#i can write things that aren't angsty SOMETIMES.

[agrlsname]

Thank you @therealsaintscully for the tag! I'm soon about to post what might be my very last fic, so it's quite fitting to look back on my journey now.

How many works do you have on ao3?

38 – all Johnlock, except for one GO fic. On New Year's Eve I will post number 39!

What’s your total word count?

371,360 (will soon top it off with another 221 words ;))

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

What Friends Do (by FAR), Who I Really Am (personal fave), The General Idea, Coldness/Heat, Tomorrow's Song

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

At first I responded to every single one! And I still try to respond to every single person. But now, I sometimes only respond to the last one if it's a reader who's commented on every chapter and I get all the comments at once. I like staying connected to the readers, that's one of the most fun parts about fandom!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

It has to be This Is Your Song. I mean, there's another one within a series that end in an angsty cliffhanger, but MCD surely has to take the prize?

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Oh my, nearly all of them have happy endings – so what would count as happier than happy..? Maybe it's actually the one that isn't posted yet – stay tuned for the resolution of the New Year's Kiss series!

Do you write crossovers?

Nope. I've written a fusion though (Johnlock and Moulin Rouge!).

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yup. Some people get really angry at John in What Friends Do and they take it out on me. It's interesting because many MANY others adore the story with all their hearts! I even wrote a sequel from John's POV just to try to get people to understand, but the haters didn't understand anyway.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Even though at the beginning I said I'd never, half of my works are now rated E or M. What kind? Um, is "emotional, gay sex" a genre?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many of them, into five different languages! Coolest thing ever.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I think I'm too pedantic for that. I've loved working with my beta on some poem translations, though, that The Sky is Full of Fiddles is based on.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

38 fics – you all know it's Johnlock, right? There are others that I love, but nothing can ever compare.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don't have WIPs! I'm too much of a control freak and perfectionist when it comes to writing – I want to be able to change the beginning when I'm writing the ending. I don't even have unpublished WIPs – I hate the idea of leaving works unfinished. If I was still in those first years of writing frenzy, when I was single and didn't have a child, I'd have expanded on This Time – but as it is, I knew that I wouldn't have the time to do it justice. So I purposely ended on a cliffhanger that would still allow it to stand on its own the way it is.

What are your writing strengths?

Emotions, according to my beta! If you ask me, I'd say describing things – often emotions, I suppose – in new, poetic ways that play on different senses and therefore make them immediate. It's something I love reading myself, anyway, so it's something I've been practicing for... well, decades now. I'd like to think I've gotten at least somewhat good at it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm weirdly bad at coming up with the small details that aren't important, but needed. A recent example is I needed a character to text another with an invented problem to try to get him to come over. It wasn't at all important what the problem was, but it also couldn't be just anything; it had to be in line with his character. I could not for the life of me come up with this problem myself – eventually my husband did it for me. So those kinds of details in my stories are rarely from my own brain!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Hmm, well, I've tried not to do that. As a reader I find it annoying to have to look things up, or scroll down to the notes. I have three fics in which characters aren't English; in This Is Your Song I added a couple of "Bonjour"s for flavour, which is about as far as my own French knowledge reaches... In the Fiddles series they're Swedes and speak my mother tongue, but I've written everything in English except for the words that English doesn't have (like for example "polska", a kind of dance), and at the very end, some song lyrics that are then translated into English in the end notes that come immediately after. I did want to add that song for flavour, but I didn't want it to be annoying.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Johnlock! I started in the aftermath of season 4 back in January 2017 and then couldn't stop.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I'm wondering whether I will come back to fic writing at a later point, but for another fandom. I've long wanted to write more for GO, although I already have written one fic. It would probably be a lot of fun to write for OFMD too. Doctor Who maybe? I don't know, it intimidates me to write for a new fandom where I don't yet know the characters as well as I know Sherlock and John.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

This question is too cruel! There are so many of them that I love. Maybe I have to say The Sky is Full of Fiddles, after all – it holds such a special place in my heart for many reasons that go beyond the story itself (although that's true for several fics). Other faves are Your Daughter, The Zebra Sheets and of course Who I Really Am, which I'm liking enough to turn it into a novel I'm now trying to get published. See, I couldn't pick one!!

I'm on Tumblr way too sporadically to have any idea of who's already done this and who hasn't, so I don't dare tag anyone... Feel free to take it and tag me if you feel like it!

[reapersmarch]

i don't know. don't look at me.

“Careful, old man, don’t want you throwing your back out on the way up.”

Ricardo shoots Bel the dirtiest look he’s ever seen over his shoulder, and it fills him with a kind of glee. Standing there, arms crossed and head craned up, grinning beneath his mask, he watches him dangle freely in his harness, one hand holding on to the wall, the other raised to give him the finger. It makes him laugh, full and genuine. This had started as a bit of practice—Bel liked to stay sharp where he could, and being able to scale a wall in an emergency wasn’t a bad skill to have on hand.

Doing it while suited up was an even better one to have.

Normally, however, Ricardo wasn’t there, too. Normally, Bel had the entire gym to himself.

When he’d learned what Bel was up to, the Marshal insisted upon joining him; said it was a great idea, and that he should probably do the same, even though Bel was fairly certain that Ricardo had prior commitments he’d made forever ago.

He couldn’t complain, though. Even if he generally liked the solitude more—it afforded him time to unwind and decompress—he didn’t mind the company, either. It very quickly, however, devolved into a competition: who can climb the highest? Who can ring the bell the fastest? Loser pays for drinks afterwards.

Bel didn’t mind that, either. It was a fun little way to make the time pass, and he’d been doing this so long, he was confident he would win. He neglected to mention that part.

“I think calling me names is cheating,” Ricardo calls down, turning back around to focus on climbing higher. “So. I think you lose by default.”

“Mm… no. That’s not how that works,” Bel laughs. “I’m hardly responsible for your inability to remain focused.”

“What are you talking about? That’s exactly how cheating works! And—no, you’re totally responsible for it, actually.”

Ricardo reaches up; the bell rings. He starts his descent.

Bel checks the stopwatch in his hand and clicks it off once he’s back on solid ground. “A little under a minute and a half. Not bad, all things considered.”

“Not bad? That’s pretty damn good!” Ricardo huffs.

“Sure it is. If you’re old,” Bel snorts. He tosses the stopwatch at him, then trades places. “Your joints still function after that climb?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’d love to see you do better.”

“You’re about to.”

He checks his gear, then walks briskly up to the wall. There was no way he was going to lose.

“Ready?”

“Yup.”

“Okay… go.”

Very casually, Bel begins to climb, moving from one handhold to the next, periodically moving sideways, doing little hops to reach ones that are further out. He knows which colours to grab, which to not. Which ones have an odd grip and where your foot might get caught. No contest. It wasn’t really fair, in Bel’s opinion, that he was so obviously going to win, so he needed to find ways to stall—just enough to keep things even, but not enough to make Ricardo think that he was throwing the competition.

“Ready to call it, Ricardo?”

“Cocky doesn’t look good on you, Bel,” he teases. “You’re being a show off.”

“Hubris generally is the fall of most men, yes,” Bel agrees with an amused chuckle. “Most men.”

When he’s done messing about, he scales the rest of the wall with a practiced ease, and gives the bell a quick little tap before beginning his descent.

“What time am I at so far?” he asks.

Ricardo checks the timer and frowns. “…‘Bout a minute.”

“Accurate time.”

“Forty-five.”

“Uh-huh.”

Midway down, Bel kicks off the wall to turn himself upside down, wrapping his leg around the rope cord to maintain his hold. “See?” he says, one hand extended nonchalantly, and even though Ricardo can’t see it, Bel puts on the biggest shit-eating grin. “Told you I’d win.”

“You haven’t touched the ground yet, timer’s still ticking,” Ricardo tells him. He stands about eye level with where Bel is dangling from, eyes half-lidded in a placid expression of amusement. “Sure you want to push your luck?”

“Eh. I’ve got time to play with.”

Ricardo hums. He pauses thoughtfully for a moment, then reaches up, fingertips finding the seam of Bel’s mask and tugging gently. He pulls until it slips past his mouth, and Bel can’t stop the confused little noise of surprise that escapes him.

“What are y—” 

The gap between them closes. Ricardo holds Bel’s head steady, face between his hands as he kisses him, thrilled with just how much of his skin turns maroon. It’s brief, but it lingers. Then he does it again. Then once more, for good measure.

He makes sure Bel doesn’t fall from his legs giving out, and sets him back on his feet, speechless, then takes a look at the stopwatch.

“Ooh, two minutes. Rough!” Ricardo grins crookedly as Bel pulls his mask up the rest of the way, gawking at him. “Guess you’re buying.”

“That… No!” He splutters “That’s cheating!”

“Is it?” Ricardo asks innocently. “Huh. Nnnno. No, I don’t think it is. I’m hardly responsible for your inability to remain focused. So I win.”

Hubris. The downfall of most men—including Bel.

Well, there are worse ways to go out.

[luvyeni]

HOT MESS ,, 이제노

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ collegecrush!jeno x reader wc. 2.4k

genre. smut

🦢◞  includes ... oral ( fem receiving ), unprotected sex, praise kink , this is kinda angsty.

request. can u write a "campus crush" fic based on jeno's look at the airport please 🙏🩷

「 authors note 𖹭 」 ngl i didn't expect it to be so angsty but reader literally is me and my brain.

❪ masterlist! ❫

your brain was always on go; constantly it was like it never stopped, even when you would sleep it was like your brain wouldn't turn off— it was never ending, and becoming a college student; living on your own made it worse.

running into your class; the professors back was turned around so you snuck in , sitting down. “you're late again.” yoo jimin, your best friend; the complete opposite of you; she was constantly put together, it was like she had everything together. “i stayed up last night to study.” you whispered, huffing out pulling out your ipad, hair all over the place. “how did it go?” you stared at her stoically. “how do you think?” you said. “point taken.” she said.

“maybe you have like adhd or something.” karina walked next to you; watching you go through your messy planner. “because this can't be normal.” she said. “im sure the doctor has something to cure whatever this was.” you shrugged. “with my luck i would probably be too busy and forget to take it.” she laughed. “probably, you're just a hot mess and that's okay, i still love you anyway.” she wrapped her arms around you, calming you. “messy hair and disheveled clothes that i'm pretty sure you had on yesterday and all.”

jeno on the the hand; he seemed to have his life together— he never came to school looking crazy; even after a night out in which he was black out drunk with his group of friends, he'd turn up the next day, showered, shaven and ready to go on with his date. “it almost scary why aren't you hungover.”

haechan groaned, his head down low. “you out drunk me yesterday; jaemin left you in your dorm unable to pick yourself off the floor.” jeno smugly shrugged, his hair black hair was neatly styled, his outfit that he picked that morning neat on his body.. “i feel fine, maybe you should lay off the alcohol.” the boy would've lunged at the boy if he didn't feel like his head was gonna explode. “haechan look you and yn both look like you had a good time last night.”

jeno turned hearing your name, a small smile on his lips, one no one couldn't unless they were looking really close. “fuck off jaemin.” you huffed sitting down. “except yn looks like that all the time.” haechan said, yelling as you began bang on the metal table. “how's that headache? huh you asshole.” jeno held his hand out , stopping you. “you'll hurt yourself.”

he moved his hand away from you; that didn't really help your rapidly beating heart. along with the stress of school and your everyday life; jeno lee was another thing that raced throughout your already cluttered mind; he sometimes was the only thing that could calm your messy mind— not like he noticed or anything.

“she’ll hurt herself— she hurt me!” haechan cried out. “my head.” holding his head in his hands. “jimin hold me.” you all watched karina fight the whining boy off, you laughter making jeno smile slightly, only stopping when jaemin caught him; wiggling his eyebrows at the boy, jaemin was the only one who knew about his crush on the girl.

“you should ask her out.” jaemin said one day out of the blue. “yn, you should ask her out.” jeno was shocked; he thought he did a good job hiding his infatuation with you. “haechan isn't all the way there and renjun could care less, so of course they don't notice, but bro i'm your best friend , and i can tell , and you don't really hide , you literally write the notes down so she can study.” ever since that day, jaemin never let him live it down.

