#Just a little thing I wrote and then continued!

[girl-lostconnection]

I don’t know what came over me but there is something about retired John Price and his big hands and him getting softer around the edges after all the battles that makes me feral

Continuation of this I wrote a little while back.

John’s hands are scarred calloused things — hardened from years of battle and manual labour, spent in more ways then one, joints aching every time the rain clouds are coming to hover over the village.

John feels the upcoming storms better than any sailor does, knows how soon the waves would roar and clash with each other by the way his left wrist throbs with dull uncomfortable ache, sharp pain lacing towards his fingers when he moves it.

You watch him carefully, always in the corner of his own vision — pretty little thing, eyes too big and teeth too sharp.

You with your rows upon rows of glistening pearls, shining in the morning sun like you just got out of the water, toothy smile as a greeting to John smoking a pipe on his porch.

The sea breeze is always salty and that the only explanation he has for why his mouth starts salivating at the sight of the wet fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin. John sits on the steps of his cabin and rasps out “morning, luv”.

Voice too low to be appropriate, eyes glued to you without the hint of shyness in them. John is an old man, love, he’s seen too much, he’s lived a life.

He’s not going to be ashamed that he appreciates the view of a gorgeous thing like yourself in wet shirt.

You just smile at him, a little wider than maybe necessary but god, does he look delicious. Long legs and strong hips, arms big from a lifetime worth of battles, chest broad with curls of hair peeking through the unlaced cut of his shirt.

He looks good enough to eat.

Your tongue traces the sharp edges of your teeth, eyes roaming him with the same shameless interest.

Well, maybe you should?

John watches you go about your day, meets you at the small shop you hold at the edge of the village — selling freshest fish, small jars of roe and crates filled with water and shellfish.

John watches you, dexterous fingers uncannily good at deboning the fish, your smile widening when you catch John watching — blood and scales clinging to your skin.

John visits you few times a week, chats you up, eyes heavy with satisfaction when you silently laugh at one of his jokes — shoulders shaking, face flushed with laughter.

You bring him your best fish and scallops, show how to properly salt and store the thing. You get him ready for winter, touches lingering here and there, feeding him with seafood.

John is not one to ever say no to someone this beautiful taking liking to him, but still it feels a little new to be on the other end of care. To have someone hop onto his doorstep with herbs and seafood, with ointments for his joints and salted fish.

With smiles and sea salt in small jars.

Smoked and blended with herbs, colourful and coarse.

John takes everything, eyes softening when he sees it’s you, hands carefully accepting your gifts, stealing away small touches of your cool fingers.

You smile wider when he does, clicking your tongue in satisfaction.

A well-fed mate is a happy mate, after all. And you are determined to keep him very very happy.

After all, better he gets some size on him before you sink your teeth in.

[ikeuki]

four-letter word / 니키

( pairing ) nishimura riki x fem!reader ✶ highschool au, one-sided enemies to ??? ; fluff/crack, cursing — ( wordcount ) ?

ᯓ★ ikueki’s note. based off of tom’s monologue in ‘500 days of summer’ when talking about “hating” summer! this fic is from my old stranger things acc: @scwheeler (IT IS MY OLD ACC / MY WRITING) it was for mike wheeler originally…!

synopsis. riki can’t figure out his feelings towards you; he thinks he hates you but is it really hatred if he can’t get you out of his mind?

nishimura riki hates you.

he stared from across the classroom, watching you with crossed legs and back straight. you tapped your number two pencil on the wooden desk repeatedly, making a quiet yet annoying sound. it bothered him so much, only adding to the mental list of things he hated about you.

rather than staring now he was glaring. but he sat behind you and a couple rows over which meant you didn’t even notice. continuing to annoy him without a single thought.

he pressed down his pencil into his notebook until the lead snapped, making him also snap out of this trance. he looked down at his empty paper with a dark lead circle in the middle. he ripped out the sheet and crumpled it up, debating whether to throw it at your head or into the trash can.

he probably had a better chance shooting it at your head than landing it in the trash can according to his sports record but he refrained because your hair looked nice neat.

riki wasn’t suddenly choosing to be sympathetic or anything but he wasn’t a complete asshole.

or he thought of himself not to be. it must’ve taken you all morning for those bouncy curls and he knows how mad his sisters get when riki occupies the bathroom for more than thirty minutes before school. so he kept the crumpled paper and shoved it in his backpack, agreeing he’d either throw it to your head another day or throwing it away at the end of class.

“mr. nishimura—! i asked you a question, what is the answer to the question on the board?” the teacher asked in a stern tone, hands on his hips and trying to get riki’s unbothered attention.

riki quickly looked away from you, hoping you didn’t see him staring straight at the back of your head. you turned around from your seat to look at him as did the rest of the class.

he was out of it—a little preoccupied with thinking about something else, more of someone else.

his paper was blank. other than the crumpled up one he just shoved in his backpack. did he have notes on that page?before he could mutter an excuse or guess and pray to the gods he was right, a hand rose up in front of him.

it was yours…?

your arm popped up and attracted the teachers attention. “yes, ms. y/l/n?” he asked, now trailing his burning eyes away from riki and softening them towards you. unbelievable.

“if riki can’t answer it, i’d gladly do it myself,” you replied softly.

you didn’t speak in a sarcastic or rude manner. riki almost wished you did so then he would have a reason to hate you. but your tone was sincere like you wanted to help him.

