#i should be saying it i'm referring to the book not the races

[ann-non]

SVT reactions on finding out their partner reading smut

Author’s note : it truly has been a while since I posted anything at all.. I honestly have been passively using tumblr. I hadn't been motivated much to write even though I have ideas in my head. I wish I can write more, but for now I'm just gonna focus on my life and post on rare occasions like this when I feel like it. This one is just a sudden thought because some ppl at work are making this book club but they’re sharing all these high literature books. Like no hate, it just requires more brain power for me to read, so I don’t read them as often and I gravitate more to those easy to read spicy romantasies if you catch my drift. But anyway, they don’t need to know what I read in my free time so I just pretend I didn’t see anything lol But yea, it got me thinking about how SVT members would react when they found out the kind of literary corn their partner is reading hihihihihi Obviously, this is just a work of fiction, in no way I know how they would actually react and I wrote this solely for entertainment purposes. Please enjoy and lemme know what you think!

Rating : not sure how to rate this. I guess, there are some innuendos, but nothing explicit.

S.Coups

He walks into the room, sees you quickly shut your book, and immediately gets suspicious. "What are you reading?" He reaches for it, but you hold it tight. Now he has to know. When he finally peeks at a passage, his whole face goes red. He stammers, "I—uh—I didn’t see anything!" and power walks out like he’s on a mission. Later that night, he awkwardly asks, "So… Can I borrow it when you’re done?”

He immediately notices the playful glint in your eyes and before you could say anything, he quickly added, “It’s nothing, I’m just curious!”

Jeonghan

This man is a menace, he’ll have a field day. He would say things so casually just to watch you implode and be like “Aha~ so that’s what you like~” Before you can react, he snatches the book and starts reading out loud in the most dramatic voice possible. "‘His hands traced down her—’ Oh? Interesting." If you try to take it back, he holds it above your head and laughs. Later, he leans in, whispers with that shit eating smirk of his, "I should start using your books as references, huh?" and leaves you completely speechless. And the worst (best) part? He’d bring it up at random times too, like when you're least expecting it. "Hey, which chapter was your favorite? Asking for research purposes." 💀

Joshua

Bro is blushing when he reads what you were reading. He doesn’t expect that kind of scene when he joins you in bed and then reads along with you out of boredom. "My goodness… Is this what you love to read?" You, unaware that he was reading behind your shoulders all along, quickly closed your book as blush crept all over your face. "I—uh—I didn’t mean to intrude!" He hugged you and encouraged you to keep reading as he pulled you closer. But later, as he was on his phone with one hand while the other wrapped around you, he suddenly muttered, "So… do you, um, read those often?" and instantly regrets asking. He’s too polite to tease, but his brain is racing trying to process it.

Jun

Your book was laying on the table unattended as you were busy with your phone. Jun slowly picks it up, reads a line, and gives you a knowing smirk. "Ah… so this is what you like?" He savors your embarrassment. "You should’ve just told me~" Then, for the rest of the day, he randomly brings it up— "Would you like me to act out a scene for you?" Like he would say it completely seriously with that innocent but dangerous glint in his eyes. He’d lean in, smirk, and be like, "You know… I’m pretty flexible. We could test it out, purely for science." And then just grin knowingly when you start blushing.

Hoshi

He gasps so loudly you think something is wrong. "BABY. WHAT IS THIS?!" He dramatically grabs his chest like he’s about to faint. But then he gets curious. "Wait… lemme see that." Next thing you know, he makes it a whole event. He’d flop down next to you, stretch dramatically, and be like, "Okay, hear me out—I could definitely do this." Then he’d actually start attempting the position in the middle of the room, while you’re just sitting there face palming at his antics, "Babe… please—" 

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would glance at your book, read a few lines, and then give you that poker face of his. Then, with the straightest face, he’d say, "Is the writing good, or do you just read it for the plot?" You stammer, and he smirks, "I should borrow it next. Expand my literary horizons." He won’t tease you outright, but you’ll catch him randomly quoting suggestive lines just to see your reaction. "Ah, so this is what you meant by 'intense character development'? 😏" 

Woozi

He catches a glimpse of your book and immediately looks away. Ears red. He pretends he didn’t see anything, but later, he can’t help but ask, "So, uh… that book. What is it about?" If you try to explain, he’ll awkwardly nod and mumble, "Yeah. Okay. Got it." But if you tease him, "Do you want to read it with me?" he will malfunction on the spot. "Wh—NO. I mean—why would I—" and then he’ll be avoiding eye contact for the rest of the week. Dude is traumatized lmao

DK

He sees the book, skims a sentence, and literally jumps back like he got electrocuted. "WAIT—IS THIS—?!?!" His face is pure shock. "BABE, I THOUGHT YOU WERE INNOCENT!" He covers his eyes like he just walked in on something scandalous. But later, when you’re reading again, he peeks over your shoulder and whispers, "…What’s happening now?" He’d stare at the page, tilt his head, then look at you like, "Wait… is that physically possible? Are human spines supposed to bend that way?" Then he’d probably try to reenact the pose just to prove his point, and now you’re sitting there watching your boyfriend nearly sprain his back because of a book. He’d pause, look at you with wide eyes, and say, "Okay but… HOW?! Like, WHERE are their legs at this point??" Then he’d proceed to read the entire passage out loud just to make it sound even more ridiculous, laughing so hard he can’t breathe, but then he keeps reading because "Now I need to know how it ends." 

Mingyu

He’d walk in, glance over your shoulder, and freeze. Then, after a solid three seconds of silence, he’d gasp so loud and grab his chest dramatically like he’s in a K-drama. "WAIT. HOLD ON. A REVERSE HAREM?? AM I NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU??"

He’d literally act heartbroken, pacing around the room, muttering things like:

"I give you all my love, all my attention, and THIS is how you repay me?!"

"So what, you want four more guys? Is this why you’ve been reading so much lately?"

"IS IT BECAUSE I CAN’T MULTIPLY?!" 

And if you try to explain, he’s not hearing it. He’s already on his phone googling “how to kagebunshin no jutsu” while fake-sniffling in the corner. Bro is dramatic AF, but then he’s also the type to proceed to borrow the book (for research purposes he said), and end up getting way too into it. He’d come back blushing and stuttering like, "Sooooo I read it… and uh… I have some thoughts?? 😳"

The8

He’d glance at the book, shrug, and say, "Cool, do you like it?" before going back to whatever he was doing. But if you explain the plot, he might actually get curious and ask more questions in a totally nonchalant way. And when you least expected he would be like, "Hmm, it actually sounds kinda interesting… Can I read it after you?" but completely unbothered, like he’s asking for a normal book. He'd probably even come back after reading the book like, "Honestly, the plot wasn’t bad. The world building was solid. 4,3 stars out of 5"

He would even be willing to have an open discussion about the book and dissect it if you wish to. BUT!! He'd still take his chance to tease you by randomly dropping spicy one-liners just to fluster you. "I see why you liked chapter 12. 😏" 

Seungkwan

The moment Seungkwan catches you reading a spicy book, he already knows something is up. You’re too focused, flipping pages way too fast, and your expressions keep shifting between wide eyes and bitten lips. His senses are tingling. So, of course, he just has to know.

"EXCUSE ME—WHAT ARE YOU READING?!" He snatches the book, skims a paragraph, and squeals. "OH MY— SWEETIE, THIS IS FILTHY!"

But then, it happens, the performance of his life aka reading it out loud dramatically while also reacting in real time.

“He traced his fingers down her—OH MY GOD, WHY IS IT STARTING LIKE THIS?!” 

"His breath was hot against her ear as he whispered—" he pauses to look at you, scandalized. Cue his signature BOMBASTIC side eyes. "WHAT KIND OF LITERATURE IS THIS?!"

"She gasped as she felt his— NOPE. NOPE. NOT IN MY HOUSE."

But it doesn’t stop there. Oh no—he’s acting out the dialogue like he’s in a full-blown historical drama.

One moment, he’s dramatically dropping his voice to play the male lead, "You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you, my love." 

Then, without missing a beat, he switches to a high-pitched, breathless tone to play the female lead. "B-but what if someone hears us?!" 

He keeps reading, while still adding his own commentaries.

"Excuse me, WHERE are their hands right now???"

"Are they in a library? A CHURCH?! Oh, these people are going straight to JAIL."

"How is she still standing after that? I would’ve collapsed three pages ago."