“yn you have a class soon.” jeno turned to you as you looked down at your phone. “oh yeah i better go.” you shot up. “my professor is gonna kill me if im late again.” you collected your things. “jeno don't you have this class too?” renjun asked, he nodded; calmly getting up, saying goodbye to everyone, before walking away; but walking slowly so you'd be able to catch up to him.

you both made it to the class, you found your seat in the back; jeno took a seat in the front like always, occasionally looking back to check on you— he felt bad, watching you stress out all the time, you could never seem to get anything right in your eyes; but in his eyes you were perfect.

“yn.” your professor stopped you as you were leaving out the door. “yes?” you stopped. “your research paper.” she started. “is there something wrong with it?” you sighed, she didn't have to say anything, but you knew. “listen what if i give you an extra day or two, go over it; read my notes and try again.” she said, you nodded. “thank you ma'am.” you turned walking out of the class, where jeno was waiting. “oh jeno you're still here?”

while waiting for you, jeno overheard your conversation with the professor. “yeah, everything okay?” you nodded. “just need to go home and get my head together so i can get this essay right this time.” he walked silently next to you, before he spoke up. “i can help you.” he said. “go over the essay with you.”

“y-you don't have to, it's all word vomit i don't want to put you through that.” he waved you off. “i don't mind it.” you were about to reject him again when he grabbed your arm, stopping you. “let me help you.” your eyes widened at the sudden touch. “sorry.” he said, removing his hand. “it-its okay.” you said, heart racing. “i can come over to your apartment and go over it with you.” he said. “and it won't be a problem?” he shook your head. “you'll never be a problem, okay?” you nodded. “o-okay.”

“come on let's go.”

it had been so long since you had anyone over besides karina and she was used to your madness; but it had been even longer since you had a cute guy over, and you weren't really planning on having one over— otherwise you would have cleaned your room. “it's a little messy.”

“it's okay, it's just clothes.” he smiled watching you frantically pick up the clothes, shoving them in your closet. “sit.” you pointed to your bed. “please, make yourself comfortable.” you said. “um …” you turned to jeno, your face losing all color— he was holding your bra in his hand. “did you forget something?”

you practically lunged at the boy to grab the item, throwing it into your closet. “let's get started.” you said; he smiled watching you go through your bag to pull out your laptop. “here.” you opened it, pulling up the essay. he took the laptop from your hands, your fingertips touching. “let's see, it can't be that bad.”

it was bad; but jeno didn't let you know that— well he tried. “um, okay.” he said, you frowned. “it's bad isn't it?” he sighed, reading through the essay, looking at you; your eyes were desperate. “i can help you fix it.” he said, you sighed. “it's useless.” taking away the laptop. “if only i can get my brain to stop just for a second , my essays won't be so shit.”

you hated this; your brain wouldn't stop, it was overwhelming. “hey.” jeno called your name, you bit at your nails in stress. “hey.” he stopped you, holding your hands down. “calm down , i told you i'll help you wouldn't i?” he said. “i’ve seen worse essays trust me, jaemin will plagiarize if i let him.” he laughed. “i can help you fix this, but you have to calm down first.” your eyes traveled to where your hands met. “you're so cute but you're a hot mess.”

“me-me? cute.” he chuckled; but you were freaking out inside and out, he shook his head, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge. “let's finish this okay?” you nodded. “o-okay.”

after going over the mess of a essay; reading the notes the teacher gave you and jeno talking you through it; you finally put together an essay that was at least readable and would satisfy your professor. “thank you so much jeno, you saved my life.” you smiled. “it was all you, you'll do good if you just turn that pretty little head off and learn to breathe.”

“that's easy for you to say, your life is so put together.” you said. “i can barely get out of bed on time, it's like you said im a hot mess.”

“you don't want to hear my problems.” you said. “the essay is done and you probably have things to do, you can … mph” before you could get the rest out; jenos lips were on yours in feverish kiss, pulling away to give you enough air before his lips were on yours again.

he pulled away again, ready to kiss you again, but you held his chest signaling him to stop immediately. “did i make you uncomfortable?” he said. “no-no.” you said flustered. “just, it happened so fast, and now my head and my heart is racing.” you were rambling on and on and it made jeno want to kiss you again, you were so cute. “then just turn that pretty head off and let me help you.” he looked at you with so much want in his eyes. “okay?”

you nodded, he held the side of your face, pulling you into another kiss; his lips swiping across your bottom lip, sticking his tongue in your mouth , his grip on your waist, lifting your shirt. “lifting your arms for me pretty.” he took your shirt off , throwing it to the floor. “he-hey just because i use my floor as a hamper doesn't mean you do.”

he laughed, “i'll be sure to fold your clothes neatly the next time i fuck you.” he pulled your pants down, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. “baby you really are a hot mess aren't you.” he kissed your stomach once he laid you on your back. “i like that.” he reached for your waistband, pulling them down your leg. “keep them open pretty baby.” he kissed the sides of your thighs. “such a pretty little pussy.”

you felt the warmth of his lips as he kissed your cunt. “j-jeno.” it had been a while since you've felt anything like this, and lord was jeno good at what he was doing , licking your folds , his nose brushing up against your clit, for the first time in a very long time; there was only one thing on your mind— it was jeno.

“fuck jeno!” you moaned, gripping his dark locks. “im… im gonna cum.” you whined feeling him removing his lips for your clit , one of his fingers invading your hole. “you gonna cum for me?” you nodded, he groaned , his cock hard; he was ready to fuck you. “y-yes.” you gasped. “pl-please let me cum.”

“shit.” he cursed, adding another finger, curling them inside you. “so tight baby, go ahead and let go for me, make a mess all over my fingers for me.” you gasped out his name , moaning as you came. “good fucking girl.” he fingered you through your orgasm, until you were holding his wrist , grinding against it. “je-jeno.” he no longer looked put together; his hair messy, clothes disheveled— even his brain was running a mile a minute, he finally knew what it was always like in your head. “you look so pretty when you are cumming.”

ridding himself of his clothes; folding your legs in half, giving him a view of your cunt. “pretty little pussy, want me to stuff my fat cock inside?” slotting his cock in between your folds; moving his hips, the tip of his cock catching your clit , both of you moaning. “pl-please fuck me.” you begged. “shh , baby i got you.”

positioning his leaky tip at your entrance, slipping inside. “fuck.” he sighed, your cunt sucking him in. “so tight.” he gasped as he fully bottomed out. “je-jeno you're so big.” you moaned out; his hand coming up to your throat. “yeah, you like my cock stretching your tiny pussy?” he hissed as you tightened around him, your eyes crossed as he plowed into you. “did i fuck you're pretty head empty?” he questioned, a moan following. “had so much fuck so much going on inside it , now it's nothing but my cock.”

he tightened his grip around your throat; speeding up his thrust. “de-deeper jeno, fuck!” the desperation in your voice , you needed to feel him; the deeper he went , the tighter his hand wrapped around your throat— the less you thought about anything, all your troubles floated away. “je-jeno im gonna cum.”

“yeah?” he speed up, cursing as he chased his orgasm. “hold it just a little baby, fuck , wanna cum with you.” his forehead was pressed against his. “i-i can't , jeno im gonna cum.” you gasped , your fingernails digging into his arms. “ugh , fuck!” he cursed , rubbing your clit. “fuck i'm gonna cum , cum for me pretty baby.”

he made direct eye contact with you as you came , cunt gripping him like a vice. “shit!” he pulled out , roughly stroking his cock as he came, his warm seed splashing on your stomach. “fuck fuck fuck.” he squeezed his base , milking himself, groaning. “shit.”

“you want another?” he toyed with your clit. “your little clit is still desperate for my attention.” you moaned , his finger filling you up. “je-jeno.” your glazed over eyes. “your pretty little mind is floating somewhere else isn't it?” he chuckled. “fucked you too dumb?” you gasped , moving your hips, grinding against his hand. “go ahead, cum for me again, pretty.”

you felt like you were floating; mind empty as you came down from second high. “come back to me, pretty girl.” he coached you back down , a smile on his face. “good girl.” he removed his fingers from your cunt. “you did so good for me.”

“something on your mind?” jeno asked as he watched you pick at your nail beds for five minutes. “there's always something on my mind.” you laughed , about to bite your nails , he grabbed your hand, holding your hand down , rubbing your knuckles. “not when you're occupied.” he smirked , you slapped his naked chest. “it's not that.” you said. “it's you.” he tilted his head. “what do you mean?” you shrugged. “you can tell me.” he said, you sighed.

“when you're around you help me not think, you calm me.” you confessed. “so what you're saying you're a hot mess without me?” you pouted. “why are you making fun of me?” you whined , he laughed , wrapping his arms around your body. “thats fine with me.” he kissed your forehead. “you're a hot mess.”

“but you're my hot mess.”

©LUVYENI

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

hi omg since u reopened ur reqs can i !!!! request some spencer reid x ftm christmas-y headcanons ? sfw and nsfw if possible !!! tysm i LOVE your writing

nsfw.

a/n: howdy friend!! first off, i just wanted to thank you for loving my work, it really means a lot, especially when i come back from long unplanned breaks like this; but - without further ado, here's your headcanons! :]

sfw:

in my mind, spencer doesn't really have the need to celebrate the holidays if he's by himself.

sure he'll indulge in his colleagues and go to the christmas parties or participate in secret santa, but if he's single, he's not really one to celebrate.

but once he's with you? yeah, things start to get REAL festive around here, and fast.

what was once a bare apartment now gets turned into a winter wonderland by the beginning of december.

you're also real strict about when decorations go up. it can't be too early, and it can't be too late, because you have that party to throw!

you definitely ask force him to help you.

now, spencer sometimes gets overwhelmed with certain social situations, but seeing you with his team makes the little bits of anxiety all worth it.

they love you, and treat you as one of their own, especially penelope.

bless his heart, once the two of you get together, it's a chaotic mess.

she'll compliment you on the decorations, and then your outfit, and then your cooking, then all of a sudden you've planned a whole other party a year in advance.

spencer doesn't mind it though.

even though you put the jolly in his holly, he absolutely despises gift getting.

the stores are crowded, online shopping is a mess, and the black friday deals aren't really deals.

"Buy one get one 40% off? that doesn't even make any sense." spencer murmurs to himself. you can't help but chuckle at him, "that's capitalism for you, baby."

but when the buying is all said and done, he enjoys wrapping said gifts.

there's just something he finds so therapeutic about the meticulousness of the cutting, folding, and taping. maybe it's the perfectionist in him.

morning of is always so magical, because he enjoys seeing the smile and awe on your face whenever you open something of his.

but nothing compared to when it was his turn.

you'd stare him down with your expectant gaze, angsty, as if you were the one opening the gift.

you'd watch his reactions closely, and if he played up his amazement, it was no one's business but his own.

nsfw:

there's just something about the christmas spirit that turns spencer into a little freak.

like... maybe it's because it's cold outside and he's "huddling" for warmth, but one moment you're having a sweet moment on couch, then the next you're bent over the arm rest taking the craziest backshots of your life.

he's such an enigma because in an instant he's touching all over you like a fiend and then the next he's asking you what christmas movie you want to watch.

lowkey bottoms a lot during the month of december.

like, maybe it's the need to be closer to you, but he just wants to be bent over and devoured.

it gets to a point where he starts to put little bottles of lube all over the apartment just in case the opportunity strikes where one of you need it.

it kind of shocks you if you're going to be honest, because usually he's kind of reserved when it comes to sex.

he's not like a total prude, but sometimes it's hard for him to express what he wants, so for him to extremely grabby, borderline needy, it's a bit stunting.

there's no complaints coming from you though.

uses scientific facts about how sex can help you warm up quicker.

"did you know that sex-"

"yes, spencer, i know. do you want to fuck me, or not?"

okay this one is kind of foul, but i think his feet get cold easily so i think he wears socks during sex.

THEMED SOCKS BY THE WAY

expect to be staring down little santas or snowmen while you try to suck him off.

"spencer, where'd you get these?"

