion, sensing something amiss?

The train slowed, and the voice over the intercom announced the next station. His pulse quickened. She adjusted her grip on her case, her body shifting as she got ready to stand.

He waited until the distance between them widened before stepping off the train. The crowd of passengers spilling onto the platform was his cover, their hurried steps and muted chatter blending him seamlessly into the flow of bodies. Not that she would suspect anyone was following her. Who would?

Once outside the station, she weaved her way past the gleaming high-rises and into narrower, dimly lit streets. The transition was stark - the polished facade of the city gave way to crumbling walls, cracked sidewalks, and flickering streetlights. It made sense for her to live in this part of town. He never imagined she could afford anything more secure.

She paused in front of a small brick building, its exterior worn and unremarkable, much like her. He hung back, watching as she disappeared through the front doors. His pulse steadied, and he exhaled slowly. Following her inside would be foolish - far too risky. A smaller building like this meant she likely knew her neighbors, and a stranger’s presence wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Still, his lips curved into a faint smile. The journey might have ended here, but now he knew where she lived. A detail worth savoring.

Just as he turned to retrace his steps to the station, a light flickered on in one of the windows. His head snapped up, and his gaze locked onto it. A shadow moved against the thin curtain, a familiar silhouette. Her slight frame was unmistakable, and so was that oversized Breton cap perched awkwardly on her head.

Yes, it was her.

For a moment, he stood frozen, watching her shadow shift. She set something down - likely the violin case she had cradled so protectively on the train. He could almost picture her now, brushing the dust off her coat, pulling her hair free from under the cap, perhaps exhaling with relief to finally be home.

His grip on his suitcase tightened.

“I should leave now,” he thought. Lingering too long would be reckless, but something about that glowing window and her faint outline held him captive. It was a glimpse into her world - simple, predictable, fragile. A world so easy to disrupt.

Finally, he turned away, but his steps were slow, reluctant. He had what he came for, but the thought of her shadow, the dim light framing her every movement, stayed with him.

Time to say Goodbye.

[buunbaanbeen]

mine w/ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish

hello? is this thing on?? i’m a writer but i’ve never written anything for COD before so uh…. here you go!! anyways, it’s just an idea that’s been on my mind for a while and i thought it would be best to shove it into the void in the hopes that it sticks.

MDNI!!!!

not proofread bc it’s like 4am and i’m tired…

——————————————————————————

there’s something about his upstairs neighbour that johnny just despises. he’s never met you, nor does he even know your name, but with the amount of times you’ve almost come through his ceiling with your banging about, he things he has more than enough reason to. he’s spend hours imagining whoever it is that lives up there, sketching out face after face in his sketchbook before scribbling moustaches and glasses on them like an immature child defacing a magazine. he feels childish whenever he tears the random faces out of the book and tosses them into the bin, but then he hears your forgetful self open and slam your front door 3 times before leaving, and he reminds himself why he hates you so much.

one morning, when the banging starts at 6am, johnny decides that he’s had enough. he’s big and bulky enough to be an intimidating presence to anyone that comes down those stairs, and the bullet scar that sits on his bicep, just beneath the hem of his sleeve, only adds to his overall aura. it doesn’t matter if it’s a little old lady with an equally old dog in her arms, or a man twice his size; john is ready to confront them. maybe a few harsh words will get them to shut the fuck up and give him a little peace every once in a while.

he waits to hear the door upstairs shut once, twice, and then finally a third time before stepping out into the corridor, still barefoot with his pyjama pants hanging slack on his hips. images flash through his head of who you might be, months worth of hate-filled drawings fluttering around his head like kites. the sound of the steps creaking fills him with anticipation until you come into his like of vision.

and john really can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat upon seeing the way those thigh high socks and that tiny little skirt make your thighs look extra plush. the way your ribbed tshirt sticks to your chest and makes your tits look extra perky as they bounce with every step you take. his throat goes dry as he sees the collar-esque choker that bobs up and down your throat as you swallow down your energy drink, only for it to fill with drool once more when his gaze finally settles on your face.

fucking hell, did his pants feel tight.

you’re still an annoyance, he reminds himself as you offer a polite smile in his direction, your face lighting up like you’d stolen the light from the sun and taken it for yourself. you’re still loud, and clumsy and forgetful and he still despises every bone in your pretty fucking body. you’re still the bane of his—

“can i just squeeze past?” fuck, johnny thinks he might be in love. he’s never believed in love at first sight before, but as you flutter those thick eyelashes at him, he can’t think of any other reason as to why his heart is beating so fast. so perfect, so pretty; you were made for him to have and to hold, and he’s never believed anything more firmly.

“you’re gonna be cold dressed like that,” he blurts out, feeling stupid the second the words leave his lips. why couldn’t he just give you a cheesy pick up line and leave it at that?

but still, you smirk up at him as you lift the can of pure caffeine to your lips, and johnny thinks he dies a little inside. men have gone to war for faces far less pretty than yours, and johnny knows that if you asked him to, he would as well. a single word from you, and he’d be at your beck and call, feeling like a loyal hound at your command. his eyes can’t help but linger on the collar around your neck, and something twinges in his chest.

a mutt and his little pedigree pup; yeah, that feels correct.

“my hoodies are at the laundromat,” you shrug off his comment as it makes him feel any better about you going outside in your current state of dress. as lame as his pickup line was, it was a real concern of his. a precious thing like you out there on such a cold january morning? it just didn’t sit right to him, “which is where i’m going, if you’ll just let me—”

you try to shuffle past his larger form, but a hand on the shoulder stops you in your place. your flesh is so warm to touch, even when hidden beneath your tshirt, and johnny decides then and there that he never wants to be without it again. all he wants it you in his arms for the rest of eternity, and he’d be happy until the end of time.

“you’re headed to do your laundry at this time?” he quirks an eyebrow at your odd decision, and yet you nod back like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“there’s no one there at this time of day; it means i get best pick of the washers!”

johnny’s heart clenches as he listens to your excitement over being able to choose which washer you want to use. if small things like this bring you so much joy, he wonders what it’ll be like if he were to put a ring on your finger? he scolds himself for thinking something so silly and corrects himself; when he puts a ring on your finger.

“so you get up this early just to wash your hoodies?” he thinks about you lay on his bed looking all sweet and pliant in one of his own, the hood hanging over your eyes and the sleeves tucked over your fists like little paws. he can just imagine how sweet you sound when you giggle over him jokingly scolding you for your theft. one day, the sound of your laughter will be his ringtone so he can hear it whenever he’s away from you.

there’s a funny look on your face just before you tip your drink all the way back and finish it off with a gulp. the collar tightens on your throat, and johnny’s boxers tighten even more around his cock. it only gets worse when you put the can on the ground and crush it beneath the sole of your boot. he almost chokes on his spit when you lift your shoe up to reveal the can reduced to nothing more than a flat chunk of aluminium.

fuck, that’s hot.

“not gone to bed yet,” you admit as you pick the debris off the floor and cram it into your bag. johnny’s face falls, “i’ll sleep when i get back, if i have the time. if not, then… tonight? i don’t know, i’ll figure it out.” you shrug like it’s nothing; like neglecting yourself—johnny’s future wife—is an acceptable thing to do. it’s not, and between the lack of clothes and your irresponsible sleep schedule, he feels a sense of duty to take over. after all, it’s clear that he can’t trust your well-being to you.

“which laundromat?” he asks, voice dipping an octave as he lets himself take control of the situation. there’s no way he’s letting your quite frankly stupid behaviour continue, and his intervention starts now, with collecting your laundry for you.

“the one on the corner,” you respond, and johnny nods before telling you to wait a moment. you do, watching as he disappears into his apartment, only to reappear a few seconds later with an oversized grey hoodie in his hands. you wonder what it’s for until you see him hold it up above your head.

