#Sweet and Savage

[kiwiplaetzchen]

Character Sheet / Student ID

With the help of some cute Gremlins, I was able to create a Character Sheet / Student ID with different designs for each house for your Hogwarts (Legacy) OC/MC!

Please feel free to use it and share your character(s)! :3 💚💙💛❤️

[sweetandsavageautistic]

ADHD is so weird because, based on my own personal experience, it makes me simultaneously feel like a toddler and the parent who's supposed to take care of the toddler.

Like every time I know I need to do something for my health, it's like:

Inner Adult: Hey, we need to eat. Let's go eat.

Inner Toddler: I don't wanna. I wanna play video games.

Inner Adult: You're going to be ravenous later.

and

Inner Toddler: *whimpering.*

Inner Adult: All they said was they didn't have room for you in the car for the trip.

Inner Toddler: They don't want me there! They hate me.

Inner Adult: There's room in one of the other cars.

Inner Toddler: My best friend is in the car I wanted to ride in. She doesn't like me!

Please tell me this isn't just me.

[iszapizza]

middle child… but he so smol

[naffeclipse]

A Tease

Reader x Grease

Commission Info

I am rattling @o-cinnamonstickz for commissioning one of my monster boyfriend OCs and letting me go absolutely feral with this guy! Grease is such a menace and the poor reader must sweetly suffer him. After stealing a break while on a late shift, the reader will run into Grease behind the diner, and one tease will lead to another.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

The customer smiles as he hands you back the black check presenter, his mouth spread a little too wide to show off his molars. You feel the money tucked within, but with an inward groan, you fear there is no tip. You wish him and the few others eating with him a good night. Maybe you’ll get lucky and one of his friends will pity you and dump a few quarters on the dirty table.

As they all throw down their napkins and scurry away, out into the night of Hebron, you step back to the cash register. Feeling the inside of your apron pocket, you brush against the worn and half-crumpled box of cornstarch hidden within before snagging your pen to tuck behind your ear.

With a few taps and clanks, and a little slam to get it to open properly, you deposit the cash for the meal. Stealing a glance over to the table, you find the dishes piled high, the clear cups half filled with watered-down soda, and not even a dime in sight.

Great. Just lovely. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff through your nostrils. Where did the virtue of tipping go? Is it just tourists or is it simply everyone that steps through the diner doors who forgoes the practice?

Such questions will only leave you with a headache pounding away at your temples. Biting back a few choice words due to their rowdiness and the not-at-all-subtleness in looking you up and down, you slip the bill into the towering pile that has collected throughout the day.

It’s close to the end of your shift, right? You keep yourself from staring at the clock in the diner too frequently lest the hands get stuck in one place, endlessly ticking without spinning. Everything seems stuck in time here. 

The Hebron Diner, aptly named after the town Hebron, in which you and this poor restaurant reside, is a vintage theme with black and white photos of old cars driving between the trees and sepia pictures of scenery from the nearby national park. You’re growing to hate the lilac coloring of the tables, stools, and booths, and your own stupid waitress attire is drenched in the same hue. Your apron is white—a poor choice, considering how well it shows the stains of burger grease and ketchup. 

You return to the table and begin gathering plates. One hardly touched his fries and you think the other merely played with his country-fried steak. Only an hour to go and then you’re free to rush home and scrub off the smell of fast food from your skin and hair. As the darkness holds over Hebron and its neon-dusted but quaint main street, your hope for the end of a long shift grows. 

You bring the dishes back into the kitchen. Darren, the cook, seems content to clean the grill while the diner remains open but inhabited by hungry customers. 

“Hey, would you mind taking out the trash?” he calls over his shoulder, never even looking up from the faint steam that sizzles over the grill top. “I’ll keep an eye out, let you take a break for a minute if you do.”

“Deal,” you answer without hesitation. You still need to wipe down the table, but you’ll do that after your break. You’ve earned one. 