"they were on sale!"

there's something about the way the lights from the tree illuminate your face at night that makes him look.

he just stares at you, and the lazy look you throw him from your laying position on the couch forces him onto his stomach.

he's placing sweet kisses through your shirt, leading down to your waistband where he's tugging it down.

he's sweet as he takes you into his mouth, his eyes closing like there's no where else he'd rather be.

and honestly, he doesn't.

[promptsbytaurie]

anything with wing clipping. i once tried to do research on it for a fic and,, it is SO angsty

i got u fam <333 (i have way too much brainrot on this bear with me LMAO)

tips for writing ✨wingfics✨

!!please credit/tag me if you use this!! i'd love to see what you write!!

physical differences:

area where wings connect to their back is insanely sensitive!!

feathers falling e v e r y w h e r e

wings are big!! if the wearer hasn't had them for long, or is younger/inexperienced, they're gonna knock shit over

~birb noises~

they're actually really good singers with insane lung capacity, a lot of them are/could be opera singers

thin bones, so they're super light and even though most think it's embarrassing to be picked up so easily there's always One Dude who's like 'carry me everywhere'

smaller birds = smaller people. most wings correspond to a specific species, and hummingbird varieties are notoriously short (though never say that to their face, they will probably murder you <3)

unless the avian is a kind of waterbird (penguins, sometimes eagles) going into water will clog their wings and they could drown!! adding onto this i imagine that avians have special bathtubs and brushes and stuff so that they can properly clean their wings

on the flip side if an avian does NOT clean their wings they can get tangled or matted which a) is super painful b) could impact their flying and c) could cause sickness !!

dislocated wings >:(( this happens about as often as dislocated shoulders do with regular people. this can be caused by a couple things like blunt force, trying to manuever/twist wings in ways they aren't supposed to go, or flying too often/straining wings.

psychological differences:

preening!! it's intimate, but doesn't have to be romantic/sexual. obv there is room for very fluffy and romantic moments but it can be either way

flock!!! it's kinda like a family or a pack

the urge to Make a Nest and Only Let the Flock In

once the Flock is In the Nest then the Flock Will Not Leave Ever

molting!! old feathers fall out to allow new ones to grow in !

molting is basically the bird version of a period except all birds have it once or twice a year. they're more emotional, super sensitive, and extra clingy during molting!!

if an avian gives you one of their feathers it's basically a version of marriage, except it doesnt have to be romantic. its essentially a promise, like a 'we're with each other forever' kinda thing.

just as humans have discrimination, i imagine that avians have it too. more common species like songbirds, ravens, or crows are probably valued in society way less than those like eagles, doves, or parrots, and there could also be stereotypes against species like vultures or condors.

on wing clipping:

in my mind wing clipping is a lot like trimming your fingernails realllly sloppily, except the difference is that you should NEVER clip an avian's wings.

what i mean by fingernails is that the nails themselves don't hurt but if you do it sloppily there are Consequences: clipped too short -> irritated skin. clipped inconsistently -> sharp edges, snags on everything INCLUDING other feathers

huge violation of boundaries/self!! clipped wings -> can't fly. flying is integral to avian health and if they can't fly their mood and mental health will fall drastically.

clipped feathers take a long time to grow back, and therefore clipping has long-term effects. it also damages the feathers themselves (obviously) in ways that sometimes can't be healed

if an avian's wings are clipped their trust goes DOWN and their insecurity goes UP. its likely that if someone else tries to touch their wings they will freak out

clipped wings also make avians more jumpy and paranoid because they've lost their major way to escape/protect themselves: flying away.

angst potentials in wingfics (spoiler: there's a lot):

like i said, clipped wings -> can't fly. write about an avian's first time flying again. (not super angsty but still)

SUPER angsty: write about the actual act of wing clipping.

an avian is neglecting their wing care and tries to hide it.

relationship between a 'noble' avian (eagle, dove, etc) and a 'basic' avian (crow, raven, etc) and society's dislike of the relationship.

or maybe avians are a minority in a human world, and an avian has to hide their wings to be safe.

hope this helped!! <33

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 5.4k words]

Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things. You were just afraid.

In which, against the wishes of his staunchly pure-blood supremacist family, Ominis Gaunt befriends you, a naive Muggle-born Hufflepuff, and his life inexplicably changes.

Or, what happens when a pure-blood from an anti-Muggle family falls in love with a Muggle-born?

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: familial abuse, blood/ injury, torture, fantasy prejudice/ racism.

1: Strawberry Laces

He calls you Gibberish, because sometimes that's all you speak.

In first year, Ominis remembers crossing your path after the Sorting ceremony. You, a shaky little Muggle-born, near no knowledge of the magical world and its machinations, and the depths of its cruelty. You, who only enjoyed wonder in everything: every moving painting, the candles that floated untethered, and the way the air hummed with something else, something ethereal. He remembers hearing your distinctive voice in the foyer outside the Great Hall.

He remembers how you, somehow, managed to get lost.

Your upbeat curiosity pealed like a bell amongst the sombre tension of the first-year Slytherins. For some reason, your hair is what Ominis remembers best. Later he would find out it was thick, bouncy wild curls pinched into two pigtails at the side of your head, but the first thing he recalls is the smell, faintly of something saccharine.

"You're in the wrong place."

A pause, presumably as you realised he was addressing you. "Aren't we going to the form rooms?" you asked, that high-pitched voice like birdsong at dawn. It was hard to forget, given the nervous squeal you made when you were called up to be Sorted. It was already ingrained into his head.

"You're meant to be going to the Hufflepuff common room," he said, frowning. Form. What was a form? He pointed his wand at the Hufflepuffs heading the other way through the hall. "Your house is over that way."

"Oh!" You giggled, a sickly sweet noise, and headed over. "Thanks!"

How did you even get them mixed up? Ominis still doesn't know. He didn't think about you again until the next day, when term officially began Charms. By chance, he was seated next to you. That smell again, that voice.

"Have no fear, Master Gaunt," cheered Professor Ronen, "I will be giving you more practical assignments, so you don't have as much writing to do."

That was some consolation, he supposed. Practical assignments played to his best strengths.

When Ronen moved on to check Adelaide's technique, Ominis heard your chair squeak. Heard the hiss of your clothes as you peered over. Something rattled on your face – glasses.

"It's... Ominis, right?"

He pursed his lips, displeased at the interruption. "Can I help you?"

"You're an actual wizard?"

"... What?"

"I mean, you know, you were born into this magic thing."

A pure-blood, is what you meant. "Yes. What of it?"

"That's great, because I just wanted to know... erm... which way around does the wand go?"

That had to be a joke. "You can't be serious."

"S-Sorry, I swear I'm not pulling your leg." Pulling your leg? You laughed nervously. "It's just— my wand is a little crooked, and it doesn't have a handle, like yours— so I don't actually know if I'm holding it the right way up or not, and I don't want to blast myself in the face."

A wave of that saccharine soap again. Ominis wrinkled his nose and continued practicing Wingardium Leviosa. Swish and flick. "Can you really not tell?"

"No..."

You sounded genuine. Not joking.

Hmm. Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things.

You were just afraid.

"It's the tapered point that's the end."

"They're both thin."

"Let me feel it."

You hesitated. "Feel— it?"

"Well I can't look at it, can I?"

Another moment of hesitation. An intake of breath.

"Oh!" You nearly blew out his eardrums. "Sorry. You're blind!"

"Well spotted."

"I didn't notice."

"I figured."

You made an indignant noise and handed it over. His senses immediately flooded. It was an intimate sensation, to hold someone else's wand, especially that of a near-stranger. To feel the springy wood beneath his fingertips, the coarse grains of the wood. A light wood, airy. He was no expert on wands, and certainly no Ollivander, but he'd been touching and feeling things long enough to recognise details most sighted people would miss.

Yes, it was crooked, an odd shape for an odd person. He drew his thumb up the wand's janky spine.

"That's the top." He held the handle and offered it back to you. "There."

"Brilliant. Okay." You took the wand back. Cleared your throat. "Here goes then. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Something shifted beside him. A soft fabric drew up against his leg, raising higher and higher, past his head—

"Wait," Ominis spluttered, "is that my satchel?"

"It didn't— oh!" Panic fluttered through you. "No, no, no! Stop, wand! Un-Wingardium Leviosa! Erm, Spellus Stoppus?"

He didn't know how you did it, but even when he told you the right orientation, still you managed to point it the wrong way, the tip facing the bag by his chair, and Professor Ronen had to instruct you on the correct way by using chalk to mark the right end – after he got Ominis' bag down from the ceiling.

There are so many things he still doesn't understand about you.

Weeks into first year, when he'd learnt to adapt to your strange, Muggle quirks, your funny language and unwittingly explosive efforts in other classes, the two of you were doing homework on the lawn with Ominis' Slytherin dormmate, Sebastian Sallow. Sebastian thought you odd, too, but he had more exposure to Muggles than Ominis did – certainly more than the anti-Muggle disdain he received at home – and quickly warmed to your jolly attitude.

"It's strange. My dad hears all the confectionary chatter from America. Apparently this thing called peanut butter is making waves over there now." You grounded the sugar quill with your teeth – Ominis could hear it like a second heartbeat. "Doesn't that sound disgusting?"

"It does," marvelled Sebastian. "Butter and peanuts? What a strange combination."

"I know!" You rolled onto your back – and Ominis caught it again. Your scent. So intrinsically tied to you that every fresh wave made him feel comforted somehow. "You can't just put those two things together!"

"Your soap," Ominis blurted, and the conversation paused so abruptly that his cheeks heated. "What is it? It doesn't smell like anything I know."

"Oh, yes." Your voice was contemplative, sheepish as you pushed up your glasses. "I brought it from home. It reminds me of my family. Smells like our confectionary shop."

That didn't answer the question, and by his expression, you knew it.

"It's strawberry laces! You know? They're strawberry-flavoured, and they look like laces..."

"What in Merlin's name is a strawberry lace?"

"It's a type of candy! They're chewy and sweet!"

"Are they laces for your shoes?"

"No! That's just the shape of them."

Sebastian leant over crinkly parchment. "Do you mean red liquorice?"

"Yes!" You belted it so loud Ominis fell back. "Sorry! Sorry, yes. Red liquorice. That's its proper name."

"Then why didn't you call it red liquorice?"

"... Because it's strawberry laces. That's what we call them. It's my favourite treat."

"But that makes no sense! Why not just call it what it is?"

"Is it a Muggle thing?" Sebastian asked.

"No." A beat. "Maybe?"

Ominis scoffed. "You talk so much nonsense I can barely understand you sometimes."

You spat out your tongue. "Oh yeah, Ominis Gaunt? Mister, I Cast Whoopy-Doopy-Goopy to make your Thingimajig Ringadingdong?"

He spluttered, exasperated. "I don't sound like that! That's— that's just gibberish!"

"... Wait, is gibberish an actual language? Because goblins speak Gobbledegook, so..."

Sebastian howled with laughter. Your naivety was kind of adorable.

"The only one who speaks gibberish here," Ominis said, going back to his wandwork, "is you."

"Hmph!" You enunciated your indignation with such purpose. "Then maybe I'm fluent!"

And you were. You still are.

Neither Ominis nor Sebastian let you live it down, and the effects rippled throughout the first years. Sebastian's sister Anne found you adorably strange and joyfully brazen. Your Hufflepuff housemates enjoyed your humour and shenanigans. Even outside of your mismatched little groups, others in the the year, like Amit Thakkar and Garreth Weasley, thought you were a hoot, the silliest Muggle-born they'd ever met. Gibberish was your native language, and they all agreed. Soon everyone gave you the nickname. At one point it became Gibby. You pouted at each mention at first, but you grew fond of it eventually – then wearing it like a badge of honour. You adopted it, made it your own.

And even into second and third year, when the magical world became more familiar, you were Gibby.

Of course, you were never Gibby when Ominis wrote home. You were never anyone. It didn't take Ravenclaw wisdom to clock that his friendship with you was never considered proper. Pure-bloods, you learnt as quickly as he did, were the superior blood-status, and Muggle-borns the dregs left to rot at the bottom of the scummy barrel. That Mudblood was a slur of the lowest calibre. Ominis was shrewd enough to lie by omission in his letters back home, when his parents demanded to know about his friends and alliances. He simply never mentioned you at all, and all your adventures were given to Sebastian.