“arms up,” he instructs, and you do as he asks with absolutely zero resistance. witnessing your obedience makes his already aching cock twitch, and he can only hope that there isn’t a wet patch on the front of his pants. it’s already humiliating enough that he has a raging hard on, stiff enough to cut glass. “good girl; arms down,” and you do as he says, and he loves every second of it.

[wowowokay]

Sorry this is a day or two late but here are some more fic recs!! Also these are Batman fic recs but Tim Drake centric (I’m obsessed with Tim so don’t be surprised if I semi frequently post Tim drake centered fics lolol)

(Also there will be a note at the bottom)

Everybody Knows - White_bread_with_a_wig

Hilarious fic basically Tim never became Robin and instead took over drake industries at a young age and he accidentally reveals JL secrets he didn’t realize were secrets during an interview and now he has a bunch of hero’s and rogues him!

Words: 7,728 Chapters: 1/1

I’d kill myself if you ever leave - Violettavonviolet

Basically Tim realizes the mistreatment he received as Robin while he watches how Bruce treats Damian 4+1 fic really good I don’t know how to explain more about it without spoiling sorry 🥲

Words: 3,492 Chapters: 1/1

Red Robin: Undead - bridgesburn

Amazing fic but I’ll be totally honest it’s been a minute since I’ve read it but I totally remember most of it!! I just don’t want to accidentally spoil anything so here’s the authors summary!! And I left some of my own description? Thoughts? At the end!

Death is usually the end. Finality. That's kind of the definition of it.

And falling several stories toward concrete usually meant death. Timothy Drake had certainly assumed as much in the final seconds before he hit the sidewalk at terminal velocity.

But Tim should have realized that, given the complexity of his life, his death would never be that cut and dry.

Enter: a severed head, ten missing months, and an immortal cult leader.

A little less simple. And for some reason, Jason Todd seems to have some answers to his missing months and the violent urge that curdles beneath his skin.

(Yet again amazing fic!! It has some hilarious comedic points and it’s just amazingly well written and the plot doesn’t disappoint it’s just mwah! Amazing!!)

Words: 167,318 Chapters: 25/25

Note: okay that’s all the fics for today!! Also thank you to the people who started following me and left likes and reblogged!! Seriously it’s insane!! But I also wanted to just talk about maybe a posting schedule? I think I’ll be trying to post every other day? I definitely wanna keep some kind of schedule cause I love reading fics (obviously) and I’d love to be able to recommend some of my favorites to you guys!! But warning the amount of fics I’m recommending might fluctuate it depends on how busy I am since I work and I’ll be going back to school soon unfortunately 😭 but yeah! Also I will most likely be recommending Batman and Marvel fics but also occasionally my hero academia, Percy Jackson/Heros of Olympus and Voltron! (I’m not finished with reading Heros of Olympus but when I am there will probably be a flood of those fic recs lolol) also sorry if my grammar is horrendous English may be my first and only language but I still suck at it lolol but yeah! I hope you guys enjoy!!! :))

[victoryarchive]

Ok. I’ll bite. Hermit! Tommy? Because that looks an awful lot like a really cool Watcher au something? Please share!

Omg if you insist lmao

Buckle up this is gonna be a lot.

This all started when I was thinking about Greek mythology (a common occurrence I fear) and I was thinking how even though Helios is the sun and the god of the sun many people these days assign that role to Apollo (the god of light). And that got me thinking more and more about how as time progresses stories change and gods become gods of things they never were before. New gods exist. Old ones are completely forgotten. Their names change. Look at Roman mythology for a great example of this.

And because I’m one hell of a nerd this immediately translated to ‘how can I use this in fan fiction’

Another thing you must know about me is I hate to fall back on Minecraft mechanics, it feels lazy for me to do it (it’s fine to read I just hate writing it) and must always find a way to make things like respawn and different worlds fit into the lore of the story.

Thus began the world building:

Every watcher is a god of something, Xelqua/Grian: the sun, Pearl: the moon, Kristin: The underworld, XD: [redacted], etc. Each watcher has the ability to create a world (or multiple depending on their power) for their people to live (Grian: hermitcraft, Pearl: Empires, Kristin: the Antarctic Empire, XD: the DSMP, etc) Within these worlds it is very common practice for the Watchers to choose a devoted follower to give a small portion of their power to oversee their world, to make rules and keep everyone safe, an Admin. (Grian: Xisuma, Pearl: fWhip, Kristin: Philza, XD: Dream, etc.)

Now none of these watchers just spawned as watchers, no they became watchers through people worshipping them and writing stories about them as gods. These stories held power so the person held power and became essentially immortal and can do pretty much anything with that power, at least until they are forgotten.

So far the story begins with Xelqua brining his players back from their silly death game and being intercepted by a very very old goddess, one who had almost been completely forgotten. This primordial goddess is peace, not just the goddess of peace, she is peace. She is called Prime. She asks Grian and Xisuma to take her last worshipper and devotee, Tommy, and protect him from another Watcher. And with a little bit of convincing Grian’s like ‘yeah fine ig I’ll take the kid. How difficult can one child be.’

Now that’s as far as I’ve written aside from the beginning backstory stuff, but I’ve got a lot of stuff planned, including an entire few chapters inspired by ‘god games’ from epic the musical, where Grian has to go fight for some mortals life. One of them. I know which one. Yall don’t :)

There’s also a lot of Grian and Pearl back story from when they were kids and still mortal like thousands and thousands of years ago and how they eventually became literal gods.

Tommy learns how friends are supposed to work and gets mentored by none other than Mumbo Jumbo, or Impulse i haven’t decided yet. The only thing I know about Minecraft is redstone so he’s learning redstone.

Also it would be a damn shame for me to not include False and Tommy flying together a bunch bc they’re the only to avians that can match each others speed.

There’s some stuff going on with techno being an admin on an anarchy server. He comes in later in an absolute rage.

Also Joel is a demigod… it makes sense I swear.

I’m having a lot of fun playing around with the world building and each individual characters back story so I will expand on anything if people ask about it :))))

Thank you for asking this has been fun

[skyfallscotland]

Onyx Storm, by Rebecca Yarros ⚡️

She was the first to choose me, to elevate me above all others, the first to see every ugly side of me and accept it all, and every single person in this fucking canyon will die before they remove a single one of her scales.

Oh boy, here we go. This is probably going to be the longest review I've done (as it should be, I suppose) and I think I'm going to have to separate my likes and dislikes into separate posts and link them, just to at least try and be more concise.

To be completely honest, I didn't really enjoy the book all that much. When I finished it I just felt confused, empty, and completely overwhelmed. I cried.

It might sound a little stupid to other people, but I think if you've lived with depression, you know how much stock you can end up placing in the little things like this, and your hobbies and obsessions, and what you pour your time and energy into.

So it's hard when you don't enjoy things as much as you expect to. I didn't have lofty expectations for the book at all, in fact I had no clear idea of what exactly I was expecting plot-wise, but I did expect to really like it. A lot of small things piled up to make this unenjoyable for me at times as an experience and I'm having a bit of a hard time with that.

It's not even the book itself, so much as the fact that I kind of feel like I'm the only one who didn't love it, on the outside looking in at a fandom I’ve given a lot for, and worse, that it's killed my drive to write anything for the universe at all.

Overall, and this is my biggest problem, I feel stupid. So many things did not make sense to me. I finished this book feeling like I no longer understand the world building, the foreshadowing, the characters—nothing.

It didn't feel like a cohesive story, there was a lot of info-dumping and more than a handful of threads picked up and pulled on, and never looked at again. I don't have the answers to questions I've had for years, I only have new questions, and a lot of things that happened well...they don't actually matter at all. You could pick a bunch of things and pull them out of the story and the end result will be the same.