“sure that would be great, go ahead,” the teacher proceeded and let you come up to the board. you took your notebook with you, it was covered in bright stickers and shiny gems matching your appearance.

riki watched as you sat up from your desk, the school uniform clinging to your body to fit your slight curves. he could’ve sworn the uniform’s skirt was shorter than you had on.

wait what—! why was he looking at your body or your uniform, nevertheless your existence…!

you picked up the small white chalk and wrote down your answer, copying your equation from your notebook. the class watched but riki observed. he thought about how you saved his ass from getting yelled at the teacher. why? after finishing the equation, you went to return to your seat. but before sitting down, your eyes met riki’s, flashing a quick smile.

in the brief moment, riki looked at you stunned. you didn’t wait for his reaction though and turned back to the teacher’s lecture. he shook his head, whatever. he hated you.

——

i hate her crooked teeth.

——

if he hates you so much, why was he up at three in the morning still thinking about your stupid smile. your pearly white teeth almost blinding him in the middle of math class.

his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes pierced through the ceiling of his bedroom. what was your problem? you didn’t do this to any other person in the school? you left everyone else alone—his classmates, his friends, his enemies—so why did you chose him? was this a punishment?

riki groaned and flipped to his side to face his bedside table, looking at the alarm clock reading 4:27 now. he spent almost four hours just thinking about you and it infuriated him. he liked girls before, girls in his class, girls on the tv, girls in his favorite movies. but he never stayed up thinking about him until this late hour.

also, he liked those girls! they were pretty and hot! he didn’t find you attractive or anything, so what made you so different?

was it your smile? it wasn’t even that nice! he’s seen better smiles in the newspaper and he could say his mom has a better one. yet you were the only thing on his mind and riki couldn’t stand the feeling.

he turned left and right, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep but it was no help. by the time, his eyelids were finally about to shut, they were disturbed by the bright light of the sun coming up. he hated you so much.

——

i hate her 1960’s haircut.

——

the next day at school, riki slung his backpack over his shoulder and waited at his friend’s locker. he agreed to meet heeseung before soccer practice afterschool and it wasn’t the first time the older boy was running late. riki didn’t mind all that much. if anything it meant an excuse to be late for practice, especially since heeseung was the coach’s nephew.

the only unfortunate thing about going to his locker was that yours was right next to it.

he managed to avoid bumping into you almost everyday. weirdly enough he tracked down your exact schedule with classes, meet up with friends, and when you needed your mid day snacks to get through the day.

heeseung commented on it one time, saying his uncalled “hatred” for you seemed more and more like a crush instead. riki almost blow a fuse right then and there in the middle of the soccer field. heeseung hasn’t mentioned it ever since.

unlucky for riki, you were quite an unpredictable person. most of the time you were walking with your usual friends, stopping by your locker to get your bio and calc textbooks. but on the rare occasions you were alone, you spent the entire passing period leaning against the metal wall texting away on your little phone.

this forced riki to hide behind the corner, peering over from time to time like a creep to wait for you to leave. he was even late once or twice just going to his locker at you finally left when the bell rang.

when his teacher asked why his eyes slowly trailed to you, who stared back at him innocently. unknown that you were the reason why he was late and got detention, for the fourth time now.

he could only shut up and take the yellow slip from his teacher. sliding into his desk in the back and staring out into the window in annoyance. why did he need to avoid you?

today was worse. worse than riki could ever imagine. he headed for his locker after fifth period and watched as you walked down the hall to your cheer practice as you always did afterschool. again, a little weird how much riki knew about you. anyways. he hurried to his locker and put in the code, opening it quickly. he grabbed a couple of his textbooks needed for homework and his soccer bag.

as soon as he closed the locker door, he almost had a heart attack. you were standing right there with you back facing him looking into a small magnetic mirror attached to the door of your locker.

you were applying another layer of strawberry chapstick, the one you carried everywhere and put on during first period, third period, and right after lunch by your locker.

so he was definitely surprised to see you standing right in front of him, puckering your lips and looking into the mirror. completely oblivious of riki standing behind you with a shocked expression saying ‘what the fuck!’ you didn’t even notice him staring at you for a full on five minutes.

riki would never admit it but you weren’t such an eye sore as he tried to convince himself all last night.

you were actually nice to look at. well-rounded and cute features that complimented your face. your hair was right in front of his face, the fruity fresh scents of strawberry and peach shampoo filling up his senses. without him even knowing, riki’s frown turned into a small smile.

your perfectly formed curls with a white headband, all sitting nicely on your shoulders made you look like a character from a 60’s cartoon. they moved side to side as you checked yourself out in the mirror, putting riki into a trance. but he snapped out of it as you put the cap back on of your chapstick, signaling him to return to his main goal: get to practice on-time.

he kept his eyes forward and tried to play it cool. walking down the hall, he just prayed you didn’t catch him ogling you for the past ten minutes.

unfortunately, by the time he got to the field, the coach had already started warm-ups and without the excuse of heeseung’s presence, riki only earned the team four extra laps to run. which no one was happy to do. god—how much he hated you right now.

——

i hate her knobby knees.

——

heeseung informed riki that the whole soccer team was required to attend the school’s pep rally as a part of the athletics committee. wanting to spend his friday night off doing better things (aka playing video games in heeseung’s basement until four a.m.), he continuously urged his friend to sneak out.

“what if we just slip out during the principal’s speech?” riki suggested to an unamused heeseung who already accepted his fate.