Dropping off the dishes, you look to Darren for directions on which garage. He jerks his head in the direction of the trash bag sitting in a gleaming silver can, and you quickly tie it up and lift it from its container. Without another word, you breeze outside towards the dumpster. 

Darren scratches your back, you scratch his. You don’t talk to him much, but your habitation as coworkers is seamless as butter on fresh hotcakes. 

The coolness of the night washes over you, chasing away the heat and stress of the diner. A faint street light shines into the employee parking lot filled with cracked pavement and the remnant odor of grease traps. 

The dumpster is located on the other end of the small lot, unfortunately. The light doesn’t quite reach there and deep potholes collect water and whatever may fall into their depths. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers white-knuckling the tied-off garbage at your side.

There are monsters out there. You never thought of such things since you were a child, but the world became a lot bigger and unknowable, and this town became a lot smaller and strange since you discovered the truth. There are things in the dark that hide with mouths full of teeth. They like to watch you. They hope to follow you home and catch you where no one will hear you scream.

Is your paranoia striking because you’re alone now? The darkness is thick and inky, wrapping around the edges of the weak streetlight.

No. Stop being a child. Heaving the trash bag up with a soft clatter, you grind your teeth. The night isn’t what scares you. You push yourself forward, one foot after the other, until you catch sight of one of the potholes. It brims with dark liquid shining iridescently. It stands between you and the dumpster, and you catch an unmistakable ripple across its surface. There is no breeze tonight.

Your breath catches in your throat before you roll your eyes. A name is on the tip of your tongue, ready to call out, but you stop yourself.

A wicked grin crosses your lips. A juvenile idea infiltrates your brain and you run with it. You set one hand on your hip before arching a brow, staring down at the oil puddle. Does he really think you don’t know he’s here?

Dropping the trash bag into the puddle, you promptly sit on top of the black material—not allowing logical thoughts such as the fear of something sharp poking you or the general distasteful smell reeking from it stop you—and throw the puddle outwards in a thick, black splash.

You recline back on it, hands on your knees, as you shift your hips slightly to sink into what feels squishy and crumples slightly, perhaps old food and cardboard boxes. Gross. You ignore it and keep sitting pretty. Underneath you, the puddle begins to bubble and froth. The iridescent sheen of purples and blues and yellows flash in a way you haven’t quite seen before. 

Then the thought lingers a little too long before it manifests into something searing with embarrassment. You might as well have plopped yourself into a demon’s lap.

No. You hold firm. This is payback. He’s stalked you, hunted you down, and grabbed you. The least you can do is embarrass him with the rotten cherry being a trash bag on top of him. You lounge as if it were a throne.

Then a growl emerges from below you. Goosebumps roll over your arms until every tiny hair pricks. Your heart begins to thump hard and fast like a rabbit fleeing from a fox.

You spring off of the garbage bag as if burned. Breath caught in your throat, you whirl back to face the sleek ripples of the oil puddle. 

The black liquid rises, funneling into the figure of a man, lithe with muscles and powerfully sleek not unlike a tiger. The trash bag is ripped upwards in a grip of indignation. Your gut clenches as claws, iridescently gleaming and dark, sink into the thin black material.

A creature of living oil. A demon. Grease.

Two dark tendrils drip down from the top of his head, the tips resting at his shoulders. A long, sleek, and wicked tail snaps behind him. His face is flat with a sharp jawline, lacking a nose but his mouth bears bone-white teeth. Two pale blue eyes, centered with black pupils, pierce you in the darkness of the parking lot as if he might devour you whole. You’re reminded so vividly of a tiger before it strikes.

“How disrespectful,” Grease snarls, his silky and dark timbre carrying a slight threat underneath it. “I’ve come to see you and you put trash on me. Must I remind you who I am?”

You shift on the gritty pavement from one foot to the other. The candle flame of mirth inside of you is not yet extinguished. A small voice warns you in the back of your mind that you’re pushing your luck, but you are nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

“I know who you are, oil boy,” you say, much braver than you are. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

His grin widens.