Someone on Goodreads said "Onyx Storm felt like a kid lost in a supermarket trying to find their mother." And wow, yeah. Yeah, it did. We went down all the aisles, every single one, and in the end we left without the groceries.

I feel almost like I need to apologise to Iron Flame, because really, her issues feel negligible to me now, in my personal experience. At least then I understood what the hell was going on.

Is this a chicken and egg scenario? Am I the idiot? Even if I am the idiot, should it be written in a way that idiots understand? Because I do not understand, Rebecca. I'm lost.

There just wasn't consistency.

There was no 'kill your darlings' in this book. It felt like there was a lot of fan service, and honestly it really felt like someone had gone onto the subreddit, grabbed a bucket of every theory ever mentioned and then went 'oops' and dropped it all in.

I feel like we shouldn't be learning about how magic works in the second half of book three. You're over 400k words in and you're going to choose now to tell me the dragons actually don't have their own magic? You told me in book one and two that they did. And now they're just four-legged venin?

None of this would be as big of an issue if it was news to Vi, but it's not. We're constantly just having things she apparently knew this whole time dropped on us with zero explanation over and over and over again. If you want to keep things from the reader, write in third person.

I spent half the book going back and re-reading things because I just didn't understand what was going on. Maybe it’s the OCD, maybe I'm an over-thinker, maybe I'm just dumb, but that kind of thing doesn't do it for me, it seems unbalanced and illustrates a lack of continuity from book to book.

In terms of characterisation, I wanted a more badass Vi and I got her, but it feels like there's a massive character development gap missing between 'I don't want to even know the truth in case you hurt me again' and 'I'm going to poison someone, blackmail them, and threaten their children.' Did they deserve it? Sure, but it felt out of place to me.

I've made another post here with the things that frustrated me and the questions I still have, and one here with all the things I did love. Because there were things.

Ultimately, my rating for this (on my personal scale) is it’s a good book, it just didn’t do it for me.

And personally? I really really wish it had 🥺❤️‍🩹

[oliviaglumac]

Here,there, and everywhere

Pairing : Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Requested : no

Genre : fluff

You never thought you’d find someone like Sam Winchester—someone who could make you feel like the center of the universe, even during the darkest of times. Life with him had always been full of surprises, full of love, full of heart. But there was a part of you that still couldn’t believe that this kind of love was real, that you and Sam could be so intertwined, even with the chaos surrounding you.

You sat next to him in the Impala, your hand resting on the worn leather of the seat, eyes staring out the window as the world blurred by. He was driving, his usual calm expression on his face as he focused on the road, but you could feel the pull between you. It was a constant, an undercurrent that ran so deep it was almost unspoken.

The song on the radio was one of those old classics—“Here, There and Everywhere” by The Beatles. You didn’t realize how fitting it was until the words washed over you, and you turned your head to look at Sam, your gaze softening.

“To lead a better life, I need my love to be here.”

You had always been there for him, and he for you. No matter where you both were, or what you had to face, Sam was always the one person you knew you could rely on. His presence felt like home—like the world made sense when he was near.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice broke through your thoughts, his eyes flicking to you for a second before he turned back to the road.

You smiled, the familiar warmth in your chest growing. “Yeah. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Sam chuckled, glancing over at you for a brief moment before his smile softened. “Lucky? I think I’m the lucky one, Y/N.”

You laughed, but there was truth to his words. In this life—filled with demons, monsters, and endless hunts—Sam was the one thing that grounded you. You’d seen him at his worst, and you’d been there with him through every fight, every loss, every moment of uncertainty. And still, you loved him. You loved him like you loved the stars in the sky, the moonlight on quiet nights, the promise that no matter how hard life got, you’d always find each other.

“I need my love to be here, I’ll be the one to love you.”

Those lyrics hit you in a way they never had before. It was exactly how you felt about Sam. You weren’t just there for him out of duty or obligation—you were there because you needed him, just as much as he needed you.

You squeezed his hand, the simple gesture enough to speak volumes. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Sam.”

His grip tightened around yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. Just the two of you, traveling down the road, hearts beating in sync, knowing that no matter the storm, you’d weather it together.

“I don’t know what I’d do either, Y/N,” Sam said quietly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You’re everything to me.”

You turned to face him, your fingers brushing his cheek. The depth of his words hit you, and you knew in that moment—no matter the challenges, no matter where life took you—you were exactly where you needed to be. With him.

“And I will be here, there, and everywhere.”

The promise in those words felt as if it were written just for you. It wasn’t about physical proximity—it was about the connection, the love that transcended distance, time, and the constant battles you faced. Sam would always be there, no matter the circumstances, and you would be there right alongside him.

His gaze softened as you held his eyes, the world outside forgotten. “Always.”

And as you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a quiet, tender kiss, you knew that whatever came next, this was the love you would carry with you—here, there, and everywhere

[torubeth]

degradation taken too far (mature content 18+)

context/warnings : it’s smut, so kids shoo! hell of a lot of degradation. they’re so mean i hate them. (swearing, words used : slut and slutty) angst to i have no idea what. pls do lmk if i missed any tws. and as always, its not proofread :p gojo ver.

ryomen sukuna ‘is that all you can do? all your yapping earlier about ridin’ me was just talks? answer me’ his sudden shift in demeanour has you feeling really small. sure he is a rude ass prick but not to you. never to you.

‘no- i can take it. i really can ryo’ tears sting at your eyes as you struggle to take in his full length. his hands giving your waist a small squeeze.

‘yeah and that’s all you’ve been saying for the past goddamn fifteen minutes. either you take it like a good girl or i’ll just have to find someone who will. trust me, i can’ he eyes held no remorse of the words he just spewed and that’s when you break.

correction, you shatter.

somewhere in the back of your head you knew he’ll never leave you but him wording it out makes it seem like it’s bound to happen.

and so tears stroll down your cheeks, your hands and legs giving out on you, your body going limp against his and you whisper the same thing over and over again.

‘don’t leave me ryo. i’m sorry. didn’t mean to upset you. i’m so sorry. don’t leave’

quickly his arms wrap around your body protectively, your face between his shoulder blade and neck, wetting the area with fresh batch of tears.

‘i could never leave you. you’re-’ you’re it for me. ‘you’re always the one that keeps me sane. there’s no way i’ll ever leave you. i’m sorry baby, forgive me. i didn’t mean a word of what i said’ he says.

when he didn’t get a response from you ‘look at me’ he whispers. slowly you leave the comfort of his neck and meet his eyes.

‘i didn’t mean it. you could leave me on deathbed and i still wouldn’t mean it’

‘i can’t leave you ryo. i love you way too much’ you sniffle, new tears threatening to spill so you go back to huddle against his neck.

god. he knows you mean it. and that’s what makes him feel like a dickhead.

‘me too, i- i lo-’ he struggles, just as your palm reaches up to cover his mouth.

‘i know ryo, i know’ you whisper, placing your forehead against his, both of you basking in the quietness of the surrounding.

geto suguru ‘fuckin-! ah shit! some insane grip you have on me baby. can’t move if you clench and lock me up like that’ he smirks against your neck.

‘and a bit quiet today ain’t ya? you sure had a lot to say to satoru earlier heh’ he remarks.

‘we were just catching up suguru, nothing-! nothing more’ you whine.

‘catching up you say? does catching up require smiles and touches? do they angel baby?’ he raises his eyebrows.

‘no..’ you avert your eyes away from his.

‘that’s what i thought. so for that, now you pay’ he pulls out suddenly, and pushes all the way back in making you yelp out loud.

‘sugu! ah fuck, i don’t think i can go another round baby. s’too much!’ the pressure was starting to get to you and you were starting to lose stability.