“if we get caught—our asses are DONE FOR. my uncle’s gonna kill us and definitely tell my mom.” heeseung seemed dead serious about refusing riki’s request, leaving the younger boy to only sit on the bleachers and wait for the soccer team to be announced.

after what felt like hours of speeches and addresses by the principal, teachers, and staff, a bunch of school-color, short uniforms filled the gym. it was the school’s cheerleaders, girls and boys all wearing color coordinated uniforms with scarily happy smiles plastered on their faces.

a single face stood out to riki. one that’s been distracting him in class, keeping him up at night, and keeping him in the hallways. his eyes immediately fell upon you, disregarding the other twenty girls and guys wearing the same outfit. you were the only one that caught his eye and he couldn’t tell why. was it cause of the locker interaction earlier today?

you were skipping in with a cute grin on your face, those stupid pearly whites blinding riki once again. you had pom pom in your hands, waving your arms in the air and saying hi to the crowd.

you didn’t spare riki a glance even once, unintentionally of course—how could you see him in a sea of hundreds of students! but he didn’t mind. at least it meant he could stare at you the entire time the cheerleaders introduction was happening.

what surprised riki was that you walked to the center as everyone got into formation. you were center stage. your smile was warm and lit up an entire room, the entire crowd beginning to feed into every word you said. when you said “go—!” they said “—team!”

then music suddenly started to play and the cheerleaders started a routine. one that you guys probably practiced a million times before. riki could see the nervousness in your face, hiding behind that smile you held so proudly.

he noticed your knees, you had skin tone band-aids all over them. underneath were obviously bruises, cuts, maybe even scars. people might’ve thought they were ugly but riki couldn’t help looking at them.

not like he was a sadist or anything but the bruises made you look more real. like you weren’t just another carbon copy of these cheerleaders who had perfect lives and appearances like the girls surrounding you.

you were different. something about you gave riki a hint that there was more to you than being a shallow popular girl.

you wouldn’t make fun of the so-called losers with the jocks behind the science building during lunch, their cheerleadering girlfriends joining in just because they can. or disregard the entire meaning of attending school to just dance in a tight outfit and fluffy pom poms in front of the entire school.

no, you were nowhere near those areas during lunch, riki saw you spending the time in the classroom, taking a nap to catch some extra z’s before the last two classes of the day or listening to music and researching choreography for the cheerleaders. in class, you always participated. you paid attention and studied, even helping the other struggling students in your free time.

maybe it was the way you helped him yesterday morning, answering his question and cutting off the teacher’s potential wrath. or you simply smiling at him the moment after.

either way, he found himself clapping for you after you finished your dance, enjoying your performance and rather disappointed to find it so short. heeseung was confused, wasn’t riki just giving suggestions on how to sneak out of here five minutes ago? now he was smiling and clapping like his own girlfriend was out there dancing in front of the crowd?

why did you make riki feel this weird? this good feeling he had whenever he saw you? he had to force himself to hate you to avoid his true feelings from spilling out.

and then, riki realized what the indescribable feeling—that takes over him as a whole every moment he lays his eyes on you—really was. he didn’t hate you.

he hated how you made him feel.

[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.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Could you do a one-shot where alastor is super nervous when meeting reader, not really on his face but more his body language where when she shakes his hand he continues shaking it or doesn't let go immediately. nervous smile too lol, thanks love your stuff!!

Heeey I wrote it hope you don't mind some interpretation on my part! You didn't mention why Alastor was nervous so I just did whatever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Tags: Oblivious Alastor, Cartoonist Writer, Humor, awkward affection, Alastor is either oblivious or in-denial, Nifty is Nifty and you should all love her

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

Alastor’s introduction to you was not a willing one. Charlie had started a bit of a bookclub at the Hotel as some odd attempt at bonding. Alastor wanted no part of it, but after the 532nd time Charlie asked him he said something particularly scathing and the princess was cruel and told Vaggie, and the ex-exorcist would NOT stop stabbing his door until he finally relented.

Of course, his choice of book was one called ‘Blank’. It was a notebook with nothing written in it. Very easy to discuss at a bookclub.

Charlotte was not impressed and Vagatha once again starting throwing vague threats in his direction. How tempted he was to just kill both of them, but alas this hotel has been the greatest form of entertainment he’s had in years (is what he tells himself.)

Darling Nifty came to his rescue, offering up a variety of different light-reading to be discussed in the future. Most of which were….not to his taste. Nifty’s interests highlighted most definitely, but Alastor quickly chucked the books out the window when the story turned to ….that.

As the number of books dwindled, he was just about prepared to give up on this stack entirely and fetch something meaningless to pretend to read (who’d check, anyway?).

He picked up one, a flimsy comic-book like thing and rolled his eyes once before giving it a go. The story wasn’t anything particularly interesting. The plot was just two bunnies going to get some ice cream. But the wordplay, the exaggeration of all the smallest obstacles, how self-aware and absurd it was gave him a good laugh. The Radio Demon’s first introduction to your work.

Although the bookclub idea ended up going nowhere, Alastor found himself seeking out more of your works. Another about a man just making a taco, one about a woman folding her laundry. So many little, day-to-day situations amplified to a ridiculous amount. Clever one-liners and humorous puns sprinkled throughout kept it intelligent enough for him to maintain interest despite the absurdity of it all.

Eventually he got a cartoon you drew that seemed just the same as the rest. Some random cute cartoon raccoon drawing some random little cartoon things. There was a scene in it though that stuck to Alastor’s mind (and dare he say, heart) like glue.

In it, the raccoon was confronted by a shark. “Why do you bother making these?” the shark sneered “No one reads these but you, no one looks at them but you, there’s no point.”

“Why does there need to be a point?” The raccoon said. Alastor’s ears straightened up on their own accord as he read “Even if no one sees it, it’s something I made and it’s some I enjoyed making.”

“Even if you put it out there, no one will care about it.”

“Someone will. They might not say anything but there’ll always be at least one.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound? No one gives a crap about your ‘passions’!”

“I do.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound-“

And then the raccoon pressed a button and an anvil fell onto the shark, comedically turning it into a pancake. “Your argument doesn’t have any depth.” The raccoon said. The story moved on from there.