“Oh?” He steps forward, his shoulders lowering like a cat about to bounce. The sway of his tail is excited, thrilled for a chase. “Neither are you, little nymph.”

A brief burn infiltrates you at the nickname he’s unfortunately bestowed upon you. Your brow furrows as you take a step back. A powerful concoction of adrenaline and confusion floods your veins, interrupting the flow of your thoughts as a primitive instinct to survive takes hold.

“What…?” Your tongue is too heavy.

He tilts his head, revealing a terrible mouth filled with shark-like teeth. Fear spears your heart.

“If you want to sit in my lap, you merely need to ask.” He cackles a heinous sound of black glee.

Red heat fills your face, coloring you in both rage and embarrassment. No, no, this is backfiring. You should have known he would have twisted it in his favor. He’s so seductive and intimidating. You forget which part of him is more dangerous: his teeth or his words.

“Ah, just how I like you, all pretty and pink,” he purrs deep in his throat. His black tongue, oily and black as midnight, swipes over his teeth as if he just found dessert.

Forget this. You twist on the balls of your feet, pushing off the cracked pavement in a dead run for the back door of the diner.

It’s over before it’s truly begun. Long, slick claws snatch you by the arms. Grease rips a gasp from you as he whirls you around and pins your back to the wall. You glare up at him, a breath rattling into your lungs. 

“Let me return your little favor.” His voice coils within you. Your heart beats against your ribs, wild under his devouring gaze. “A little tease for another.”

The sleek tip of his tail finds your ankle and begins winding up your leg. You bite back a yelp at the squeezing, staining pressure from the tendril. A chain to ensure you can’t run.

“I wasn’t teasing you,” you protest, but it’s a lie. A filthy lie that is only met with a sinister chuckle from Grease. 

“Don’t be so coy. It’s not a good look for you.” 

Fighting words long to fly off your tongue but his own emerges from his jaws. Dripping black saliva coats it like thick honey. Your eyes widen. He leans in closer with a monstrous grin. The tendrils upon either side of his head twist up gently and press into your cheeks, securing you into place as you suck in a sharp breath. Your palms press flat against the wall at your sides. He bends low to find access to your neck.

The cool, slick caress of his tongue on the curve of your throat draws out a shiver. It fills your chest and rolls down your spine. Tenderly exploring your skin, the tip of his tongue licks slowly upwards before disappearing from underneath your chin with a cool trace. You gulp.

The fiend. You would curse him if you weren’t half-paralyzed underneath his mouth. Your fingers inch toward your apron pocket.

“On second thought, why stop with a tease?” Grease slips back just enough to capture your gaze and watch you squirm. A threat of blush is bearing down upon your defenses. “You deserve more. A proper… tantalizing…”

He finishes his thought with a too-wide smile and his tongue flicking out of his mouth, closing the precious little distance between your lips. The gallope of your heart roars in your ears. You can’t name the roiling in your middle. It is too hungry, too excited for an oil demon’s touch. 

Still, you lean forward in the slightest, just to catch him the slightest bit off guard. His tail loosens from your leg. His eyes widen, but he presses in—

You snatch the box of cornstarch out of your apron and whip it in front of you, spilling out fine white powder onto the oil demon. He screeches in fury. Backing away from you as the cornstarch latches onto his chest, he writhes and hisses, claws raking at the substance gluing up his sleek form.

“You—! You—!” He howls but all you can do is steal one breathless sound before sliding out from underneath him and grabbing the door handle. Twisting it, you fling yourself into the kitchen.

You twist back to slam the door closed but catch a sharp, pale blue glare, frothing with a promise so vile, it ignites your core into a hot bubbling mess.

Grease will make you pay. But not tonight.

You lock the door and fall back against it. Deep gulps of air heaves through your chest. You slowly push your hair away from your sweaty face.

You got away. For now.