‘hah, i know you can baby, this slutty pussy’s all you’re good for anyway. fuck, doesn’t matter whose it is, as long as you’re filled. am i right?’ his words pierced straight through your heart.

since when did he-?

out of reflex, your hands reach out to touch his face to make sure that this was a dream nightmare. otherwise there’s no way he-

‘don’t touch me with those filthy hands’ he spits but makes no effort to push your hand off.

‘do you really think that’s all i’m good for?’ your voice is soft, filled with pain, and suddenly it’s like he’s broken out of his trance.

what the fuck am i doing, he thought.

slowly he pulls out, all whilst holding your hand against his cheek.

‘absolutely not. no. fuck, did not mean it angel. i promise. i- i don’t know what came over me-! didn’t mean it. please i’m sorry. next time if i ever lose my shit with you, i want you to take the nearest sharp object and plunge it into my chest’ he heaves out a guttural sigh.

‘you were really mean you know..’ you wipe your eyes.

‘i know baby, fuck. i didn’t mean it. i did not mean it. i’ll never do it again princess, ever’ he repeats.

his face lands on your chest, thanking all the gods and the stars out there for giving him another chance.

he’ll never screw up again and that’s a promise.

nanami kento ‘you really couldn’t wait for a few hours? just had to go and think with your cunt, right? have you no- ugh! no shame?’ his thrusts were sloppy as his hands were placed around your hips.

‘kento- slow down baby, i- i don’t think i can last’ you whine, hands clutching at the sheets.

‘no. you asked for this you little slut. so shut. the. fuck. up. and take it!’ each syllable was accompanied by a harsh thrust.

the usually composed, sweet and calm nanami was nowhere to be found. he’s never once called you a ‘slut’ and what caused this? you rubbing him through his pants and riling him up at his office dinner earlier tonight.

he warned you off multiple times but did you listen? no.

‘why are you so quiet now? i thought this is what you wanted’ his voice comes out raspy and cold.

a quiet but audible whimper escaped your lips, making him halt his actions.

slowly he pulled out, gently laying you on your back as your body shook with each sob.

‘sweetheart…? why are you…’

you look up at him, eyes puffy and swolllen ‘i’m sorry kento, it’s just that, you’re never home these days and i missed you so much’ a cry that’s sure to crack his heart leaves your lips.

‘i just wanted you all to myself for tonight but i didn’t mean to be a bother-’

his warm body hovers over yours, ‘you’re never a bother baby. always know that. you will always be at the top of every and any list i make. there’s nothing more i want than coming home to you everyday after work. and i didn’t mean to lash out at you. you didn’t deserve that, i’m sorry’ he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘you will always have me sweetheart, never forget that. now let me make it up to you yeah?’

[paimonial-rage]

a great undertaking - albedo

ship: albedo x reader

synopsis: after a week of radio silence during crunch time, you’re just about ready to call it quits.

notes: idol!au, reader is albedo’s manager, tw drugging (this is g-rated i swear), warning: i wrote this two years ago and the writing shows

Many assumed being the manager of the hit soloist, Kreideprinz, was an easy job. You couldn't exactly blame them. It wasn't like he held many concerts. He preferred to stay away from the public eye as well, so talk shows and events starring him were rare. He also didn't focus on his musical career as much as other soloists as well. You had to agree. Any normal person that shared such traits would definitely be an easy person to manage. However, Kreideprinz was anything but normal.

"Albedo? Albedo, please! It's been a week already. Do you know how difficult it is trying to schedule a concert with people from two separate agencies? Do you know how scary that pink-haired lady from HNMIzaka Entertainment is!? Please, I'm begging you!!" You cried as you pounded your fist against his lab door.

When all you heard was silence, your eyes filled with tears and you slid to the ground in a crumpled heap. This was the end, wasn't it? The KA5EN reunion was scheduled in two months' time and there were still so many things to prepare. They hadn’t even practiced as a group yet, which was the source of your despair. You swore if you told that pink-haired lady you were ‘still discussing possible dates with Mr. Kreideprinz' one more time, you were certain she was going to murder you in broad daylight.

Your lower lip wobbled as you leaned against the door and stared up at the depressingly bright fluorescent lights. Perhaps you should quit while you were ahead. Sure, Klee would probably miss you, but you didn't know if you could do this anymore. It was getting to the point you avoided looking into the mirror for fear of spotting gray hairs. It was a good thing Albedo was a straightforward person. Your resignation letter wouldn't have to be too long–

"Wha!?"

You squeaked when your backrest disappeared behind you. It took a few moments for you to realize the back of your head did not slam into the hard tile but onto something soft and bumpy. Glancing up, you could see the handsome prince himself looking down at you.

"Good morning, First."

This time, tears really did fall. There he was, the man you had been begging to see for the past week. Your angel. Your knight in shining armor. Your Messiah that would save you from death! And–

Also, the man that threw you into this whole mess in the first place.

"Albedoooo..." You sobbed as your shoulders shook pathetically, "I have very conflicted feelings toward you right now..."

He sighed before reaching down to help you up.

"I did inform you this recent project of mine would take a while. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, but not for a whole week! I get that you're busy, but you could have at least—Sorry, yes, coffee, please—You could have at least responded to my text messages!"

"Hmm? Well, you sent so many I couldn't tell which ones were important or not," he replied nonchalantly.

You wanted to scream.

"Also in the coffee, I–"

"Sugar, cream, I don't care what you put inside. I just need a cup," you grumbled before continuing, "Anyway, if you replied to the first one at a reasonable time, I wouldn't have sent all those other ones!! Do you know how many people I have chasing after me because of you? Not to mention the amount of times I had to entertain Klee because you wouldn't answer your door. I mean I almost got my–"

He handed you your mug of coffee.

"Oh, thank you… –My eyebrows burnt off! Multiple times. Multiple times, Albedo!!"

You took a few long sips of your coffee, ignoring the way it scalded your tongue and throat on the way down. Any pain it could cause you paled in comparison to the weight of stress you were under.

"You know once you burn off your hair follicles, they'll never grow back! I could've been eyebrowless the rest of my life just because you decided to ignore me for a week. I don't know how I can keep putting up with this. I thought you would be easy to manage, but it's getting to the point I don't think I'll be able to make it to retiring age!!"

His lack of reaction had your eyes tearing once more.

"Hmm... And how are you feeling right now? Physically speaking?"

You really did scream this time.

"How do you think I'm feeling!? I'm exhausted. I'm sleep-deprived. My back hurts. My chest feels tight. My head is pounding. Oh, you know. Just typical symptoms of extreme stress," you finished with a smile.

"I see. Would you say it is better than how you felt when you first entered this room?"

You frowned.

"I, uh... Um... I mean I did see you finally, so I guess so?"

"Do you feel any symptoms of nausea, dizziness, or drowsiness?"

"Why would I feel any--"

You froze as the hairs on your neck shot up.

There he stood with glasses on his nose and clipboard in hand, a familiar scene you fearfully dubbed as "Mad Scientist Mode." What was he writing down? No, why was he writing things down!? Did he–

Your eyes shot to the warm mug you held in hand.

Ah.

You shakily placed it on a nearby counter and pushed it away gently.

"Symptoms, First?"

You cleared your throat.

"It wasn't sugar or cream you put in the coffee, was it?"

He nodded.

"No, I synthesized a compound from an enhanced matricaria chamomilla flower and a few other plants in various degrees."

You wanted to laugh.

"So drugged me with something that may kill me."

"Ah, there's no need to worry about that. I tested it on myself multiple times. However, as I hypothesized, I did not feel much of the effect due to my, ah… differing temperament."

"So it's not going to kill you, but it may kill me?"