He gasps, clutches his chest, and falls to the floor like he’s been fatally wounded by the sheer audacity of the scene. Meanwhile, you are absolutely DONE. You’re trying to snatch the book away, but he’s holding it above his head like he’s holding the last piece of food at a buffet.

 "OH NO, I NEED TO KNOW HOW THIS ENDS."

And yes, he will never let you live this down. He will bring it up at the worst possible moment. "Hey guys, did I tell you about the time I caught y/n reading a BOOK OF SIN?"

Vernon

He walks in, glances at the book, and just goes, "Oh, cool." That’s it. No reaction. No judgment. Just vibes. Later, when you're talking about books, he casually asks, "So is that one of your favorites?" You choke on your drink, and he just nods, "Nice." The next time you’re reading, he randomly goes, "Oh, this one is a classic  slow burn enemies to lovers trope. Good tension." You looked at him in shock at the realization that your boyfriend had read the book before and he just looked back at you with his usual laid back expression. “What? Did I say anything weird?”

Dino

He stares at the book, then at you, then back at the book. "Oh. Um. Cool." But five minutes later, he suddenly blurts, "But WHY do you read that?!" He’s so confused, but he tries to act mature about it. However, if you tease him, "Do you want to read it with me?" he IMMEDIATELY runs away, only to come back literally a minute later. He’s a little hesitant, but curiosity wins. He’d be like, "Wait… is that what people are reading these days?" and next thing you know, he’s HOOKED.

End note : obviously, I got carried away with Seungkwan’s. 🤣

[amphiptere]

I really need a scorpio races movie, ok

[britneyshakespeare]

you know i'm usually the last person to have strong opinions on movie casting announcements but the idea of jacob elordi playing heathcliff stirs a fiery sense of indignation in my heart

[lime-bloods]

Reading Roxy and Meenah as doppelgangers: a digression on manifestation theory

A brief introduction to manifestation

Manifestation theory sounds scary - the idea that the appearance of trolls and other fantastical creatures might double as insight into the psychological goings-on of our human protagonists is not one that necessarily comes intuitively to all readers. But as blogger azdoine succinctly put it: it's basically "just symbolism". Characters in a story symbolise something, and, understanding that Homestuck is chiefly about its human protagonists, it's logical to presume that the non-human elements symbolise things that are relevant to the protagonists' human experience.

mmmmalo has written at length about what he identifies as the signs linking Meenah to Roxy's inner psychodrama - the things that make Meenah an "esoteric mirror" or "doppelganger" of Roxy. For comprehensiveness' sake, I'm going to outline from scratch what I have identified to be the key signs, and to that end this post is going to discuss the topics of reproduction, reproductive coersion and miscarried pregnancy (with text-pertinent allusions to grooming and incestuous abuse).

One big happy family

Looks like a little girl's room. This all strikes you as a bit odd.

Hussie suggests only briefly in commentary that the young Roxy's (β) upbringing was at the hands of "a younger grandpa Harley" (Book 2, p. 106), but we needn't take their word for it; the scenery here speaks for itself. Roxy grew up in a dark green basement, trained from childhood to become an agent of Harley's goals, just as Damara (β) - and then by succession Meenah (β) - would be trained as English's agents. So, by analogy, Grandpa Harley is Lord English.

This is another point mmmmalo has (in)famously already made, but regardless of your thoughts on the particulars of that specific reading, the key clues pointing to English as a manifestation of the "Grandpa" character are still plain to see. When John says "the worst case scenario" would be "[facing] our grandfatherly paradox-dad as a last boss", he's explicitly referring to he and Jade's family patriarch, but he's also implicitly foreshadowing Lord English - a character who, in the maturity of 2024, we should now all be able to recognise is in one way everyone's grandfatherly paradox-dad. He represents the same upper echelon of paternalistic power on a cosmic scale that Jake (β) represents on a familial level.

Moving this along towards my point: essentially all of Acts 1-4's adult characters form part of this elaborate Nuclear Family Roleplay - a pantomime of the 'Suburban' setting Homestuck is founded upon. In the same way Jake being known as simply "Grandpa" symbolises his arch-patriarchal position, the reason Roxy is known only as MOM for the first five acts of the comic is because this is the archetypal, impersonal role she has been reduced down into. Her relationship with the character named DAD is a direct invocation of this - the two are essentially playing house, living out the gendered roles that have societally/cosmically been laid out for them. The comic's exposition coyly brushes over this, but a deeper look at Alternian culture gives us a much clearer vision of why 'MOM and DAD' make such an iconic matespritship: on Alternia there ARE no real family units, only procreation, and therefore matespritship is understood by the planet's inhabitants as a mere expression of "mating fondness". MOM and DAD make such a cute couple because they are exactly what their assigned titles depict them as - a breeding pair.

This is basically the crux of Roxy's arc right up to the very end of the comic; though Roxy's (Α) post-apocalyptic anxieties about the extinction of the human race bring these thoughts to the forefront, her struggle within the patriarchal structures of the household / society / reality itself has always been that she is only valued as a MOM - as a breeding machine.

The problem therein is that Roxy is seemingly incapable of having children.

The grieving mother

Within Sburb's scheme of universal childbirth, a "void session" is one that simply doesn't have the eggs required to bear fruit. So it's immediately easy to see why the Hero of Void would have similar trouble bringing a pregnancy to term. But certainly not for lack of trying!

Sorry, Jaspers [...] your final resting place is already a mockery. You should have decomposed years ago under a bed of petunias like a normal cat. Not given to a taxidermist and fitted with a tiny, custom-tailored suit, and then stuffed in a coffin built for infants.

When Rose was still very young, Jaspers was found dead. Roxy took the death of her CAT so hard that Rose found it difficult to take her grief seriously, interpreting the cat's elaborate mausoleum as a "structure erected with a spirit of scornful IRONY in response to [a] youthfully innocent request to hold a funeral for the animal." But more than any other, Rose and Roxy's relationship is one defined by miscommunication, and this assessment of Roxy's grief doesn't even seem to hold up to Rose's own recollection of events: later, we hear that the funeral service was something Roxy "insisted upon".

And thus begins probably Homestuck's most clear-cut example of a character's arc stretching across multiple iterations, because from this point - parallel to her neverending quest to settle down with a nice hubby and start a family - Roxy (both β and Α) becomes fixated on bringing back her baby - I mean CAT - only to produce failed mutant after failed mutant. These freaks of nature are not Jaspers, and by the laws of time travel dictating the lives of Paradox Clones they can never be Jaspers. The younger Roxy's first few attempts are literally stillborn; while she's eventually able to create what she calls "healthy felines", she still keeps those monsters locked in the basement they came from, for fear of upsetting her real CAT.

Even as over the course of her Sburb quest and her interactions with the new arrivals from the other session Roxy is seemingly able to address and even overcome some of this obsessive gnostalgia for the things she's lost, her apparent inability to bring to term resurfaces when she's made the reproductive object of another grieving mother.

The lamenting queen (or: the other mother)

Her Imperious Condescension is not so immediately recognisable as part of the family pantomime because the troll social structure doesn't use the same terminology we're familiar with, but she's always been there; just as Lord English is grandfather of grandfathers, Meenah is the family tree's literal grandmatriarch of grandmatriarchs, placed upon the Earth in the guise of Betty Crocker - archetypal nurturing housewife - so that her children's children might seed the events architected by her master. This kind of familial roleplay is exactly how English and Meenah's story is passed down to her descendants; Jake recalls that "the witch used to be married to a terrible man named english." Dirk is insistent, though, that this is a masking of the truth, and that English was only ever "her superior". And while it's true that we can't say for sure a young Meenah (β) slept in the same bed Damara grew up in, the fact that Meenah was only formally recruited after Damara's death should not be mistaken for suggesting that Meenah was not one of English's many daughters. She was "the Lo+rd's slave all alo+ng", even if implicitly.

ARANEA: Once she claimed the throne, she would have to serve for many thousands of years, until the next successor was ready.

For all the differences between Meenah and Roxy's cultures, slavery in the form of motherhood has always been the expectation of the female fuchsia caste, right from the very beginning of Meenah's arc - not as the empress of Alternia, but on Beforus, where the hemospectrum is reframed in far more familial terms:

ARANEA: The jo8 of each 8lood caste was to serve the needs of all those 8elow it. ARANEA: We were to use our progressively greater longevity and wisdom to help the lower castes learn and grow. To listen to them and try to provide whatever they were missing. Like a hierarchy of caretakers with increasing social responsi8ility.