It struck a bit of a chord with Alastor, he could admit that much to himself. And the raccoon’s way of dealing it was something he’d keep in mind for his next encounter with an annoyance. He didn’t put much stock in it, as storytellers and their stories don’t always agree on all things.

Your comics were a little joyful distraction when he needed them, that was all. Nothing deep and profound.

“BOSS!”

Alastor slammed shut the book he was reading, his grin never faltering though his twitching ears indicated a slight nervousness. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Hello, Nifty! Did you need something?”

Nifty scamped up his chair and onto his lap, settling down andstaring up at him with her one big eye. “BOSS BOSS BOSS BOSS I MET THE DEMONESS WHO DRAWS THOSE CARTOONS YOU LIKE”

Alastor’s eye twitched “Oh? Well, that’s neat.”

She stood up, squishing his face between her hands and stared more as her grin grew wider and more manic “Did you want to meet her?”

Yes

“Now, now, Nifty.” Alastor said as he removed her hands from his face “There’s better ways to waste one’s time.”

Nifty tilted her head, staring at him as though it would allow her to see into his mind. Her expression shifted into….One he hadn’t seen on Nifty, admittedly. The best way he could describe it was ‘smug’. But what would she have to be smug about?”

“If you say so, Boss!” She chirped, hopping off his lap and trotting off “But yeah I was at the Evermore Book-Store and she was there working ‘cause I guess that’s what she does for a livng….” Nifty’s voice faded away as the little maid walked off, not caring her rambling were being said to no one.

After Alastor had finished his errands for the day, he happened by that very store…for…Reasons. Upon entering it, he realized he had no idea who- what- he was looking for. The store itself wasn’t large. A couple patrons, one large hulking demon with tiny spectacles at the desk and a much smaller one organizing shelves.

One of the workers, then?

Not that he cared.

“Pardon me!” Alastor chirped to the desk demon. Their big eyes seemed to move in slow motion to him, a low grunt accompanying the acknowledgement. “I’m looking for someone, yes? The author of some silly comics?”

The demon slowly narrowed their eyes, lips curling up into a snarl as a growl emanated from them.

“Ah, so she is here?”

The demon planted their very large hands on the desk, pushing themselves up to stand at their full height. They were taller than Alastor by a good three feet, and much more muscular as well. Their nostrils flared, blowing hot air into his face.

Alastor wasn’t the slightest bit phased. (He found it funny, actually). “So may I speak to her?”

The large demon opened up their gaping jaw-

“That’s me, hi! How can I help you?” The shelf-stacking demon interrupted, getting between Alastor and the clerk demon. A nervous little lady with a wobbly unsure smile and bags under her eyes that looked like they could carry the entirety of Hell in them.

Alastor held up one of your comics- a book that has been very obviously well-read “You’re the creator of these splendid little things?”

“Splendid…?” You repeated him, trailing off into an amused snort “Er. Yeah, I wrote and drew those.” The Clerk behind you closed their mouth, setting back down on their chair and adjusting their spectacles. The glare didn’t leave Alastor.

“Well, my dear, I find I quite enjoy them! It’s quite a pleasure to meet you.” Alastor said, not paying the larger (glowering) demon any mind. He found himself wondering why you were so tired and so timid. A woman like you should be so much more cheerful! Alastor was a tad offended….Because you weren’t smiling like he did. That’s it. Really.

“Well. I’m glad you like them.” You said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You offered your hand for him to shake.

One of his ears twitched. You must be fairly new to Hell, to offer a handshake so easily. Or perhaps a bit sheltered or on the naïve side. Alastor briefly considered making a sly deal to take your soul, but… Well, there was no need for that.

He took your hand and gave it a firm shake. Your hand was so much smaller than his own, but it felt as though it warmed his entire body. This was strange. Perhaps you were casting some spells on him? Why was he finding it so hard to focus- why did he feel like he didn’t know what to say next- why-

The Clerk gripped Alastor’s arm in between two fingers, gently but assertively pulling it away from you. You took half a step back, cradling your arm to your chest as if he burned you. Alastor glared up at the Clerk “Is there a problem?”

The large demon growled. You intervened again “Er….You were just. Holding my hand for a while. It was……kind of weird.”

“Ah.” Alastor cleared his throat, straightening his posture with a flourish “My apologies! Mind was elsewhere, you know how it is with us creative types.”

You blinked. Then your timid smile turned a bit more confident. A bit more…like a smirk. “Er. Yeah, I guess so. Well. See you around, I guess?”

“If I have the time, I suppose!” Alastor grinned “Well then, I must be off! Ta-ta!”

You watched as the strange demon disappeared into shadows and slivered off. As soon as all trace of him was gone, you laughed quietly into your hand “Well, I can certainly say for certain I know someone ‘awkward as hell’ now.”

Your friend groaned, gently pushing you over as they continued their own work.

[cut-it-out29]

(Previous anon) No no you’re good you didn’t upset me! Here, I’ll give you something to help u feel better if u want? *drops small plushie of a sea turtle into his hands*

Everyone is so worried about the bean (ㆀ˘･з･˘)

<<< First

< Previous

Next >

Way more under the cut btw!!! Lotta ranting down there…

Ehehhe yeah erm- the way I’m resisting the urges to write him with a continuously more southern accent

Even on the last ask I was almost gonna have him say something along the lines of ‘hun’ or smth like that- like in the way the nice old southern ladies would call ya’ sugar, baby, hun, etc. :)

If that makes sense??? That might not make sense-

It’s a stupid little headcannon but since he’s my character it’s basically just cannon atp 💀

Uh- and on that note Dreamy would also have a slight southern accent! Though probably a bit less noticeable, at least slang wise… don’t really see him having a super thick accent in any direction.