He sighed.

"Don't be ridiculous. I am more than well acquainted with your body. I already know what you do not react well to.”

You felt your face heat.

“Ignoring how wrong that sounds, you can’t just–”

You cut yourself off abruptly when a wave of exhaustion hit. You staggered back a few steps before holding onto the counter for support.

“Ah, it’s finally kicked in.”

Had you not been so disoriented, you would have shaken the lapels of his lab coat in fury. But your body was not agreeing with you. It instead felt too heavy to carry as your eyelids began to follow suit. You almost didn’t realize it when you lost your balance until you collapsed into the arms of something warm. You tried to push away weakly.

“No… I can’t. I still need to…”

“Shh, just sleep.”

—

You could tell you both weren’t compatible from the day you first laid eyes on him. As a neighbor and family friend to Miss Alice, you met him the day she brought him home. You were sick with fever that day, as you normally were, and answered the door with a stuffy nose. Never did you expect to see a young teenager at her side. He was quiet as Miss Alice introduced you both, only speaking up a few minutes later saying Miss Alice had a prior engagement and needed to leave. Judging from the surprise on Miss Alice’s face, though, you knew such couldn’t be farther from the truth. Did he just not like you?

That belief was solidified after Miss Alice left on her journey. Before she did, she told you both to take care of each other. It was a job you took seriously. Albedo did not. Though you were sickly, how many times did you find yourself at his door with dinner in hand? How often did you visit to keep his company? But he rarely responded to your knocking and never heard your calls of his name. When you finally managed to get inside whether it’d be by Klee or walking up to his window, he’d meet your eyes with a troubled sigh.

He’d always try to get out of things. When you’d spend a whole day trying to cook him something hearty and healthy to eat (he was too skinny, after all), he’d only eat a small bowl before suggesting you should take the rest home. And when you nagged him about the dangers of isolation and lack of social contact, you could tell his mind was elsewhere halfway through.

Eventually, when he realized you wouldn’t be going anywhere, he started to bully you instead. When you planned grand outings with Klee, he’d come along and force the day to end halfway through. He didn’t let you stay at his place too late and would only text to make sure you were sleeping on time. You couldn’t even play outside on snowy days for too long before he’d herd you back inside.

That didn’t even count his strange obsession with feeding you weird things. His meals, though delicious, were chock full of strange and exotic ingredients. He’d put odd concoctions in your drinks. There were times you could have sworn he opened pill capsules to mix into your desserts. Whenever you'd complain, he'd explain the health benefits, but the words and explanations were so complex that he'd simply give up before telling you with a deadpan expression to, "just eat it." Eventually, you began accepting anything he made you without question because, well, you always felt a bit better after.

If you had to be honest, perhaps having him as a thing to focus your minimal energies on was a good thing. Your life started to pick up after meeting him. Much of your childhood was spent in and out of the hospital. It wasn’t rare to find you in bed weak with a fever. Miss Alice's request got you out of bed every morning with a goal for the day. And as the years went by, you became healthier and healthier. You found yourself able to do more and more things. You were happy.

Albedo still worried you, though. Despite growing older, he was just the solitary person as he always was. He’d spend days holed up in his lab, only leaving to meet with his research partner, Sucrose, or to spend time with Klee. It was unhealthy, wasn’t it? He was a handsome young man, after all. He would miss out on the best years of his life if he spent it by himself! So you took it upon yourself to force him out into the world.

You took him everywhere you could. In fact, you may have gone a bit overboard with it as well. Though you weren’t a loner like Albedo, you never were able to do much when you were younger. Your parents were simply too overprotective. But they trusted Albedo. And much to your surprise, Albedo went along with your naggings and invitations. There were times you even caught him smiling which would cause your heart to soar.

Though you knew Albedo initially thought of you as a nuisance, you knew you eventually grew on him. After all, it was because of you that he became a singer. If you had not encouraged him to pursue it after being scouted by someone in the industry, he never would have taken the role. And after much convincing, he even let you become his manager! Sure, he didn’t change his habit of holing himself up whenever he felt the need, but still. You had a place in his heart. And you were happy with that.

—

When you awoke the next day, the sun was peeking through the curtains in the early hours of the morning. If you had to be honest, you had no clue how you got up. The bed was soft and the covers were warm. The pillows cradled your head like a cloud. Yes, why be up when you could be sleeping peacefully instead? It wasn’t like you had anything to do.

…

…

…

Wait a minute…

—

Albedo sighed when your strangled scream echoed across the house. He estimated you would be asleep for at least another hour, but you seemed to love betraying his expectations. As your feet pounded towards him, he reached into the cupboards to pull out a glass. By the time you arrived in the kitchen, he had a cup of water held out to you.

“Albedo! Why would you–”

He pushed the cup into your hands.

“Water first. You’re most likely dehydrated from sleeping so long.”

You opened your mouth so as to cry more, but decided against it and downed the water instead. You hated that you proved his point by how quickly you drank it down. Placing the cup down, you wiped at your mouth.

“Albedo! Do you even realize how much time I wasted sleeping? Why would you do that to me? Now Ms. Yae is definitely gonna–”

“I already spoke to her.”

“... kill me– Wait, what?”

“I spoke to her a week ago regarding the date for the KA5EN rehearsal.”

Your jaw dropped.

“E-Excuse me? Then why did she keep…”

“When I asked her yesterday, she said that your desperate expression was ‘very cute.’”

You felt your eyes tear. So that meant this whole time you were panicking over nothing? You wanted to laugh. It seemed like it! Albedo apparently did your job for you while Ms. Yae reaped the benefits from the miscommunication by watching you squirm for her sick pleasure. Were you destined to get bullied for the rest of your life?

You jumped when you felt a hand pat your head gently. Looking up, you saw Albedo gazing at you with a calm expression.

“Don’t worry. I told her that I will handle any communications dealing with HNMIzaka Entertainment from now on. Just focus on other things.”

Your hands balled into fists while your eyes teared more.

“But that’s my job! You can’t just–”

His expression became firm.

“No.”

His hand then slid to your cheek. His thumb brushed gently under your eye.

“Even with the medicine you took last night, you’re still sleep-deprived. You haven’t been drinking enough water and you’re undernourished as well. I noticed I needed to intervene a few weeks ago, but I didn’t think you’d get this much worse over the course of the week I was gone. You’re not going to be working on anything big until you get better.”

You turned your face away and pouted.

“You're not my mom, you know. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

He turned back to the counter and began to take various ingredients from the shelves.

“If you don’t want me to take care of you, take better care of yourself. The day you quit being my manager is the day I end my singing career.”

Your jaw dropped. How could he say such a thing so casually? And while frying up eggs no less!?

“Wh-Why in the world is that?”

He glanced over at you, his expression as calm as ever.

“Well, you’re irreplaceable.”

And as if he threw a bucket of ice cold water on you, you simply stood there frozen. You didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to react to that. But just as quickly as he froze you, his next words slapped you out of it.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Absolutely not.”

[loudlightobservation]

How do you think Syd and Carmy will realize they have feelings for each other?

Here’s what popped into my mind.

(Forgive me as I am often poor at articulating my thoughts)

Carmy

Carm and Syd are in the kitchen at the Bear.

They are both independently working, kind of like in S2, ep 5. Sydney knocks something over, curses under breath, grabs a broom and dustpan and starts to sweep.

What she knocked over definitely made a big mess. Usually Carmy would jump in to help but instead he just finds himself observing her. He has a slight smile on his face. We then see scenes of Syd and the times they’ve spent together, as though they are racing through Carmy’s mind. And then, like a ding when something is done cooking, we return back to Camry’s face of realization. He realizes “Oh that’s what these feelings have been? I like her?”