That didn't stop them from finding out.

"Who is she?"

Father had marched him to his study, made him sit. Even though a fire roared in the hearth, the place was cold, a slick tar against his skin. Even in the plushest chair, a high-back velvet with curling arms, he was the most uncomfortable he'd ever been. Even though he was blind, he could feel his parents' gaze like the tips of a thousand knives, pressed to the soft flesh of his throat.

"She's— no one."

"Don't lie to me," snapped his father. His mother was silent but complicit, by the way she paced from wood to carpet to wood again. "Edwin Malfoy said his son mentioned you frolicking around the school with some Hufflepuff. A Muggle-born."

There was no way he could deny it. Damn Peregrine Malfoy. They weren't in the same year group at school; why did he have to mention you at all? Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? It had been three years already – what was another four?

Ominis contemplated what to say, urging his fingers to still, his toes to flatten. He could not betray his fear, betray the sudden rising heartbeat, the clamminess of his palms, nor the pure, unadulterated dread that roiled through him.

"It's— it's just Gibby," he forced out as calmly as he could.

"Gibby?" shrilled his mother.

"Not her real name," Ominis said quickly. "It's actually—"

"But she's Muggle-born?" his father demanded.

"Yes, but—"

"Have we taught you nothing, boy? Muggles, and their filthy spawn, are weak. Muggle-born magic is diluted, and therefore they are not worthy to wield it."

His mother was sobbing in the corner, like this extended hand of friendship he'd given to you, this supposed error, was grievous enough to tear a hole through her heart.

"Our bloodline is sacred. We are descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin himself! When you choose to associate with these disgusting Mudbloods," he spat the word, "you are sending a message that these interlopers can take our land, our magic and our privileges. They can encroach on what is rightfully ours. Did you know they used to burn witches? Even though, in every way, we are superior to them?" His father drummed impatient fingers on the marble mantelpiece. Each clack sent more and more terrified shivers down Ominis' spine. "A good thing Noctua went missing. Spending too much time with her addled you. Now we must have a more formal hand in your education."

Ominis didn't know how to respond to that. How could they say that about Aunt Noctua? "What do you—?"

A knock at the door cut through his words – Ominis immediately recognised the knock's low timbre. His older brother. Marvolo. Panic rendered him paralysed.

"Come in," called his father.

Ominis heard his brother's footsteps. Heard the cruelty of his smile.

"Is it time, Father?"

"Yes. Take him downstairs."

Ominis didn't speak. There was no point. Marvolo, of all his older siblings, was the cruellest, an exact replica of their father who despised Muggles and Muggle-borns, despised Noctua, and revered the family name and the bloodline as divine, rather than simply blood and sinew and a surname. His grip on Ominis' shoulder was hard enough to draw blood, curled into the muscle like claws.

They all went downstairs, silent. Ominis had never been to this part of the house before – sometimes, when the moon was highest, when he stowed quietly to the kitchens for a midnight nibble, he heard screaming. At first he thought it his imagination, the night playing tricks on his keen senses.

When he descended into the cellar, he realised for the first time that it was not the night's whims having their fun. The dark, after all, had never been so wicked to him before.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. A strong, tangy scent, coppery and unpleasant. Blood. He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath, which only left the taste on his tongue. The chill was second, as bone-deep as a tundra. By the echo of breath, the ceiling was low and poorly lit, for his father cast a Fire charm at the braziers besides the doorway.

There was a ruffle of cotton. A low murmur. Marvolo's grip ceased, and he roughly shoved Ominis forwards.

"Do you know what's in front of you?"

Tremoring, Ominis reached for his wand. In the time he'd bought it at Ollivander's, it had become something special to him. A way to navigate the castle, yes, but it was much more than that. Almost sentient. It seemed to know how he was feeling and how to react to it, just as it did now, pulsing like a wild heartbeat beneath his fingertips. At eleven he'd been sceptical of the phrase 'the wand chooses the wizard', but now he believed there was truth in it. His wand had shown him that magic was in the air, all around him – all he had to do was draw on it.

He reached out, trying to fit together the scattered pieces of feedback. The ruffles and strangled breaths and scratch-scratch of rope. The cold, as sharp as the ice they used to keep fruit and meat fresh. The overwhelming smell of blood and dirt.

"Is—" He shouldn't have second-guessed himself, not with his family present, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing, smelling, tasting, what he was potentially beholding. "Is that a person trussed up?"

"You missed an important factor," said his father. "This is no person. This is mud."

A Muggle.

The Muggle whimpered. There was some gag around their mouth, and yet Ominis deciphered every note of fear.

"But this is dangerous!" He went to hide his wand, but Marvolo's hand stopped him. "You shouldn't have brought—"

"We can do what we want," Marvolo said. "We're Gaunts, little brother, and this scum before you requires humbling."

Ominis swallowed bile. Perhaps errantly, your voice hummed in his mind then. Your laugh. He imagined hearing it. Imagined it was you tied to the floor.

"No," he said at once. "I won't do it."

"The Cruciatus Curse has been used to subdue our enemies for centuries." Pride flowed through his brother's words. "You should be overjoyed to have this opportunity. Your siblings and I were thrilled with our first Muggles."

They've tortured innocent people before. All his brothers and sisters – they'd all done it.

"But— I can't hurt them. T-They've done nothing wrong to me. They're just—"

"They are worms beneath our boots, and their very existence is an abomination." Marvolo gave him a rough jerk. "I taught you how to use Crucio."

Yes, but Ominis swore it was only for self-defence.

When he didn't reply, Marvolo spoke, "So cast it now, on the Muggle."

Ominis shook his head. Fear and panic ran his mouth dry. "I can't."

"You will, or so help me, boy, you'll be a disgrace to the family," muttered his father. "Cast it."

"No."

"Cast. It."

"I won't."

Marvolo's laugh rang out. "I didn't realise your spine was made of cotton, Ominis."

But Ominis was made of steel in that moment, for he couldn't imagine a better reason to defy his family than for the sake of Muggles and Muggle-borns. For you.

"I won't cast it."

"Then you clearly need some encouragement." And before Ominis could even process what that meant, Marvolo yelled, "Crucio!"

It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Pain, as he understood, was simply a reflex of the body to let the brain know something, somewhere, was wrong. A warning sign to cease whatever behaviour was causing it.

This was pain with no epicentre. There was no singular point that was bowing to the most pressure. This was all-encompassing and never-ending. This was his stomach and chest and heart, his brain and lungs, from the tips of his fingers to the knobs of his shoulders and knees and the ends of his toes. Every part of him, alight, doused in oil and set on fire through the concentrated rays of the sun.

Nowadays he doesn't remember that moment very clearly. The anguish was so great, he must've blacked out once or twice. Marvolo held it for a long time, longer than he needed to ingrain his foul teachings. All Ominis does remember is the pain, so acute that words fail to describe it, even to this day.

And the thought, back then, that his family could cause such pain, tore something inside him he would never be able to stitch back up.

When his brother released the curse, Ominis was curled up on the floor. Something wet lay beneath his cheek. Perhaps sweat. Perhaps spit. Perhaps blood, his own or the Muggle's. Perhaps even piss, for the curse had been too much for his bladder to handle. Every nerve ending on his skin was trembling. He'd let go of his wand somewhere in the room, and even now he couldn't sense it, like the pain had burned a hole where instead should be that bond.

"That is a Gaunt," said his father, pride sugaring his tone. "Your brother didn't hesitate."

Marvolo's voice was warm with mockery. "I have no qualms using the Cruciatus Curse on you, little brother, if it will teach you a valuable lesson."

What lesson could that possibly be? In the dizziness, Ominis couldn't untangle what the crucial moral was. It was a puzzle he couldn't solve, and perhaps never would.

"Would you like me to cast that on you again?"

"No!" Ominis managed to weep. He dribbled as he did, and shame burst through him. "N-No, please."

"Then get up," Marvolo hauled him to his feet, whether he was ready or not, "and cast it on someone who really deserves it."

Ominis is ashamed of the memory that follows. Sometimes he wishes he could alter it, pull it out of his mind like brittle thread and snap it into pieces, but then he wouldn't remember the valuable lesson he did learn that day. That his family were a cruel peoples.

And, as he raised his wand at his victim, that he was cruel now too.

"Crucio!"

Back near the end of third year, Ominis had found you climbing a tree on the school grounds. The wind was high and fretful – like his nerves, hearing you so far up, that carefree giggle carried on the current like bird's wings.

"Is that you, Gibby?"

"Ominis!" you chirruped. "You have to come up. The view is great!"

"I bet it's really swell."

"Sorry, sorry! I mean— oh, just come up! It's amazing, I promise!"

"You know you have a broom, right?" he called up, exasperated. "It's much safer than climbing trees! Where you could fall."

"I know! But this is all I've got back home, so I'd better get used—"

You let out a noise. The tree rumbled. There were four hard knocks that sent terror through him like lightning and a sudden thump on the ground like a knife to the gut. He rushed over to where you were crying out, breathless with pain. He'd never heard such a keening sound before, not in a physical, raw sense, where he could almost feel it himself. Pain that was almost too burdened to bear.

"Ugh, you're so foolish!" He nocked his wand skywards and sent out a flare. Hopefully someone would see it. "What have you hurt?"

You were in too much agony to reply – something had to be broken.

"I'm going to feel you, okay?"

You made a straggled noise he took for consent and pressed a hand to your arm. It came away wet. Blood. A broken and torn arm for certain then. You wheezed, too. Perhaps a broken rib. He pressed gently around, searching for the worst sources of pain through the leaf-ridden folds of your robes and shattered remnants of your glasses, but only when he reached forwards, felt the wetness around your upper lip and cheeks, did he realise you were choking from the blood of a broken nose.

He'd never felt a face before, not anyone outside his family. Yours was smaller than he'd expected. Your presence was so loud, so vivid, he'd expected you to match it physically as well. Even in the state that you were he could smell that sweet soap, and for some reason had the sudden urge to touch the rest of your face, explore how you were made, how the world shaped you.

"I'm going to staunch the bleeding." Instead he dispelled the thoughts and pointed his wand, enunciating as clearly as he could, "Episkey!"

A whip-like crack. You shrieked, but after a moment, your hysteria calmed, and he wiped the blood around your nose with his sleeve.

"I—" Tears filtered your winded voice. "I can't... move... my leg."

"It's probably broken too, like every other bone in your body," he retorted sharply. Good thing he'd had advance tutoring for healing spells. "I told you it was dangerous."

"I know," you bleated.

But his anger dissolved. There was no point rubbing it in your face. Whether he was right, or whether you had come down the tree perfectly well, you would've done it anyway.

"Can you last until someone comes to help?" he mumbled, lowering his tone.

"I can last."

"Good. I'll wait with you."

"Promise I... won't look into the light."

Ominis wrinkled his nose. "A sight joke now? Really?"

"No, no... it's a Muggle saying— never mind." A weighted pause. "Thank you."

He scoffed. "For being right?"

"Yes," you said softly, an admission. "But also... for being my friend."

Madam Blainey hurried over eventually and carted you away, cooing over your injuries, admonishing your actions, and Ominis stayed at your side until you drank every last acrid drop of healing potion, and you were fast asleep in the infirmary wards, at peace.

Even though you were silly, frivolous, an oddball who spoke fluent gibberish, he never wanted you to be in such pain again. He certainly couldn't imagine being the cause of it.

Which is why he swore on that day, after the Muggle had long since collapsed on the cellar floor, after his father and mother and brother delighted in his first successful cast of Crucio, that he would never again cause anyone such agony. Least of all you.

So in fourth year, he did his best to ignore you. To create a wide berth. And to find a way to escape his family.

He hung out more with Sebastian, even though his friend was slowly changing, ambitions growing. Both of them were equally matched in many things, like academics and opinions, and with Anne taking suddenly ill, trapped within the bindings of a unknown curse, Sebastian had his own demons about finding her a cure. They explored more outside – the countryside was huge, after all, and Ominis had always found the place intimidating for someone who couldn't see any of it. They lounged in the Undercroft more often – their own hiding spot to where they could escape the stress of school and home life and the increasingly pressing threat of a goblin rebellion. Mostly, Ominis went there to avoid you.