He would probably say things in an ever so slightly southern way with little to no southern slang whilst night on the other hand NM just has a light southern accent and uses a decent hand-full of southern slang

But really that wouldn’t make much sense since Dream would actually interact with more of the villagers and therefore use more of their slang and such?? I suppose?? But uh- DOESNT MATTER DONT THINK ABOUT IT

I’ll make an excuse that like- idk- Dream used to have a thick southern accent that NM picked up from him but after they entered the Multiverse jaundice here ended up switching up to whatever’s most around him since he talks to a lot of other people while Nightmare on the other hand only really talks to Killer and later on the rest of the gang so his accent set in before he started talking to many people?

Yeah- yup, that’s cannon now-

I just wrote this out of nowhere and it’s cannon now.

Have fun with that

Sigh

Their characters have developed so much since all these asks /pos

Originally NM was gonna be really withdrawn and mistrusting, quiet and often uncaring to those outside his close personal group.

And he’s still all of those in a way but now he’s much more cold but warms up relatively quickly in comparison (unless he senses ulterior motives / bad intentions from someone) whilst still being somewhat withdrawn he’s actually very careful not to upset people unintentionally and is a paranoid level of apologetic- sigh yet another sign of his abuse from villagers- and he’s pretty protective, though he’s always been that way in writing!

He’s.. more sympathetic

Anyway

fun fact : The little moonberry here has never seen the ocean! He’s read an awful lot about a lot of things but he’s never seen an ocean or a sea turtle but he’s always wanted to- specially he wanted to see turtles and moon jellies more then anything! Funny you managed to choose an animal he likes :)

[absolutebl]

hiii I hope I'm doing this correctly! I haven't been on Tumblr in ages but I stumbled upon your posts and would love to hear your recommendations for spicy bls that are realistic with not many goofy sound effects like in Thai bls. By spicy I mean shows or movies that do include some intimacy... I really enjoyed the pornographer, the cornered mouse dreams of cheese and my beautiful man. I don't mind the show being happy, I just want it to feel real. Jbls tend to be my preference lately because of that. TY

Spicy Realistic BLs with No Camp Aspects

similar to: Pornographer, The Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese, My Beautiful Man

Here's a short list of more recent stuff, since lots of my posts on this are somewhat (I put a star* next to the ones I think you'll especially like)

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans

My Stand-In*

Jack and Joker

Deep Night

Every You Every Me

Unknown*

Love Sea

City of Stars (pulp warning)

At 25:00, in Alaska AKA 25 Ji, Akasaka de

To Be Continued

Step By Step

The Eighth Sense*

Jun and Jun

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho*

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto*

Bed Friend*

Never Let Me Go

Moonlight Chicken*

Between Us

Tokyo in April is AKA Shigatsu no Tokyo wa*

FYI I had to eliminate quite a few (like Pit Babe, Two Worlds, and The Sign, I Feel You Linger in the Air) because of your "realistic" restriction. That said I think you would REALLY enjoy IFYLITA.

More obscure and historic BLs

Older post: Everything not Thai qualifies, and some of the higher rated Thai stuff on this list:

Everything mentioned on this list also applies:

These BLs are all quite realistic, but may not always have high heat:

FYI

Hope that's helpful. There should be some stuff you haven't seen before.

(source)

[itscoucouharry]

Rewritten Scars- Ch. 3

Hey yall so I really wrote this series just for this part as it was written before the rest of the story was. Please enjoy!:)

Chapter 3: Scar Tissue

You were wrapping up a presentation in the conference room with your team when the door opened, and Harry stepped in. His gaze swept the room, but when it landed on you, his expression hardened with determination.

“Can I borrow Y/N for a moment?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Your manager, who had been mid-sentence, blinked in surprise. “Of course, Mr. Styles.”

You bristled but plastered on a neutral expression as you followed Harry out of the room. He led you into his office—sleek and spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, you were alone with him.

“What now?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Harry didn’t sit behind his desk or lean casually like he had the first time. Instead, he stood in front of you, his expression unreadable.

“I get it,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t want my apology. And honestly, I don’t blame you. But I need you to hear me out—for your sake, not mine.”

“For my sake?” You laughed bitterly. “This ought to be good.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he were weighing his next words carefully. “When I saw your name on the candidate list for this job, I almost didn’t call you back. Not because you weren’t qualified—you were the most qualified person we interviewed. But because I knew what I’d done to you. I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me, and I didn’t want to drag you into anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “But you did call me.”

“I did,” he admitted. “Because I thought… maybe this was my chance to make things right. Or at least try.”

His honesty took the wind out of your sails. You hated that it was harder to stay angry when he sounded so damn sincere. But you weren’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.

“Do you think you can just erase years of bullying because you feel bad now?” you demanded. “Do you have any idea how much damage you did to me?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “And that’s what I have to live with. I don’t expect you to forgive me, Y/N. I don’t even think I deserve it. But I do want you to know that I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown up. I’ve learned a lot about myself—and about the people I’ve hurt.”

His green eyes were steady, almost pleading, but he didn’t move closer. He stayed rooted in place, as if giving you space to decide how to respond.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, the anger you’d kept simmering all week bubbling to the surface. “Are you fucking serious right now, Harry? You think one heartfelt speech is going to fix years of torment? You think I’ll just clap you on the back and say, ‘Oh, it’s okay, Harry, we all make mistakes’? Fuck that.”

Harry flinched at your words, his face hardening, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you continued, your voice rising with every word. “You don’t fucking get it. I used to dread waking up in the morning because I knew I’d have to see your smug fucking face. I couldn’t walk down a hallway without feeling like shit because of you and your little gang of assholes. I couldn’t eat in the cafeteria without worrying about what new insult you’d throw my way in front of everyone. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? Do you even fucking care?”

“I do care,” he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by your own.