[foreverdolly]

Your feyd rautha fic is truly SPECTACULAR. I beg, if you have the time, could you write the next chapter? 💖

thank you so much for your message (and so sorry for the delay on replying to others that have sent messages to my inbox. i read them, i promise!)

that is so sweet of you to say! now that i finally have a laptop i will be working on the next chapter of “savage bonds”. i’ve actually gone back and edited the first few thousand words of what i have written for it so far, which was therapeutic as shit to do. i’ll let everyone know a few days before i’m ready to post!

[twin-sun-archives]

Why. Did. Nobody. Tell. Me. Maul. Is. The. Middle. Child.

[al-kol-eleh]

Hen Mazzig

[yutamayo]

[make-me-your-animal]

When the guy at the record store gives you 10 dollars off the Hysteria picture disc and throws in a free copy of high n dry on cassette because "I'm just happy they will be treasured"

[wannaeatramyeon]

I have a question, is Jake's all teeth real? Like, didn't Gun break some of them?

Jake Kim x Reader: Teeth

"Wow."

Jake responds with some incomprehensible noises.

"They did a good job, didn't they?"

A small nod.

"They feel good?"

Another nod.

"Really impressive."

More noises.

As unhygienic and unseemly as it is, your fingers continue to probe and run along his teeth, scrutinising the handiwork in-depth. If your head moves any closer inspecting your boyfriend's unbelievably realistic implants, you might be in danger of shoving your entire head in his mouth.

At the sight of Jake's adam apple bobbing, desperately trying to swallow with his mouth wide wide open, you yield. Backing away and removing your spit-covered fingers.

"Very nice. Very handsome." You say, kissing him and wiping your grubby fingers on his shirt.

Jake, any self-consciousness completely forgotten and confidence returning in full force, gives you a toothy grin and a wink in return.

[tricornonthecob]

reading through this pulp fiction historical romance novel set in amrev, but with an amrev hyperfixation, really makes this experience more interesting.

Who the fuck was out there in British North America naming their son Damien in the 1750s, why is she putting her shift over her stays, and when is the smut? The cover promised me smut.

[lionheartedmusings]

i will say this is totally unrelated but every time q!bagi starts hitting q!bad near pomme i dunfjfjf pomme helps q!bad and then q!bagi always ends up saying something like "you're so sweet pomme you're so kind" and rhrjdjjfbfbd I ADORE Q!BAGI AND YES POMME IS A SUPER KIND LIL EGG but one of these days she's gonna rurjfjjd get tired of saying "pls i want my dad alive"

[sweetandsavageautistic]

(CW: Cringe, Autism Parents stuff, drunk mention, infantilization)

So I don't have a degree in Graphic Design, but I do have a sense of general aesthetic. I figured that it's April. Let's rate, and potentially verbally tear apart and drag through the mud, some autism shirts and graphic designs, and I'll probably do a part 2, these scores are only semi-arbitrary: First up is this:

Already off the top, I am confusion because it seems to read "I wear puzzle cousin autism awareness". Sounds like whoever made this was drunk.

Puzzle pieces, ew.

The red, yellow, green, and blue look like the shades you'd see in elementary school, so that seems pretty infantilizing.

Autism Awareness, I am very much aware of my existence.

Final Score: 0 out of 10. Designer, go home; you're drunk.

Next we have this:

This one already has a slight advantage over the first because it's at least coherent in terms of the message.

Elementary school colors, but make it extra tacky.

Puzzle pieces; don't try to bullshit me by putting the autism awareness banner over it, I can see the other indents that make them puzzle pieces.

Once again, I am well aware of my own existence.

At least it's a smaller design.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10, and that's being generous.

Next one's not a shirt, but it still counts:

No blue so thank God for that.

This is up to personal preference, but to me, the person-first language is giving "I need to be reminded that someone is a person."

Puzzle pieces. Ew. Don't BS me, I can see them.

Walk down Autism Lane. (it's right below the word LOVE) Sorry, but we don't allow ableists on Autism Lane; you need to be a premium member and to be a premium member, you need to not be a dick.