Syd snaps him out of it, “Hey you gonna just stand there? Or are you gonna help me?”

Spell broken, he bends down and helps her clean up, unsure of what to do with this new information. Body on fire because of his now close proximity with Syd.

[author-chan06]

Can you make one about 049 adopting *you*il’and taking care of you. Please and thank you :)

Hello, creepyalienghost! Apologies that it took so long for this to be done, but it is finally here! Pairing: SCP 049 & Child OC Character Wordcount: 2,458 A/N: I do hope this meets your expectations, sorry if he’s a bit off at the moment in this story, this is actually the first time I’ve really written 049, and so I was kinda trying to find my footing, and I hope you like the child character, even though they’re not complex here. The child is kinda supposed to be a self insert anyway, I just wrote it in third person, I hope you don’t mind that. Anyway, I’m rambling now, onto the story! Tws: Sickness, Implied Bigotry (Minor), Parental Neglect or Abandonment, Crying

I’ll Make It Better

Summary: After hearing about a town that has been racked with a sickness, SCP 049 goes over to see if there are any survivors he might be able to assist, and there is. He finds a child that seems to have caught the affliction but is working through it alone.

The old town seems to be deserted.

The buildings are dilapidated and empty, a silence that carries across the area and feels heavy enough to drive away any who would want to near hangs in the air. It smells of decay and death and fear, potent enough to choke any normal person.

The Doctor knows the sensations well though, and easily makes his way through the town, carefully searching through the houses for any survivors, meticulous and sure hands pulling up pieces of walls and picking the locks to check the rooms. He makes sure that no place is left out of his search.

It may seem strange, but he heard from a patron of a bar he’d gone through a couple days ago, about two towns over, about the outbreak that occurred and how it had decimated this town. They had explained in quite vivid detail how the disease has gripped people and turned them a sickly yellow, how it has given them boils that burn as hot as hellfire, and how they deserved it for what they did in that town. For how they were allowed to live there.

His sudden departure from the area had been hardly noted, and he had been glad. If he stayed any longer he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his oath to do no harm to living creatures. And moreover, he knew where he was needed.

No matter, the Doctor banishes the thought of the uncouth man and continues his search, his senses detecting some signs of life farther away. He follows it, ducking under a broken door frame and opening the door to a much smaller room that seems to be some type of bedroom. The scent of life is much stronger here, he notes, hopefully closing the door behind him and aiming to search the room as thoroughly as possible until he finds whoever or whatever it might be that had survived this scourge. It should be fairly easy with such a small space to search through, and then he can get back to his main goal of curing the wretched Pestilence from humanity.

It doesn’t take long— in truth he doesn’t even need to look, for as soon as he closes the door a cough rattles out from beneath a pile of blankets on the bed, ragged and painful sounding in a way that suggests the throat is scratched and rough, and a small hand peeks out, fingers curling around the cover and pushing it weakly to the side as if fighting against the unrelenting hand of the gods themselves; there’s another cough, and the covers slip, falling from the bed and leaving the person below completely exposed, shivering and hot. 

A child, the Doctor immediately realizes, something almost like panic pressing in his chest as he stares.

It’s not the Pestilence, or at least, it’s not the one he’s spent his entire existence fighting, but he can still feel the sickness radiating from the child. The Pestilence is present as well, but only dormant, and he knows that if the child stays like this for any longer then they will not live long enough for it to develop any farther. Usually that would betoken a job done, once the Pestilence has been infected into someone— and there are so very few without it— the only way to end it is through his cure, or death of the mortal flesh. And his cure is not perfect, it is barely satisfactory at the moment, meaning that the child would likely not survive that either. Their death would cause the exact same outcome at the moment. He should move on and find another survivor, there is surely at least one more that has less Pestilence in their system. And yet. And yet.

Dark eyes peek up at him, barely lucid but just bright enough, just there enough, that he knows they see him, and he finds himself paralyzed. Their hands curl around themselves, seeking warmth of any kind as if they can feel the chill of death breathing down their neck, and when they try to move closer, to take a closer look at him, their arms tremble and they fall backwards, a horribly painful sounding cough racking their small frame and making them whine.

He should just leave, or even try to cure them; he’s never hesitated before, and he should not allow himself such a liberty now, and yet.

He’s never wanted to harm anyone. His goal has always been to save, to help, to make better.

This child could be helped. This child could be cured. If not of the Pestilence, then of this horrible sickness that has taken hold of them now.

The Doctor inches closer, reaching out a hand to the child, who blinks blearily and tries to reach back, muscles trembling and sweat sticking their small amount of hair to their head, their fingers splayed apart as if in pain or for more reach. And he quickly grabs their hand just before it falls— he assumes it would have pitched them forward, and something about that thought makes his chest lurch— and he leans the child back, watching the way they move with him carefully, supporting their back with a hand, while keeping their hand in his, his deadly touch deactivated, as their breathing that had pitched higher at the strain calms a bit and their eyes start to clear a bit more, as if his mere presence cures them a bit, as if his mere presence helps them feel better.

He isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but he makes sure to keep his voice as kind as he can when he finally speaks, “Child, what ails you? Did the grown folk speak of the plague harming your town?,” He pauses, and then adds, “I am a physician, and I am here to help you.”, hoping to assuage any worry the child might have of his appearance. 

Plague Doctors such as himself are common, though they were not called that by any but himself as far as he has knowledge, but most children were unfamiliar with the medical field unless something disastrous has occurred. He hopes he is the first this child has had to meet, but, from his looking around, it seems unlikely, despite how miserable that thought is. 

But he is still certainly different from others in his field— he has been told as such by many— and he would not want to scare this child with his unconventional methods and his strange looks.

“Phy…” They whisper, their voice broken and feeble. Their hand shivers in his and he moves just that much closer, pressing a hand to their forehead to measure their temperature as they try to continue, “Physic’an? Momma sai’ they only c’m ‘round in the bad,” And it’s like they remember this as they say it, because their chest jerks, eyes going wide as their body swings, trying to get away or go do something, but they cannot, their mind obviously spinning as their breathing labors in their chest and makes their lungs seize, and the Doctor helps, catching them and trying to calm the way his own heart has jumped. They are quite hot to the touch, he notes down with worry.

He settles them back on the bed, and leans back, just far enough that they have space to move without his hovering. “That is,” He hesitates. What is appropriate to tell a child in this circumstance? If their mother and father haven’t left already, then they are very likely dead, and if they did leave… The Doctor has seen that enough to be sure that they are very unlikely to come back. “The town has been struck with a nasty plague, I’m afraid.” He settles on, keeping his hand on their shoulder so they don’t jerk too hard again, and keeping an eye on their face. It does no one any good to deny them information.

They turn ashen as they swallow, and their eyes flicker back and forth, like they’re looking for something and it takes a moment for him to realize that—

This poor child is going to be heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, “I could not seem to get here in time, and the sir and madam of this house… They do not seem to be around anymore.” He doesn’t specify for what reason, mainly he keeps it as such because he does not know for certain, but seeing the crumble of the child’s face… that might have influenced his words, he must admit. He thinks the child knows anyway— there is an intelligence about them— but he won’t say it unless they ask.

The child’s trembles intensify and they press their hands to their face, their legs pulling up to their chest slowly, and he can hear their breathing go rough, a ragged sob that has been building for he is unsure how long falls from them, and, as if a dam has been broken, they start to fall in earnest, small hands try to rub them away, to push the feelings away and make it stop, but they just continue to fall, and their lips tremble, the redness of the fever giving way to a despair that strikes the Doctor in the heart.