“Bullshit,” you snapped, stepping closer, your anger making you reckless. “If you cared so much, why the fuck did you do it? What was the point, huh? Did it make you feel big? Did tearing me down make you feel like a goddamn king?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I was a stupid kid—”

“No!” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to hide behind that excuse. I was a kid too, Harry! And you ruined me. You made me hate myself. Do you know how fucking hard it was to pick up the pieces of what you shattered? To look in the mirror and not hear your voice in my head calling me a fat pig, or telling me I was worthless? Do you?”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“Do you know what it’s like to go to therapy because some asshole in high school made you feel like you didn’t deserve to exist? Because that’s what I had to do. I spent years trying to unlearn the shit you drilled into my brain, and even now, it still lingers. So don’t stand there in your fancy office and tell me you care. Because if you cared back then, I wouldn’t be fucking scarred now.”

Harry’s face paled, his eyes wide with something that looked like genuine guilt. He took a deep breath, his voice shaking when he finally spoke. “Y/N… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cut him off, your tone icy. “You didn’t care enough to notice. You were too busy playing the fucking hero in your own story while I was the villain you could mock. Well, guess what? I’m not that scared, humiliated kid anymore. And you don’t get to act like you’re the victim now because you suddenly feel guilty. You’re not the victim. I am.”

The room was heavy with silence as your words settled between you. Harry looked like he’d been punched in the gut, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your fury.

“I’m not here for you, Harry,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m here for this job, because I’ve worked my ass off to get here. Don’t think for a second that your apology erases what you did, because it doesn’t. And don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

You turned to leave, your hands trembling with adrenaline, but his voice stopped you.

“I know I can’t undo the damage I caused,” he said quietly. “But I swear, Y/N, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t regret taking this job. And I’ll spend every day proving that I’m not that person anymore.”

You froze, his words hanging in the air. Slowly, you turned to look at him, his face etched with an expression you’d never seen before: shame.

“Good,” you said finally, your voice hard. “Because you’ve got a hell of a lot to make up for.”

Without another word, you walked out of his office, slamming the door behind you. As you made your way back to your desk, your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing.

He thought he could apologize and move on. He thought it would be that simple.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easy. Not after everything he’d done.

[hazelfoureyes]

Hi hazel!

I hope you are doing better after your posts news months ago. We missed you and your energy on this app. Due to recent events, I have been very stressed and very scared and I've been rereading the A Doe In Fall series to take my mind off of everything.

So i just wanted to say thank you. It's literally not related and you did not do that for me and my harsh feelings about a lot of things in this life rn, but regardless your fanfics have been a perfect escape for me since a year or two ago?? Geez... it can't have been that long... anyhoo I am so utterly grateful.

When you're ready to post more parts of A Doe In Fall or The Safeword is Radioapple, I will be here ready and waiting to absolutely devour your wonderful story and words. However, I just wanted you to know how much your work is helping me in the now with what you have written. So thanks 💖💖

It's also so crazy to say cause i feel like this is like the "you saved me" posts but like this one consists of smutty demon character fics based on the 1920s-30s and also Hell 🤣 but i am above being any sort of ashamed so bring it all on im ready 😈

What a terribly sweet thing to say! It’s been a year of smutty smut smut on here. Which is… huh?? Lmao

I’m so glad my stories can give you an escape! That means so much because it means I’ve succeeded in pulling you into the little scenes in my head 😭 I’m escaping there anyway so might as well write it out and let us all go! Field trip!

A gentle reminder the ending of ADIF has been written for like 6+ months now, I’m mostly now just babying the bits that are done and adding things to flesh out the world of our lovers before The Event. So I promise it will finish…. Cuz I already wrote the painful parts 😭 Your inbox genuinely helped me get over my “I’m scared to open Google docs” paralysis and continue fleshing out the next that’s half written, so thank you!

I think I’ve been really in a “scared to move so gonna zone out” mood for like three months now and it’s really sapping the soul out of me. Like I’m scared to indulge in hobbies or art for some reason… like I’m scared of expending the energy or falling in love again with things. I can’t explain it well I’m just terrified to write. But I did! With your kind words in my ear!

Your inbox really made my day and is the kind of thing I have to struggle to not post on my personal insta like HEY LOOK NICE PEOPLE LIKE ME 😂 💖

[onehundredelevven]

FINALLY REMEMBERED AN I IDEA FOR A FIC I HAD HELLOOO

okay so a fanfic inspired by the song Terrified by Childish Gambino with a gender neutral or male reader (plsplsplspls need more male reader) specifically these lyrics:

Do you misbehave?

Haunt you to your grave

I′m going to eat you alive

Please don't find me rude

But I don't eat fast food

So don′t run to me, baby

I NEED SUGURU SOOO BAD PUHLEASE or any jjk man you think would fit the fic y'know 😋 interpret the lyrics however you want !

Here u goon !! I chose Geto cuz why nottt. And idk if I actually got the interpretation of the song, I think I wrote this too vaguely(and boring)😭😭😭

☆☆☆

Misbehave.

The moon was full and heavy in the sky, casting a pale glow over the large temple grounds. The chill of the night bit at your skin as you stood just outside Suguru’s private quarters. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as though the very walls of this place knew you didn’t belong here.

You shouldn’t have come.

But Suguru had called you—no, summoned you—with a simple message delivered through one of his devout followers: “Come to me. Tonight.” And like the fool you were, you had obeyed, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have over you.

Now, standing before the sliding doors, you hesitated. The distant hum of insects filled the air, but the temple felt too quiet, like the calm before a storm.

