#but i guess only people who saw that one post of story summaries a rly long time ago would know

[paperhats-and-evil-schemes]

hello yes it is i the nosy anon, heard you were working on a fic and is thirsty for snips so it has summoned me 👀 👀 👀

BAHAHAHA, HELLO FRIEND, IT’S BEEN A WHILE XD

HERE U GO U THIRSTY LIL SCAMP, SORRY IT TOOK ME FOREVER, I DIDN’T KNOW WHICH PART TO USE

————

"He's not going to cooperate." The taller one spat in annoyance, swaying his crowbar from side to side as he readied another swing. Flug was still trying to get his breath back from the first blow; he doubted he could take another one very well. He forced himself to shuffle back, only to get stuck cornered between a dumpster and alley wall.

Well, fuck.

"I-I told you already, I'm d-doing everything I can--"

"No you're fuckin' not!" The first one -Judas, Flug seemed to call him- shouted in anger. With a snap of his fingers, the lackey with the crowbar took his second swing. Flug barely managed to duck out of the way again, a deafening crack sounding from above him as metal met concrete.

Maybe the doctor should be a little more worried about this situation, but spending all his days with a nightmare-inducing creature of pure horrors seems to have given him a bit of spine, because he's just getting more annoyed than anything at this point. "Y-You know, killing the people you want things from i-isn't a great way to go about getting those things, you walking cliché..." He muttered under breath in his annoyance. Aaand regretted it almost immediately.

At first, the lead ruffian looked about ready to let his underlings crack Flug's head into the ground. But then he chuckled, beard bouncing up and down. "Y'know what, you's prob'ly right." Judas held out his arms in inquiry, looking side to side at his men. "Mebbe we should jus' follow him home, eh? Meet the doc's boss himself and take it up with 'im?" The others joined in a chorus of sneering laughs. That got Flug to stiffen up.

"N-No way. I-I'm not going t-to just l-lead you an-annoyances to h-him..." That little flicker of sass he had a second ago was quickly fleeting, but like hell he was going to give in now and bother Black Hat with this bullshit. Just thinking about him finding out about this made him shudder more than these jokers ever could.

"Ooo, s'at right, tough guy?" Judas taunted, lifting Flug by his shirt. That's fine. He's used to that. "Sounds like yer boss is a real important guy. I really think we should pay him a visit - I bet he'll be a bit more reasonable... after some persuasion, of course." Oh man, the urge for Flug to roll his eyes at that empty threat was strong, but he managed to resist it. Better not push his luck, considering the circumstances.

"So, lemme put this straight for you, Fluggy boy...." The brute growled, "You're gonna take us to yer superior so we can clear all this up, or I break every bone in your pathetic little body--"

"Oh come on now, I doubt you even know how many bones there are in the human body."

The voice came out of nowhere. Everyone jumped, immediately looking around for the source. Flug's stomach knotted in recognition of that voice. "M-Mr. Black Hat....!?" He stammered in shock.

"Black Hat!?" Judas repeated, equally as shocked, dropping Flug and stepping back.

"Oh, splendid! I don't need to introduce myself!" A loud crash startled everyone enough to get another jump out of them. Black Hat had seemed to fall out of thin air atop the rusty dumpster, then gracefully jumping down to the ground between his employee and the crowbar lackey, smiling wider than the ocean. "And I see you've met my dear doctor..." Not taking his grinning gaze off Judas, one swing of his cane knocked the crowbar out of the lackey's hands, and it disappeared in a burst of green flames upon hitting the ground. Satisfied with the intimidated looks he was getting, Black Hat leaned forwards on his cane, fangs and eyes glowing in the shadows. "So what was it you were saying there, dear sir? You had some persuading to do of me?"

Not so talkative now, were they. The little hooligan hive-mind seemed at a loss for words, and my oh my, what delicious waves of terror came from the pathetic little things. Black Hat stood up straight, swung his cane over his shoulder, and quite casually strode towards the speechless Judas.

"Don't kill us...!" The ringleader begged, voice quivering, "We didn't know the guy worked fer you....!"

"Kill you?" A good-humored laugh erupted from the villain. Flug could tell it was fake. "Why, you're in luck, my dear little human!" He swirled around Judas like smoke, sweeping up behind him and slinging an arm around his shoulder, startling him. "You see, under normal circumstances..." Black Hat hissed in his ear, "... I'd have been very unforgiving about the damage you've done to my property." Just has suddenly as he had drawn near, Black Hat slipped away from his target, standing in front of him again with that shit-eating grin. "But you know what? Your services could be of use to me. It might be worthwhile to have connections of your sort around." Grinning wider, he extended a hand to shake. "So, my 'good' sir, what do you say? Willing to offer your services to a humble old businessman every now and then?"

Judas looked left and right, exchanging confused glances with his men. The demon chuckled to himself - he could tell what they were thinking. That's a better arrangement than getting slaughtered.

