#done it for most of my pieces this year and it has done wonders for me

[jaythelay]

Man as a kid, I took modding for granted. Now I feel like I gotta step up and continue the passion.

I remember using the trainer for GTAIV, at the time, it was The Trainer since there seldom if any were alternatives. It has literally, every conceivable option you'd want, literally think of it, it has it.

Then GTAV came out and...wow. None of these trainers are remotely feature complete. It occurred to me then that, such expected things and standards, aren't guarantees in modding. That someone took their free time to make something for free with no payment, it's incredible.

Then I see that same mentality applied to Paid Products and I'm out of patience to explain the free market a 50th time and how we're the sole and only regulators, the literal half of the free market, yet we just give companies all the power regardless.

Anyways next time you're mad about some mod that's non-inherently bad, just remember, some people pay for that quality or worse, expect it. The modder wasn't trying to garner anything but adding onto people's experiences. The dev much the same, but the publisher, the CEO, considerthat they've effectively ensured you never own a single piece of media without piracy, ever again. We Lost That War because we Believed The Rich Would Be Decent. For 2 decades.

There's a reason Not to have the same mentality with modders, with purchased products. You're no longer 2 buddies playin' games and making stuff for it. You're a consumer enabling, normalizing, and supporting an industry/company who's entire goal and state of being is to lower our standards so much they can get away with worse later.

It's rich people. Not people like you and me. The employee is closer to you than the CEO, understand that, and learn to respect yourself enough not to allow them to swindle you, it is, quite literally, their main skillset and they never shut it off, you're larping to pretend anything otherwise and are doing so thinking you're protecting either friend or ego, but the fact is, you gave them that, and are scared what they'll do with it. Stop giving them trust and power over you, you're literally able to bankrupt them by not buying from them. We've seen it, time, and time, and time, and time again, when the community strikes back, We Win.

We just don't because too many people are unwilling to raise their standards, and instead, take time to defend the undefendable. Sorry but there's no way to defend a company with a streak of SA issues. Maybe consider where your money is going and how that's impacting everyone's jobs and purchases. Comes down to self-respect and demanding better.

Whilst your entire generation became Noticeably Very Poorer, the rich have amassed an absolutely unfeasible level of insane wealth, taking half our dwindling money during Covid. Why the fuck is the only thing improving the graphics? Why are we Crawling our way towards 5% of the 6th generation's standards? Why are we celebrating that? Games went down in price since cartridges, but did not change what so ever for online distribution. We are literally, paying, for the Manufacturing of Physical Copies, for Digital Copies, we Don't Even Own, that's how bad it's gotten, they literally got a free 10-20$ by moving to online.

So again, please, Please, understand I am closer to you politically than you are to any CEO or corporate logo. You are closer to your dog than you will ever be to 100k. You do not, and will never, be in this industry as the CEO's friend or company mascot, you are not that. You are a consumer, start acting like the other half of the free market and not a Pay Piggy Useful Idiot.

They even raised the prices. Good. God. We Are Losing.

[charliethemanticore]

Hi btw being trans does not automatically grant you supernatural understanding of all esoteric trans knowledge. You actually need to put effort into learning or put effort into keeping quiet about things that don't pertain to your specific experience

[evansbby]

.

[13eyond13]

how did I forgor Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) when I had to list my favourite movies here recently

[luv-again]

the older I get, the more value I find in planning my writing pieces

i used to HATE it when I was younger bc I thought it obstructed my creative flow, but now I need it more than ever bc my memory is abysmal and I forget details/themes etc. If I do not block them out, they'll be gone to the void, I'm afraid </3

cheers to any and all creative development !! I think it adapts with us as time goes on

[elodieunderglass]

hi! i was just wondering if you’re getting a piece of this pie. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/voidrealmminis/rise-of-the-eldertubbies?ref=profile_saved_projects_live

Oh my goodness! Haha thanks for showing me! And no, of course, this guy is still selling my dream while claiming it’s totally nothing to do with me. I hadn’t heard about it so thank you.

For those just joining us, here is the saga of the elder teletubbies:

1. in 2017 I posted a dream I had on Tumblr. In the dream I discovered that the childish teletubbies shown on BBC’s Teletubbies are merely the children of a species that grows up to be forest cryptids as adults. The post contained a detailed character description explaining how the children’s simple antennae become more complex antlers; their coats become thicker hair; their eldritch screens are unknowable; here, look:

The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.

That’s a pretty clear description.

2. The post quickly gained attention and many people drew art, made sculptures, designed in-depth character concepts, and even made DnD character sheets and entries with detailed notes. It was 2017. The post got over 90k notes. It had an extremely clear description of the cryptid in it. This wasn’t at all obscure.

3. The post and four pieces of the concept art, including the first piece by were screencapped and posted on r/tumblr. The post included this art by the now-deactivated @finoliatav which is, I think, the first piece of art. Most screencaps don’t show that it’s animated! Once you see it you can no longer pretend that any more work needs to be done in designing these characters, really - they’re all variations on a very clear theme.

4. A guy called Jars started drawing the BBC Teletubbies as adult Teletubbies. He noted on Reddit that his inspiration for the first one was the r/tumblr post but after that, he considered it entirely his own creative work. He drew each of the 4 BBC Teletubbies as adults using my character description and wrote a little story about how his character had stumbled upon them in the woods. He’s a good artist and his work went viral on Reddit and instagram. Those places being separate from Tumblr by the walls of the enclosure, they quickly believed the Jars was being highly original and praised him for it.

5. jars got carried away by his fame and started merchandising for all he’s worth. He’s selling elder teletubbies placemats. He got a collaborator to help him make and sell plushies.

6. Plushies of my character design applied to BBC characters. Jars sells them. To people. Who buy them. He sells these.

7. I think this is like… his job.

8. It has been years of this. I don’t think he has actually come up with anything else to sell by himself. But given that he now has millions upon millions of views on platforms I don’t use, let alone dominate (Instagram, YouTube, Reddit, TikTok) he seems to have fully subscribed to the idea that this is his THING.

9. After a while I wrote him a friendly email expressing that since my original dream was very much about discomfort with how the teletubbies were being exploited, I didn’t mind him selling his own art but that I wasn’t happy with him selling plushes based on my writing.

10. He wrote back along the lines of it all being his original intellectual property and absolutely nothing to do with me, etc, so jog on and don’t interfere.

11. I’m not entirely sure where the original intellectual property is when taking BBC characters and drawing them according to someone else’s detailed description of how to “evolve” them (branching antlers, shaggy coats, eldritch screens, serene adult human faces) especially having drawn them after seeing four separate detailed reference photos to base your own drawings on; especially when they’re the existing BBC characters from the show and not even your own. Like, Jars, you were given an entire detailed brief, several sets of references, an entire concept and a television show: the only artistic choices made here were to pick up your own personal pen and do the drawing. You have never deviated from my description, which you did not come up with yourself in any way. But okay Jars. You did some real intellectual heavy lifting here, this is Intellectual Property suddenly, and I guess this is your day job!

12. I myself actually have a day job, am capable of generating lots of other original material just for funsies, have never asked you guys for money, and I’m not generally huge jerk I don’t think. Also, I’m uncomfortable but have never been clear on how to stop him - I don’t think I can. So I don’t do much about this, apart from occasionally scream with hilarity with you guys about it.

13. Like this is the opposite of Goncharov. This is a guy making his wage on a 2017 tumblr collaborative shitpost insisting that this is the beautiful fruit of his only brain. And millions of people believe him.

14. There are now YouTube documentaries with millions of views and TikTok lore about Jars, and his lore, the Elder Teletubbies, which apparently he invented. People are making their wage talking about the history of Jars and his teletubbies lore. These documentaries are, if you can’t tell, not especially well-researched, as it is not difficult to find the original elder teletubbies art on the internet, which is all timestamped. Occasionally hilarious people from Tumblr point this out in the comments (thank you, you guys are hilarious) but the juggernaut is unstoppable!

15. Jars is now, apparently, doing a kickstarter to raise money for some kind of DnD sheets using the grown up BBC teletubbies.

16. I will point out that tumblr made and played with DnD teletubbies in 2017 for free and nobody had to pay $3000, but again. The juggernaut is unstoppable.

I have never, ever known what to do about this guy.

I have always been open to advice but genuinely never been able to articulate how it “damages” me, apart from ethical discomfort about how much I hate my writing being monetised by other people, especially when it was about my discomfort with exploitation. The juggernaut is unstoppable though. He fully intends to get thousands of dollars from this. He almost certainly will!

[anonymouspuzzler]

HAPPY UPDATE DAY!!! 🏠

After all this time, all this hard work, I can finally tell you all more about my work on Welcome Home beyond "Dude Just Trust Me I Work On It I Swear" !!

I've been calling myself the "production manager" because a lot of what I've done has been in that realm - making checklists and spreadsheets, doing research, sending emails, and generally keeping our wonderful team on track to do the incredible things they do, with all the support they need! I'm very lucky and grateful to get to support Clown and all the incredible actors and artists we've brought on!!

that said, over the time I've been part of this project (I looked back and realized February 1st this year is when it all Officially Began, can you believe it), I've gotten to work on some more obvious, visible things you'll find on the site today as well! most prominently, I am very proud to say, I was the curator of the very real Welcome Home exhibition!! Clown was extremely generous and supportive in letting me bring his work into the world this way, and with their help it became bigger and better than I ever could have dreamed! Though this iteration was very small and private due to our venue, I hope the few of you I know who attended enjoyed it very much, and for the rest, know we hope to find ways to host the exhibition in other and more public venues in the future! (Where and when, I don't know, but I'll work hard to make it happen...!)

As part of the exhibition, I was able to create a lot of new props to help build the world of Welcome Home! Most excitingly, I was able to create a real working toy telephone, and help Clown to find our talented group of voice actors to provide the recordings! And of course, I was able to meet dear sweet Wally and Home themselves, who were the sweetest little peanuts and a true pair of professionals! Just delights to work with!!

Though this was my most prominent contribution, somehow, that wasn't all! You will find bits and pieces of my art and writing all over the newest website update (some places more obvious than others...), and I was able to contribute to building many of the new and updated site pages as well! We've all worked so hard on everything you'll find there, so I hope you all enjoy the exciting new additions to the neighborhood!

My final little statement while I have my sweet little soapbox here... every last one of you who has provided support, even just one ko-fi tip, has Directly made this update Possible!! Not only do these tips allow us very literally to pay for supplies, art, voice work and the like, it very directly Supports and Improves the livelihoods of every single person involved!! so if you have the means, and would like to do so, please do consider tipping or subscribing to Clown and/or any of the other artists and actors involved!