Crucially, this is where Meenah and Roxy appear most to act as reflections but not carbon copies of each other; because where Roxy constantly strives to contort herself into this motherly, wifely role, Meenah perpetually runs from it. Saddled with the "incredi8le responsi8ility" of sitting atop Beforus' structure of care, Meenah "viewed the empress as a glorified slave" and fled to the moon, and even forced into ascendancy on Alternia she finds implicit ways to be absent from her children, spending her life flying further and further away from the planet where they're born and taking every opportunity to hand off any real political authority to clown rappers (a tendency reflected in her human heirs - the company is always passed on to the son and never the daughter).

But when Meenah finally returns home to find her children suddenly massacred by a galactic apocalypse, her arc begins to pull into line with Roxy's in earnest.

A fluffy twitching prison

TT: The rumors say it was her own "pet" who killed them.

From the moment of her dramatic introduction, Meenah's tragedy is that though she can extend life indefinitely, she cannot have back what she's lost, and this continues to be true as she attempts to resurrect her children on a new planet; attempt after attempt, her babies all die. Despite Gl'bgolyb's explicit death in the meteoric holocaust which claimed the rest of her family, the creature has inexplicably returned on the trolls' prospective new homeworld with the apparent sole purpose of making sure Meenah can't carry to term. We're left to our own devices to figure out just what's going on here.

Act 6 of Homestuck introduces Watchmen to its repertoire of intertexts through Jane's poster of cobalt beefcake MANHATTAN. Watchmen's Dr. Manhattan is an omnipotent world-shaping being who flees the responsibilities of Earth to settle on the planet Mars, iconically rendered in beautiful rosy hues by colourist John Higgins - when we hear the story of Meenah's refusal to the call of being Beforus' own god-empress, it's against the backdrop of a photograph of Mars literally hue-shifted pink (see fourth image), and images of Meenah's ship flying over a settlement on the red planet are included among the products advertised by Crockercorp. Far more explicitly, though: Watchmen originated the idea of using the screams of a psychic alien squid as political leverage, and that's why Gl'bgolyb has to be here for this part.

Alongside commenting on the political landscape of the 80s and the fascist undertones of the superhuman archetypes found in comic books, Watchmen pays particular attention to these characters' sexual eccentricities, and particularly their hangups with women. It stands to reason that of the latter closet homosexual Ozymandias' are the most severe, but they also become the most explicit: the artificial 'horrorterror' he uses to usher in his new world order is his fear of the female body made manifest. With its single clitoral eye and sphinctered mouth, the creature is unmistakeably yonic, and included in the horrific psychic imagery it broadcasts to instill fear into the Earth's population are nightmarish images of juvenile aliens chewing their way out of their mother's womb - the very same image trolls use to describe their disgust at human reproduction in The Homestuck Epilogues. Meenah's relationship to Gl'gboylb should be thought of the exact same way; one of the rare insights we receive into the adult Meenah's psyche is that she finds the process of giving birth "revolting", and it's for this reason she insists that humans procreate only through impersonal cloning. Gl'bgolyb reappears as Meenah's own manifestation: alienated from her own lusus after spending centuries literally running away from it, and traumatised by repeated miscarried attempts at reviving her race, she sees her own reproductive organs as nothing more than a hideous, baby-killing monster. It's no coincidence that when we see our single glimpse of the enigmatic emissary to the horrorterrors on Earth, it's with its tendrils wrapped around the throat of a symbolic depiction of the Genesis Frog (see above image) - the baby that grows in the womb of Skaia.

Breaking the cycle

By Act 6, the matriorb has already long been associated with failed and aborted pregnancies, having been rescued from the first mother it killed and taken into the care of Kanaya, who is then blasted through the abdomen just as it's destroyed, symbolically miscarrying through physical trauma. So when Roxy is tasked with finally bringing a dead baby back to life, it's a coalescence of multiple disparate threads.

(p. 6463)

Meenah unwittingly - or perhaps uncaringly - perpetuates a patriarchal cycle which has been repeating for eternity by selecting a younger, more fertile doppelganger to take over the role of mother, and locks Roxy in a dungeon with the intention of making her have the baby in her place. But, cycles being cycles and doppelgangers being doppelgangers, the same problem arises. Roxy can only create mutants.

When Roxy does ultimately overcome this, ending the comic with the culmination of this long, meandering motherhood arc, superficially it's because of time spent blitzing her Void chakras in the space outside of reality, and with the help of Calliope as a Muse. But in the time Roxy spends in the white nothingness, she's crucially able to take steps to end her own obsession with reviving the past - not just by burying a version of her own mother, who she spent so much time hoping to resurrect in sprite form, but also in sharing a tearful reunion with the literal ghost of her dead CAT. As with so much of Homestuck, the key to ending the suffering is breaking the self-perpetuating cycle that causes it; made literal, in this case, by Roxy's slaying of her dark mirror image using a sword known for splitting vinyl records - symbolically, for breaking the ever-turning circle of time. And in passing the matriorb off to Kanaya rather than letting Meenah have control of it, Roxy never actually brings this baby to term herself, either - at the end of the day, the minutiae of biology aren't really what motherhood is about:

ROXY: the way i see it is you shouldnt have needed to worry about makin the thing ROXY: i think it will be challenging enough like... ROXY: hatching it?? ROXY: and tending to all the stuff that comes next ROXY: isnt that basically being responsible for the preservation of an entire race of people?

Physically overcoming her demonic doppelganger isn't the end-all of Roxy's struggle with gendered expectation, either. Roxy's complicated relationship with their sex and their motherhood, introduced to us only indirectly through the relationship between Meenah and Gl'bgolyb, becomes central to their understanding and exploration of their own gender identity as they grow into adulthood. Anxieties about the inherent femininity of a childbearing body - the glorified slavery that is seemingly inherent to the cosmically-assigned role of the mother - give way to an understanding of the human body as "something altogether different [...] A flesh machine" with "a specific, practical purpose."

But I digress

The threads running between Roxy and Meenah exist along the types of lines most Homestuck readers will already be familiar with in some form. When two characters share a class, or an aspect, we expect that traits from one character can be used to analyse and further our understanding of the other. Manifestation theory simply asks that we look for even more subtle and non-literal connections between characters than these - a process which Andrew Hussie themself has identified in authorial commentary as part of what they call "persona alchemy". (Book 4, p. 151)

Roxy and Meenah's particular relationship, though, should also be thought of in terms of another phenomenon which is central to Homestuck's structure - escalation. Homestuck constantly reorders and transmutes the alchemical elements that compose one character into 'new' characters, but it also consistently stretches these fundamental concepts to their logical extremes. Just as a game that destroys planets works its way up to the destruction of universes, John striving to leave his house in Act 1 should be taken as the logical precursor to our heroes leaving reality itself in Act 7. The forces keeping these children in their houses - essentially the story's first ever antagonists - are their parents, and as we scale this story up to a cosmic level, we find that the cosmos is dictated by the same suburban family structures; by celestial GRANDPAs and MOMs, raising/grooming/training/neglecting entire worlds or even galactic empires at once.

By allowing us to meet not only the teen MOMs and BROs and NANNAs, but also the teen Lord Englishes and the teen Condesces, the scratch takes us in the opposite direction, reducing these faceless, larger-than-life figures into their smallest, weakest, most fundamentally human forms. And in some cases, as in Roxy's, this creates the opportunity for the child-form to confront and overcome the very darkest of their potential; by being the one to put Meenah down, Roxy not only liberates herself from her own expectations for what a mother has to be and do, but shatters the very cosmic image of MOM itself, breaking the mold that reality had set in stone for her entire sex - her entire caste.

[xoxoavenger]

What Is This Feeling?

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N and Dean are certainly feeling something for each other, they just can't exactly put their finger on it. In the meantime, they'll rip each others throats out and annoy Castiel and Sam.

word count: 3003

warnings: a small mention of alcoholism, intense enemies to lovers, based on 'What Is This Feeling' from Wicked, you may think this is isn't Christmas themed but there is a grinch reference thrown around a couple times (I couldn't help myself)

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

Dean had never felt this way about anyone before.

It was surprising, because he had been in a lot of relationships with a lot of women. But something about this woman made his head reel in a dangerous way. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, at least not until he talked to Sam.

"I swear, ever since the moment I saw her I've felt this way." He tells Sam as they drink beer in the library.