Sebastian quickly noticed you were missing from these adventures, though. Nothing much escaped his notice, even when his sister's illness consumed him – too shrewd to forget the giant girl-shaped gap in their homework brainstorming sessions, or learning questionable jinxes, or snacking on magical sweets. Ominis eventually confessed to what he'd had to do over summer – and what he would do to keep you safe.

"Very noble of you," Sebastian said, the wide, open walls of the Undercroft echoing his voice. "But you didn't have a choice."

"I did." Ominis shot at the dummy, again and again, to channel his frustration. "I chose to hurt that Muggle. I chose to cause them pain. And I couldn't have done it if I didn't want to."

"What else were you supposed to do then? Let your family hurt you again?"

"I should have! What I did to that Muggle... they're probably dead now..."

"Your family would've killed them regardless."

"That doesn't make it better!"

Sebastian yanked Ominis' shoulder, obliging him to stop, to listen. "You're being ridiculous. Your family forced you to hurt that Muggle. Now you're going to self-destruct an entire friendship because of them?"

Anguished panic stripped his insides raw, but he fought to contain it. "If they'll do that to some random person they found on the street, think what they'll do to her! My family isn't like yours, Sebastian. I can't risk Peregrine Malfoy telling on me. I won't."

Sebastian let out a singular, dark chuckle. "Don't you worry about Pretentious Perry. I'll sort him out." He exhaled, softening. "You ignoring Gibby isn't going to do anything but make you both upset. She's tenacious, and too loyal to us. She's just going to keep demanding an explanation until we give her one."

"Then she's going to be disappointed for a long time. Tell her whatever it takes to keep her away from me."

"You can't—" Sebastian let out a frustrated grunt. "You can't make me the mediator between you two."

Ominis turned back to the dummy. "I'm not asking you to. I don't care if you want to be her friend, but I won't. For her sake."

"Yeah? And what about yours?"

Ominis didn't have an answer for that.

He did manage to avoid you all autumn term. An excruciatingly difficult task, because teachers often paired the two of you together now – your chaos matching Ominis' order perfectly well. But he was cold to you, callous when you pried, outright mean when you demanded. You were as tenacious and loyal as Sebastian warned though. No matter what Ominis said, how rude he was, you never gave in.

Eventually the cold shoulder was all he could give emotionally. He was tired of drawing from the hatred that welled inside him, and turning it on you.

Over Christmas that year, Sebastian invited Ominis to stay with his family in Feldcroft, and Ominis agreed. So did the Gaunts, who knew the Sallows, albeit poor, to be a well-bred family, though perhaps less aware of Sebastian's more radical opinions on Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was good to see Anne, too – even sick, weak, body breaking down piece by piece by the curse, she was spirited and stubborn and filled the feminine void that was missing between him and Sebastian.

But she wasn't you. She could never replace you.

"Have you heard from Gibby?" she asked on one of her good days, when Solomon Sallow was mucking out the horses. She was tucked in bed still, wrapped in thick cloths and furs whilst the boys played Gobstones by the foot of her bed. "I miss her enthusiasm for Muggle sweets."

Before Ominis could speak, Sebastian declared, pouring on the smarminess, "They're not talking anymore."

"Oh?" Her curiosity was directed at Ominis. "Why?"

"We fell out," Ominis said through a clenched jaw, hoping his tone was enough to quiet Sebastian. "Nothing else to it."

"You and Gibby? Falling out? What did you do wrong?"

"Why do you assume it's my fault?"

"Because Gibby would sooner stake her own heart than argue with you."

Neither twin pressed, so Ominis didn't answer. Later that week, however, her prodding questions changed to sympathetic disagreement, and he suspected Sebastian gave her enough information to infer his reasoning. Unfortunately, Anne's thoughts on the matter aligned with her brother's, and though she frequently tried to convince Ominis of this fact, most of the time he couldn't stand to listen to it, and he simply walked out of the house.

She would never understand his decision. They did not have his family.

When Ominis returned to Hogwarts for the spring term, however, knowing Anne was partly right about leaving you in this middling state, he resolved no longer to hide behind feeble excuses. Sebastian was slowly seeking solace in the Dark Arts, something Ominis rejected vehemently, but even then there was safety with Sebastian's status that there never was for you.

He had to protect you by any means necessary. That meant it was time to end the friendship for good.

So it wasn't surprising when, on the first day back, he entered the Undercroft and found you standing there.

"Colloportus!"

The lock behind him clicked, the grille sealing shut. This infuriated him to no end – four years and your naivety still preceded you.

"You know I can cast Alohomora—?"

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew from his grasp, clattering somewhere to his left.

"That was excessive."

"Was it?" you challenged, coming up to him. Strawberry laces. "You've had the whole of Christmas to think about what a meater you've been, and I'm not going to let you start the silent treatment again."

Meater. Context was a useful thing at filling in Muggle-vocabulary-shaped gaps.

"How did you find this place?" he asked.

"I followed you, last term, when you were not talking to me."

"Why don't, for once, Gibby," he snarled, "you mind your own business?"

"You are my business!" you yelled – and there it was, the first inkling of pain. "Last year you were my best friend. You and Sebastian, and Anne too. Now she's sick and I haven't seen her in months, you refuse to talk to me and Sebastian won't tell me why!"

Ominis pushed out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Sebastian had done a terrible job at warding you away. Yes, you had spent more time with other people in your year, like Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur, and Garreth, Leander and Cressida and even the new girl, Natsai Onai. But still you crawled back to him.

"Like I said, it's not your business."

"I'm not accepting that answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

"Is it me?" you flung out. "Did I say something wrong? Did you get fed up with me copying your homework? Or showing Natty around? I know you pretend to despise everyone in that house. Or maybe it's personal? Have I been annoying? Do I smell bad?"

You never smell bad. He opened his hand. "Give my wand back, Gibby."

To your credit, when he asked for the thing that helped him make sense of the world, you retrieved it, no resistance, and placed it into his waiting palm. The brief touch sent a pleasant, unwanted current tingling through his skin.

"Is it family?"

Ominis snatched his hand away. "No."

"It is. It must be. You stayed at Feldcroft all Christmas." You softened. "You know you can tell me anything—"

"Butt out, Gibby."

"Ominis—"

"No. Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm tired of picking up the pieces after you. I'm tired of your clumsiness and your stupidity. I'm tired of holding your hand and coddling you. This world is cruel, and since you haven't learnt it yet, maybe you will now. You don't need me, and I certainly don't need you. So leave me alone." Then the word slipped out, unbidden. "Mudblood."

Your gasp was drawn out, a long inhale that sucked all the light over an arid horizon. Ominis immediately regretted it. He'd caused that Muggle physical pain, he'd been a silent bystander as you fell off that tree in third year, but emotional pain, the crossing of a line that could never be turned back upon, the shattering of your heart into pieces no spell could mend... that was worse than any Cruciatus Curse.

"T-Take that back," you demanded, holding back a sob. "Y-You take that b-back, right now!"

He didn't. All he did was turn around and cast the Unlocking charm. The grille lifted.

You sniffled. Tears splattered onto the stone. In that moment, your sweetness had been stolen, your brightness dimmed. All because of him.

"You're a beast, Ominis Gaunt," you yelled as the lift churned into motion. "I wish I'd never met you!"

And he left you there, knowing you were right.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [Amazing art by Giselann, Divider credit]

[auspicioustidings]

THE OMEGA DRABBLES THAT YOU KEEP ADDING ON…. So delicious thank you for the scrumptious meal i cant emphasize how much i fucking love it. Almost want to know how they’d react if reader still found some random alpha to fuck anyways 😩😩💕

not saying it as a way to pressure you into writing more ofc i hope it doesn’t come across that way 😭 also love your kinktober series! Please don’t pressure yourself if you ever get writer’s block for it! 🫶🏻

I fucking love omegaverse, like I only read my first omegaverse book when I was bitterly depressed and in bed at the start of this year and oh boy I have not looked back.

She would find another alpha to fuck is the issue. Lots of ways it can go, but I do love the angsty version even if the fluff or smut versions would probably be more fun.

Like she's not an idiot, she has some self awareness about this weird thing between her and pack 141. Ghost is over protective of her on missions even when he pretends he isn't, Soap consistently scares off other alphas who are around her when she's in the mess or rec room, Gaz is always brushing against her, touching her in the small ways he can without giving himself away and Price... she knows she fucked up with that shirt. She realised too late and by the time she went to grab it he had taken his laundry bag. And yet his shirts keep being left for her.

If she spent her heat with them it would all fall apart. She's barely managing to resist the pull to them as is, she's noticing that sometimes they aren't complete fucking assholes, Christ she's actually finding herself smiling over things they do or say sometimes.

Soap confronts her over the heat clinic paperwork. He's mean, they fight. He says some absolutely horrid things to her about how she's slutting it up with civilians, how she's going to embarrass the whole department presenting like a bitch and whining for alphas. He knows he crosses the line, but he's so angry without understanding why. He barks her. He fucking barks her. "Ye'll naw go tae some fucking clinic tae whore yerself out. Withdraw the application."

It's well over a boundary. Once she withdraws it, it's too late to resubmit even after the bark wears off. They had been in base, she hadn't had any sort of ear piece in to help resist a bark because it was unthinkable any of her allies would do that to her.

He doesn't realised what he's done. Like he storms off thinking he's been a right cunt to her but that she'll go to a clinic anyway because his plan to convince her to spent her heat with him went completely to shit before he could even propose it.

And because he tells the others that's what she did, they all think he's right. They're all mad at her when she gets back from heat leave, cold. Gaz will not touch her. Price doesn't leave shirts. Soap leaves her to the mercy of pushy alphas in the mess and rec room so she just withdraws entirely from those spaces. Ghost takes missions, just removes himself from having to see her at all.

Of course none of them know she spent her heat in one of the military's heat rooms because a sanctioned heat clinic will not take someone last minute (and she wouldn't go to a non-sanctioned one, that would be dangerous but worse could get her fired if found out). The military do not like omegas, so it's almost a punishment. Padded cell, clinical nest, cold hose downs every so often to keep her temperature down. Little camera blinking in the corner so someone can come in and sedate her if she starts hurting herself.

She thinks they are all being extra horrid to her because they watched her lose control, so she is just as angry at them if not more. It was a violation what Soap did, but to watch her in that cell lose her fucking mind? They can go fuck themselves, she's a good goddamn soldier and it's not her fault she needed to go through a heat. They'd never have survived it, they'd never have gotten through the pain and delirium of being forced to do it alone. She is stronger than they could ever fucking dream of being, and she is going to prove it.

(if you want to go ultimate angst version then the military heat rooms have officers fuck her through it and oh boy not only are they awful but they will taunt her with the video footage).

[cieloclercs]

Could you do a Oscar Piastri x verstappen!youngersister

secret glances, eyes talk of love — oscar piastri

pairings: oscar piastri x verstappen!reader

warnings. started out as fluff but it sort of turned into angst along the way?? not like superrr angsty but it’s definitely sad vibes

word count. 1.2k

author’s note. hi anon! thank you so much for the request <3 i loved writing this concept! ps, i’d definitely be open to doing a part 2 if anyone is interested 👀

Decked out in a Red Bull jacket and cap, it's a wonder no one outside the McLaren garages notices you. Maybe you've grown so used to sneaking around that it now comes as second nature. It's been like this since the start of the season: the secret kisses in quiet corners, making up excuses to get away from the Red Bull garage (and your over-protective brother), and, of course, your fair share of close calls. You aren't exactly inconspicuous in the paddock. There are eyes following you almost everywhere you go — but over time, you've learnt to avoid them. You can only thank your lucky stars no one seems to have caught on yet.