And with all that... thank you, neighbors!! And Welcome Home!!

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Here are some Austrian specific quirks I think König would have <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

(PSA; I'm German, but I figured I could put down the most general quirks that we have, which I think would also apply to Austrians :) )

♡ he HATES fans and air conditioning. Like I'm talking disdain from the deepest pits of hell kinda hate.

Ceiling fans and AC are not a thing here, and literally every German looks at it with a very disapproving look if there happens to be one somewhere.

König absolutely refuses to sleep with the fan or AC on, just open a window, Liebling!

He's so upset that he can't put the window "auf kipp" :( (pls Google it, it's so hard to explain lol) like he's crushed that he can't keep the windows "auf kipp" all day.

You have a ceiling fan? Nope, not anymore. That thing is getting taken down the minute you move in together. But if you insist on keeping it, he'll secretly cut the cable to the switch.

Everyone knows all they do is whirl around dust and make you sick! He's not having it.

König acts like artificial ventilation is his worst enemy (I agree with him) and he'd rather suffocate than turn on the goddamn AC.

♡ Sundays are strictly lazy/rest days. Nothing's open on Sundays here, so we're forced to relax and not run around like headless chickens trying to get things done.

He's absolutely baffled if you have plans to go somewhere on a Sunday. What do you mean you need to run errands? What do you mean you're going out? And if you want him to come along?? Yeah, no.

His brain stops working. After the many years he's been alive, not once has he gone somewhere on a Sunday that wasn't his Oma's house for Kaffee und Kuchen.

You're not going anywhere. Plans are canceled, and you better spend the day on the couch with him.

♡ König probably misses all the beautiful old architecture Vienna has to offer. You don't quite appreciate it as much when it's just there all the time, but now he wishes he could quietly people watch in the city center :(

In my mind he's a bit of a history nerd, so he probably frequented museums and castles, admiring the delicately sculpted ceilings and wondering how people lived back then.

He'd be most fascinated by the masonry work done on the outside of most buildings. I mean, that's stone, but it's so smooth and carefully crafted.

♡ there are some very weird sayings in German that you just can't translate because they don't make sense. König is sick of having to awkwardly try to explain what they mean after he's been caught muttering one under his breath, only to realize halfway through that he looks like a maniac.

German is a very literal language, and I think he misses speaking it. We have very specific words for some things and he probably struggles to talk in English sometimes purely because the words he wants to use just don't exist.

(I'm very upset they didn't give him an Austrian accent bc it's one of my favorites, but I can also confidently say that I think he wouldn't be taken seriously at all if he had one lmao)

♡ König goes on random ass walks sometimes. Where's he going? On a walk. No, like where is he going? HE'S GOING ON A WALK.

There's no destination, you just walk. No matter the weather. Ya walk until you feel like you've walked enough. (A very German experience and I hate it)

♡ dreams of his Oma's Kaiserschmarn (me too, König, me too.)

It's basically a giant pancake that you tear into little pieces (traditionally, it has raisins too, I think) and you eat with either cinnamon sugar or applesauce (or both) and you will drift up to heaven.

It's warm, it's fluffy, it's sweet;

It's perfect for a gloomy Friday afternoon spent with his Oma and Opa 🥺

(Can you tell that I'm projecting)

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Auf kipp" is a very specific window position where only the bottom two hinges stay attached so you can tilt the window towards you and a little crack is open so you can always have fresh air!

"Oma und Opa" grandma and grandpa, which he loves so much, undoubtedly.

"Kaffe und Kuchen" basically tea time. You get together and eat cake and have coffee! Mostly on the weekends :)

"Kaiserschmarn" what dreams are made of.

🩷

[hoe4sports]

How this ends

Alexia Putellas x reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A note from the author: This is an older draft that i have yet to share. The song is inspired by Lewis Capaldi’s «How this ends». I see every comment you write and I see every repost with a note added to it. I’m forever grateful for the love you give my writing. Thank you so so much. I’m endlessly grateful.

Warnings: angst.

Summary: Alexia decides that after 13 years, she’s done.

-

Alexia knew it was all for the best. A part of her wishes that she had never met you, that she has never let herself fall in love with you, that she never allowed herself to feel all those wonderful feelings you brought into her life. It was a selfish decision, and Alexia knew that. But in her mind, the only solution was calling it off.

She could see you slowly slipping away from her grip. Like you were slowly fading from a painting that she had once painted. Like someone was erasing you from the story she was writing. A part of her wishes that you had never gotten to this point. And she hates that you understand and that you still love her. She wanted you to hate her. To tell her that she was the most awful person in the world. To tell her that she didn’t deserve anything good to happen to her. Instead, you accepted her decision with grace. You slowly packed your bags over the next few weeks, bringing more and more stuff over to your friend, Frido’s house. With each item that disappeared, it felt like a piece of you slipped away.

Alexia was also somewhat embarrassed. Her sister, Alba, had convinced her that you were using her for her money. That you wanted her to quit football. That you eventually were planning to run away from her with her money and her house. She didn’t know how she had allowed herself to believe her sister. But, they had been best friends growing up. She trusted her. She trusted her judgment of you. But she forgot to consider that the pair of you had spent years together. You had gotten together when you were 13. Now, 13 years later. It had all come to an end.

You left out a quiet sight as you walked around in the cold, empty apartment. You traced your fingers along the beautiful carvings on the walls feeling that familiar gloss finish you had agreed upon years prior. The feeling is seeing this home turn into just an apartment was haunting. It hurt in a way that only could be described as crushing. Your footsteps led you around the apartment to the door of what once was your shared walk in closet. You reached for the door and opened it. It was half empty. More than half empty actually, if you were to take the things you had purchased, then Alexia would be left with basically nothing to her name except a few boxers, some socks and a set of sweats. Your gaze shifted to your side of the closet. The memory of standing there for hours trying to pick the perfect outfit for Alexia’s social events was woken back to life. It made you smile sadly. God, you thought to yourself, you loved getting ready for her. The chandelier was hanging in the middle of the room, and you offered it a gaze while your hand rested on the light switch. The chandelier sparkled in reflection of the light, reminding you of why you had purchased it. Speaking of the chandelier, it was also something that you had purchased for your own money. You sighted as you turned off the lights and closed the door shut.

You passed your guest room on your way to the bedroom. It made you smile. The memories of a drunken Mapi that had lost her keys and Ingrid’s keys while going out for a drink. She had camped in your guest room, unannounced. Ingrid had been so confused when she called Alexia to ask if she had seen Mapi. You smiled as you took a last gaze over the room. Seeing all the things you had purchased alone because Alexia didn’t have the time to go shopping. She’d told you that you could take her credit card, and you did. But she didn’t know that you never used it.

You continued to the main bedroom. To your bedroom. Where you had spent hours listening to Alexia’s dreams and hopes. Where you had watches dumb arguments unfold over stress and pressure from work. It was strange, how her dreams had changed over the decade. From wishing to play for a living to dreaming of the ballon d’or. It was always strange, how none of her dreams were about the pair of you. It was always her dreams, her wishes and her hopes. It wasn’t always like that. Once, she was your Alexia. That would bring home flowers. That would dream about weddings, kids and growing old together. Football took that part of her away, and maybe you could’ve been more consistent. Asked more. Understood more. Waited more. Then maybe Alexia could’ve still been your Alexia. Your eyes closed in hopes of stopping the burning feeling you felt in you eyes. It didn’t help, really. You flipped the lights off and shut the door.

Then you moved on to the next room.There was the bathroom. You favourite room. The place that had seen all the things that you didn’t tell people about, not even Alexia or Frido. The place where you cried, laughed, screamed, had occasional sex and spent most of your sick days. Where you had found yourself sat after the losses of all your pregnancies. This room was your sanctuary. It was where you could allow yourself to feel whatever you needed to feel. Where you’d allow the tears to quietly hit the drain while you felt neglected and abandoned. But, yet, you stayed. You stayed, again and again and again. Hoping that your girlfriend would return to her normal self. To get her fame out of her ass. But the turning point you had been hoping and praying for, never came. You looked over at the vanity. Just Alexia’s toothbrush left. No toothpaste. She never bought her own. She never really bought anything for the apartment because she didn’t have the time. You spent hours decorating, shopping, furnishing and trying to bring some life into the empty shell Alexia once had purchased. The floor behind you made a squeak, and you knew Alexia were behind you. You caught your breath, turned off the lights and closed the door.

Your feet then walked towards the living room. The core of the apartment. It had some of the most gorgeous views that you had ever encountered. Anything from gloomy stunning sunrises to slow beautiful sunsets. You were particularly pleased with the look of the room. It was warm and welcoming, but also bright and modern. The white walls matched the white soft couch. You sat down in the couch and let your fingertips run across it. It still made you feel cozy. Like you wanted to wake up from this nightmare and wrap yourself up in a warm blanket. This dumb couch that you had paid a ridiculous amount of money for. Where you and Frido had found yourself at the most ungodly hour gossiping about the players and the people at your job. The spot where you and Alexia once had spent hours giggling, watching sad movies, doing face masks and watching games of football. The thought of your lighthearted memories made during your earlier days brought a well wanted smile to your face.

Your eyes caught the door of the balcony. You loved that balcony endlessly. Your hand searched for the handle as you opened up the door taking in the fresh Barcelonian air. The views from the balcony was undoubtedly the most stunning views of Barcelona. You could see the beach, hear the waves and smell the salty air. The combination of sensations was enough to make anyone want to buy the place. You remembered when you and Alexia had the time to sit outside. Drinking glasses of Wine in the off season, eating watermelon that you had picked up at the local market after games. The mix of your favourite fruit and your favourite person brought tears to your eyes. Things were different now. So different that you couldn’t even have imagined in your wildest dreams that you would’ve been here. Everything was complicated. Painful. You shut the door to the balcony and locked it for the last time.

Your last stop was the kitchen. The intention of stopping by it hadn’t been on your mind, but you passed it as you were heading towards the entrance. You remember all the nights you spent making pasta with Alexia wrapped around your waist. Her standing behind you, embracing you pretending that she wanted to learn when all she really wanted was to be close to you. To hold you tight. All the morning coffees you had shared, Alexia always insisted on drinking her coffee pitch black while you preferred to ice yours. You’d try different types of syrups and flavors to perfect your coffee. Down the lane, she was convinced that maybe iced coffee wasn’t too bad. But only when the coffee was made by you. Your gaze shifted to the countertops. The spot where you would make sure always had Alexia’s favourite red apples. Only the crispy kind though. Before you moved, you closed your eyes. You didn’t understand why your efforts were never enough. Why your patience was never enough for Alexia. You accepted anything she threw at you. Cancelled dates, missed anniversaries and forgotten birthdays. Always understanding that work was her focus. That football was her number one. Yet, you loved her. You still do. But you are so confused. And so hurt.