The Doctor does not even think before he moves closer this time, drawing the child into his side and letting them be covered by his robes as they cry, and, despite their apprehension before, they latch on immediately, stronger and more trusting than he would have ever expected making him jolt, staring down at the child, though he does not push them away, only moving to make it a bit more comfortable and to be able to have his hand on their shoulder to comfort them if need be. And they seem to appreciate it, as their hands dig into his robes and they dig their face into his chest, their tears pressing into his skin and dampening the fabric like covering. 

Not that he minds the dirtying of his clothes itself– he is a Doctor, that happens often enough— but he does wish they weren’t so sad; the tears harm his heart, and he is not used to that.

It is not something he would particularly like to get used to.

But this goes on for quite some time, and he does not rid of the child, nor does he try to cure them— no matter how much his hands itch to— and instead he just continues to hold them, eventually hesitantly shifting so that the child is on his lap, curled up and small but protected, his robes fanned out more than usual and arms settled on their back. If anyone or anything enters, it means he can turn his wrist and catch them with his deadly touch before they can harm either of them, and it means that he can rub the child’s back.

“Why would mama leave me?” The child eventually mumbles, tears still falling but starting to slow to a sluggish pace. Their face is shiny and red, eyes blurry and dark, and the Doctor is overwhelmed by a feeling he’s never had before, one that he cannot quite classify the way he would like to, and it makes him wish for a more expressive face, a more human build so that he could calm this child more effectively, so that he could show his emotions.

But he did say that he would tell them if they asked, and they are asking.

The Doctor hums, rubbing a hand down their back, listening in the silence as everything pauses, “I can not say for certain she left, child, but if she did…” The child tenses and looks up at him, and he once again wishes for a human face, anything more expressive than his beak when he admits, “It is likely she thought you would spread the plague to her and her other loved ones. She made the decision to stop the spread, because she knew it would take them as well, if she didn’t stop it.”

Their chest hitches but they don’t start crying again. They rub at their eyes roughly, but the Doctor stops that, running a gloved finger under them, and letting his beak curl into the closest he can get to a smile as his voice warms, “It could also mean, she thought you could survive on your own, that she trusted in your ability to persevere and live, and well,” The child blinks and leans into his hand, and something about that makes him feel warm. If only for a moment he worries about contracting what the child has, but he knows that’s impossible and so he continues, “She would have been right. As though you are sick now, I have gotten here on time, and by the time I leave, I promise that you will be better.”

“Better?” The child asks, hopeful and small, hands coming to clutch at his own and at his robes.

The Doctor nods, and keeps his voice warm, just as warm as he feels, as he agrees, “Better.”

It’s strange, the Doctor will readily admit that, to be curing someone of something other than the Pestilence, or even to have to comfort someone through the process, someone who can still be scared of the items and methods he is using. But he wouldn’t call it anything other than that. It isn’t painful, or bad, or awkward, or anything of the sort, and maybe that’s because it’s this special child— though he doesn’t quite understand why the child is special yet, these instincts have never driven him wrong before, they’re the same ones that pushed him onto the path of the Cure over and over again, they’re the ones that assured him that traveling through Europa was the right choice— or maybe it’s easy to comfort them for some reason that is just something that he cannot pick out.

But no matter what it is, it makes him care about this child, and since he cares he will cure them.

And when it’s time to leave—

Well, the Doctor has always needed an assistant.

Never mind the fact the child rarely remembers what he teaches, often gets the wrong ingredients and tools for him, and can cause all sorts of trouble. That’s his assistant and they go wherever he goes, and they learn, slowly but surely. And he learns with and of them, of humans and their customs, of family and friendship, of hope and laughter and excitement, and silly fun.

And he finds that he doesn’t just make the child better. No— they make him better too.

[hidekomoon]

max chapman character of the century i miss you every single day

[bbearthyy]

Did i just read all of your writing? well yes!! Not sure what you’re comfortable w necessarily but i would LOVE some more sub!jj or dad!johnb or literally anything 😍😍😍😍😍😍

oh my gosh thank you!! i have been swamped lately with work and the semester being almost over for college but i have a few lil blurbs i’ve been working on in my notes! i had some more with sub!jj but i didn’t think anyone was really into the dad!johnb. i’m glad to know it’s appreciated and i will definitely be posting more soon 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[commence-screaming]

I know you all are awaiting my response, and I’m grateful for your patience. There are some things I have to address here. Never wanted to put everything out there—I don’t like drama on my blog. I have a document that’s over a thousand words long, but I realized that when people have blocked me and are saying stuff in the main tag, they don’t want to listen. They just want to hurt me.

So I guess now there are things I have to clarify… it’s heavy, but I tried to keep it short. I didn’t have the energy to read everything they were saying about me so I may get things wrong. I didn’t really want to post this.

Content warnings for mental illness, suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse.

Let’s get right into it.

1. I’ve always lived with the paranoid delusion that everyone was conspiring against me, that people secretly hated me and would smear me behind my back. I passed these off as negative thoughts, anything that might’ve “confirmed” this would set it off. I’d have an episode I would have to deal with on my own. I thought that nobody would stick with me in a crisis, and I would always be thinking along the lines of, “is it all over?”

I feel liberated, now. There’s no need to fight when they’re true. I am more at peace with myself.

2. I never want to hurt anyone. Not a real level, the angst stuff is fictional pain. I am autistic—the things you’re hearing me say are the first times I’ve talked to people (other than my family) for my entire life. I always want people to go to me when I do something wrong so I can handle it and learn from my mistakes, that’s why I have my bio set to what it is.

That, and my memory is so fuzzy that I can’t remember too much from even last week. I tend to dissociate and my brain turns into mush.

3. The “minor incident” that Ghouse and the others were talking about was one of his mods saying she’d “tear people apart” and then immediately citing me as the main cause because I was “being rude.” I told her why I was taking a break, as I couldn’t handle it, this had happened before and I asked them to correct me if I was wrong—even confirming multiple times that we were just joking around because I was paranoid.

I suggested they go straight to me for future reference. I was having a mental health episode. She called me crazy and that I was overreacting, implying I was stupid. Another mod told me I was overreacting and that I was acting pathetic and childish. This made point 1 so much worse.

4. The “suicide baiting” was something I told the Panic Room server in confidence. I told them I was talking a break. Ghouse said “it wasn’t that bad but okay,” as if he were gaslighting me. He said things like this as I was sobbing alone in my room, which he was well aware of.

I have to clarify that it wasn’t baiting. Suicidal ideation has been something I’ve been dealing with since I was 9 years old. I have been abused/gaslit for more of my life than I have been safe. I never wanted to say this, but they were brushing me off at a point where I was trying to find a reason to live. I had stupidly thought that they would understand what they were doing to me if I said.

5. That was the first time I had an episode like that. To say that it was baiting is to say I was lying. Let’s play devil’s advocate here.

If I were lying for attention, why would I destroy all my relationships in a single night? Why wouldn’t I make art or something along those lines? They’re big on art.

If I wasn’t, then that would mean that I was having a few bad days and they did nothing to help me… beyond condescendingly saying that I need help. I don’t blame the minors in the server, I’m talking about Ghouse, who is older than I am by around 2 years. I told them I called 988 and it didn’t really work. He continued to tell me off.

After I was kicked I was made aware that they immediately started insulting me. Whether you believe me or not, purposely attacking someone who’s mentally ill is… too far. I hadn’t done anything to them before this incident.

6. The reasons I freaked out was because I was sad that I had unintentionally hurt people, I had started a new, dangerous job, and… well, to be honest, I was terrified.

They were making me forget that I’d been hurt. I was starting to trust them. I had been starting to look forward to tomorrow. And, I was so scared that it would all be over. I didn’t know when, just that it would be.

Now, it is.

7. I may very well have been joking around with everything while on the server, but serious topics were serious. I was never “demeaning” when Ghouse was venting about something that happened to him beyond a couple of lighthearted comments. I thought they’d have the same respect for me. Again, I had confirmed multiple times that I was joking.