Sometimes you wish it didn't have to be this way; that you could be like any other normal couple on the grid. Kiss him when he triumphs, comfort him when he falls. The feeling can grow intense, especially after a day like today. You have to watch him on the podium like any other supposedly indifferent onlooker, pretending that your cheers are only for your brother on the top step. Oscar's first top-three finish in Formula 1 (albeit in a sprint race) is by no means insignificant, and all you want to do is pull him into you over the railing and kiss him. But you can't. Not here, not with your brother and father, and the whole world watching. You've already agreed that keeping your relationship a secret is best for the both of you. Yet that doesn't stop you from wishing for more.

Instead, you’re left to sneak into his driver’s room as soon as your brother’s back is turned. He’s caught up in the media pen, chatting with Charles. Another thing you’ve learnt over the past six months is never to miss an opportunity when it presents itself – this is as good as any you’ll ever find, because Max is talkative at the best of times, but even more so when his childhood rival is around. You leave them somewhere between ‘safety car restart’ and ‘left-hand tyre degradation’. He won’t even notice you’re gone.

Oscar is halfway out of his suit when you arrive. His back faces you, covered only by his white fireproofs. You can see every move of his muscles beneath them. You murmur a soft greeting as you step into the room and close the door behind you, heart lifting to see him turn to you and grin. To the world, you know Oscar will appear calm and level-headed about his result – but with you, in private, he’s as happy as a puppy dog being given his favourite treat.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” You whisper into his shoulder as he wraps you up into a hug. “You drove so well.”

His lips curve upwards, and you feel it against the skin of your neck. Oscar’s hands fall instinctively to your hips when you pull away, rubbing slow circles that he probably doesn’t realise leave burning trails against your flesh. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders, playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, just as he likes. He lets out a contented sigh.

“I panicked at the restart.” Oscar smiles down at you sheepishly. You roll your eyes. It’s typical of him – always so critical, even when he’s just produced one of the best rookie performances in Formula 1 for years. Sometimes you wish he could see himself the way you see him. Then maybe he’d celebrate a little harder, look a little prouder when things finally start paying off for him. It’s not that he isn’t confident – but Oscar’s confidence is the quiet, self-assured kind. Sometimes you just wish he would shout from the rooftops about how incredible he is: because if you can’t do it, then you need someone to.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell him firmly, “No one was going to be able to hold off that rocket ship. Not even you.”

He giggles at the term. It’s such a lovely sound, you think. Your favourite in the entire world.

“D’you think you can get him to slow down a bit? Give the rest of us a chance?” Oscar asks, arching an eyebrow mischievously. You grin back, a little reluctant to shake your head.

“I wish I could, but he’s just not wired that way.” You sigh. It morphs into a giggle when he grips your waist tighter, pulling you into his chest. You look up, and he’s already gazing down at you expectantly. His hair is still a little sweaty from his balaclava, but you find you like it that way. He has the cutest little ringlet sticking out from the rest of his relatively tame curls. You fight the urge to tug on it.

“You still haven’t given me a kiss.” Oscar remarks with another cheeky raise of his eyebrows. He leans forward, puckering his lips the slightest bit, and you laugh, louder this time.

“You’re such a dork.” You snort. But you press your lips to his anyway. Somehow, they always taste like some kind of citrus fruit – what exactly you can’t put your finger on. It overwhelms you, clouding your mind and your senses, making your knees weak. They’re soft too, his lips, like pillows. You can feel him smile into your mouth, swallowing your soft sighs. It’s not fair, you think, that a person can make you feel this way with just a kiss; not fair that you’re grappling at his shoulders for support, afraid your knees are going to give out if you don’t. He never lets you fall though. His arms are always there, pulling you in, crowding you against the wall, in your hair, all over your body, lighting every inch of it on fire.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and the spell is broken.

You turn towards the sound, breathing heavily. Oscar glances at you, with a look that reads keep quiet. He clears his throat, calling through to whoever is stood outside his driver’s room.

“What is it?” he croaks.

There’s some shuffling from the other side of the door. Then: “Uh – Team meeting in ten minutes.” The person says. Oscar calls back some kind of affirmation, but you don’t hear it. That feeling is back. The one where you long not to hide in secrecy. It’s so unfair that he makes you feel so safe, so loved, and you can’t even show it to the rest of the world. You want people to know that he’s yours.

“You ok?” Oscar asks after a beat of silence. Your eyes find his, and you nod. I will be, maybe, you think. You want to tell him that you’re sick of hiding, but you’re not sure how he’ll take it. You both have a lot at stake. What if he can only love you in secret, never in front of the world?

He kisses you goodbye, and you allow yourself to believe that’s not the case. Oscar isn’t shy about his affections – he’s soft and he’s clingy and his eyes when he looks at you are full of love. They’re your own reflected straight back at you. One day you’ll walk into the paddock, and it’ll be with his hand in yours. You swear it.

But if he doesn’t want that, a life in the shadows is surely better than a life without him.

[misc-obeyme]

Okay back on my human!au ideas. I'm gonna do a compilation post or something because the others are just rambles and they aren't exactly easy to find... I don't even have it in the masterlist anywhere... mostly 'cause these are just ideas that I have no idea what I'm gonna do with. asldfj anyway! Feel free to use them if you feel so inclined!

(For reference: Beel, Belphie, Satan, & Asmo, more Asmo & Mammon - you can also check the tag #misc human au)

Okay so I've talked about all the brothers except for Lucifer and Levi, but here's what I'm thinking.

Basically, I can't really imagine any of the brothers living fully alone, so while Beel & Belphie are both living on the farm (though possibly in different buildings) and Satan & Asmo are sharing a place in the city (probably in one side of a duplex because I think an apartment would be too small for them lol), I've decided the three older brothers live together, too.

BUT. Levi is a marine biologist. He has his own boat for research purposes (his research is likely also funded by the university where Satan teaches) and sometimes he goes out on his boat for weeks at a time. His main focus for his research is whales or maybe manatees or something, but everybody knows he's secretly trying to find evidence of sea serpents.

Still completely obsessed with anime & manga, I don't think you could ever take the otaku out of Levi lol. So when he goes out on his boat, he brings piles of manga and anime to catch up on while he's out there.

He has a lot of high tech equipment on his boat that he's especially good at maintaining. Other researchers often ask him for help with this.

When he's home, he spends his time holed up in his room playing video games, occasionally emerging for food and what have you. He also spends a decent amount of time working through what he learned on his expeditions and writing research papers good enough to continue getting grants. Satan helps with those, taking Levi's data and making it sound good. Sometimes Belphie helps out too.

All the other brothers seek out Levi when they need help with tech and sometimes he takes them out on his boat for rides or even if they just wanna get away for a couple days. Belphie especially likes to do this because you get some amazing views of the stars out on the ocean.

Lucifer owns a vineyard. It's not far from Beel's farm, but unlike Beel Lucifer doesn't live there. His house is in the city proper and as mentioned, he shares it with Levi and Mammon.

Lucifer spends a lot of time at the vineyard, though, perfecting the various methods of wine production to create a superior product. He's the real money maker of this family. While everybody else makes money from their various jobs, Lucifer's personal wine label makes the most. We all know that Lucifer would take care of all of his brothers if any of them needed anything. He gives them money regularly and doesn't ask for it back.

Human!Lucifer is much softer than demon!Lucifer in general. There is some angsty family history that I will write about in a different post, but basically he's been through a lot. Basically raised all his brothers himself and they mean everything to him. He isn't about to let them stumble through life because they didn't have enough money. Especially not if he has it to give them.

He's more indulgent, probably middle aged, tired. He was perhaps more intense when he was younger, but he's mellowed out at this point.

He and Mammon are both very business minded, so together they kinda keep everybody else on track. They help with the business side of Beel's farm, allowing Beel to focus on things like crop quality. And if for some reason Levi or Belphie don't get the funds they need from the university, Lucifer and Mammon come up with ways to supplement their income. Satan does all right as a professor and Asmo is a successful therapist, so they don't need as much help. But they will come to their older brothers for advice. Together, Lucifer and Mammon are especially good at helping their brothers plan for retirement lol. They're like, listen we know you're young and don't care, but you gotta start saving with that 401k!!

Lucifer thinks Mammon is a little too wild with his fancy cars, but he also admits that Mammon is good at what he does. Levi worries Lucifer when he's locked up in his room for too long or when he's gone on his boat for too long without checking in.

Lucifer is proud of Satan and Asmo, how they're doing well on their own together, how successful and well balanced they both turned out. He worries a little bit about Belphie, spending a lot of time alone staring at the stars, but he's also aware that Belphie is doing what he loves. Lucifer is also proud of Beel for pursuing something as difficult as farming.

I still like the idea of MC being the only non human in this scenario lol. The one pink sheep on Beel's farm. But of course there could be a situation in which they all meet an MC character...

Buuuut I also think I'm getting ahead of myself. We still got the tragic family backstory and the side characters to consider.

Anyway, this is just me rambling about my thoughts. More likely to come 'cause I can't stop thinking about them.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

i love a good old traumatized reader

reader whose favorite acolyte is xiao, even if he killed them once or twice ! at least he had the courtesy to make it quick..

reader who flinches every time someone makes a sudden move near them. we study their every move with an intense gaze, our body rigid and cold.

reader who does their best to disguise their emotions, but really can’t help but look at certain acolytes with apathy. i mean, who would look someone in the eye after they removed your limbs?

reader who wakes up screaming almost every night, still plagued by memories of the things they endured.

we try to act collected, sure, but the facade cracks sometimes around our closest acolytes. the ones we know we can trust- as friends. ((maybe kazuha, xiao, or itto. big guy. himbo. good hugs. also small guys. good for cuddling.

but yippee!! itto or kazuha never even tried to kiII us! that’s a win in my book. xiao on the other hand,, has beheaded us twice! we thank him for making it painless though. i like to think they all get along well

Few Headcanons + Slight Discussion

Sorry, Anon. This is too angsty and beyond my level of bad writing so no oneshot today 💀 Not to mention that this request is giving me heavy "mary sue" or "damsel in distress" vibes. I don't particularly like those if I'm being honest. So, instead, please accept these headcanons!

Although this idea is really good and well thought out, I personally disagree the idea of Reader even trying to be around their acolytes.

Sure, they may still have their favorite character and all that, but let's be honest, anyone who's gained PTSD at this level like Reader would want to stay away from everyone as far as possible.

However, I admit that to the people that were nice and didn't try to kill Reader, they will certainly be talked to. Said-characters will probably have to be prepared to face a lot of unhappy glares and faces.

Though I do doubt Reader will be even willing to go out all that often, so they'll probably invite them to their palace or something. Or maybe, if you wanna make it so that Reader does go out once in a while, Reader sneaks out and does their best to hide and visit said-characters.

Since this request has a slight soft spot for Xiao, despite him being one of the killers, I like to imagine that Reader has a admire-stay-away game with him. They admire them from afar, but won't go close or even start a conversation with him in fear of being killed.

Reader ain't risking being killed again, no matter how fast that man will make it. It's still traumatizing, alright?

Alright, back to the characters that didn't attempt to kill Reader. Itto and Kazuha are so going to get spoiled by Reader with a lot of things—personally made dishes, random gifts, and just simply having a relaxing good time.

Half suspect that Reader will be silent. They are trying to be aware of their surroundings at all times, even during these relaxing moments. Itto and Kazuha have to constantly remind them to have fun and relax because sometimes Reader gets to irked up of being caught.

Let's be honest, these two can protect Reader just fine. They've had their encounters with the Raiden Shogun (sort of, on Itto's behalf), so they aren't exactly scared.

And that's all I got! Sorry if this wasn't what you wanted, Anon, but it's the best I got. See you all around, now! :)

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I was originally going to reject this request, but I figure it would be better to just make headcanons of these. Do note that i might not be so lenient as I was with this request. I don't really like too angsty reader—sometimes they're just too much. It gives me "damsel in distress" vibes and I don't really like it.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[jesncin]

I like a lot of stuff from Young Justice (mostly early Young Justice, tbh), but none of the stuff I like is their Superboy

Your version of him is already superior in so, so many ways, which makes me very optimistic of your depiction of a ship idea which has suffered oh so much by the cruel hand of its writing

Aw thank you! I'm enjoying a lot of things about (re-)watching Young Justice too, but yeah Conner is really hard to watch in that show. I get that when characters get put into team dynamics for adapted media they have to fill more exaggerated personality and roles in the cast, but they couldn't even make Conner a like-able angsty bad boy :'( I miss the charisma and humor he had from his early comics.