It was stange and painful. But you couldn’t stay there anymore. It was not right, and it was not how you wanted things to be like at this point in your life. Things had changed so fast. Faster than anyone could’ve expected. Some changes for the good, and some for the worse. You held a tight grip on my phone as you stood there with my eyes closed not wanting to leave the comfort of what once had been your home. The thought of someone’s living eventually moving in with Alexia, having new memories and living in all the furniture that you once had purchased pained you. A sob escaped your lips while tears were silently rolling down your cheeks. Alexia stood next to the entrance staring at the ground.

“Well” you said letting out a laugh. “I guess this is it”

Alexia looked at you with sorrow in her eyes, not saying anything. It felt like room was on fire. Like everything was shutting down. Like the world was brutally coming to an ends

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be enough for you, Alexia. I really tried to be what you needed for 10 years. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that. Maybe in the next lifetime? “

She didn’t say a word. Just looked at you with an empty look in her eyes.

You walked towards the door. And put your hand on the handle before turning to Alexia. Your hand reached for your pocket. It was the promise ring she gave you at 20. When she promised that you would get engaged one day. You held the ring tight in your hand looking down at your hand. Then you looked at Alexia who just stood there. You took a deep breath before you kissed her cheek and opened her hand. You placed the ring in her hand before looking at her with a sad grin. Her eyes looked at the ring before her gaze turned towards you. She looked like someone had stolen her puppy.

“Que? Why are you giving me your ring?”

“It’s not mine to wear anymore, Ale”

“Ai, no! I gave it to you, si?”

“Yes?”

“Vale, that means it’s yours”

You looked at her with a sad look in your eyes before giving her a sad smile and shaking your head.

“Goodbye, Alexia”

Then you turned your back and walked away. The few items you had left in the apartment, had now been placed in a reusable ikea bag that you borrowed from Frido. You couldn’t help but let a few tears fall to the ground as you walked away. Every cell in your body wanted you to turn around. To run back into Alexia’s arms. To beg her to take you back. It took all the strength in your body to walk down to the spot where Frido was gonna pick you up. If you had turned around, you wouldn’t have been able to leave. The only reason you were able to keep walking was because you loved Alexia more than yourself. If she was happy and she got whatever she needed, then you were gonna be okay. Eventually, at least.

*Alexia pov*

A few days after you left for good, she came home from another horrible day at work. She locked the door and spirited to your her bedroom. She laid down on your side of the bed in complete darkness. Her face was staring into the pitch black ceiling. A lump formed in her throat and the tears were pressing on her eyelids. She hadn’t eaten much since you broke up. She hadn’t even slept much. Her workouts had been shitty. And she didn’t know how to function. She thought that she had gotten too attached. That you controlled her life to much. She had been so sure that what Alba said was true that she forgot to think for herself.

However, as she was laying down in complete darkness on your side of the bed. She realised her terrible mistake. Her eyes widened as soon as she realised. She had let other people’s thoughts become her own. She remembered all the times you had missed things for her. All the times she was a shitty girlfriend. She made you miss your nieces first birthday , your parents 30th wedding anniversary and the funeral of your grandmother. What had she sacrificed? What had she given to make the relationship work? She bought the apartment. But you bought the furniture. You made the house a home. You had wanted kids and marriage , and she wanted that too. But then there was football. And you said you’d wait, and alexia had promised you that she would make it happen. You had given everything you wanted away while Alexia got it all. No compromises, just you always accepting all the shit she threw at you.

She didn’t know where it all went wrong. By now, her tears were streaming down her face. Her hands clutching your pillow like it was the last source of water left at this planet. Her lungs desperately breathing in your scent, terrified to forget what you smelled liked One day she was being scolded by her mami for not purposing to you. The next day, Alba insisted that you were using her. But you made her life easier, better, enjoyable. You showered her with the purest kind of love that she didn’t even deserve. Alexia felt confused. Embarrassed. Scared. Angry. You were always so good to here even though she was a horrible girlfriend. She had let the love of her live walk out of the doors, forever. She had made the biggest mistake of her life. She couldn’t accept that this is how it ends. She needed to fix this.

[mogamuncher]

Heeey I'm back! It's finally time for the full Cakeverse analysis gang!

Ok, so, for a refresher:

There's the Forks, the Cakes and the Plates (normal people), and it goes like this:

Plates are just normal people, the majority of the world population, nothing new here.

Forks: Can't taste and sometimes can't smell either, sometimes they used be able to taste but lost it with age; either way, they can only ever taste cakes.

Cakes: Basically normal people except that they're delicious, everything from them (flesh, tears, saliva, etc) tastes like cake (or other foods if you want). You can't tell who's a cake or not unless you're a Fork that's tasting them in some way.

Now, I have to add some stuff that's really interesting and that the og author said, that we'll be getting into today.

• Forks go absolutely bat shit insane when they taste the Cakes most of the time, that can lead to a lot of things, cannibalism, sex, or (if you're cultured) both.

• Both Cakes and Forks suffer from their own societal plights. Cakes die a lot, and Forks when discovered are instantly pinned as murderers, criminals and perverts, even if they haven't done anything wrong yet.

• Cakes can derail a Fork's entire life, and Forks are like sin and temptation to Cakes.

Now, I want to talk about these because they absolutely fucking vexed me and now I want to make this all of y'all's problem.

「The First Taste」

It's essentially a common rule as said by the author that the Forks go insane after feeling the taste of a Cake, now, let's talk about: Why?

See, Cakeverse is technically an Au based from the likes of Omegaverse, which you can see by the structure being similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega with the three types of people out there. But, in ABO the Alphas going insane is due to a specific event, heats, which are there specifically for reproduction and are said to bring out animal instincts out of people's control, while Forks are based on simply taste, food, and not something as biological.

Of course it's up to the individual writer to an extent, but my interpretation of why Forks lose it when they taste Cakes is more psychological when compared to Alphas in the Omegaverse.

Imagine that you are completely unable to see color, never once have you seen one, you grew up hearing all about how wonderful colors are, you saw others compliment the colors of several works of art, you heard all about the colors of the world around you, but all that you see is beige and grey. Now, imagine that one day you bump into someone, and suddenly you're able to see all the colors, for the first time ever in your life, you can finally experience blue skies and green grass, you can see the same way the rest of the world sees, something that was fundamentally missing from you is finally gifted to you by this stranger on a silver tray.

You're finally complete.

That's the reality of what Forks go through, years of eating tasteless food, seeing people enjoy food wholeheartedly and rant about the tastes, hearing about the differences between expensive food and cheap food, and then suddenly finally tasting cake. Of course they go insane and fixate on it, it's like the final puzzle piece finally sliding into place, something that they've been missing this whole time being manifested with only a taste.

Before, eating was a chore, something simply to survive there was no joy in it, no fun to be found in desserts or snacks, but with only a single kiss the Fork finally feels what it is like to crave food, to want food for the taste.

Cakeverse in nature is oddly psychological, playing with the concept of taking away something extremely core to the human experience, taste. It's inherent and everyone has it, you'd probably feel like a freak of nature if you didn't have something while everyone else has, right?

That's what Cakes bring Forks; normalcy, joy and purpose, it's basically like a shot of endorphins all at once straight into your bloodstream, there's a good chance it'd hit like a truck and fuck you up majorly.

Forks acting rashly probably looks different than when Alphas do the same, because the motive is inherently different, but the desperation is arguably more raw.

A lot can be written on what that reaction would be:

Immediately trying to taste the Cake (kissing, licking, biting), trying to play cool only to strike later (potential kidnapping, manipulation, planning and scheming in general), the Fork can try to resist temptation or maybe the Cake can notice the extreme reaction and run away, maybe the Cake can instigate and bait the Fork to take a bite.

It could lead to fluff, to relationships starting, relationships ending, it could smut, it could be gory cannibalism, hell, it could be both.

Either way, the sheer amount of character study that could be made out of this tidbit alone is insane, and the story concepts don't stop there!

「We Do, In Fact, Live In a Society」

Cakes don't know who they are until it's too late, but I can imagine that in society they'd be treated with a lot of extra care if they are known beforehand, as they are constantly in risk of dying.

Imagine that they'd also be majorly babyfied, the "nooo poor babies that can't do anything wrong, poor helpless and weak Cakes, they clearly can't take care of themselves, they're so vulnerable, don't worry I'll speak for you to protect your honor" would be insane. Any Cake that consensually and willingly gets with a Fork will be doubted if they truly wanted to do it, think nosy people pulling them aside to ask if they're ok and pressing to see if they're abused, think people immediately thinking that Cakes can't consent to anything with a Fork on principle despite them being grown adults.

Online discourse would definitely have people saying "Cakes are minor coded" or some shit, mark my words.

While Forks would be instantly persecuted for everything. Because of something they didn't choose, that was inherited at birth, they now are fully seem as murderers, kidnappers, rapists and just the lowest of the low. People will gossip, people will get defensive, people will cower any time you slightly raise your voice, you're seen as a predator, treated no different than a wild bear. To society at large, you're an unruly dog, and all eyes will be on you forever, watching, waiting for the day that you take a bite.

In a sense, it's almost like any Forks that do commit crimes instantly have a justification to do so, it's expected, really, you're a Fork, of course you'd snap one day. It's both maligned and normalized, everyone expects it and it almost gives Forks a reason to do so. Forever a self fulfilling prophecy.

Now I'm sorry that I'll keep bringing the Omegaverse up, it's just that it's really handy for comparison, but I find it fascinating that in a way, the societal effects of this are a mish mesh of the societal views seen in ABO, but like, in a way that doesn't make me want to vomit.

Can I be so fr with you guys right now? I don't like the societal parts of the Omegaverse, ever since I was a kid in the early hay days of the internet, that always made me uncomfortable, and it's also a bit lazy in a way. The problems in society with the Omegaverse are basically just Sexism, it's misogyny with mpreg, and a lot of fics end up feeling like a Handmaiden's Tale with mpreg. Replace Alphas with men and Omegas with Women and you get the Omegaverse, though it gets a bit interesting since there technically is a built-in "fuck or die" and aphrodisiac system with heats/ruts, but very few writers do something interesting with it.

My problem is that it's always either uncomfortable or outright boring, very little fics do it well and most of the time authors simply choose to side step it altogether, which I completely understand and actually prefer at this point.