8. I might not have done much wrong in the Panic Room situation, but the other things that people are saying about me? I had no idea.

That was the first time I’d ever heard of them.

In the past, my autism had gone completely unchecked. some of those things were from when I was a week into being on my first server… ever. I was 17, had no idea how to check for age or even pronouns. Never used anything but tumblr, never interacted with anyone. Never went to school or even had a job at that point. I more tried to figure out everything based off of my own experiences… which was, not good. To say the least. The things I did, in my head, I thought they were “normal.” This doesn’t make it less terrible, but I hadn’t even remembered some of the incidents until someone pointed it out. It was so mundane to me—I was a messed up child. I’m sorry for this.

8. I wasn’t the best person, I really wasn’t. I didn’t know how to “mask” my traits at that time, I was excited to be able to talk to people. I was protective over my friends (my first friends! ever!) and very clingy. I didn’t know that people held characters close to their hearts, either? (When I have a favorite, I only want to hurt them, you see)

So while the doc was deliberately taking things out of context, some of the other accusations are true, unfortunately. I will be posting my DMs between me and the people on the server in my doc.

9. I have explanations for what I’ve seen of the accusations, but I don’t really recall anything from that incident over 3 years ago… if someone had told me, or even confronted me, I’d have known what was wrong. But they didn’t, and they kept talking to me like everything was normal. I was completely unaware. This is most of the reason I thought people were plotting against me—people would be cold to me and I wouldn’t know why. The worst part is that I can’t apologize. I can’t even try to rectify anything. Some of the people in that server still played PAYDAY 2 with me, some would even reply to my DMs. I had… no idea.

I have hurt people. Unknowingly, but still. I apologize to anyone I’ve affected. Most of it was not knowing how basic social media functions worked. I hope you understand that my behavior was out of line, and that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Don’t defend me on that, I was entirely wrong. But… smearing me in the fandom tag instead of going to me directly means that they want to attack me. They don’t want an explanation.

All of my actions were genuine. I never intended to hurt anyone, but that’s what ended up happening. I’ll put more detail into the doc.

10. I was already going to take a break. I was already doing poorly, and the server knew this. At that point, they want me to go through with it. What else would they be saying when they do all of this? Unless I’m reading that wrong. Whatever the reason is, they don’t want to help me, they’re deliberately being malicious and they know I wasn’t baiting.

Although, I guess I have to thank them. Now, I can say that I wasn’t delusional. I can say that I was too smart for my own good. How crazy does it sound to think that everyone was just waiting to betray me? But… they were. I can begin to trust myself again, even if it’s accepting some of my “negative thoughts” as reality. I won’t be reaching out to anyone I don’t already know, and there is safety in never putting myself out there again.

Thank you to everybody who stuck around. My delusions… weren’t entirely correct. Just like how most of my former friends blocked me on sight, there were a few people who didn’t mind when I wasn’t responding. There are some people who believed in me to a point where even if all those accusations were true, they believed that I could change. That’s… something I never thought I’d hear, ever, in my life. That is a form of trust I don’t deserve, really.

So, I was wrong again. Not everyone wanted me gone. It took all of this for me to realize that there were people who loved me in the truest form of it.

As for everyone who cut me off… well, I hope you understand that because of my mental issues, I can never trust you beyond a professional level. It is for my own wellbeing, because I’m still not doing good. I will still be taking that break. The PAYDAY 2 fandom was a source of reprieve for me, and now it’s not. It wasn’t an accident that it turned out that way. All my safe spaces have been taken from me. I don’t know why the Panic Room server hated me, so I can’t provide any extra insight on that.

The truth is, I haven’t been around because I’ve been dealing with depression for a long time. I’ve been passively… yknow. Not actively. I haven’t had the energy to respond to anything on most days, I’m sorry for that :(

All of this was just the breaking point, really.

Thank you for reading. I know most people won’t, but I appreciate those who do. I won’t blame the rest of you if you all decide to leave as well, I understand that. I never made the blog for other people, I made it for myself. This whole thing will serve as a reminder that there are more important things than online spaces. Can’t get therapy because I’m broke, but I can enjoy the few things I still can… even if I’m reminded of what I’ve lost. I don’t think I’ll really be here anymore, but I will be okay.

[lionblaze03-2]

sometimes I think about writing and singing music not because I’m an incredible singer but because no one has my fucking voice, especially in popular music, and its disheartening to be born a girl, told you’ll only get girl roles or try to voice match other girls, or ‘sing with the girls’ and then only be able to match male voices because you’re a fuckin tenor and not anything higher. I can’t think of any girl Broadway roles I can hit all the notes on. Most songs I love I have to pitch down for myself or use falsetto for singing along to. It bothers me a lot less now because I’m an adult who’s more secure in myself but as a teen in kids musical theatre it FUCKED with me, BAD style. And I know for a fact that even now when I hear people with a voice like mine singing I get excited and immediately invested in their work because they’re like ME, finally, for once. A brother in this world of being afab and having the voice of a recently pubescent boy forever. Maybe I should be that brother too.

[moonlitkitten]

I want somebody to slowly love me. Letting me fall into them with total trust and loyalty. Getting high together and watching a movie snuggled up on the couch. Slowly stroking my hair and fingers exploring my body, trying to memorize every curve. Feeling their warmth against me as I finally feel safe, I’m loved, I’m where I belong. After the movie we slowly make our way to the bedroom, my head still hazy from how high we are. I want them to tuck me into bed and tell me that I’m their kitten as they slowly start kissing me, trailing their way down to my hardening cock. Each kiss sending shivers across my body. Only as I’m expecting the touch of their tongue against my cock, I instead feel a tearing pain in my thigh as they bite into me, gnawing at my supple flesh. I yelp and whimper and try to pull away but I’m met with them pinning me down and a feral look in their eye. Before I can get a word out they have their hand around my throat and are sinking their teeth into my chest. Leaving more and more marks of their love. With each passing moment they grow more feral, biting harder, grinding against my cock, their grip on my neck slowly suffocating me until I’m on the verge of passing out. When they’ve had their fun marking me across my body they turn me over and I feel the slickness of lube against my hole followed by the feeling of their fingers slowly sinking their way inside of me, only preparing me for what’s to come. They pull their fingers out and I whimper as they grab me by the hair and whisper in my ear “I want to hear you beg for it”. I can’t help myself as I desperately plead for their cock. How much I crave them. How much I love them. How I’m so lucky to even be touched by them. Eventually being unable to even form a coherent sentence and just mindlessly begging. They chuckle, and who can blame them. Such a pathetic cock hungry kitten like this is laughable. As they plunge their cock into me I moan in ecstasy only to have them cut short with an arm around my neck. Pounding into me while in a chokehold, barely able to breath and only able to focus on the overwhelming pleasure. I beg for you to break me, to just use me as your personal fucktoy. They can barely hear me at this point, far too focused on breeding me senseless. As I get close they go faster pushing me to the breaking point as I cum all over their cock as they push themselves in as deep as they can. They let me lose myself in it for a few seconds as they catch their breath, I’m already on the verge of passing out with my cock twitching as they still are inside of me. Just as I regain some semblance of consciousness they start grinding into me. Slowly they work their way back up into a frenzy and relentless pound into me. Feeling their nails dig into me leaving even more marks across my skin. The feeling of their hips against mine, my hands gripping the bedsheets, their nails tearing into my flesh; drawing fresh blood, and the overwhelming ecstasy are all I can feel until finally they let me know they’re getting close. I buck my hips back against them as they finally come, collapsing on top of my half conscious self; covered in sweat, cum, blood, and bruises. All marks of their love, and I happily accept all of it.