"Hm," Sam says, still looking at his book. He clearly is not too interested in what Dean has to say, which causes him to be a little upset.

"I'm being serious! I don't understand it." He knows he's whining, but he wishes there was a way for him to know what this feeling was. It's been driving him crazy for months on end. 

"Are you sure it's not love?" Sam asks as he looks over, and Dean makes a face.

"Definitely not love. More like," It's on the tip of his tongue, and his mouth turns down as he figures out what makes him dizzy about her.

Y/N and Castiel are having the same conversation in her room, just down the hall, at the same time.

"He makes my heart race. I've never felt anything like it. I can literally feel the blood leaving my face just talking about this." She tells him, swirling her wine in her glass. Cas frowns.

"It sounds like you're in love." He says in that stupid low voice, and she wants to hit him at just the word.

"Absolutely not. It feels more intense. Like," She narrows her eyes, because she knows exactly what the feeling is.

"Loathing."

~

After the two of them figure it out, their relationship somehow gets worse. Sam and Castiel can only sit on the couch of the hotel room, each holding a beer. The only thing that would make it picture perfect is if they were eating popcorn. Sam would get up and pop it if he didn't know that Dean would deck him for even thinking about standing and interrupting their argument.

"How could you let it go?" Y/N yells from her side of the room. Sam and Cas swing their eyes over to Dean as if this were a baseball game.

"Let it go?" Dean repeats, barely able to stop himself from sputtering. "What, did you want it to kill you? Or maybe I should have shot you and hoped the bullet went all the way through?" He yells, because the stupid werewolf had been able to run after they'd been track it the past couple days. Everyone knew the likelihood of them being able to find and track it again, especially so soon.

"I'm sorry, is your aim that bad that you couldn't shot it without shooting me?" She knows, deep down, that the werewolf was wrapped around her, that it would have been hard to get a clean shot with then way he was holding her like a shield. Cas had been able to swing and slice a chunk of the werewolf's arm with his angel blade, and the werewolf had made it's escape while Y/N fell to the ground and Dean had gone to her side instead of shooting at it, like Sam had been.

"Seriously? You know that thing was wrapped around you like a freaking slinky. Do you have a death wish?" He shoots, and she turns, putting her fingers to her forehead in annoyance. "Why are you turned around now?" He asks, and she explodes.

"Your face is annoying me!" She says it far too loud, and Sam and Cas exchange a look of surprise before looking to Dean. This has officially gone from arguing about the hunt to personal attacks.

"Ugh!" Dean groans, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. "I need alcohol just to deal with your voice." He says, and she turns back around, steam practically coming out of her ears.

"Are you angry because they didn't have a new jacket at army surplus? Too bad the old one has a knife shaped whole in it. Although, that probably made it look better." She's going after whatever she can think of, and she knows this isn't going to stop any time soon.

"Alright," Sam stand, putting his hands up. It's gone on a little too long, and he's sure any minute now they're going to get a call from the front desk because neighbors started complaining about the noise. "Let's just say you two hate each other and call it a day, yeah?" He suggests, and Y/N shakes her head.

"It's so much more than hate." She's staring daggers at Dean, who is chugging his beer.

"Finally something we can agree upon." He says as he pulls the bottle away and wipes his mouth, and she just rolls her eyes.

"He makes my skin fucking crawl, Sam. I can't stand him." She says, as if Dean isn't in the room at all.

"What about him makes you so angry?" Sam asks, and she doesn't even need to look at him to answer.

"Everything. All of it." She says, and Sam takes a deep breath.

"Okay," Sam is trying to keep his cool, but he kind of wants to laugh. This entire situation is childish, and he can't believe the two haven't figured their shit out yet. "Y/N and Cas, you share a room tonight."

"I couldn't handle her being in here anyway." Dean says, finishing the beer and throwing it in the trash before immediately grabbing a new one.

"Is it wrong to call him an alcoholic?" Y/N asks as Cas grabs her arm and starts to walk her to the door. "Because personally, I think it's just saying the truth, but I know some people,"

"Please stop," Cas begs quietly, opening the door. Dean has fire in his eyes, and she's lucky her back is turned when Dean starts to stalk toward her. Sam has to grab him and pull him back as Cas pulls her out the door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam asks finally as the door shuts and he lets go of his brother.

"Me?" Dean asks incredulously. "She's the one who started it!" He argues, and Sam just shakes his head.

"Y/N is a nice person. She gets along great with everyone else, and she always makes friends with people on cases. She even somehow has demons that like her more than you do. So yes, I think you're the problem." Sam tells his brother, and Dean just gets even angrier.

"She hates me too! There's not much I can do here, anyway." He argues, grabbing his stuff and walking to the bathroom.

"Maybe she wouldn't hate you if you weren't such a dick to her." Sam says, because he knows his brother can be a little rough around the edges, but Dean usually isn't this rude or upset with someone. There has to be a reason why they loathe each other, and Sam doesn't think it has anything to do with loathing.

~

"So, why do you hate him?" Cas asks Y/N as they pack up the next morning. The angel had let her off the hook the night before, but he needed answers now.

"Well, ever since the beginning, there's just been something about him. And I usually get along with everyone. But he doesn't make it easy, exactly." She says. She doesn't like talking about it, because she doesn't have a good reason for the feelings that bubble up every time she sees Dean.

"It sounds like you don't hate him." Cas tells her simply, and she just blinks.

"You're right, Cas. I loathe him. Entirely." She frowns, zipping up her bag. Cas doesn't know what to do about this. He just wants Y/N and Dean to get along, because he's getting so tired of them fighting so much. It's every time they see each other, every time they're together. It doesn't even matter if they're on a case, or who's watching.

A point proven when a couple hours later, on the way back to the bunker, they stop at a diner and a fight ensues.

"Just because you're the one who lost the werewolf doesn't mean you have to take it out on us by making us stop at the shitiest place." She tells him after they'd ordered. True, this diner didn't exactly live up to any standards, but she was overreacting slightly because of her feelings.

"I'm sorry you're just so entitled that you have to have a five star meal, but we don't exactly have the funds for that. Maybe, if you put in a bit more of your own work, rather than just joining all of our hunts, we'd have more money for better food." Dean goes off, voice raising. Instead of sending him a glare to quiet the argument like she normally does in public spaces, she doubles down.

"We have plenty of money, you asshat! You just need the greasiest burger you can get your hands on, because it reminds you of life on the road with your dad." She shoots back, and some people near them have started to stare. She doesn't have it in her to care anymore, and can only barely stop herself from telling Dean that their cards are fake and so is their money.

"Seriously? You think you can read me? Well, you're not a closed book!" Dean yells, far too loud for the small diner. "You're only with us because you're lonely and terrifies you. You've lost everyone you've ever cared about, which keeps you from caring too much now even when you're nice to everyone. And if it were up to me, you wouldn't even be here." The words are barely out of his mouth before Y/N launches across the table, legs underneath her on the chair and arms out to choke him. One hand grabs his head and she's able to push it to the table once, hard, before Dean gets his bearings and puts his hands on her wrists.

"You think you're so smart, Winchester? You're a boy who grew up too fast and never had a childhood. Your whole adulthood has been you acting childish, because around your dad you were never allowed to. I get you had a bad life, but you think you're the only fucking one?" She grumbles into his face, fingers still twisted in his hair. He scowls, because she hit the nail on the head.

"I don't give a shit about what you think happened. I know a lot of people who were dealt a shittier hand than me. But at least I'm trying to make the world a better place. You act like you owe everyone you meet something, as if you're the reason their life ended up the way it did. News flash, the world doesn't revolve around you!" He yells in her face. She moves to get up onto the table to get better grip and maybe even choke him with her thighs.

"Okay!" Castiel grabs her leg as she tries to move, pulling her back. She's still got a grip on Dean's hair, so she pulls him too.

"Ow!" He yells as she grabs her fingers and unwinds them from his head. Y/N ends up on her back in the booth, Castiel holding her legs.

"It's time." Cas says as he looks at Sam.

"Time for what?" Y/N asks, getting up on her elbows and trying to kick her legs out of Cas' grip. He just holds on tighter, then nods at Sam before sliding out of the booth, his hands still gripping her ankles.

"Let go of me!" Dean yells, definitely causing a scene. And then, Cas gets up and pulls Y/N's legs with him, holding them over his head so she doesn't hit anything. Curse his stupid fucking angel strength.