I bring all this up because Cakeverse actually brings a lot of interesting concepts up in it's consequences on the world at large, the nature of Forks and Cakes mirrors a lot of real life concepts, but leaves enough fantastical elements that there's still intrigue in what could be explored and seem from authors writing certain details of it.

Would there be Cake support groups? Would there be Fork rights activists? Would there be people who are both Forks and Cakes, like a hybrid type? What are different relationship types seen as in the eyes of society as a whole?

It's all so complicated and the problems are different between the both of them, also, they're evenly split, which is a breath of fresh air.

Now, it's time to get even deeper into this, what are exactly Forks and Cakes relationship with each other like?

「Would You Still Love Me If I Was Cake?」

According to the author, Cakes can derail a Fork's life and Forks are temptation to Cakes. Now, why is that?

Imagine you're a Fork, living your life trying to do what you can with what's been handed to you, probably being discriminated against if you haven't been able to hide it well, when suddenly you taste someone (kiss or by accident, like a shared water bottle), and next thing you know you lose your mind. Your entire world falls apart, thoughts of dreams, future, your own sense of morality, it all melts away like sugar in water because you just experienced heaven and now it's all you can think about.

Someone completely normal beforehand, suddenly driven to obsession with just one moment, an entire life detailed into the unknown because they just had a taste of cake, thoughts being all about one person and their taste, the inability to stop even you're desperate to do so. It's madness, and almost like a tragedy, doomed by their own personal narrative of Fork meets Cake, the Forks turns into a starving beast whether they want to or not.

But Cakes? Imagine you have someone you love, and they want you so badly it drives them mad, imagine kissing the same lips that want to be stained with your taste, imagine putting yourself in the way of jaws that any of these days can close down on you and swallow you whole. You're constantly in contact with someone that could just straight up eat you, consume you whole and leave nothing behind, but your heart aches for them, you present yourself in a silver platter again and again.

Maybe you want to be eaten, to be consumed. Maybe you like being wanted, maybe you enjoy providing something to to others, you made them so happy that it doesn't even matter to you that they are taking chunks out of you, you'll gladly let yourself be torn apart if it means someone else is satisfied.

It's all about the usage of "Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love™", it's all about loving someone but constantly wanting to eat them into non-existence, it's about to struggle between your brain heart and stomach.

It's about having your cake and eating it too.

The themes, the metaphors, the opportunities are endless and frankly I'm driving myself insane just imagining all of it, the angst also would be utterly fucking insane, imagine you live someone and you eat them, wouldn't you be upset? You loved them and you killed them yourself, with your own hands, their taste is on your lips and you licked your plate clean.

I'm screaming and crying and throwing up as we speak, the number of things you can do here are endless, soooo. . . Let's talk about some of my ideas!

「All My Fanfiction Titles Are Just Songs」

Last post I basically tagged a bunch of fandoms that I wish would use this trope (I'll also be doing that with this post), so now I'm going to showing some of the ideas I had for this AU that I might or might not write in the future, all of which you guys are totally free to use as prompts as well (just tag me on them lmao)

So, going ship by ship:

「Loveit」: Dead Plate fanfic, Vincent x Rody, Fork!Vincent and Cake!Rody. I imagine that the moment Vincent finds out is during the Best Served Hot ending, after biting Rody's ear, his reaction would show instantly on his face and Rody would notice right away. After that it can lead to a lot of things, fighting, smut and cannibalism galore, their relationship would only get more complicated after such a discovery. Hell, you can even have Vincent find out earlier, if you truly want more juicy drama, maybe Vincent will attempt to make Rody into the meal instead of Mason this time? For funsies you could even reverse it, Rody as a Fork would be fascinating to see, him bonding with Vincent that he also can't taste anything, only for him to find out later that he can taste Vincent himself, holy shit the intrigue.

「Eat You」: Death Note, Lawlight, Fork!Light and Cake!L. Imagine Light both having to hide the fact that he's Kira, but also having to hide the fact that he's a Fork, imagine the never leaving stain that being a Fork would be on his own self-perception of perfection, imagine the so called god that punishes criminals also being considered a criminal by default in society's eyes if he's ever found out. Kira selling out his own kind because most criminals would likely be Forks (whether they were rightfully convicted or not), and then comes in L, a detective, a nuisance, Light's equal and a Cake. Maybe Light would find that out later on, maybe while they're playing as friends in college or while chained together, and now L had effortlessly thrown another wrench in his life yet again by default, like they're meant to be opposed by fate itself, where Kira is a Fork L is a Cake. L would likely goad Light on, trying to bait Kira out, by any means necessary, even if it means being eaten.

「Eat You Piece by Piece」: Hear me out, Batjokes. Fork!Bruce having to hold himself back from breaking his own morals due to finding out Joker is a Cake, Fork!Joker only getting deeper into his Batman obsession after tasting a Cake!Batman, Both Forks bonded by not having taste, maybe both are Forks that differ on how they react to Cakes (Joker regularly eating them while Bruce retains his morals and chooses to not hurt them), maybe both Cakes that got here because they were almost eaten (different Batman and Joker origin stories?). The opportunities are all intriguing and promptly end in bloodshed, expect angst and discussions of what is moral, also just so much angst holy shit this shit hurts.

「I Eat Boys Up」: Dungeon Meshi, Labru, Fork!Laios and Cake!Labru. I'm thinking post canon by accident, maybe something like sharing utensils, and I'm going to be so fr with you right now, this story coming from me would be a lot of romanticism through food metaphors and unending smut, feral Laios is my equivalent of heroin and I could imagine him describing Kabru's taste in detail to him while eating him out. But if smut isn't your jam, exploring how Laios and his monster obsession, especially in the form of food, as someone who can't taste would be intriguing, in a story so closely tied to food, you have to wonder how it would all change if the main character couldn't even taste. Also, I doubt Kabru would take the knowledge of him being essentially prey well, so there's that bag of worms to go into if you want.

「Blame Gluttony」: This one is purely self indulgent but like, Re:Zero with any ship, Cake! Subaru and Fork!anyone else. Imagine Subaru's world doesn't have this Cakeverse nonsense at all, but the world he's transported to has, imagine how scary it would be that one loop he suddenly finds out that he's essentially universal prey here (maybe in the second loop with Elsa), imagine the weight of all the things that already are trying to kill him along with the fact that he's also got a new thing to worry about? Maybe instead of just the rabbit loop, there's now multiple loops where Subaru is eaten alive, maybe there's loops where his dear friends themselves are eating him. Can you imagine if Emilia was a Fork? If he found out after the kiss of death and she commented on the taste of his lips as he was dying, if it came up again after their kiss, Subaru having to tackle with his love and heart belonging to someone that would one day eat him whole. Imagine the witch not longer just wants to touch his heart or kiss him, but she also bites him when he tries to tell the secret. Imagine maybe Rem is also a Fork, imagine that his death by her hands also involved her tearing into him chunk by chunk. What if Otto was a Fork, what if Reinhard was one? Seriously all the opportunities are equally traumatizing and I'm living for it!

Honorable mentions include: Persona Shuake and Shuada (Fork!Protags and Cake!Detectives) for the optimal mutual murder extravaganza, Okegom DSP Satanivlis (Fork!Ivlis and Cake!Satanick) for a rare case of role swapping, South Park Kyman (any way works tbh) for mutually assured destruction, Slay the Princess (Fork!Princess and Cake!Birb) because themes, Soukouku (Fork!Dazai and Cake!Chuuya) for making canon even worse than it already is, frankly any investigrave game would be peak here, Hannigram for obvious reasons.

But that's all I have for now, so, what have we learned here?

We learned that: I'm mentally ill and you need to write about the Cakeverse NOW.

[steddieas-shegoes]

not so different

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’

rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.

But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.

He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.

“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.

He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.

Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.

“Um, no.”

“What about your mama?”

“She’s with my dad.”

“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.

Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.

“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.

��No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”

“No. I think he forgot.”

“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“You can come meet him!”

The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.

“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.

“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”

Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.

“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”

“His parents didn’t come.”

“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”

“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.

“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”

Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.

“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.

“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.

Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.

Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.

“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.

“You can walk with me.”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.

“Eddie!”

“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.

“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”

“A bit.”

“So no.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”

“C’mere.”

“Honey, you’re hurt-“

“Come here.”

Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.

“Think I’ll graduate?”

Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”

“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”

Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.

These were relieved tears, happy tears.

“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”

“Love you, though.”

“Love you so much.”

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

MASTER LIST OF INSTRUMENTAL PLAYLISTS FOR WRITING (OR FOR STUDYING, MAKING ART, ETC.)

I find that the perfect writing playlist can GREATLY enhance the writing experience. Even if it doesn't make your writing "better" (which it can, since it helps writers with visualization, tone, and mood), it can definitely make your writing flow easier!

Personally, words distract me when I'm writing, either by breaking my train of thought or by getting me too into the music so that I'm jamming out to my favorite tunes instead of writing.

Therefore, I've amassed a vast knowledge of instrumental music across a variety of media over a course of many years. Now here I am, deciding to share all of them with you!

Maddy’s Favorite Instrumental Songs

Just like the title says. All of the best pieces of instrumental music I've ever heard, compiled together with no regard for genre. It can be a bit of a whiplash playlist, but some amazing recs in there that I just like listening to in my free time, not just for writing.

Maddy’s Ultimate Instrumental Playlist

A mega compilation of 550+ fantastic instrumental music from a variety of media and genres. Kind of a whiplash playlist if you put it on shuffle, but is a great start for anyone looking to find what kind of instrumental music they like! Playlist Groupings in Order: Independent instrumental songs, live action movies, animated movies, animated tv shows, live action tv shows, video games.

Maddy's Instrumental for Sleep

Some more chill vibe instrumental for people who either A) want to sleep or B) want a relaxed playlist that won't distract you with loud volume and sudden changes in tempo or melody.