The pumpkin disturbs me for some reason, and not in the Halloween way; I mean, it just straight-up disturbs me.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10. Bury it in a shallow grave.

Just found this one:

It's easy on the eyes at least.

No tacky elementary school colors.

No puzzle pieces.

The bunny's cute, but this also seems very infantilizing.

Person first language is a no for me.

Why are all of the is lowercase, but the others are uppercase?

Final Score: 5 out of 10. Not great, but not terrible.

Here we have simple:

Elementary school colors, but credit where credit's due; it's not terrible on the eyes.

Why is blessed on there three times?

One big-ass puzzle piece.

"Autism blesses" Yes, because being bullied by my peers, being indirectly told who I am is wrong, having the worst time making friends, always feeling like I'm never truly part of a friend group, being confused when some adults got mad at me, not having anyone to play with at 4 years old is an absolute fucking blessing. /s And that's the tip of the iceberg.

"Fun", "Sweet", "Cute".....it's the infantilization for me.

Final Score: 3 out of 10. No further elaboration.

Then there's this monstrosity:

I call this color Patronizing Paraprofessional Blue, aka the tackiest shade of blue ever.

It looks like something one of those older white suburban millennial moms would wear. Like something a Karen would wear to one of those autism walks or one of those social skills teachers who talk in that slowed-down patronizing kindergarten teacher tone with that fake-ass smile, no matter how old you are. You know the one I'm talking about, right? Yeah, they'd wear this.

Puzzle piece. Light It Up Blue. Ew.

We all know what organization this supports.

Final Score: -10 out of 10. Burn it.

Let's get in a good one to counter that abomination of a shirt and end part one on a higher note:

Nice simple design with a black background.

No tacky elementary school colors.

Identity-first language.

Really counters the....what the fuck would it be called? The UwU autism parent thing? ("I am his voice, he is my heart," "See the able, not the label," etc,.) It counters that.

The light sparkle around "a bitch" is chef's kiss.

Final Score: 11 out of 10. Perfection.

[luvcozy]

Eggs, Bacon, & Mike

Request :- For the biggest Mike Simp I know and have met ;)

Warnings :- Established relationship, Header for him is his unmasked version!

Plot :- When morning rolls around and you decide to get up early to make you and your bf, but he's refusing to get out of bed and dragging you back down 🤍

A/n :- After this one is posted I'll be on another small semi-hiatus to set up a T.O.S for requests and what fandoms I'll write for. In the mean time any posts during said time off are requests from close friends ✌️

As the morning sun rose through the curtains, you couldn't help the yawn leaving you. Nestled comfortably against the bed and your pillows, you had another body pressed close against you. Mike held you close to his chest in an iron vice grip as he slept. Most mornings were like this, escaping and leaving his grip is another story.

Turning slowly this way and that, loosening his grip as you wiggled out of his embrace. Looking down at the sleeping blonde you smiled warmly. The soft glow of the sun through the window complementing his appearance, he was beautiful to you. Even when he would fake his sleep with you trying to leave, just as you thought to be in the clear he would grab your waist or arm, whatever was closest really, and drag you back down with him.

You have to coax him to get up with you in the early mornings. He's not someone that sleeps often, but when he does he's out unless something is happening. In this moment though, with your arms around his neck and peppering gentle kisses across his face is enough to rouse him awake enough. He's grumbling the whole time he's following you, attached to your hip almost literally.

Making breakfast always was smooth, him hugging you from behind with you made eggs and bacon. The warm smell makes his stomach growl from behind you, making you laugh. Swaying slowly as you cook, abading the time to pass till you would sit down to eat. A silent process aside from the occasional noises he would make and thanking you for the meal.

Though even after breakfast, just when you think you're in the clear of sleeps grip, Mike brings you back to it. Smothering you in his hold as he pulls you back to your room and into bed. The smell of breakfast clinging to the both of you, a smell that mixed tandalizingly sweet with Mike's, it was hard to say no to him and going back to sleep. But alas his own sweet words meet your ears, sentences that ended up having you melt into his side cause of his voice.