"Cas!" She shrieks, grabbing her shirt to keep it from falling and revealing her stomach and bra to the entire diner, all of which were watching now.

"Which way to your bathrooms?" Cas asks calmly, as if he's not carrying a full grown woman upside down. The server points to the side, and Cas and Sam drag Y/N and Dean into the bathroom. Y/N's laid down on her back, confused out of her mind, and Dean is yelling at Sam as the younger Winchester pushes him into the small one-hole bathroom.

"What the hell?" Dean yells. Y/N turns on her stomach, and Dean turns toward the door just in time to see it slam closed.

"Fuck," She mutters, getting up and moving to the door. She tries to open it, but the handle won't even budge. "They're holding the door closed." She tells Dean, who instantly moves to where she had been to try and open it.

"Let us out!" Dean screams when it becomes clear that he won't be able to open it either.

"Nope!" Sam yells out, sounding far too excited. It makes Y/N even more mad than she is right now.

"You two need to work it out. And until you do, you aren't leaving that bathroom." Cas says through the door. Y/N wants to pull her hair out.

"Ugh!" Y/N screams, taking in the bathroom. It's old and a little dirty, and she hates the smell.

"You have no room to complain. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here." He tells her, leaning against the wall as he crosses his arms.

"Me?" She asks incredulously. She cannot believe the gall of this man. "You've got to be kidding."

"You started the whole fight!" He throws his arms out, and she thinks her eyes may pop out of her head. She takes a deep breath, because she wants to get out of this bathroom before she's forced to pee in front of Dean.

"Why did you let the werewolf get away?" She asks quietly. It's the softest tone she's ever used with him. He sighs, unable to look at her.

"How many times do we have to go over this? I didn't let it get away. Sorry your hunting standards are so high, but it's not like you were helping either." The way he says it, the tone so crisp and the words practiced, she knows he's lying.

"I'm not trying to make fun of you." She tells him, grabbing some paper towels and wiping off the water on the counter. "I just know you're lying, and I want to know why." She tells him, throwing the towels away before sitting on the counter.

"How would you know if I'm lying?" He asks defensively, and she rolls her eyes as she tries to tamp down her own snarky response.

"Dean," She groans, taking a deep breath. "I know that we aren't exactly close. But we aren't going to get out of this bathroom until we tell the truth, and I'm actually kinda hungry." She says, and she sees his exterior crack a little bit. He breathes out a long sigh, then looks from the ground to the wall.

"I did let the werewolf get away. You were right. I could have helped Sam go after it. I probably would have been able to shoot it." He admits, and it honestly surprises her. She didn't think he would tell her, at least not until they had been in there for an hour. She was about to push when he starts talking again. "I just saw you fall to the ground, and your eyes rolled back into your head, and I thought that you were more hurt somehow. I just needed to make sure that you were alright, and finding the werewolf was the furthest thing from my mind." It's silent in the bathroom, and Y/N is sure that Cas and Sam are listening. Dean looks at her, and they lock eyes for a few long moments.

"Why would you care?" She asks quietly, but it still echoes in the tiled room. Dean clenches his fists, rolling his eyes and walking towards her.

"I don't actually hate you." He says, standing far too close to her.

"Loathe entirely?" She asks with a small smile, heart racing. She's not sure why, exactly, but she can feel her face heating as well.

"No," He chuckles, shaking his head. "But I think it may start with an L." He walks even closer, his hands going to each side of her hips. She can smell his body spray, the smell of him that hangs around the bunker and usually infuriates her.

She realizes that maybe now she isn't infuriated with him. She's infatuated.

"I think I feel it too." She tells him, voice low as her gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

"I'm sure you do." He says with a smirk.

"Alright." She chuckles, throwing her head back in fake annoyance. He grabs the back of her head however, and pulls her into a searing kiss. All their emotions, all the heart racing and dizziness and blushing has all lead up to this kiss, where their lips move in tandem and their teeth clack as they both open their mouths. Y/N's pushed against the mirror by Dean, one of his hands slamming against it. She moans as her body arches into his, and her groans into her mouth as he puts one hand behind her back, pushing her impossibly closer.

"Do you think they're physically fighting?" Cas asks from outside the door. Both him and Sam have their ears pressed the door, however Sam is slowly starting to lean back.

"They're physically doing something." He replies, frowning. Cas jerks back, letting go of the door handle as he realizes what Sam is insinuating. 

"I'm not sure if this is going to be better than them fighting." The angel says, and the two go back to their table, where food is waiting for them.

"Worse." Sam says, trying not to imagine all of the shit that's about to go down in the bunker. "Definitely worse." 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @king-of-milf-lovers @lyarr24

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: werewolf!kakashi hatake x f!reader

word count: 5.2k

about: your boyfriend leaves you alone for one week every month and you can never seem to put your finger on why. convinced he’s cheating, you book a romantic getaway to pin him down and figure him out. while preparing to leave, you instead discover the hairy secret he has been keeping from you all this time.

contents: nsfw - mdni. cw knotting, cw mating, cw breeding kink. miscommunication with resolution, established relationship, piv sex, vaginal fingering, reader has breasts and is referred to as pretty and mate multiple times, reader has pubic hair, few mentions of birth control (reader is on it but method is not specified), sloppy and messy sex (saliva is mentioned but there is no specific instance of spitting)

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! ngl i had the most fun writing this one out of the whole group this far and i hope that it shows and you enjoy reading it! thanks for the support the last four weeks and i'm so glad we are getting into the thick of the good stuff now. ♡

“Don’t be ridiculous, he absolutely adores you.”

Despite the consistent reassurance of your best friend, you aren’t certain that your boyfriend Kakashi does adore you. 

It’s not that he isn’t wonderful because he is. Supportive, serious without being a bore, and surprisingly humble - these are all things it takes no effort for you to feel and say about him. Despite this, you can’t shake the nagging distrust you’ve felt since he told you he’s going on his once a month week long business trip. Unfortunately, this time it coincides with a romantic getaway you tried to book for the two of you as a surprise. Despite days of trying to convince yourself that it’s nothing and you have nothing to worry about with his cyclical departures, you have a really bad feeling. 

“I can’t explain it but my intuition is going crazy. It feels like he’s lying to me.”

Your mind has played through all of the reasonable possibilities for his departure and is now filtering through the unreasonable ones. The “he has a family he’s hiding from me” paranoia pings between your ears like a racing pinball and your friend can tell, her face set in a displeased frown. She has been placating you for the past five months, politely shoving you in the direction of speaking your mind to the man, but she knows you’re uncomfortable with the idea.

She reaches across the small table the two of you sit at, dotted with discarded napkins and cups full of rapidly melting ice, and grabs your hands between hers. You appreciate the gesture and squeeze her fingers with your thumbs, smiling softly. 

“You already know my advice because I’ve given it freely. What you do next is completely up to you.”

Nodding, you know she’s right. She has told you to confront him, to snoop, to follow him and these all sound like wonderful ways to handle the issue in theory. In practice, though? That’s a different story. 

Dropping her hands and picking your phone up from the table, you sigh and open the little green bubble that is the messages app. Kakashi’s thread is at the top of your list and you open it, smiling looking at his sweet wishes of a good evening with your friend. 

Hope you’re having fun. See you soon. 😊

“I booked that cabin before he told me he was leaving, do you think I should still tell him about it?”

Your friend nods firmly, sticking to her earlier advice.

“Yes, you should have told him as soon as you planned the getaway but maybe he can arrange something with work if he knows. It’s still a week out.”

Sighing, you nod in agreement and tap out a message in response to your boyfriend, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

I know this is kind of off the cuff and you already told me you’re going to be gone but I booked a cabin for all of next week for the two of us. If you can’t make it, I understand. Romantic surprises are so hard sometimes!

The message whooshes and shows as sent, the blue text bubble sitting as heavy as the anxiety in your stomach. It’s long winded and something you probably should have said in person rather than via text but considering how nauseous you already feel anticipating his answer, you think this may have been for the best. You lock your phone and place it back down, not wanting to stare at the screen any longer, and the waitress comes to drop off your check. 

Just as you reach for the little black tray with your receipt, your phone pings and your eyebrows raise. You smile at the waitress as you slide your card onto the tray and send her off, picking up your phone as soon as it’s not rude to do so.

You are so thoughtful. Don’t worry about not saying something sooner, I will see what I can figure out. Thank you for doing something so sweet.