MISC PLAYLISTS:

you're a haggard adventurer discovering worlds beyond your wildest dreams

Music to inspire wonder and wanderlust, the kind of feeling you get when you finally reach the end of a mountain hike and see the world stretching out before you.

you're a hero who's just lost everything

Basically the most sad instrumental music I could find. A playlist for grief and revenge.

more beneath the cut :)

you're a cowboy in the great American West

Cowboy instrumental for all of your ambient and writing needs. Or if you just really want to feel like a cowboy.

you're a divine witness

Epic choir music (no English). Most religious, some not, but all kind of have that eerie sacred vibe. I listen to this while writing my book about angels and demons.

you’re a scholar uncovering the secrets of the universe

Great chill study playlist! Has the kind of same exploratory/discovery type feel as the haggard adventurer playlist, but more dark academia.

you’re a villain plotting to take over the world

Villain-coded instrumental! Sinister, dark, and/or unsettling.

you're an academic weapon

HIGH BPM STUDY PLAYLIST! Keeps me focused, hyped, and helps me work faster!

you're an ancient god

Playlist that gives an ancient/eerie vibe. But some ancient gods are merciful- so there are some upbeat songs for wonder and awe!

you're falling in love

Music that encapsulates what I think falling in love feels like. Very beautiful, tender, and uplifting instrumental.

you're fighting the final battle

Intense and epic battle music for all of your fight-scene-writing needs! Good for getting shit done, but isn't necessarily restricted to high BPM like the academic weapon playlist.

you're having a tea party

Refined instrumental for a tea party, including classical, big band, and some miscellaneous goodies.

you're in a chase scene

Music for writing chase scenes. Pretty good hype music, too. Includes soundtracks from classic chase scenes in popular media!

you're in the medieval times

Medieval-sounding music for all of your ambient and/or writing needs.

you’re in your childhood room. the door is open a crack. people talk softly downstairs.

A playlist dedicated to nostalgia, to the feeling of lying in bed with your nightlight on after being too tired to stay awake at your family get-together. Could either make your day or break your heart lmao

you're the happiest you've ever been

Lighthearted instrumental meant to lift your spirits! A playlist dedicated to the joys of the little things.

[moonstruckme]

hi! What about a fic if one of the Mauraders or TASM peter with a reader who's insecure about her big boobs? Like ik everyone thinks it's ideal but honestly sometimes it really sucks when shirts don't fit right or everything looks slutty or u can't go braless or alternatively a fic about their gf overhearing someone say they r an ass man but she has a small butt?

Thank you for requesting!

cw: insecurity around breast size

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re looking in the mirror, and you want to feel good about yourself. Really, everything looks the way it should. Your hair looks better than it would on an average day, that new eyeshadow thing you tried actually turned out nicely, and your dress fits the way it’s supposed to. 

Just, the way it’s supposed to fit doesn’t really seem right to you at the moment. 

“Peter,” you call in the direction of the bathroom, “if I ask you about something, can you promise to be honest with me?” 

You hear water splash in the shower, signaling your boyfriend is finally rinsing out his hair. In classic Peter fashion, he seems like he’s going to be late to his own banquet. Oscorp is having a formal event to recognize the achievements of their scientists this year. Peter’s done even more than most, and he’s expected to give a speech before the food comes out which you’ll be lucky to make at this rate. You were supposed to get ready together, but he’d spent the majority of the time flirting with you while you did your makeup in your pajamas. 

“Duh, I’m always honest,” he calls back. The shower shuts off. “That’s why they call me your friendly, honest, neighborhood spider-man.” A pause. You wonder if he can sense the dry look you’re sending his way. “Fine, but I’m always honest with you. Shoot, sweetheart.” 

“Okay.” You give yourself one final, disappointed look-over in the mirror before heading towards the bathroom door. “I’m serious, don’t sugarcoat anything, but do you think—” 

The door swings open, and Peter’s right in front of you, beads of water still visible on his torso and a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“—this is too slutty?” you finish, quieter, right as he blurts, “Oh my god.” 

Peter blinks. His head does a tiny shake, as if trying to rid himself of a dizzy spell. “What?” he asks. 

Probably not your best phrasing. “I just mean, is it too booby,” you try again. You have the urge to tuck your arms around your middle self-consciously, but you worry that would only make the boob predicament worse. 

“Baby.” Peter’s still looking at you like you’re speaking another language. “What?” 

You look down at your highly visible cleavage, then back up at him. “You know what I mean,” you say softly. 

“Okay, speaking from a strictly male standpoint,” Peter says, unabashed as his eyes dip to where yours just where, “I can’t condone the idea that there is such a thing as too booby. But even if I was, like, a ninety-five year old conservative woman, I couldn’t—I would still think you look beautiful.” 

Your heart balloons. It’s not a compliment you got much before you met Peter. Hot, sexy, sure, but not beautiful. 

“God.” The word slips from your boyfriend’s mouth so softly it almost sounds like a prayer. His hands find your waist, skimming down the satiny material of your dress to rest on your hips. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. Is that the eyeshadow trick you were talking about?” 

You nod, cheeks burning. “You watched me do it.” 

“It looks different with the dress on,” he agrees. “Fuck. Not to be corny, but you’re seriously taking my breath away. I can’t breathe right now.” 

A little laugh stutters out of you, and Peter smiles. He’s looking rather breathtaking himself, fresh-faced from the shower with a piece of damp hair still clinging to his forehead. You unstick it and comb it back in with the others already fluffed up after being toweled off. He smells like his shampoo. 

“Can I kiss you,” he asks, “or will I mess up your makeup?” 

“Be careful,” you warn, smiling as you lean in. 

He is, but his hands give away his hunger, bunching in the fabric at the base of your spine to get you closer. He makes a low, needy sound in the back of his throat, and for half a second you wonder if it’s for your benefit but then you remember that he was right earlier. Peter is always honest with you. 

You laugh when you pull away, going to get a bit of tissue paper to blot away the lipstick you’ve left on him. A glance in the bathroom mirror shows that yours is, thankfully, intact. 

“Are you sure this dress will be appropriate?” you ask, less insecure now but still nervous as you wipe at Peter’s upper lip. “Regardless of how much you like it, it’s still a formal thing and I don’t want to be…indecent.” You cringe. There’s no word that sounds nice. 

Your boyfriend’s brows furrow. His hands skim up your arms, and he looks like he’s about to reply when you fold the toilet paper and stick it between his lips. “Blot,” you murmur. 

He does. “Baby.” He squeezes your upper arms, a silent request for you to look up at his eyes. You find them soft and earnest. “There’s nothing inappropriate about what you’re wearing. It is a formal thing, and you’re wearing a formal dress. You look beautiful.” That word again. Your cheeks burn. Peter kisses one of them. “No one is going to have anything to say about how you look other than how beautiful you are,” he promises. 

You let the sincerity of his words seep into you, pooling like a warm drink in your belly. The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth. Now you’re feeling bashful for other reasons. 

It’s obvious by Peter’s grin that he can tell. He gives your arms another squeeze before moving you out of the way and going to where his clothes are laid out on the bed. 

“Actually, that’s pretty convenient for me.” He discards the towel on the floor, slipping on a pair of boxers and then starting to button up his dress shirt. “You’ve just taken a whole bunch of pressure off my speech, sweetheart. No way anyone’s gonna be looking at me while I’m up there.”

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 1)

Summary: Your troubled older brother disappeared two years ago, vanishing without a trace; that is until one day you receive a letter from him. He’s living in Spain after having joined a religious group called Los Iluminados, his life seemingly changed for the better. He would love it if you came to visit him. Who are you to refuse an invitation from your beloved big brother, right?

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

A/N: I want to give a shoutout to @d10nyx, who's bot heavily inspired this new series. I had been wanting to write plagas!Leon again for so long, but I wanted to do something I hadn't seen done before and my interaction with her bot planted the seed (breeding kink go brrrrrrrrrrrr). This will likely be my darkest series yet so if that's not your jam, I kindly ask that you keep scrolling. It should be noted that any of the Spanish seen in this series is either from my extremely vague recollection of the language from my youth or from Google translate, so I apologize if there's any weird grammar in any of the Spanish, it is not my intention to butcher the language.

I hope you guys like thrill rides :3

The title is inspired by Bad Things performed by I Prevail

April 22, 2008

Sis,

I apologize for this being the first time I’ve contacted you in two years, but I promise you, it was for good reason. I finally got help. I moved out to Spain to this lovely rural area called Valdelobos to live with this wonderful community called Los Iluminados. I’ve been sober for just over two years because of them. I would really love it if you came to visit, you would absolutely love it here, sis! I would love more than anything to share with you the community that has made such a huge difference in my life. I don’t have access to a computer, so you’ll have to send me a letter to reply. You can find the return address on the envelope. I eagerly await your letter!

With all my love,

Vince

You sit on your old saggy couch, gently holding the handwritten letter in your hands like it’s going to disintegrate. Your mind is in turmoil; your older brother Vincent, or Vince as most people call him, had disappeared about two years ago. He struggled with drug addiction when he reached adulthood, always chasing his next high. When you had reported him missing, police searched everywhere for him for weeks until you finally had to come to terms with the fact that he was most likely dead.

This letter, however, says otherwise.

“Who’s it from?” your boyfriend asks before sitting beside you, seeing the strained look on your face and growing concerned. 

You don’t answer him at first, your eyes locked on the weathered piece of paper. Realizing your boyfriend, Mark, had asked you a question, you blink a few times and shake your head, snapping yourself out of the shocked daze.

“It’s from Vince,” you reply, looking over at Mark.

Mark looks at the paper you’re holding, then back to you, “are you sure it’s from Vince?”

“Of course I’m sure! That is definitely his handwriting. He’s alive!” 

You hand the letter to Mark, who takes a moment to read the letter himself, adjusting his glasses as he does so, “he wants you to go visit. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea…” you say softly, burying your face in your hands as you continue to struggle with your emotions.

Growing up, all you had was your brother, having lost your parents at a young age. Growing up, the both of you lived with your grandparents, but they were very abusive. As soon as Vince had turned 18, he fought to become your legal guardian and the two of you moved out. Unfortunately, Vince had turned to drugs to deal with his trauma, but could you blame him? Your grandfather was especially hard on Vince; there were many nights you could remember falling asleep to the sounds of the two of them shouting and throwing things at each other. 

There’s a ten year gap between you and your brother, so naturally Vince had become something of a father figure to you, especially considering you were only two when your parents had died. A car accident you had been told; hit by a drunk driver on the way home from a New Year’s party. You felt like life always dealt you a shitty hand. First your parents, then your brother. But now, your brother seems to be back and he’s ok; he’s sober. You should be happy, so why are you so conflicted?

“I’m going to do some research on this ‘Los Iluminados’ group,” you finally say before standing up from the couch to walk into your bedroom, “make sure it isn’t some Jim Jones bullshit…”

“I’ll get dinner started then,” Mark says, also standing up, making his way over to the kitchen, “I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”

You nod at Mark before walking into the bedroom, sitting down at your desk in the corner of the room, opening your laptop and powering it on. You open up Internet Explorer and open a new Google search window, typing in Los Iluminados which unsurprisingly yielded zero results; with them not having computer access, it makes sense that there’s no trace of this group on the internet by searching their name. You then search cults in Spain and skim through the results. Again, there’s no mention of Los Iluminados anywhere. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you begin to question the letter’s legitimacy. Whoever sent it knew where you lived and that your brother had been missing for two years. No one would go through that much trouble just to prank someone. 

