#he’s just sweet

[lexithwrites]

loser regulus black who just stares at the person he fancies instead of going up and talking to them, who’ll write his name with his crushes last name before scribbling it out so hard he rips the page, who talks to himself in his head saying they’ll never want him that he’s a freak and that he’s ugly, that compares himself to his brother every single day but still adores and looks up to him, who has a small friend group who are all extremely outgoing whilst he’s quietly there with them, who fiddles with his fingers when he’s nervous and bites his lip so much it crusts over or bursts when he smiles, who only wears black and has headphones on 24/7, who prefers reading and writing stories and fanfiction and drawing random swirls and shapes in his notebooks, whose studying literature and ancient history, who can’t drive so he takes the bus and thinks about how embarrassed his rich parents and their friends would be if they saw this, who can play piano and listens to classical music and loves watching live concerts with full orchestras, who gets drunk way too easily when he’s out with his friends and giggles when he meets his crush, who smiles and throws his head back with a cackle that he’d usually be embarrassed about if he was sober, who blushes when someone touches his hair or his waist, who loves vanilla matchas and caramel hot chocolates, who dreams of firm, large hands on his skin and lips at his neck and something deep inside him making him shudder, who asked his older brother and his cousins to help cut his hair and bandage his chest when he first came out, who loves his niece and nephew and likes watching them play when he babysits them for their parents date nights, who cries for hours because he feels so alone even though he’s surrounded by love now, who still misses his parents even though they were awful, who wishes the person he loved would just notice him…without knowing they always have because he’s him.

[suguru-getos]

So the colleague who sits beside me went, “Ena you’re not Ena-ing today what happened why’re you so low?” And I told him “Cus it’s Monday and I’m sleep deprived.” And he literally ordered a Starbucks for me omg ☀️🫡

[b0koblins0fthewild]

I wanted to know if anyone would be interested in a book (still in editing) called: The Beast of NYC Follow Up

The Beast of NYC:

*This story is general and for all ages, but I’d say preteens and up would probably enjoy it.

*The story is written in 1st person

This is a draft summary or synopsis:

New York City has always been full of mystery…urban legends, shadows lurking among alleys.

An aspiring photographer for a local daily newspaper, Allie Blackstone, had never imagined herself in a story so deep.

It all began with a photograph of a mysterious and man spotted all around Manhattan that showed up a the Daily Ink-Spill Gazette. But when the evidence points to an elusive beast, Allie alongside her quirky friend Angel a sarcastic and fun-loving journalist from New Jersey, her close friend Archer Burrows the determined head photographer, and Allie’s quiet and rather mysterious friend Al Kayne who has just eased into his new job after having moved from Kentucky.

Together they search and dig for answers for the mysterious Beast of NYC.

But as demanding Bruce Buckler, the editor-in-chief, pushes deadlines and demands, the discovery of the truth feels like it lyes closer to home than she realized.

With the help of her oddly reserved yet charming new friend Al in his late forties who masquerades in red shades and brandishes a cane, she gets to the bottom of things all while growing fond of him and his sweet demeanor.

Together, the two forge a strong friendship as they try to unravel the mystery. Will they get to the bottom of this or could the answers be closer than it seems?

Main Characters:

Alexandra “Allie” Blackstone

Alexander “Al” Kayne

Samantha “Angel” Chase

Anthony “Archer” Burrows

[kitskiis]

He keeps doing this I’m gonna cry

[stealingpotatoes]

the illness post is still getting notes (???!! <3) and that means people are still telling me to get better soon, which is really nice but im gonna be too powerful if i get any better

[demaparbat-hp]

I mean—it's them, right?

[chloesimaginationthings]

Y’all remember the foxy is nice FNAF theory

[ugly-bug-starscream]

skyfire for my tfone au!! hes researching ways to obtain energon so he visits the mines and is a friend to all the miners

[blackkatdraws2]

[⚠️The Amazing Digital Circus SPOILERS] This episode was interesting!

[n4rval]

i lied. here's a bonus.

[arcane-gold]

hello rookanis nation. can i present rel and lucanis’s dynamic. sun and moon trope, one with boundless energy and one who gets 2 hours of sleep a night, guy i pulled by being an idiot, etc. they’re special to me

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[egophiliac]

he did it! 🐍 and it only took...uhhh...well, there probably could've been less punches, but why hold back!

PUNCHES FOR EVERYONE

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

when katsuki tries to subtly squeeze in physical affection once you start dating, he gives you whiplash.

most of the time, he's consistent with it. he lightly kicks at your leg under the table, sometimes presses his shoulder to yours when you're sitting on the common room couch. he flicks your forehead when you get a question wrong and ruffles your hair when you get one right. he digs a finger in your side when he passes you in the hallway, he pulls at the bottom of your tucked in uniform shirt to make you whip around and glare at him so he can laugh about it.

but sometimes, sometimes he sees you trying to fix your tie and softly shoves your hands out of the way "lemme do it." he mumbles, tutting to himself about you not knowing how to tie your own damn tie while already doing it for you.

he completely unravels it and ties it from scratch, eyes lowered and focused on the task at hand, and when it's just right he nods very subtly to himself, fastening it comfortably around your neck a final time while looking you straight in your eyes so intensely your mouth goes dry. and as he stares, his eyes lower to your neck and you feel his warm hand readjust the necklace you're wearing.

and in and instant the touch is gone. he clicks his teeth, reprimanding you with a quick flick to your forehead "learn to do this yourself, 'm not gonna do it for you." before his eyes drift away, he's shoving his (sweaty) hands in his pockets and trudging off.

despite all that though, katsuki insists on fixing your tie for you every time.

[the-raindeer-king]

The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

That's how the saying goes. You never realized just how true it was until you started working as Captain John Price's assistant. It had started off innocently enough, bringing him a tea or coffee when he asked. Maybe scolding him whenever you found out he skipped lunch.

You had been baking brownies, trying out a new recipe, and you just needed someone to taste them (and maybe help you get rid of the batch if need be). So, you brought them to work, left them in a pretty box on Price's desk when you dropped off his coffee.

You certainly hadn't expected the rest of the task force to come around to your desk, begging to know why you didn't bring any for them. Turn out that not only did Price brag out your baking skills, he's refusing to share with the rest of the task force, despite the fact you had brought more than enough for all of them.

Looks like you're going to have to make more.