Maybe your mind really has been playing tricks on you. It’s hard to hide your grin as you pass the phone across the table and your friend smiles as she reads as well, holding her hands out and tilting her head.

“See? Good communication is key.”

You know she’s right.

Across town, though, Kakashi paces the floor of his bedroom wondering how the fuck he is going to make this work.

How he ended up landing someone like you is still beyond his rational understanding. You are too good to be true and booking a surprise romantic getaway, in any other situation, would be a gift. A luxury, even. Time spent with you, secluded, watching the autumn leaves fall? He couldn’t dream of anything more but next week simply does not work for him.

Pressing the screen of his phone wildly, he swipes through apps until he finds his moon phase tracker, popping open the calendar to see when exactly the full moon falls. He’ll get more details from you later but if you booked it from Monday to Sunday, he may be able to pull off leaving early but staying for most of the time. The full moon falls on Friday and realistically if he spent the week with you up until Thursday, he may be able to pull it off.

Sighing, he slumps down on the edge of his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. The luck he has had over the last few months hiding his secret from you has been nothing short of fortuitous and he’s glad for your trust in him even though it eats him up to lie about his whereabouts for a week every single month. 

Putting you at risk is the last thing the man would ever want to do so he’s already taking a huge chance trying to make this week work knowing that his hormones are stronger in certain months rather than others. He has felt overcome by his instincts this entire month, it’s the reason he has buried himself in busy work rather than spending his free time with you, but he knows that if he hangs you out to dry this week it could result in him losing you.

That’s simply not an option he’s willing to entertain so he will figure it out despite how it makes his gut twist and his mind race. 

Swiping off of the moon cycle app, he opens his messages and the cursor blinks at him tauntingly while he considers what to say. 

I can come along Monday through Thursday if that’s alright with you?

Tapping the little blue arrow that sends the message off to you, he feels a weight on his shoulders that he can’t quite name. It’s sadness because he knows eventually he’ll have to tell you the truth about himself or let you go but selfishly, he wants to put it off for as long as he possibly can. 

Something about you makes him believe that those old stories his dad told him growing up about their kind having fated mates may have been true. His mother was his father’s mate, she knew of his secret and kept it until the day she died, and despite this harsh world, Kakashi has always kept the smallest kindling of hope that it could be true.

Then he met you and his body all but told him it was, the ruts coming more consistently and stronger, lasting for longer than they ever have. What started as one day a month he had to hide away to keep from exposing himself became two days, and then three, and then an entire week having to seclude himself from you to keep from giving into his more base urges.

Another sigh leaves the man and he taps his feet against the floor beneath them impatiently, clutching his phone in his palm. Three pings in succession make him lift it to his face, squinting slightly thanks to the brightness of the screen, but he smiles reading your words.

Omg yay!!! 

I’m glad to get you for even that long

Thank you for making it work for me

It’ll be a risk but he’s willing to take it to see your pretty smile and to spend time cozied up reading and watching your silly shows and enjoying each other. 

It’ll all be worth it as long as he can keep control.

The days leading up to the trip pass uneventfully for you but Kakashi feels differently with each hour that passes, especially today.

He’s hot. Cloyingly and overwhelmingly, to the point he has to lay on his couch in nothing but boxers and an old tank top dug out of the back of his dresser drawer to try and cool down. Sweat glistens across his skin and his very bones ache, all of the blood in his body running to his cock and making it impossible for him to think.

When you arrive at his apartment to spend the night in order to make leaving in the morning simpler, you’re shocked to see him lying on the couch with one hand down his boxers halfheartedly playing with his hard cock with one arm thrown over his eyes. His cheeks are pink and he’s panting, only glancing up briefly when the door opens and shuts. He scrambles to sit up but you can tell he’s struggling, his abs tensing with every breath he takes.

“Oh babe, are you alright?”

Dropping your bags at the front door, you rush to his side and kneel on the ground next to where he is strewn across the sofa. You press the back of your hand to his clammy cheek and coo, your other hand tangling in his unruly hair and combing it away from his forehead. He doesn’t uncover his eyes but his breathing is so heavy you worry something is seriously wrong with him.

“Kakashi, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need to go to urgent care?”

He shakes his head and groans, chest still heaving and you notice the tip of his cock peeking above the waistband of his boxers. It looks the same as you remember it in every way except for the color - so red, as if it’s blushing to be spotted and leaking a pool of sticky pre-cum onto the barely exposed skin his tank top isn’t covering. You know the two of you have been too busy the last several days to spend much quality time together and sex hasn’t been possible but you’ve never seen someone so horny they’re actually ill because all current signs point to that being the exact issue.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Embarrassment keeps him from opening up. Kakashi is ashamed of who he is, a beast more than a man, and he’s even more ashamed that he has no way of keeping the secret from you any longer. This rut is too strong and he needs you to leave lest his instincts take over his logic. Pulling his arm from over his eyes, he tries to sit up and you assist him to the best of your ability, his cock throbbing through the thin fabric of his boxers and catching your eye despite your attempts to focus on his handsome face. His stormcloud colored eyes have never looked more tumultuous than they do right now and you reach out to cup his face, only for him to gently grasp your wrist and pull you away.

“Don’t touch me.”

The look on your face, brows pinched and mouth agape, reminds him that he’s a monster and not a man and he should have never brought you into his life. The only thing he can do is hurt you. His grip on your wrist is gentle and he loosens it further but you capture his hand in your own, eyes brimming with tears of frustration. 

“Please tell me what’s happening,” your voice cracks as you speak and you feel warm tears spill down your face, irritated by your own ability to hold it together, but your worst fears are coming true in front of you. Something is off about your boyfriend, you were right, and now he’s denying your touch when he clearly needs it. “I just want to know the truth.”

The truth would be a heavy burden for both of you and the last thing he wants to do is force you to carry it with him despite the pleading look in your eyes and your quivering bottom lip.

“What are you hiding from me?” 

Your voice cracks again and his heart breaks all over, gray eyes trained on your face despite his disgust with himself. Despite the tears and the way they blur your vision, you scan his face and drink in every feature because despite how you feel right now, you love this man. You were hoping to tell him so this week, tucked away in the idyllic countryside, and now you feel the dream slipping away from you.

“Are you married? Do you have another life?”

Desperation for the truth makes your hands shake and he shakes his head, blowing a breath out of his lips. He continues to feel so hot it’s painful, like he’s burning alive, and he is resisting inhaling and choosing to breathe through his mouth instead to keep from catching your scent that is gradually replacing all of the fresh air in the apartment. 

Allowing you to hold his hand, he sits forward and looks you in the eyes. If his gut feeling is real, if what he believes about you is true, then he needs to be honest. If you are his mate then you’ll understand. His voice shakes when he speaks and you scoot forward on your knees, closing the distance between your bodies as much as possible, still kneeling on the floor next to him. 

“I think I should be offended that you’d even think that about me.”

Despite yourself, you laugh and he hides a smile of his own, eyes darting away from you. He pulls you up to your feet and scoots over on the couch, hissing as you occupy his space even further. You are affecting him more strongly than you ever have and his self control thins with every moment that passes. 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what else to think. The weeks away, the secrecy, all of it…my mind has filled in the blanks I don’t understand.”

Kakashi nods. He understands, he truly does, knowing that his behavior has been less than exemplary while he has tried to keep his secret from you, but he wants to right his wrong while his mind is still clear. His cock throbs angrily, still pressing against the bottom of his stomach even while he sits, and he knows it’s now or never.

“This is going to sound ridiculous but I’m not what you think I am.”

Tilting your head to the side, you look over your handsome boyfriend and wonder what he could mean. Is he lying about his job or where he’s from? He can tell you aren’t following so he looks away from you and tries again, spitting out the words he himself has tried to run from his entire life.

“I’m only half a man, the other half of me is something else entirely.”

Again, you look lost and he grasps your hands in his own hot ones and chuckles, letting his eyes shut.

“Werewolf. I’m a werewolf.”

He opens his eyes at the sound of your surprised laughter and he’s met with the smile he has found himself falling more in love with every single day, your nose scrunching the way he finds utterly adorable.

“Kakashi…” you start but he squeezes your hands and shoots you a look so earnest you feel guilty for ever questioning him. His cheeks have turned from pink to flaming red, the same color as the engorged tip that is still peeking out over the top of his boxers. Your jaw drops and he groans, eyes falling to your lips. 