“Babe, dinner’s ready!” you hear Mark call from the kitchen. 

Letting out a sigh, you reluctantly stand up from your desk, walking out of the bedroom to join your boyfriend in the living room, who just finished putting both your plates down onto the coffee table. Laying in the middle of the living room, your 8 year old brindle English Mastiff, André, lifts his head lazily, sniffing the air upon smelling food. You can’t help but let out a chuckle as you sit down on the couch, grabbing your plate to start eating.

“Even in his old age, André has a one track mind,” Mark says, watching as the large dog gets up from the floor. Mark gently pats him on the head, “don’t you buddy?”

“He sure does,” you reply, reaching over to pat the gentle giant before returning to your meal.

“Were you able to find anything on that group in the letter?” Mark asks, looking over at you before taking a bite of food. 

“Not a damn thing. Which I guess makes sense but still…” you say, your voice trailing off as you let out a heavy sigh, “something about it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then we go to Spain, find out if this group is real or not and bounce if it’s just a wild goose chase,” Mark says, weaving his left hand through the air as he speaks.

“And who’s going to watch André?” 

André’s big brown eyes look between the two of you, letting out a soft whimper. Mark mouths the word ‘fuck’ before taking another bite of dinner.

“Right,” Mark says quietly, giving André another pat on the head.

The two of you finish eating dinner in silence, afterwards helping each other clean up the dishes. You let Mark know that you’re going to write a response to Vince’s letter, heading back up to the bedroom to sit back at the desk, pulling out a notebook and a pencil.

May 15, 2008

Vince,

First, I just want to say I am relieved to see that you’re ok and that you’re doing better. You had dropped off the face of the earth and I couldn’t find you anywhere; I thought you were dead! I’m so incredibly glad I was wrong. And, of course, congratulations are in order for your two years of sobriety. I know that’s something you really struggled with and I’m glad this community was able to help you. Is it a religious group? I think Los Iluminados roughly translates to “The Enlightened Ones” if my vague recollection of Spanish serves me right. Regardless, I would love to come visit you and see where you’ve been living these past two years, just let me know where I need to go.

Sis

May 31, 2008

Sis,

I was so excited to see you had written back that I practically ripped the envelope open. Los Iluminados is a small religious community and, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not a cult, so you have nothing to worry about there. They’re really big on living a traditional, almost pagan-like lifestyle and for me, being able to unplug while I got better was exactly what I needed. I’m hoping after experiencing Los Iluminados yourself that you’ll feel the same. As far as getting you here goes, you’ll want to fly into Valencia Airport, we’ll come pick you up from there. Call the enclosed number once you have your flight booked and tell Maria what day you’re coming. I’m looking forward to seeing you!

Vince

You tuck the letter back in your carry on bag, leaning back in your seat on the airplane and closing your eyes. You land in Valencia Airport in less than an hour and you are doing everything in your power to keep your nerves in check and not get your hopes up. You did as Vince had asked, you called this woman named Maria and with really broken Spanish, you had told her you were flying in on June 17th. At some point you must have dozed off because you’re jolted awake when the plane lands on the tarmac.

The plane pulls into the dock and you along with the other passengers file out. You head down to baggage claim to grab your luggage; you had packed about a week’s worth of clothes since you didn’t know how long you were staying. You low key were hoping to talk your brother into coming back to the States with you, but that’s a bridge you’ll cross when you get there. That thought is far from your mind, however, when you get through airport security and immediately spot your brother holding a large sign with your name on it. Your mouth hangs agape as you stop in your tracks. The last time you had seen him, he was a 33 year old who looked almost 50 due to his years of drug abuse. Now? He has color in his face, he’s gained weight and actually looks healthy. His clothes are a little disheveled and covered in dirt, but he’s smiling, probably the first time you’ve seen him smile since you were children.

Dropping your luggage, you run over to your brother, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight, tears freely flowing from your eyes as you cry out, “it’s you, you’re real! You’re alive!”

Vince tightly hugs you back, rocking you both back and forth before stepping back, smiling down at you as his hands remain on your shoulders, “look at you! All grown up; 25 has treated you nicely!”

You playfully scoff before walking back to grab your luggage, “hardly.”

You return to Vince, who then takes your luggage from you as the two of you begin to walk out of the airport, “how’s Mark? You two are still together, I take it?”

“We are! He’s doing good, he’s at home watching André.”

“André is still around? That’s nice to hear!” Vince says as the two of you walk up to a very beat up looking sedan, “here’s our luxury limousine!”

You playfully smack him with the back of your hand, “very funny, Vince.”

You watch as Vince opens the trunk of the sedan, putting your luggage inside, he looks up at you as he closes the trunk, “go ahead and get in the back seat, Sis.”

You nod in acknowledgement, climbing into the back seat, your brother joining you shortly after. An older couple sits in the driver’s and passenger’s sides of the sedan, promptly driving away from the airport once you and your brother put your seatbelts on. 

“We have about a three hour drive ahead of us, you must be exhausted from your flight,” Vince says, looking over at you and giving you a warm smile.

You nod, feeling your eyes grow heavy from jet lag, however you force your eyes to stay open; you desperately don’t want to miss a single moment with your brother.

“Hey,” Vince lays a hand on your shoulder, “it’s ok, get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get close to the village.”

“If you say so…” you reply softly. 

You hesitantly let your eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. It feels like only a moment has passed when Vince shakes you awake.

“Hey Sis, we’re here!”

After getting out of the car, there was still a considerable hike until you got to the village proper. Once getting there, however, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You weren't sure what you were expecting of a small village at the center of a religious community but what you’re seeing wasn’t it. It is a bonafide village, with actual houses, a town center, a watchtower and a large brick structure towards the back. In the distance, you can see a windmill slowly spinning. You chalk it up to the large number of documentaries you had watched on cults leading up to this trip that painted a picture in your mind of what this village would look like; the small, white cottages of People’s Temple immediately coming to mind. A part of you is glad you were wrong.

“So, what do you think?” Vince asks me, gesturing one of his hands towards the village, “this is where I’ve been these last two years.”

“It’s nothing like what I expected, it’s… honestly really peaceful,” you reply, looking around the village in awe.

You watch as several of the other villagers stop what they’re doing to look at you and your brother, an older woman over by a well giving both of you a warm smile before pulling a bucket of water up from the well.

“My house is over here,” Vince continues, pointing to one of the houses on the left before leading you towards it. 

Vince’s house sits next to the watchtower, he opens the door and walks inside. Before you enter, you happen to turn around and look towards the large brick building in the back of the village. Standing at the door is someone wearing a black cloak with gold trim, underneath his clothes you can tell he’s wearing cargo pants and a tight fitting athletic shirt of some kind. But that’s not what grabs your attention; it’s his azure eyes locked on you, causing your blood to run cold.

“Vince,” you say, your voice trembling as you reach to grab his wrist, stopping him, “who is that over there?”

Vince turns to look where you’re looking, letting out a soft chuckle once he sees who you’re looking at, “him? That’s just Leon. He’s the right hand of our Lord Saddler. He’s probably here to check on things, don’t worry about him. Come inside.”

Vince practically pulls you, shutting and barring the door shut once you’re inside.

“Why are you blocking the door?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as your brother turns to face you.

“We tend to have an open door policy in the village. Where you and I haven’t seen each other for awhile, I figured it’d be best to have some privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod as you take in your surroundings. There’s a staircase leading upstairs and around the corner, a dining table and a kitchen area. Several candles are burning; they definitely don’t have electricity and running water in this village. Behind your brother is a worn couch.

“Is that where I’m sleeping?” you ask, pointing at the couch.

“Nope, you get the bed upstairs. I can live with the couch for a while. Nothing but the best for my little sis.”

“Thanks Vince,” you reply, grabbing your luggage, “I’ll bring this upstairs, then maybe we can talk. You know… catch up.”

You grab your luggage, dragging it up the stairs. You spot the bed at the end of the bannister next to a window overlooking the village center. As you’re staring out the window, you spot the cloaked man, Leon, again. He’s standing in the center of town, looking right at you. It sends a chill down your spine. You turn around and scream a little when your brother taps you on the shoulder.

“You ok? You weren’t answering me,” Vince says, his face full of concern.

“Sorry… it’s that guy. He’s right down there staring at the window,” you reply, turning to point out the window, however, Leon is gone, “oh, nevermind. It must have been my imagination.”

“He’s like… a guard dog of sorts. He’s probably just making sure you’re chill,” Vince explains, gently grabbing you by your upper arm and leading you back downstairs, “he’s like that with anyone he doesn’t know.”

“Right, of course…” you’re still uneasy, but decide to trust your brother.

“I’ll get started on dinner, have a seat at the table,” says Vince before walking over to the large wood stove, which is already aflame.

“Can I help with anything?” you ask, still standing by the table.

“No, I got it. Been doing this for two years. I can handle it. You’re the guest of honor, you just sit back, relax and let your brother take care of you.”

While your brother prepares dinner for the two of you, you make small talk, getting him caught up on the two years worth of stuff he missed. You told him about Mark and André, told him that your horrendous grandfather finally passed away a year ago; you had caught a smirk on Vince’s face before he turned his attention back to making dinner. Once dinner is finished, he sets both plates down at the table and the two of you dig in.

“Earlier you had said Lord Saddler,” you begin, taking a bite of food before continuing, “Vince… are you sure this isn’t a cult?”

Your brother bursts out laughing, reaching over to put his hand on yours to comfort you, “Lord Osmund Saddler is the patriarch of Los Iluminados and the speaker for the Holy Body. I’m not held here against my will. I promise you with every fiber of my being, this isn’t a cult, Sis.”

“I’m sorry I just… I may have watched a bunch of documentaries before coming here on cults and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Vince smiles, “Don’t worry, no one is going to drink any Kool Aid here.”

“Vince, that’s terrible!” you playfully smack him, “also it wasn’t even Kool Aid!”

You can’t help but laugh, slowly letting your mind be at ease. It’s clear your brother is happy and healthy here in this village. Before you can continue your conversation with Vince, you hear the chime of a church bell in the distance and you watch as your brother immediately stands up.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, slowly standing up. 

“That is the sound of evening service. Come! I’d love for you to see one of Father Méndez’s services.”

Taking your hand, Vince unblocks the door and takes you outside. You see all the villages are filling into the large brick building you had seen Leon standing in front of earlier.

“That’s the meeting house, we have to pass through it to get to the church,” he explains to you as he leads you to follow the other villagers inside the building. 

Upon walking in there is a large room, shelves of food and supplies lining the walls. In the back of the room was a large painting of a robed man; not Leon, but someone else, Vince notices you staring at the painting.