I really hope from what I've shown in the characters and stories I remix in this silly au- that some promising ideas can sometimes get botched up by bad execution in various canon. But that doesn't mean those ideas aren't worth exploring , reimagining or revisiting.

[creation-help]

Advice and tips on how to make your character feel more genuine/real

- Pettiness and shallowness. Obviously it can manifest in different ways, but IRL everyone has at least one or two little things that they're a bit surface level and "Just because!" about. Be it clothes, how they do certain rituals, what color m&ms they prefer ect ect. It can be little details or even major characteristics, and depending on which (and what) they are, it can be really telling about the character! Plus, it just adds a little extra depth and fun. Some examples including but not limited to: Being fussy over getting their clothes wet or dirty, only preferring some items because they look good, insisting on doing some action or tradition exactly a certain way, disliking an aspect of a thing or a person because they just don't like it, and so on. Obviously the big worldview points like morality and beliefs are very important, but when you've figured those out, take a moment to think about the smaller, everyday things your character feels about the world around them. No matter how good or wise a person is, they'll still always have some little thing that they can't give some profound noble answer to. Use this to your advantage to explore your character's shortcomings or flaws!

(In the same vein, Pet peeves is another detail that can flesh out a character!)

- How does your character perceive things? What do they notice about people first? How would they talk about, or describe another person to someone, if asked? How would they describe themself? And why? Just some things to consider. If your character maps out all the little details and deeply analyzes everything they see, it'll show in their interactions very differently than, for example, if they have the perception of a cabbage and are more oblivious than the love interest in a teen drama that the writers are stretching out for five seasons for no reason. Ykno.

- Additionally: what's their opinion of the people around them? Or if you've already mapped that out, what's their opinion of people they've never met before, or people who aren't in their immediate bubble, friends of friends, relatives of relatives, neighbours, or celebrities, mythical/historical figures and so on. Delve into hypotheticals sometimes, it can help you exercise your knowledge of the character. Even if none of these encounters or situations would happen in Canon.

- I'm sure you've already figured out what your character is most passionate about, ykno, whatever drives the story and impacts their relationships with other characters. But how about stuff they really don't care to think about? Just shrug? Not interesting? Doesn't pay attention to this? What is low on their priorities? It doesn't have to be negative (but can be!), it can just be "Meh", or something your character hasn't even noticed before, simply because it's not in their thoughtscape to think about.

- Does your character have any of those "What? I thought everyone did that/thought that/was like that!" - things? What do they take for granted, or weren't aware isn't a universal experience? Did they have a wildly different experience with something that most other characters hadn't even thought of? And yes I understand this is good for exploring trauma and other angsty things, but besides the obvious, think about maybe something that could be related to your character's species/living environment/abilities/opinions ect. This is great for exploring cultural differences, and anything that takes place in a fantasy setting. Very useful for villains and heroes alike! It's insightful. Everyone has small little perceptive differences or big and small thoughts that for some reason just haven't been properly challenged yet. Or brought up even. For whatever reason. Explore maybe what that reason could be, and figure out why it's been unchallenged for so long.

- Imperfections. Little divergences. It's fully possible to write a compelling and genuine feeling character using just archetypes, if you really explore them deeply. And whether you're doing that or not, think about the lines and molds you've set your character into, and let them spill out of them a little bit. Can be one huge aspect or one teensy detail, but make some diversion. Some crack in the picture. Doesn't have to be a flaw but can be! Just have some little aspects that set them apart and make the character themself. Get weird with it. Getting weird is one huge way you can truly make a character stand out and feel more unique and, oddly enough, genuine and real. Actual people have little oddities or things that don't line up with everything else about their person. And again it doesn't necessarily have to be anything big or shocking, in fact I'd argue it's even better if sometimes it's just a small, very ordinary, humanizing detail. Maybe unexpected, or maybe just something that doesn't factor into the surface image your character has. Think about characters similar to yours that you see often. What traits do they all share, or most usually have? Think about the kinds of people your character is inspired by. What are they often like? Make a diversion from that. Make multiple even? It can be the most random thing but think about it, even if you threw a dart at a wall of sticky notes, really chew out what this little thing says about your character. And focus on little cracks, imperfections, diversions and other odd details of your character. Over time they can grow bigger, or maybe not.

- Keep a clear picture of who your character is. Sounds obvious but I'll elaborate. Your character will obviously change and develop over the time you're working on them and whatever story events take place but I think it's very important to keep in mind who they fundamentally are. Basically I'm saying that try to keep them in character, yes even if you did drastic character development, you can still show that it's the same person in other ways even if one of their core traits was flipped. Be aware of what things will never change about your character no matter what they'd go through. Keep some consistency. Consistency matters alot in making a character seem genuine and, ykno, a good character. Even if that consistent trait is that they're inconsistent! The character can be that, yes, but as their creator, you should still keep sights of what's consistent for this character, you feel? If your character is a glunk of slime that slips out of it's container constantly and subsequently molds into whatever situation it gets put in, that's not really a character, that's.. Idk, plot device..? I know this may sound contradicting to my previous point but I fully think that, and this one can and should coexist.

You need to simultaneously be aware of the ways your character will differ from something and be fluid, and the ways your character will not bend, and cannot become. It's simply a matter of knowing their boundaries and restrictions, knowing which way they can lean and which way not. Obviously this'll be up to you as their creator, bc yeah you're allowed to drastically edit your character if you feel like it's for the better, but try to commit to that change then. Don't let the character slip from your hands, or let the story bend them into whatever shape it needs to make the plot go forward. Your character, and more importantly you, should be in control of that.

I emphasize the point of you controlling your character and not the other way around also. I've seen some character owners slip into "Well it's just what the character would do! I can't help it, it'd be out of character if they didn't do x!" even if the thing is completely awful, doesn't fit, or would ruin an aspect of the story. A smart writer will know how to work with your character's traits in a way that prevents them from running off the tracks and becoming their own little gremlin, while also complying with the story. Respect your character's.. Character, while also respecting yourself and the point of the story. This is even more crucial if it's a roleplay character, by the way..

I'm just saying, find ways to write the story in cooperation with your character. That means knowing what situations to avoid and which ones to steer for, in order to keep your character functioning with the plot and other characters. Sometimes you simply have to prevent some event from happening, or some characters from ever meeting, for the sole reason that it wouldn't make the story work the way it should. Or the way you want it to. You hold the pencil, be aware of what that means

[uftopia]

Any mpreg fic recs for dnf that aren't omegavers? I don't mind that it's a thing, but personally it feels like a fetish, and definitely one I'm not into, and I've tried so hard to read them but I just end up literally dry heaving

you’re so right omegaverse mpreg can be hard to read sometimes like it’s kind of Nauseating but there are good ones out there from awesome writers still in the fandom

link to mario anon, the one who used to solely write dnf mpreg: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Collection_of_This_Shit/bookmarks

notable ones:

^ just uploaded

^ more angsty

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44973562

i’m the mpreg connoisseur babey

[midnightsnyx]

Hi I had an imagine idea for any hockey player as a boyfriend (I'm indecisive if you can't tell lol) but what about a scenario where reader's watching her boyfriend's hockey game, and while she cheers for him there's a group of girls nearby who hate on her? Like what if everyone knows that the hockey player and reader are dating and there are a few fans that aren't really happy with the reader and a couple of those people happen to be sitting near her at the game?

The rest is up to you, happy writing :P

hi ty for the request❤️ i picked jack hughes i hope you like it!! <3 also sorry it’s kind of angsty and short & definitely not edited cause i’m 99% asleep rn😂

you loved supporting jack at his games, it was one of your favorite things to do. however, you didn’t like the attention you received sometimes especially considering it was almost always bad.

yeah you get it, jack is good looking (too much for his own good sometimes) and he’s a professional hockey player so there are a lot of girls who like him but even though they know he’s taken, they will still throw themselves at him. and they will say awful stuff about you sometimes. anytime either of you post something on instagram, you have to disable the comments.

you’re still as supportive as you can be and that includes attending as many games as you can so you decide to surprise him tonight by showing up at a home game. you’d originally told him you were unable to make it which was true but when your boss let you go home early, you decided to surprise him instead of going home and watching the game on the tv.

it was too late to get a decent seat and you still weren’t quite comfortable enough to go to the wives lounge. the other girls were absolutely wonderful and supportive but you were still warming up to them and didn’t feel like you should be there yet.

the downside to getting a crappy seat though was that there were sometimes people around who weren’t exactly nice. you were wishing you had either gotten a suite or decided to just go to the wives lounge when a group a girls start whispering about you. it’s clear that they want you to hear them and as much as you try to tune them out, it’s hard.

by the end of the game, your self confidence is pretty low and you just want to go home and crawl in bed but jack noticed that you were here so you had to go meet him at the locker room doors. when he comes out, all smiles due to their win, he notices your mood right away.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, wrapping his arms around you. you bury your face in his neck, hoping that he doesn’t notice the tears.

you just shrug, looking at the ground when you pull away.

“i think i’ll just go back to my place tonight.”

you don’t have to look to see the disappointment on his face. you’d promised you would spend the night at his place and the two of you were looking forward to it.

“they’re wrong, you know,” he says and of course he knows what’s wrong.

“i know jack,” you mutter. “it’s just hard to ignore sometimes.”

you don’t give him a chance to reply, turning on your heel and leaving quickly. a warm bath and your bed sounds like heaven right about now.

but you only get as far as your car before a hand gently wraps around your wrist and you know it’s jack. he tugs you into another hug, not letting you escape this time. not that you want to now.

“i won’t say i understand how it feels, baby,” he whispers in your hair. “but i don’t give a shit what any of them say.” there’s a pause and then he pulls away only far enough to be able to look you in the eyes.

“i love you.”

those three little words that weigh so much haven’t been said between the two of you. you always show your love in other ways and you were okay with that but hearing it, hearing him say them out loud, heals something inside you.

“yeah?” you ask quietly and he chuckles softly.

“yeah.” his head tilts to the side slightly. “you know, i was kind of hoping you’d-”

you cut him off before he can say anything else.

“i love you too.”

[menlove]

Sorry if you’ve been asked this already, but do you have any mclennon fic recs for 1967/pepper era?? I’m obsessed with the vibes around this time, and with Jane away John and Paul seemed to spend a lot of their free time during this period together, but I’ve had trouble finding much of anything. Thx!! <3

oooh good question ! i love love love the 1967/pepper era so let me look back in my ao3 history and see what i've got

these aren't all pepper's era, but they are all 1967 (w the exception of One that's not 67 but Is pepper's). put a 💖 next to ones i especially love

If You'll Shut Up About It, I Will

mature. au. 4k

The day after his birthday, Paul McCartney admits on national television that he's illegally had sex with men. On multiple occasions. But it's the media's responsibility not to spread these things, isn't it? Unfortunately (or fortunately), someone else is watching the broadcast, and wants to know why Paul has decided to declare he's queer to all and sundry when he's the one who's been waiting for Paul to give it a go. AKA, That LSD Interview but make it gayer. note: very interesting, short little au on if paul had come out as having had queer sex rather than having done lsd

you know i know when it's a dream

mature. 5k. In 1967, The Beatles visited Greece with the plan of purchasing an island they could call home. Of course, it was mostly John's idea. note: angsty, smutty little one-shot that hurt my heart

1967 💖

mature. 11.5k. au. In 1961, John Lennon and Paul McCartney left abruptly on a trip to Spain, via France. In 1967, they finally come home to face the consequences. note: not EXACTLY what you're looking for but hey the year is in the title..... but it's sooo good i'll rec this fic constantly. they do definitely have the same aesthetic that they did in real life 1967 too. but this one is so fucking good. it's got an experimental style that lets you see everyone's pov while still remaining really well written which imo is hard to do when you're doing a bunch of pov switches. but it's outsider perspective mclennon & explores the nuances of their relationship and how it was/wasn't impacted by fame and how they'd still be creative with each other if they'd never gotten famous from the beatles...... also they basically create the muppets which i think makes this worth reccing on its own tbh

The Places Where You Bend

mature. 2.6k. "Whatever the opposite of 'toppermost of the poppermost' might be, we're in it up to our asses." It's 1967, all hell is breaking loose, and Paul doesn't know if he can do this anymore. note: ugh i loved this one. it's angsty, as any beginning-of-the-end-of-their-relationship fic is, but it's sooo them and very bittersweet

Stop all the clocks 💖

mature. 30.8k. au. For the following kink meme prompt: ‘1967. After Brian dies, Paul decides not to go ahead with MMT, and takes John up to Scotland for a month instead.’ Also based on the following comment on said prompt: ‘pls someone let them fuck tenderly in 1967’ note: definitely an instant classic! super sweet au that makes you wish life had gone this way for them

Way Up Top 💖

explicit. 12k. Falling out of the sky, together. | Snapshots of the Beatles in Greece, July 1967 note: one of my all-time faves ughhhhhh i just love how they wrote everyone. like ofc the mclennon is great, but this one is so so good for just all around good characterization and writing

always, no sometimes 💖

explicit. 20k. Stolen moments from a single year. Or: four times someone nearly found John and Paul together, and the one time they found each other. Set around the recording of Sgt. Pepper, 1966. note: not 1967, but 100000% the vibe you're looking for. such a good fic. i honestly need to do a re-read bc it's been long enough, but this one was just. augh. so much mustache sex too.

shotgunning

explicit. 3.4k From the kink meme prompt: john/paul, shotgunning weed note: i don't Think this one has a year on it officially, but it definitely fits the vibe you're looking for!