Before you could knock or announce your presence, the door slid open with a soft shhk. Suguru stood on the other side, dressed in dark robes that hung loosely around his shoulders. His hair, long and dark, framed his sharp features in a way that made your breath hitch. But it wasn’t just his appearance—it was the way his gaze bore into you, heavy and knowing, as though he’d been expecting you to hesitate.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone light but tinged with amusement.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat as he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

Once inside, the door slid shut behind you with a finality that made your stomach twist. The room was dimly lit by a single candle on the far side.

“You’re nervous,” Suguru noted, his voice low and smooth as he approached you. “Good. You should be.”

Your pulse quickened, and you took a step back, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist. His touch was firm but not painful, just enough to stop you in your tracks.

“Do you know why I called you here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head.

His lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Because I wanted to see if you’d come running to me like a good little pet. And here you are.”

You froze, his words sending a jolt of something—fear, excitement, maybe both—through your body. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go entirely. Instead, he guided your hand upward, pressing your palm against his chest.

“I’m too possessive to play nice,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dangerous. “Too selfish to share. And too obsessed to let you go.”

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes darkened, glinting with a predatory light.

“I don’t like things that come easy,” Suguru continued, his free hand trailing up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I like a little fight. A little chase.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved to your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his gaze. “But now that I’ve caught you, what should I do with you?"

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it.

“Don’t run,” he purred, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a ghost of a kiss. “I don’t like fast food. I like to savor every bite.”

The candlelight flickered, and for a moment, you swore you saw something darker lurking in his eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, each word sinking into your skin like a brand. “I’ll haunt you to your grave if I have to, but you’ll never be free of me. Do you understand that?”

You nodded, your voice lost to the weight of his presence.

Suguru smiled, but there was no warmth in it—only possession, only hunger.

“Good,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Now, be good for me and don’t misbehave. Unless…” His grin widened, a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes. “...you want to give me a reason to punish you.”

[caitlynkirammansrifle]

"Heart of Glass, My Mind of Stone" Sequel Plans

Okay, as we're getting closer to the end of "Heart Made of Glass, My Mind of Stone" fic, I want to kind of lay out what I want to happen, schedule/planning out wise.

First, I am going to go through all of "Heart of Glass" and clean some things up. There are, albeit minor, bits that I wrote but never did anything with that I will remove from the fic or alter (in the first few chapters, Caitlyn is mentioned/referred to attending a school in Piltover that I never did anything with, for example). None of these will affect the plot or change the characters in any ways, but this is one of the side effects of making up the story and posting it as you go that I do want to address.

I am still going to release a kind "deleted scenes" or "alternative perspectives" scenes chapter, but note that it won't be very long. Not sure if I'll attach it to "Heart of Glass" after the epilogue or make it its own stand alone that I have be apart of the "I Will Give You My Rebel Heart" series. It would be one chapter and I would be clear on what the contents of each scene will be and the structure of the chapter will be like little vignettes with their own sections. I plan on doing this after the fic is finished and after I clean it up.

As of right now, I don't know when the sequel will be written. I might take a short break if I feel like it after "Heart of Glass" is finished or I just might continue since I've been on this incredible stretch of time being so inspired. I've been planning some of the sequel out as I've been wrapping up "Heart of Glass," but it's not fully fleshed out by any means. While I don't plan on knowing how it ends before the first chapter is released, I do still want to have some goals/plot points to hit in mind.

[annabethsbbg]

rita fucking skeeter

pairing: harry potter x reader

tw: insecurities, kind of? that’s it really

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

being the girlfriend of the chosen one definitely had its issues, especially when there were girls who would kill to be in your position. it also didn’t help that these girls we’re undeniably gorgeous.

but when rita fucking skeeter wrote an article about how you were only with him for the fame, you lost it.

so here you sat with hermione, tears of frustration in your eyes.

“i just don’t understand.” you said quietly, wiping your eyes.

hermione smiled sadly at you, rubbing your back. “they’re all idiots for saying such vile things about you.”

you sniffled, shrugging. “does harry see me that way?” i ask quietly.

hermione looks at you as if you had three heads. “are you joking? he looks at you as if you’re the sun.”

“idk mione, maybe he thinks that im using him-“ hermione interrupted you with a scoff. “he’s desperately in love with you.”

luckily, that took a little bit of weight off your shoulders.

later that day, you went to the gryffindor common room, only to bump into harry, who was leaving the common room.

“oh- i’m sorry, love. what are you doing here?” he asked, hands on your hips to steady you.

“i was looking for you.” you explain, and he nods with a slight smile, “i was just coming to find you.”

you smile, adjusting his glasses that lay crooked on his face.

“what were you coming to see me for, darling?”

you sigh, “have you read the article yet?”

harry looks at you with a confused expression, “yeah?”

you hesitate before continuing- “im not using you. i love you so much and id never use you for-“

harry interrupted you with a kiss, pulling away a second later with a smile on his face. “i know, love. i never doubted you.”

you breath a sigh of relief, smiling. “thank you.”

harry chuckled, pulling you into another soft kiss before whispering in your ear.

“and by the way, i love you too.”

[yandere-fics]

♡ How Kassien Infantilizes Her Darling ♡

(something something the authors thinly veiled fetish. Also I wrote another fic after this too so I guess I really needed a couple break days so the inspirations would flow freely.)