“That is our Lord Saddler. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him during your visit; he’s a wonderful patriarch, I think you’ll like him.”

There is something about the painting that unsettles you, but you can’t put your finger on it; nor do you have time to because before you know it, Vince is leading you into the adjacent room. This room has a large table lined with chairs on both sides. You both proceed around the table exiting out of the door on the other side with the other villagers. The door takes you out to a winding path which opens up to a cemetery with the church sitting just at the top of the hill.

You and your brother make your way up the hill, following the rest of the villagers into the church where you and your brother sit in one of the pews in the middle. There is an extremely tall man standing at the altar, wearing a black leather trench coat and a large brim hat. His dark beard has subtle white hairs, indicating to you that he’s much older than you and your brother. In fact, now that you think about it, you realize you and your brother are probably the youngest ones in the church.

Behind the imposing man is a large stained glass window decorated with red, blue, green and white. The white glass makes a pattern. You’re not sure what to make of it; it’s almost like a crude insect-like cross with four appendage-like parts extended out with a tail pointing downwards. Once everyone is seated in the pews, the man at the altar addresses the villagers.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man begins, his Hispanic accent thick, “before we begin tonight’s sermon, I wanted to welcome the visitor that Vincent has brought to visit our village.” The man gestures one of his hands towards us, “if you would do the honors, Vincent.”

Your brother stands up, “Gracias, Father Méndez. This is my younger sister,” he says before telling everyone your name, “she’ll be staying with me for a while, we haven’t seen each other since I first came here. I hope you all can join me in showing her what makes Los Iluminados a special community.”

The other villagers clap softly as Vince sits back down. After that, Father Méndez begins the service, which is in Spanish, so you strained your brain to try to pick up bits and pieces of what he’s saying. This doesn’t last long, however as your eye catches movement in the darkness in the back of the church. You feel your heart skip; it’s Leon again, his azure gaze once again locked on you. His expression is cold and emotionless, but there is no doubt in your mind that he is staring at you. 

As if sensing your unease, your brother nudges you with his elbow and whispers, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s Leon again…” you reply, nodding your head in Leon’s direction.

Vince’s gaze follows yours, spotting Leon staring at you from the back of the church. Vince lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ll talk to Father Méndez after the service.”

For the rest of the service, you steal glances towards the back of the church, where Leon remains, still staring at you. At the end of the service, however, when you look back, Leon is finally gone, much to your relief. 

Father Méndez’s booming voice draws your attention back to him, “¡Gloria a Las Plagas!”

“¡Gloria a Las Plagas!” the villagers, including Vince, repeat back.

Gloria a Las… Plagas? you think to yourself, glory to the… plague? Plagues? Pests? What? That makes no sense…

Before you can think it over further, your brother stands up abruptly, pulling you up with him.

“Pablo,” Vince says as he approaches another villager, “¿Puedes llevar a mi hermana de regreso a mi casa? Tengo que hablar con el padre Méndez.”

The man nods, “sí, claro.”

Vince turns his attention back to you, “Pablo here is going to take you back to my house while I talk to Father Méndez about Leon, ok? I won’t be long.”

“Alright, thanks Vince,” you reply as Pablo gently takes you by your upper arm, leading you out of the church.

You turn back, watching your brother approach Father Méndez before the church doors close behind you.

“Vincent,” Méndez begins as Vince approaches him, “what can I do for you, my brother?”

“It’s about Leon,” Vince says, crossing his arms, “I want him to leave my sister alone.”

“What do you mean? You do remember what you agreed to, no?” Méndez presses straightening his posture.

“I do remember, but he is scaring her. All he’s done since she got here is stare at her.”

“And? Are you saying you’re defying the will of Lord Saddler?”

“No, of course not!” Vince exclaims before lowering his voice, “but if we want any chance of her staying in Los Iluminados, he needs to chill out with the staring, ok? Is that too much to ask, Father?”

Méndez brings a hand to his beard, stroking it as he contemplates Vince’s request. After a few moments, he gently nods, “fine. I will speak with Lord Saddler on this.”

“Thank you, Father.”

She is perfect.

Leon stands at the end of the bed that you’re sleeping in, completely oblivious to his presence. Bringing his hands up, he lowers the hood of his cloak. The exposed skin on his neck and face are completely covered in inky black veins and seem to pulse under his skin. He gently crawls onto the bed, being careful not to wake you as he cages you with his body.

Leaning down so that his nose is nearly pressed against the side of your neck, he breathes in your scent deeply, opening his mouth slightly to lick his sharpened incisors with his tongue. He moves away from your neck, staring down at you as he watches your chest rise and fall gently as you slumber. Unable to help himself, he leans back down, his lips hovering above yours when he hears the unmistakable sound of the front door opening downstairs.

His head snaps towards the stairs, crawling off your bed with the grace and stealth of a panther. He brings his hood back up over his head, walking silently over to the open window at the head of the stairs where he had let himself in, climbing out and shutting the window carefully behind him, not leaving a single trace that he was even there.

Part 2

[btsbabe7]

Perfect Storm

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected sex

Synopsis: While Ominis grapples with his feelings, you embrace your own in full bloom.

Ominis sits in a complete daze, exactly three rows from the front of The History of Magic. In a class where sleep is prioritized over education, he finds himself wide awake and engulfed by his own thoughts.

At a young age, Ominis Gaunt had learned the mastery of concealing his disdain, his happiness, and all other emotions in between that may apprehend him. It was a skill he found himself most proud of, especially as a Slytherin, simply because it kept him safe from the consequences of raw emotions and how others may perceive them. But on this particular afternoon, an hour after your coffee brown feathered owl, Nora had chirped seven times through his windowsill, Ominis felt something arise.

A feeling he had long forgotten had begun to muddle up and settle in the hollowness of his chest as it would after a sip of freshly brewed Butterbeer or morning pumpkin juice on an empty stomach. He’d only felt this way twice in his entire life. Once, when he’d learned he’d been invited to attend Hogwarts and would finally be able to escape the harsh scrutiny and peculiar upbringing of his pureblooded parents. Secondly, when he’d been introduced to Sebastian and Anne Sallow during his first year of attending. However, he would have never guessed that he’d feel this way about you, his now, not-no-new best friend that he can’t seem to stop thinking of. Though, there is one thing Ominis knows for certain, and that is that he must stop his heart from becoming too attached. Otherwise, the feeling would fester and utterly consume him.

When Professor Binn dismissed class, a herd of yawning students stumbled out in the connecting hallway of The Bell Tower in pure delight. As they do, you scan the crowd over, student by student, looking for only one in particular.

Amit Thakkar. Eric Northcott. Lenora Everleigh. Natsai Onai, who stops at your side with a sly smirk.

“Next time you decide to skip Binn’s class, I beg you have Nora deliver a notice beforehand. As much as I appreciate a midday nap, I do cherish adventure even more.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you giggle, though you know Natsai wouldn’t have wanted to join in on the adventure that had pulled you away from class on this particular day.

The high of Sebastian’s presence that typically lingered long after the fact comes to a standstill at the thought of other’s putting the pieces together. Surely word would soon travel of you missing your History of Magic course and the coincidence of your best friend Sebastian missing his Astronomy one simultaneously. That thought alone is what steals your concentration from the leaving students and causes your mind to wander. A few seconds more and a small tap has you jolting as if you’ve seen a ghost for the first time.

“Ominis,” you breathe in relief.

“I could smell you,” he chuckles. “Well, you smell of Sebastian actually.”

“Oh, yeah… I, uh… We bumped into each other on the way to class and decided to ditch.”

Ominis is silent for a moment. He can always detect your hesitation when you lie, but it wasn’t a completely lie. You hope in your heart that he’ll buy it and not question any further, and in your favor, he chooses the latter.

“Nora stopped by before class,” he states. “She only chirped seven times. So you’re early, despite missing class.”

You rope your arm in Ominis’ and lead him downstairs and towards the doors which lead you out the castle.

“On my way over, I figured we could head to Hogsmeade early. We’re both done for the day and we don’t get much time alone without Seb. I tried to convince him to stay in tonight, but he was adamant about spending time with both of his best friends.”

Ominis hums in curiosity. Wondering what you’d bargained with Sebastian to get him to give you and him any time alone at all. Despite his curiosity, his own excitement wins the battle. He hadn’t had a moment alone with you since you’d met him and with Sebastian out of the way, even for a short moment, he’d finally have you to himself.

“Do we have to go to The Three Broomsticks? If we aren’t due there until seven this evening, we can go elsewhere?”

You purse your lips as you both waltz through the doors and into the warm breeze of spring. The air smells of heavy rain. The type of rain that smells of earth and dew and brings the worms from their humble adobes in the soil.

“I suppose we could go wherever we please.”

Ominis smirks, but turns in the opposite direction in order to conceal it from you.

“Perhaps we could go to The Undercroft?”

You glance up towards the sky. Heavy, grey clouds settle in the distance, remnants of a storm while another dares to roll in at a moment’s notice. As much as you love a brilliant storm, you’d love to spend time alone with Ominis more. After all, many storms have hovered in the skies above the grounds of Hogwarts, but time alone with your Slytherin friend weren’t as frequent.

“The Undercroft,” you hum in agreement.

Careful to evading the nosiness of curious students and staff, you and Ominis slip into the concealment of The Undercroft with relieved sighs. You gaze over the darkened room, casting Confringo towards the four hanging lamp posts before continuing inside.

Abandoned furniture, rusting cauldrons, and dusty barrels are stacked high against the surrounding walls, making the room appear much smaller than it feels. The room itself smells of burnt embers, left behind from all the times you and the duo had practiced Confringo here on end. You smile at the memories before meeting Ominis in the center of the room enveloped between four hefty, ornate columns.

A rug sits there now, one you’d managed to buy over Christmas break and bring in from home with the help of an Extension Charm. The others hadn’t seen it yet since you’d just placed it today before meeting Sebastian in the secrecy of his empty dorm.

“Confringo truly warms up the room,” Ominis breathes sarcastically before settling down. His brows rise at the sudden change of surface and he allows his fingertips to mold themselves into the thick fibers of the woolen rug with a gentle breath. “A rug?”

“Don’t you and Seb get tired of sitting on frigid concrete?”

“I’ve known nothing else.”

You smile softly, happy that you’re allowing him to experience something new in his safe place.

With your own need to relax, you kick your shoes off and drop your robe before joining Ominis on the rug. He jolts up at the feeling of your knee pressing against his and tries to imagine your facial features in this moment, calm and soft.

“I wish we could enjoy the storm from here,” you whisper. “I’d love to hear the heaviness of the rain pitter pattering around us. The rumbling of thunder that comes with the rolling clouds.”