After promptly swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Judas stepped forwards. Very hesitantly, he shook the other's hand.

There was a sickening crunch, followed by a shriek of pain that near made Flug's ears bleed.

"206 bones in the human body." Black Hat stated calmly as he crushed the human's hand in his own. That fake good humor that he'd been charading was quickly melting away to reveal a twisted, sadistic gleam in his eye. Yanking Judas forwards and leaving barely any space between them, his grip only tightened, sparking even more disgustingly painful noises. "27 of which are located in the hand." Black purred, tone thick with malice. His eyes then narrowed, and the purr turned into a snarl. "And unlike you, I can crush each and every one into dust, one by one, as if they were chalk. If you or your whelps ever come near my scientist again, you will have far worse than broken bones to worry about."

Point having been made, Black Hat finally let the whimpering brute go. Tail between legs, he and his pack scampered off as fast as they could - oh, but they weren't getting off that easily. Each move a casual wisp, Black Hat held up his cane, looking down it as if aiming a rifle. "Pleasure doing business with you."

A deafening burst broke the air, sizzling green magic shooting from the end of his cane and connecting with the head of the lout that had hit Flug. There wasn't even a scream as his body was enveloped in an emerald blaze, not even leaving ash behind as he was scorched out of existence.

If they weren't going as fast as humanely possible before, they sure were now. Black Hat chuckled to himself, soaking in the last few moments of raw terror he had gotten from them before they turned a corner and fell out of sight.

Now there was only one source of fear. A kind of fear that those brutes hadn't once stricken in the scientist. Good. Only Black Hat is allowed to strike that kind of fear in Flug. And on that note...

"Oh Flug, Flug, Flug.... I'm so disappointed." Black Hat turned around slowly, mild disdain written across his features. Flug, aside from getting to his feet, hadn't moved an inch; he just stood there, dead silent and anxiety-filled gaze glued to his boss. The demon walked over with a 'tsk tsk tsk', as if he were scolding a child. "I thought we had a real understanding, you know? I thought we were on the same page!" Backing Flug firmly against the wall, his eyes narrowed to slits. "I mean really. You should know by now that I despise being lied to."

"I-I-I d-didn't l-l-lie, s-sir--"

"You may as well have." The eldritch snapped with sudden fierceness, shutting the smaller man up instantly. But it was like a switch - the very next second, that anger was again replaced with that chiding look from before. His head tilted to the side, and he drew his cane up, using it to lift Flug's chin. "So tell me, doctor..... what else have you been keeping from me?"

[slytherflynn]

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

[sweetalnazar]

I saw your tags about people not reading fics bc its not smut but I just want to assure you you're underestimating the ammount of people who dont actually want smut in this fandom

Aaksjdhakjdas i didn't expect someone to read my vent post much less reply, so thanks for the reassurance, anon, it's very kind of you 💖

Don't worry, I don't think no one at all would read, it's more of the reception I'd receive I guess?

Statistically speaking, lemons (to use old fanfic speak) tend to perform much better than most fics. I wouldn't be surprised if reader fics were the same (fun fact: my most popular fic is both smutty and a reader fic lol). Those types of fic are just easier for a larger audience to get into imo, and as a result, will have a higher chance of getting more kudos/comments

It’s not a bad thing, but, well I have a lot of self esteem issues, particularly in regards to Validation™ (thank u childhood trauma). I compare myself against ppl automatically and if I don't 'perform as well‘, if there's an absence of sufficient Validation (in this case, a certain number of comments/kudos/etc), it feels like a rejection. I tend to take those quite hard and I almost always end up just quitting a project partway through when that happens

Good news is I'm getting a Lot better at managing my feelings and responses and being more mindful of my mental health in general, and preventing stuff like this from happening. 😁😁

That's why I'm doing my best to finish this entire fic so I can post the whole thing and not leave readers hanging (also bc i would rly rly like to finish a WIP one of these days 😂😂)

But I really appreciate the ask, and well, for the curious, here's the current summary I've come up for the fic:

“Let’s make a promise. From now on, let’s see each other again every year, no matter what. Even if it’s only once.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

This is a story of a love that was an almost, a nearly-meant-to-be.

This is a story of a quiet love that went unspoken, that could have been but never was.

This is the story of you and me.

Also another snippet from my (super duper extremely super) rough draft

Once, there was a little 5-year old, in his warm home with his parents. His mom had taken out her qanun, her most treasured possession, while his dad carried him, riq in the young child’s hand.

“Ready, habibi?”

The child bobbed his head excitedly.

“Just like I showed you,” his dad whispered, squeezing the child close.

Aisha began to play, and the small child joined in, his tiny hand slamming the riq as hard as he could while his dad laughed and sang snippets of Zadithi along with the melody.

The room grew brighter, pink light washing over the room, crystallizing the memory.

And then, Asra awoke.