♡ Kassien is one of the more pushy when it comes to making her darling sweet and reliant on her and in a different way then even Nora goes about her. This somewhat goes hand in hand with her daddy kink as well. The more aggressive or dominant her darling was prior to meeting her the more aggressive she's going to get with trying to make them her sweet reliant little mate who needs daddy for everything. It won't really go overboard though unless you work a job that really bothers her like an intense manual labor job or something like that. She also has to lose all her patience with you to go full into this mode like she asked you to quit your construction job and you refused completely. This can be prevented just by listening to her and doing what she wants at first but if you continue to assert yourself as someone tough who does hard physical jobs it'll make her aggressive about this. Especially if you're someone with a lot of muscle, she can't allow that. ♡

♡ Obviously first and foremost, she is daddy and she'll be very hostile if you refuse to call her daddy. Telling you you're her sweet girl and her sweet girl doesn't get to talk back to daddy, spanking you and yanking your hair the harder you refuse with her and making sure you know the only road to a happy life is by doing what she says because she knows better than you and you don't get to make big girl decisions like that. Yes she will absolutely start to call them big girl decisions if she snaps hard enough. She's very condescending about it when you finally give in too. ♡

♡ The next step is deciding every outfit you wear every day and how your hair is styled, girly colors and frilly clothing just to add that extra bit of humiliation to it. You're her sweet little mate, you wear cute clothes like daddy wants you too. A certain level of your own personal style may be taken into consideration though that's only if your style wasn't too rugged or 'independant'. She likes you in small dresses that you have to ask her to grab things because if you reach up to get it things might be exposed or light colors that you can't wash dishes in because the fabric will be ruined and then she'll know you tried to do a big girl task. ♡

♡ Speaking of, you're not allowed to do anything for yourself. A normal Kassien might let you do some things for yourself but if she thinks she needs to break your spirit of independence even things like bathing on your own will become forbidden tasks and you'll find locks on every room in the apartment. Trust me being bathed by her will be entirely humiliating. You'll also be given approved of hobbies by Kassien, things that are cute and don't require much thought because she needs to break you down and make you be good and sweet for her. You can earn back certain hobbies but not completely because she feels she can't trust you not to try to go back to your old independent ways. There's certain changes that will be made cuter and sweeter in her opinion. Like if you were into shooter games you get cozy games instead now, you're her sweet lovely baby, you don't do rough things. ♡

♡ Language is also monitored, because she needs to get you used to being less gruff, it doesn't matter if you were previously in a career where you cursed alot, you don't say those things anymore. She might fuck your mouth with the strap on roughly until you feel like it's hard to breath to teach you a lesson about those words. Using what she thinks is cuter words and phrasing will be rewarded with gifts and things to make your kept pet situation a little bit brighter and asking her for things will also be rewarding with nicer treatment from her. Over time if you continue to be good the infantilization may decrease though just barely because when Kassien snaps, she snaps nearly permanently. ♡

♡ By the way normally she'd allow you some outings on your own but considering how you used to behave she will never ever trust you with that sort of thing. That's for big girls and you already proved to her you couldn't be trusted with big girl privileges. ♡

[neverenoughmarauders]

Just going to frame this because it’s so true, so important and well articulated:

abuse itself is a complex system of relationships. It’s not just pure sadism, it’s often about a twisted understanding of love where pressure is put on the child — “I’m doing this to you because I love you and want what’s best for you”

And here’s the thing. Stakes don’t matter if your protagonist does not care about them. Something as small as being able to eat a chocolate bar can feel immensely important if the protagonist has just spent chapters telling you how much they want to eat chocolate and how much hard work goes into procuring that chocolate (yes, I am thinking of you Charlie). Yet, I feel nothing when the bridges around New York once more get destroyed in some action movie, why should I?

I quite like a little scene I wrote between Orion and Sirius, and I’ve pasted an extract below. Why? Because SIrius can’t bring himself to speak up against his father because he cares about his father’s option. Later (sadly off page) Sirius goes against his father, which is a much bigger deal because we know there is a cost to it. Not just surviving another curse, but ruining something, perhaps permanently - their relationship:

'You play well, Sirius,' Orion said approvingly some time into the game. 'Am I to understand it that you've found time to play a fair bit, in-between all your school work and mischief?'

Orion raised his eyebrows as he finished the question.

'I play with James Potter,' Sirius said, hating himself for feeling a surge of pride when Orion had complemented his play.

'And he's a good opponent?'

'He is.'

'Better than you?'

'I win more frequently.'

Sirius kept his replies short, unsure whether he wanted to prove to his father how worthy James was as a friend - or how unworthy he was.

'I wouldn't have expected any different from you. Still, that is impressive from the Potter boy.'

As it was not a question, Sirius had nothing to add. Technically speaking, James was likely better than Sirius at Wizard Chess, he just got distracted too easily. But his father didn't need to know that.

'It shouldn't come as a surprise,' Orion continued. 'His mother and father are exceptionally talented - in their own way, and blood matters immensely.'

Blood mattered for shit in Sirius' view, but he couldn't quite muster the courage to say so, not when he was playing against his father. Not when he was spending time with the only intelligent soul in this godforsaken place.

Dear Snuffles, Hope you’re okay, the first week back here’s been terrible, I’m really glad it’s the weekend. We’ve got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She’s nearly as nice as your mum. I’m writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge. (OoTP)

fandom: obviously walburga didn't torture sirius or physically abuse him at all! she grieved him so much when he ran away!! he was her favorite!!!!

canon: *explicitly compares walburga to umbridge right after umbridge tortured harry for 7 hours*

[fluentisonus]

working in a factory has you thinking so much about the insane chain of labor & transport that goes into making literally anything

[coockie8]

The wiki says that Manic is the second born, but Sonic and Sonia have both referred to him as "little brother" in the show with Sonia at one point also calling Sonic "older brother", establishing a chronology for them (Sonic, Sonia, Manic), and I desperately wanna know where the wiki got the information it's using, 'cause it's certainly not from the dialogue in the show.

[tinyevilgremlin]

so. typically. i wouldn't like the whole 'turns out isoo's mom didn't kill herself but was murdered' twist because it's so overdone in these kind of settings but. with the way they revealed it, i can't help but like it despite the trope-y nature of it all. good execution is key, friends