Ominis smiles. Taking in your words and imagining them in his head. The coolness of the rain prickling against your flesh and curls. What rolling clouds would look like when the thunder rumbles beneath your feet and lightening streaks through gray clouds. The way your lips curl into a grin and eyes close when you’re in a state of peace and tranquility only a storm can offer. You take your bottom lip in with a smile, laughing to yourself at the thought. It’s as if you and Ominis had shared the imagery telepathically.

“Y/n,” Ominis calls, though he has no words to say. After all, anything that would come out in this moment would come out as a stutter and surely you’d laugh in his face, even as his friend.

But you respond in the softest your voice has ever been around him, a simple yes, and he finds himself swooning. He falls silent, closes his eyes and takes in the smell of burning coals in the nearby lamps. It’s not the smell of wet earth, but it is familiar. As familiar as the fluttering in his stomach as he lies back in hopes to push them away, the butterflies. And much to his dismay, you replicate the action.

The smell of Sebastian has long worn away and your own smell of vanilla and worn book pages returns. The warmth of your body so close to his has him fighting to steady his breathing. He shuffles a bit in an attempt to create space, but ends up slapping his hand into yours instead. You smile at the feeling and allow your palm to clasp around his with a soft exhale.

A few moments of silence pass by and you drop Ominis’ hand to roll onto your side. With one hand propping up the side of your head, your eyes roam over your best friend. His robe is parted and his tie sits tightly around the ring of his crisp, white collar that’s nestled underneath his buttoned vest and open jacket. The hem of his button-up is still neatly tucked inside his belted, checkered grey trousers. His full length, grey socks are pulled to the knee and stuffed inside his short boots. And when your eyes gaze up towards his face, a soft smile sits on his lips as if he’s deep inside a fantasy only he can see.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Ominis’ smile turns into a hoarse cough, almost a choke. You pat him gingerly on the chest until he heaves out one last cough and wipes away the tears.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Y-you didn’t,” he spats out. “I just didn’t know you were observing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re the most interesting object in the room.”

His cheeks turn a cherry red and he gazes away nervously.

“I believe you to be more interesting,” he mutters.

You come up to your knees, allowing them to sink into the soft fibers of the rug.

“Prove it.”

You shock yourself and Ominis with that line, but it does the trick of pulling his reddened face back in your direction. Had this been Sebastian and you’d given him the chance, he wouldn’t have bat a lash before making a move, but Ominis has always been your greatest challenge. You know he won’t be the first to make the move even if the stone lied within his court. So, you find yourself climbing into his lap, straddling him as he attempts to find the words to say or expression to convey in response to your boldness.

“It’s alright,” you whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

Ominis’ trembling hands plant themselves against your jawline, thumbing over your soft cheeks, then the circumference of your lips. His mouth parts and your own need to feel him consumes you. You repeat the action of grasping his face and lean in closer until all that’s between you is a slither of air.

“Y/n,” Ominis speaks quickly. The call of your name propels his warmth against your lips. “This will change everything.”

“I know, Omi.”

He hesitates, then allows himself closer in consent. You settle down in his lap completely and draw your hands to the hairs at the nape of his neck, taking in the coarseness before your eyes flutter closed and your lips press gently into his.

Ominis’ body shutters underneath you as if he’s been set ablaze while yours kicks into overdrive. You help him slip off his robe and jacket, then mindlessly pluck the large, grey buttons from the holes of his vest. He shrugs out of it and clasps his arms around you, moaning as you both deepen the kiss and fall back on the rug. His hands travel over your waist, down your hips, then down your thighs on either side of him. He mentally takes in that you chose to wear a dress today, knowing he could use that to his advantage if you chose to go any further.

You pull away breathlessly and in a daze, drinking Ominis’ relieved express in like cool water.

“Do you think we have time?” You ask aloud, not necessarily to him as you reach back to grab your pocket watch from the inner pocket of your own robe. Barely an hour before you’re set to meet Sebastian in Hogsmeade. It’s not nearly enough time, but with the pout on Ominis’ face, you can’t deny yourselves the pleasure. “We’ll be quick…”

Ominis chuckles at the shakiness of your voice before pulling your lips back to his. If he had to face an annoyed Sebastian because you both arrived late, he’d take that over missing this opportunity with you. And in agreement, you and Ominis strip down to your undergarments in no time. Once his hand brushes against your bare flesh, he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls you down against him.

“Have you done this before?”

He shakes his head.

“Have you?”

You fear being honest in a time like this, when you know he’s so vulnerable, but you also know Ominis would be able to read your lies easily. Besides, in a time like this where everything is sacred, lying seems cruel.

“Only once,” you reply shakily.

Ominis’ expression fades into something unreadable, then a smirk appears.

“Perhaps you can show me how it’s done then?”

You scoff nervously. It wasn’t the response you were expecting. In fact, you were thinking he’d nudge you off of himself and start to redress. That you’d end up wallowing in shame all night over Butterbeers at the embarrassment.

You waste no time grinding against him, getting a feel for his size as soft pleas slip from his lips. Your own lips gasp at the feeling of him growing hard beneath your warmth. A bit surprised by his size, you lift up just enough to work the hardened member from his briefs. With a purr, you rub down the length and move your own garments to the side. You grasp one of Ominis hands and position it between your legs, and you swear his eyes widen like the moon at the sensation.

“Touch me here for now,” you croon, already aching in anticipation of the pleasure you know he won’t deny you.

Ominis rubs down your length, taking in the number of folds it takes to get to the source of your warmth. He clamps his hand over the mound, then slips a single finger into your depths, which earns a moan from your throat. He seems to like it, the prize that comes from knowing he’s touching you correctly.

“Just like that, Omi,” you mewl seconds before he pulls his finger in and out of your arousal. You work your own hand over his full length with a coating of your own saliva. “Can’t wait to feel you inside my wet pussy.”

He stops short as if his brain hadn’t processed it beforehand. He could feel you even more, more than his finger. Skin to skin, body to body. Luckily, you can’t deny yourself the pleasure anymore, and knowing that time is ticking by, you climb back into his lap and take him back into your grasp before lining your entrance up with the tip of his erection. It only takes the feeling of the tip poking inside to pull a heavy groan from Ominis’ lips. It makes you smile, the sight of him already squirming as you slip down the rest of his length with a loud whimper.

“Fuck, Omi, your cock feels amazing.”

“Y/n,” he whines and grips your waist the moment you start gliding back and forth with the length of his cock stuffed inside. It almost slips out, then you skillfully retract it back in. He squirms every time it comes close to falling out, a pinch of panic at the idea of losing this feeling.

His eyes shut and his blunt nails burrow into your flesh as you find a steady pace and your palms rest against his sweaty chest. You knew Ominis would feel astronomical inside of you, but he never knew he’d quickly become addicted to the feeling of himself being buried deep inside your depths.

You toss your head back and move Ominis’ hands up to your chest. He massages your breasts softly and unskillfully, scared of squeezing too hard in fear of hurting you.

“Lick them? Please?” You squeak and falter towards him. “Suck them.”

He feels for one of your protruding nipples and laps his warm tongue over the left, which causes the right to ache painfully in neglect. You massage into it yourself while trying to keep your pace. He pulls the left between his teeth and sucks on it hard, causing you to squeal before he moves to the right. You ride him faster, too overtaken by your own pleasure to notice him trembling beneath you. His own pants intertwine with yours and his hands find your hips again, this time guiding you up and down his twitching length.

“Y/n, I think I—“ Ominis’ words get caught in a groan so deep, your eyes flutter open.

“Oh, Omi… I’m going t— Nngh!”

He thrusts his hips upwards and your words fade into a sharp scream that leaves you shaking and trembling against him. Your eyes roll back and he pulls out of you with tremors of his own. You feel a warm liquid spurting against your ass and you sigh in relief before collapsing on top of him. His chest heaves violently against yours. His, then yours until they fall back into a rhythmic pattern of normalcy.

Silence falls over the room once again and you trace lines down Ominis’ abdomen mindlessly. Yet, in his mind, he’s attempting to come to terms with the act you two just committed. He’s sure this will change absolutely everything.

Will he start bantering with Sebastian when he mindlessly flirts with you?

Will he slip up and curse one of the other students who brag about how hot the hero of Hogwarts is?

He would now know just how hot you can get after finally having you this way. Would that knowledge alone push him over the edge?

On the outside, he remains calm, but you sense that his mind is elsewhere. You trail a fingertip from the center of his forehead and down the bridge of his nose before leaning over him.

“What’s plaguing your mind, Ominis?”

He’s hesitant, but thinks better of. If he’s had you like his, in his most vulnerable state of nudity, then surely he can admit his feelings.

“I’m worried about the others… Sebastian…”

“What about them?”

“What they’ll think or say. About the lewd comments I overhear in class. And if we continue to do this, they’ll begin to notice we’re becoming more than friends.”

You ponder it over for a moment, but surely being perceived as more than friends wouldn’t be so preposterous.

“There are worst things out there, Ominis Gaunt, than our peers perceiving us as more than friends. Perhaps you wouldn’t be too worried if instead of being friends, w—”

“Instead of being friends?” Ominis sputters in confusion and panic.

You pat his chest gingerly.

“Yes, Omi. Instead of being friends, you consider being my boyfriend instead? And when they inquire, we’ll simply tell them we’re courting each other.”

His face turns as pale as Professor Binn, a true ghost, and he sits straight up as if to prevent a choking fit again.

“You want to court me? You truly fancy me?”

“Of course. I thought that much was evident. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have spent the entire afternoon attempting to get Sebastian’s blessing of giving us time alone. And I surely wouldn’t be plastered against your body fully naked,” you snort.

Color fades back into his cheeks, but he remains flustered. That’s the reason you smelled of Sebastian, you’d been in his dorm all afternoon, and knowing Sebastian, convincing him would’ve taken a while. And now it made perfect sense that he’d granted you the time alone and hadn’t once wondered into The Undercroft with all the time that’s passed. It’s as if everything has finally clicked in his mind.

Ominis recognizes something else too, the feeling that had settled in his chest earlier in the day. It’s the very feeling he felt once he was granted freedom from the abuse of his parents, the feeling he felt when he’d met Sebastian and Anne, the feeling you grant him now and always have, is hope. A hope for something new and better in the midst of his own chaotic storms. And with that realization, Ominis caresses your cheek and presses his lips ever so slightly into yours.

And after a few deep kisses, he pulls back, leaving a sliver between you two to flash a brilliant smile before finally answering your burning question.

“Of course I’ll be yours. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

⚡︎ HP: November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

May 2024