How everything you planned to get done that day went crumbling when you actually woke up. Upset and annoyed by it, you can't stay mad at Mike long enough. Laying next to him and him clinging to you felt surreal, like heaven and that's something you wouldn't give up. Even if it meant plans went out the window to cuddle your favorite slasher.

[naffeclipse]

Talk about your monster husband ocs coward (affectionate❤️)

Everyone, the tumblr user themeeplord is bullying me (affectionate <3)!!

You have no idea how normal I am about my monster OCs. They're so lovely just let me—ahhh!

Hawthorn is a Mothman monster. His wings are based on the garden tiger moth and he is so fluffy! He has a thick fuzz on his neck and chest and is a warm, cuddlebug. He also possesses bright orange eyes that pierce the darkness and startle the unfortunate late-night hikers or anyone piercing into the woods after midnight.

He has a thing for hanging out in the thick woods near where the MC lives. Wherever he goes, bad omens follow. He really shouldn't be near MC—he knows he'll be the death of his precious little human, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the MC like a moth to a flame (heheh). He's delightful and gentlemanly, but don't let that fool you. He's got a possessive stretch a mile wide and does not take kindly to anyone giving the MC looks or reaching out for a too-familiar touch. He will bristle and buzz, and fly swift and silent through the darkness to chase after anyone to ensure the MC stays all to himself. He is a bad omen, after all.

Grease is an oil demon! He feeds off of fear, literally, and delights in terrifying people in the night. His body is slick and iridescent, and he is constantly dripping black goo from his person. He is capable of shifting his form to hide in a puddle, slink underneath doors, or bubble through a crack in a broken window. He's got wicked sharp teeth, and eyes like a tiger but with a pale, unsettling blue color. He possesses tendrils on his head that constantly drip and a long, slick tail that he can use to grab MC by the ankle. He's terribly seductive and charming, terrifying but mischievous. He likes to say 'boo' just to watch MC jump. Of course, he's not all tang and salt. He's got a sweet side that rouses in a protectiveness over MC. He's possessive, sure, and he's marked his claim with the oil stains on MC's work apron, but he's got an ooey-gooey center of sweetness that MC occasionally finds when he blushes at a stray touch or a nice comment about him.

Calmo 91, otherwise just called Calmo, is a robot. Constructed in the 90s with a box TV screen head to match, he has bright yellow optics in the screen face along with thick wires falling behind his head in a ponytail-like fashion. He is cool and difficult to read but wickedly intelligent and learning much about humans and affections. His body is a thin endoskeleton with plastic matt gray coverings that give peeks of blue, red, and yellow wires at his metallic joints. He's got a mysterious past the MC is attempting to unravel that he truly wishes the MC would leave be. He's got much to learn about technology but he quickly figures out how to connect to the MC's phone for texting, phone calls, and other useful things of course, like keeping tags on where MC is and monitoring MC's heart rate. Useful tools. Modern technology. Living in the MC's house, he gets to spend more domestic time with the human he decided is kind and generous, but the MC occasionally finds him at the foot of the bed in the darkness, his yellow optics strangely switched to red until the MC says his name and his optics revert back to yellow again.

[foreverdolly]

hey I just wanted to ask if you are still writing the savage bonds fic or not! haha I keep checking and I wanted to know if it's been discontinued or something maybe :))

i’m still working on savage bonds! i’m currently planning on quitting my second job because i’m genuinely just too tired to do it anymore. it will give me so much more time to write, that way you aren’t getting monthly updates anymore. i know it’s tiresome waiting for updates and i hate that for you- truly! i just have almost no time to myself these days.

it’s definitely not discontinued! i just have a very busy life and am currently working my 8-5 day job and then bartending as well on thursday, friday and some saturday nights. its exhausting 🥹

much love to you, baby!