“What is happening right now is called a rut and unbonded men like me go through them occasionally.” You nod, understandingly. You are always unfailingly kind and patient to him, more so than he deserves for lying to you all these months. He takes your silence as permission to keep speaking and you remove your hand from his to push his sweat slicked hair off of his forehead, noticing the way his nostrils flare with your touch. “Mine have been happening more frequently than that, though, because of you.”

He expects to have lost you again and to see confusion on your face when his eyes flit up to look at you but instead he sees a sweet, almost nervous, half smile. You don’t know what he means or how you could possibly be affecting his rut but the insinuation that you have this strong of an impact on him is flattering to say the least.

Arousing too, you think while pressing your thighs together. Your focus shifts from the heat in your own core to Kakashi and you lean your head on his shoulder.

“How can I help you through this?”

Your boyfriend is far from shocked that this is your next question for him but he’s grateful, shaking his head and gazing at you nervously from the corner of his eye. You have been surprisingly okay with everything so far, or at least it seems like it, but he worries how you’ll react if he tells you everything. 

“Well, ruts are usually resolved by…well, for lack of a better word, mating.” Nodding, you keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “It’s not just, you know, having sex like we usually do. It’s more than that.”

You shift where you sit and he watches you intently, gasping when you move to straddle him and sit on top of his thighs. His bulge presses against your core and you hum, still combing your fingers through his hair. Those instincts he was dreading continue to work at him, his mind all but overwhelmed with the sight and scent of you, and his mouth fills with saliva.

“I can handle a few days of fucking if that’s what will make you feel better,” you smile and press a kiss to his forehead, his hands finding their way to your hips and holding them tightly. His grip is harsher than he has ever touched you but it doesn’t hurt, it’s simply anchoring you in place. “But if that’s not all, I will do anything you need.”

He chuckles lowly, the sound sexy and ringing in your ears, and you instinctively grind down on his lap to relieve the tension of your own arousal. It doesn’t take much to turn you on, not when it comes to him, but the mystery of what you have to look forward to makes your head swim. 

“I, uh…well, I’d need to knot you.”

Your eyebrows raise and your eyes glisten with mischief watching him search for the right thing to say. 

“What does that entail?”

Again he sighs, cock throbbing painfully, and you press your lips to his forehead again. He holds you in place to keep your hips from grinding or bumping against him. His mind is growing fuzzier with each passing second and he doesn’t need the encouragement of your luscious hips to turn him into something he can’t explain away with a conversation. He’s teetering on the edge of it anyway.

“You’re familiar with my dick, of course, but when I’m rutting it’s different. It’s…” He trails off again and you reach down between your bodies, snapping the elastic waistband of his boxers. You smirk, the little temptress that you are, and he groans in defeat.

“Show me.”

Despite his brain telling him not to, he nods, happy to bend to your whims as long as you’re okay with what you see. He shifts where he sits, keeping you anchored to his lap with one hand and he uses the other to pull his boxers down around his thighs. You gasp when you notice the thickened base, larger than you’ve ever seen it and swollen. 

“This is your knot?”

He nods, eyes fixed on your face as you inspect the newest part of his anatomy, to you anyway, and he’s relieved to see nothing but curiosity on your face. Your hand drifts back between your bodies and you squeeze the base of him, his knot almost too large for your hand to wrap around, and his hips buck into the touch. He pants, chest heaving with each breath, but you keep your grip intact.

“So let me make sure I have this right,” you start and he nods to indicate that he’s listening despite the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling at your touch, lower lip tucked between his teeth. “You need to knot your mate to get through this and feel better?”

He nods again, happy that he doesn’t have to explain the gory details and that you were able to fill in the blanks on your own.

“Do you know who your mate is? Is it someone I need to go find for you?”

Shaking his head, his brows furrow.

“You are my mate. That’s the only explanation why my body is reacting like this to everything about you.”

His voice sounds strained, struggling to hold onto his humanity with each passing second. You mercifully let go of his knot, the relief on his face disappearing when you do, and you lean forward, just inches from his lips.

“Then fuck your mate and feel better, baby.”

Sealing your offer by pressing your lips against his, you’re shocked to find that they’re as hot as his hands, his body, his cheeks, but they feel like home to you and the sloppy sound of your tongues running against one another in open mouthed kisses fill your ears. His grip on your hip tightens and he does his best to remain gentle as he slides you off of his lap and places you on your back on the sofa below you. He pauses for a moment to glance over your face, to be absolutely certain that you still want this, and you smile at him.

Reaching for the button of your jeans, he helps you slide them off and tosses them across the room, your panties coming off with them and the rest of your clothes in short order. He wants to shred them, to see the pieces fall and flutter away from your beautiful body, but he holds himself back.

This is just the beginning of his rut, after all, and the two of you are bound to have a very interesting week ahead of you so he savors this moment, the first that he can be who he really is in front of someone he loves.

It’s freeing and terrifying but his cock is throbbing so painfully he can’t focus on anything else.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

You nod when he slots himself between your spread legs, his boxers and tank top gone. Your cunt pulses at the sight of him, walls clenching almost painfully around nothing as you look at the size of his knot and wonder how you’re meant to fit it inside of you, but he quiets your wandering mind by leaning down and pressing his chest to yours, kissing you sloppily.

“God I love you,” he mutters and you hum in agreement.

His mouth is wetter than it ever has been, a side effect of his current state, and saliva drips down both of your chins and drips into the valley between your breasts. You moan into his mouth and your hips cant and grind against his erection that slips into the cleft between your pussy lips and he feels himself slipping further and further into the basest of his needs, the warm slick seeping from your cunt a nectar he can no longer resist.

Kakashi��s fingers slide down your body, dragging through the pool of saliva between your breasts, down your torso, across your belly button, and finally down to your aching pussy. He makes himself useful quickly, one of his long digits replacing his cock and running through your soaked folds. You whine, hips bucking, and he increases the pressure of his finger as he slides it over your slippery clit.

“My pretty little mate is so eager for me, huh?”

Nodding dumbly, you spread your legs further hoping he’ll take the hint to get moving to where you need him the most. Your eyes dart from his face to where his finger slowly slides inside of you, warmth accommodating the digit with ease thanks to how soaked you are, and sweet relief washes over you. Tipping your head back, you softly moan beneath him while he works you open for him - he’ll need all the help he can get if you’re going to take his knot, and a second finger joins the first while his thumb massages your clit just the way you like.

“Oh baby, you feel so good.”

You nod and hum, hips grinding into every thrust of his fingers in and out of you, the sound of your own sloppy pussy making your breaths stutter. Who would have guessed you’d be so into finding out your boyfriend’s not so little secret? 

His fingers continue to spread you open, shifting and grinding against the spot deep inside he knows drives you wild, and you know you’re about to cum for the first time tonight when his thumb grinds small circles directly into your sensitive clit. Your back arches off of the couch and you clench around his fingers, mumbling his name. His lips find yours, chests still pressed together, and you whimper into his mouth while your legs shake.

Withdrawing his fingers from inside of you, he holds them up and spreads them apart, breaking away from your lips long enough to let you look at the slick that webs between them when he does. You gasp, his fingers glistening with your arousal, and he smirks.

“Think you’re wet enough for me now. Gonna stuff you full of me, is that what you want?”

Nodding, you shiver, catching a glimpse of the hunger in his eyes. He’s the same man you love and have known for all this time but there’s a hunger you can’t wait to sate dancing in his eyes. Your cunt clenches again, finally ready for more after your orgasm, and he reaches between your bodies to position himself at your entrance.

The first inch isn’t anything you aren’t used to but you still gasp as he slides himself inside of you, your nails digging into his shoulder while his blunt head prods at your eager cunt, slipping inside with ease. He sinks deeper and deeper and you gasp breathlessly when he stops just short of the inflamed knot at the base of his cock.

“Can’t go all the way in, not yet,” he explains, grinding his hips and guiding them to make sure the head of his cock brushes against the same spot his fingers were just working. You are breathless, wordless, and completely overwhelmed, deciding to let him have his way with you however he needs. His hands travel the expanse of your waist, settling on either side of it, thumbs brushing the underside of each of your breasts that bounce slightly with each movement he makes.

He isn’t satisfied keeping his hands at your waist, though, and one travels back down your stomach and rests in the hair covering your mound. He loves the feeling of the hair between his fingers and he stretches his hand so that his thumb brushes against your clit, maintaining steady pressure on the bud while he grinds and thrusts in and out of you.