Drop Chute

explicit. 1.9k. paul/robert as well "Paul does coke off Robert's dick and blows him in a public toilet. John is in the neighbouring stall and hates it." FFA asked and I delivered. note: ahhhh we love a good "john getting jealous of paul fucking other men" fic

again

explicit. 1.3k In the summer of ‘67, Paul knows exactly how lucky he is to be the man who gets to fuck John, and then eat him out, and then fuck him again, and then — note: it's smut and it's good smut what else can i say truly

Club Sandwich

mature. 4k. Some drug-fueled party in 1967. Paul ends up sandwiched between two men on the couch. As they start fondling and kissing him, John stumbles upon the scene… note: absolutely great. possessiveness and coke prince paul...... what else could i want from a fic

Carousel 💖

explicit. 3.4k 21 March, 1967. John accidentally drops acid during the mixing of Sgt Pepper. Paul drives him back to Cavendish and decides to take LSD for the first time. Based on true events. John's POV. note: definitely my favorite take on the "john and paul tripping together for the first time" story. so good and introspective.

you can get it wrong (and still think you're right)

explicit. 7.4k. Paul visits John at Weybridge. January, 1967. The laziest man in England, that article had said, and Paul thought suddenly of John, lounging: John, turning the pages of a book with one languid hand, his hair mussed and fetching, making pithy comments to empty rooms. Or maybe he didn’t speak at all when he was alone; Paul realized that he didn’t know anymore. note: aghhhh another great one by stonedlennon. the bittersweetness of their relationship.... love this one a lot tbh

Angles

explicit. 2.7k. John takes another languid drag of his cigarette, his eyes alight now when they look into the lens, meeting Paul's. He's a marvellous subject. They should put him in every movie. "That it?" Paul asks—leading. Hungry. "You're the director. Give us a direction," John goads him. note: looove this one. but all of moeexyz's fics are so good so that's to be expected tbh

an orgasm of sound 💖

explicit. 5.3k “It was a good piece of work between Paul and me. I had the ‘I read the news today’ bit, and it turned Paul on, because now and then we really turn each other on with a bit of song, and he just said ‘yeah’ – bang bang, like that.” — John Lennon Or, John and Paul work on A Day in the Life. note: another great one from moeexyz! this one is..... well. Well. it's very good. what more could i ask for in life than piano sex and a day in the life

[warmerstranger]

COMMON ENEMY OF DECEPTION

。°˖ ʚɞ ꒦꒷⩩ Ft. Edogawa Ranpo & Edgar Allan Poe x gn reader

At this point I'm just promoting the ship www :33

°°``Marked as and not excluding: Yandere (many gaslight 🔥, obsessiveness, manipulative, breach of privacy/confidentiality hints, heavy dependence indications, overprotective, gatekeeping you), kind of angsty having a friends-to-enemies dynamic with Ranpo, messy plotline going on idk anymore my brain just shrunk writing this

°°``Recommended to read for those 16+, please proceed with caution.

↪What starts out as a mere fascination descalates into a mixed up dedication.

❇✧ You're a fun little enigma which is like that of a stimulating Rubik cube. Always determined, Ranpo successfully manages in getting your true best outcome from all the possibilities he could show for you to be amazed at. Sometimes, the fact that he can be stumped figuring you out frustrates him to no end, but he's proud to be the one doing it to you overall! After all, there's no other person more capable and fitting than him to 'solve' all of your worries, problems, or low level predicaments so you should be at ease if you just leave them to the greatest detective ever!

❇✧ Whenever you would feel like you're hitting a dead end in a seemingly neverending maze, he can easily show you the way out of that maze—no, miniature garden! It's only a simple and rewarding trade all in all, you need his point of view towards the solution and Ranpo will receive your praise as the reward (+ your cleared up face out of recognition, breaking to a smile <- he considers it a bonus even though he would expect for that view to keep coming, reserved for his eyes only!).

❇✧ The very few moments though, you wish for a comfort or time in facing a dilemma instead of being shoved a cold revelation like what he usually does. But why, he thought, why wouldn't you just walk the rest of your way out of the maze even with him graciously leading you onward? What's the point of standing around and mulling it over? The answer is already right there, it's obvious and even you could see it. He knows the reason, but he can't really do anything about it if you don't move yourself, can he? He hates being incapable in these kind of situations.

❇✧ You might get some of his snacks instead and something along the lines 'I guess I could do it, just doing something so simple by being here for you if that helps you'. He would pout and everything if he sees your gloom face isn't going away any soon.

❇✧ Your praise and smile are his daily dose of dopamine (healthy ofc, totally not addicted) at this rate and he demands more! He becomes very prying... of your matters which aren't that easy to deal with and even the touchy subjects you wouldn't dare speak out loud, it's as if you're being exposed to the core and then poked at for him to nitpick about certain parts you really have difficulties with.

❇✧ Anytime, any day, his words slowly plague your mind; you should do things this way or you should follow what he say that way you don't regret it, are you sure you should be doing this? He's getting persistently clingy while his minor tantrums increase more often whenever you don't approve his presence, you should've admit you need him any moment now!

❇✧ A bad move on your part, he takes that as a sign it's not enough so you just... avoid him altogether, explaining about his behavior and that you need space from him on text to refrain from losing control over your emotions if you face him. You figure you should do something about this, then you finally go to seek out his rival—no, the closest person he's to and the one you're comfortable with asking for help; Edgar Allan Poe.

❇✧ ...that's what he expected. When Ranpo realized all his efforts would backfire him, he have created a plan with Poe in advance way before you do. He won't let you escape him! Not when he has Poe by his side; his most trusted aid.

❇✧ The moment you take a step back, he instead sees it as a challenge he should take so he will come out victorious; as the one you would admit to be right, backed up by Poe's statement about him. Ranpo won't back down... So you shouldn't go down easily and cower away! Things wouldn't have to be this way if you were just of one agreement with him from the beginning.

❇✧ To Poe, even if through complaints only, Ranpo accidentally makes you out to be more of a formidable foe and villain than you actually are in this case that Poe doesn't hesitate at all lending him a hand. Fueled by jealousy—the moment you step into Poe's room—he welcomes you as his most dangerous rival at the highest priority who needs to be handled in his own hands now that Ranpo leaves the rest of the plan to him.

✏✉ It was needed as a convincing prove for Poe that you're worthy of his help. It was supposed to be like that right before... you are trapped within Poe's book. And out of all people, it's with Ranpo, where almost all (under influence of Poe wanting you to think of them as such) the puzzles are designed in such a special mechanism needing two certain people to be solved at the same time. But, the puzzles put you at a disadvantage more, highlighting Ranpo's ability instead whenever you can't solve them. Your intentions to work together with him in peace and solving some riddles on your own—are outweighed in the end. 'If you want this to be easier for both of us, you should just count on me more!' stated Ranpo.

✏✉ Compared to Ranpo, you know you're not that smart, but you can still stand up by yourself very well even without his help and so, you show it to them. Oh, what a bold and risky action you took, with that being out of their predictions as well... You have Poe enthralled, in awe towards your efforts as if you're under a spotlight—like him—the past him trying hard to win against the same once 'enemy'. With Ranpo getting worried sick of you now and Poe feeling guilty as well, he ends the story on that note before releasing you both out very soon.

✏✉ After Ranpo throws an outburst for your idiotic reckless stunt you pulled and he gets a childish tantrum trying not to mind a particular stupid person whenever he meets you, Poe have since become your wingman for both of your happiness. He's sad seeing the state of relationship you have with his best rival (lie) is turning tense. Poe has been also the mediator from then on who presents Ranpo's good qualities he's proud of. It's as if he's his defender, apologist more than someone who supports both side to make peace rather.

✏✉ Poe would be able to make you feel bad, because maybe you are just being too stubborn surely? Things would go smoothly on your end once you understand Ranpo if you were in his shoes and he would then forgive you. At some other times, Poe is just a walking contradiction, taking your side and discussing about his plans of deduction game to go against Ranpo and with your help, you two might even win past his level of intelligence together.

✏✉ Truthfully, Poe is just playing a devil's advocate card and you might realize it sooner or later since he can't help but rant more than he needed when you push the conversation a right way. You play along with him, admitting you're wrong in some cases related about Ranpo, and even acknowledging Poe's skills because he must be on the same level as him when they managed to get closer than ever~ Poe would be all flustered being treated like that by you.

✏✉ In that moment, Ranpo unexpectedly appears and gets along with you well enough as if nothing ever happens between the two of you, teaming up to tease Poe together. Karl also takes the chance to be his savior by obstructing his own face. All is well that ends well. Not long after, Ranpo admits his fault from before. Your trust in him wouldn't be able to return the way it was, though. Poe is now the one you would confide in, his awkward gestures supported by Karl's help mostly becomes your comfort and they're more heartfelt genuine. In return, Poe would need your feedback and opinions for his stories from time to time.

✏✉ Poe starts glorifying you as his most precious friend, even comes a few lavish gifts he give to you along with a letter he writes for a special occassion. That recent development of you getting closer with him doesn't seem to bother Ranpo much, the detective would simply come and borrow you at appropriate times, sharing stories about his accomplishments of usual and extraordinary cases strewn about in the city or coming to talk in private with Poe or, sometimes have you all hang out together to some place he's interested in.

✏✉ Things seem normal as if you're just spending time together with your close friends(?). Well, besides some claims from Ranpo's co-workers about how he seems to like you very much and he's really insistent of scolding and demeaning anyone who would be having the slightest interest in you. Ranpo is completely honest about it, telling you they're all just creeps or someone you wouldn't want to get involved with. And right he is, when you find out, even if some of them may be your acquintances or friends, Ranpo just knows to get the dirt on expose them and you would thank him for just looking out after you.

✏✉ Although rare, things would escalate further until one of those people is desperate enough to hurt Ranpo with you or Poe having to stop it and that only make his point more clear, sealing the deal. Meanwhile, Poe is absolutely secretive of mentioning about your presence to anyone, surprisingly capable of not letting them know more about you. He would tell the reason is for protecting you since he must have many enemies, or dangerous people meeting him. Before you know it, you're always with the two of them more often. And will always have been.

✏✉ There's a silent agreement going on between them and it would make you feel left out sometimes because it couldn't be easily guessed. Even though you're actually their very solidarity, it's a sign they're doing a good job hiding their intentions you wouldn't guess that they would secure you within their own length of distance only. A triangle fixed towards you; it's two against one. The winner is decided.