“Baby,” you coo from beneath him and he smirks, leaning forward enough to fold your legs up against your sides. Your thighs are pressed against your torso and your knees rest by your ears, the shift in position making you groan, shocked at how deep he is despite the whole of him not even being inside of you. “Need it all, Kakashi, please.”

How can he deny you when you ask so sweetly and he’s so close to cumming himself?

Shifting his own position so that he is practically mounting you, the front of his thighs pressed to the backs of yours. It feels like you can hardly breathe with how he has you folded but you don’t mind, succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure of the additional inches of him slowly sinking inside of you.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nod, licking your lips, and he continues to push what remains of his cock inside of you. His hips grind and shift and you do your best to lift your own to meet him but he stills you with the hand spread over your pelvis, pressing directly on your clit while you stretch to accommodate his knot that slowly slips inside of you.

The stretch is delicious and your lashes flutter against your cheek, eyes rolling back into your skull. He thrusts shallowly, not wanting to release his knot from your warmth, but he gives in quickly and withdraws his knot. You gasp at the loss of the fullness but he’s quick to rectify his wrong, slipping his knot back into you in a quick motion that leaves you breathless. 

“Full,” you spit out with a nod and he chuckles, dipping his head to kiss you again.

“Not as full as I’d like you to be but soon.”

You giggle and kiss him back, his grunts and pants against your lips making you whimper. He’s so sexy and you’re so full of him, your head spinning when his grunts increase in a way you know means that he’s close. His cock spasms inside of you and his thumb doubles down on its ceaseless pace on your clit, his knot swelling as he groans and fills you with his release. His knot remains swollen and keeps his cock in place, the warmth of his spend filling your pussy. 

Reaching for his face, you grab both of his cheeks and kiss him, his thumb still rubbing idle circles on your clit until your hips jerk and the sensation becomes too much. 

“I love you,” you return his earlier sentiment with a smile against his mouth. He smiles and kisses you back, the two of you afraid to part and technically unable with his engorged knot still inside of you.

“We have to stay like this for a little while,” he explains and you nod, eyes glossy and body limp. “Instincts say I have to make it take even if we both know it won’t.”

Smiling, you keep your grip on his face and kiss him again.

“Do you feel better?”

He nods, sighing contentedly.

“For now but we have a long week ahead of us and the full moon is on Friday.”

Dots connect in your head and you giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist while he gradually shifts and rests his head on your chest.

“Good thing we’ll be all alone in the woods then, huh?”

Kakashi chuckles and nods, kissing you between your breasts.

“My thoughts exactly.”

[mariclerc]

A project of love | ls2

Summary: where you have to do a project with your crush and you try not to fall for him.

Warning: none.

a/n: requested and dedicated by @bananaleclerc I hope you like it!! And yes, I need a break from posting so much 😂😂

You're hunched over a textbook at a library table, surrounded by scattered notes and a half-eaten granola bar. Just then Logan enters the library, a whirlwind of energy and a backpack overflowing with what looks like every microbiology textbook ever written.

He slammed his books down next to you. “Hey there, study buddy! Ready to conquer the microscopic world?”

You jump a little, startled. He flashes a dazzling smile. “Uh, yeah, hi Logan. I was just... uh... reviewing.” You say, trying to sound casual.

“Awesome! Me too. Though, to be honest, my brain feels like it's about to explode from all these bacteria names.” He pulls out a chair dramatically and sits down. “Did you get a chance to look at the project outline Professor Davies sent? Apparently, we're germ-fighting partners!”

Your stomach flips. Internally screaming, you manage a smile. “Yeah, I saw it. Partnered up, huh? Makes sense, I guess.”

“Definitely! We balance each other out, right? You with your quiet genius vibe, and me... well, I bring the enthusiasm.”

You laugh nervously, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I wouldn't call myself a genius, but hopefully, I can keep up with your... enthusiasm.”

“Oh, you will, trust me. So, what do you think? Should we start with some foundational stuff, or dive straight into the exciting world of, like, antibiotic resistance?” he grins.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus. “Maybe foundational stuff first? That way, we're both on the same page when we get to the more complex topics.”

”Sounds like a plan! But hey, don't worry about keeping up. Like I said, I'm basically a walking microbiology encyclopedia. Just ask away if you get lost.”

You nod, but your mind is racing. Trying to focus on the project feels impossible now that you're so close to him.

You clear your throat. “Okay, so... cell walls of bacteria... what were we talking about those in lecture?”

Logan launches into an explanation, peppered with jokes and pop culture references. You try to concentrate, but all you can think about is the way his eyes light up when he talks about something he's passionate about.

Later, after a productive study session, you're packing your things.

“So, should we meet again tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

You feel your heart pounding. “Uh, yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“Great! Hey, you seem a little quiet today. Everything alright?” he asks softly.

You force a smile. “Yeah, no, I'm just... tired, I guess... All this studying.”

“Studying can be draining! But hey, at least we're suffering together, right?” He winks at you. “See you tomorrow, germ fighter!”

He flashes another smile and throws you a peace sign before walking off. You sigh, a mix of frustration and a secret thrill bubbling in your chest. Studying with Logan might be the most nerve-wracking, yet strangely fun, experience of your university career so far.

You watch him disappear into the library crowd, a bittersweet pang in your chest.

You mutter to yourself. “Germ fighter, huh? More like heartbreaker.”

You gather your things, a sudden wave of determination washing over you. You like Logan, a lot. But you can't let that distract you from the project. You take a deep breath and head out of the library, a plan forming in your mind.

***

The next day, you arrive at the study table a few minutes early. You've spent the morning making flashcards – not just on microbiology, but also on Logan's interests you've gleaned from his conversation snippets. Genetics? Check. Obsession with the movie "The Andromeda Strain"? Double check.

He bursts in, a little late and slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I'm late! Professor Davies got us sidetracked talking about her research on bioluminescent bacteria. Apparently, there's a kind that glows neon green – can you believe it?” He says hurriedly, making you laugh a little, just then he notices the flashcards on the table. “Whoa, flashcards? You serious?”

You nod smiling, not as nervously as yesterday. “Just thought they might help us remember all this complex stuff. Besides, I found some fun facts related to the topics we need to cover. Maybe a little trivia can keep things interesting?”

His eyes wide at your words. “You got fun facts about bacteria? Okay, you officially win coolest study partner ever! Shoot, let's hear one.”

You pick up a flashcard and grin. Maybe studying with Logan won't be so bad after all. Maybe you can find a way to balance your academic focus with a sprinkle of something more.

***

The following week becomes a whirlwind of flashcards, late-night library sessions fueled by takeout, and a slow, simmering tension between you and Logan. Your knowledge of bacteria trivia becomes legendary, earning you surprised yet impressed glances from Logan. He, in turn, starts bringing coffee (with extra whipped cream for you, which you secretly adore) and peppering the study sessions with personal anecdotes, revealing a surprisingly deep and caring side beneath his bubbly exterior.

One rainy afternoon, hunched over a microscope analyzing bacterial cultures, Logan asks. “Hey, you ever wonder what those bioluminescent bacteria actually look like in real life?”

You glance up, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. “Not really.” you admit, “but Professor Davies said she has some under a special microscope in her lab. Maybe we could ask if we could take a peek after our next class?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Perfect... We can make it a little research adventure.”

The stolen glance you share sparks a warmth in your chest, a silent acknowledgement that this is more than just a study session. The next day, after you convince a hesitant Professor Davies to let you glimpse the glowing bacteria, you find yourselves alone in the dimly lit lab.

As you peer through the microscope, Logan leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Wow.” he whispers, “they're incredible.”

You hum in agreement, captivated by the tiny emerald lights dancing before your eyes. The silence stretches, charged with unspoken emotions. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his breath tickling your ear.

Suddenly, the lab door bursts open, revealing Professor Davies returning from her meeting. You and Logan jump apart, both cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Did you get to see them?” she asks cheerfully.

“Yes, Professor,” you stammer a little bit, “they're amazing!”

As the week progresses, the air between you crackles with a new awareness. You find yourself stealing glances at Logan as he talks, your heart skipping a beat when he laughs at one of your jokes.

During a particularly frustrating attempt at culturing E. coli, you blurt out, “Ugh, these bacteria are so stubborn!”

“Hey,” Logan says softly, placing a hand on yours, “we'll figure it out together... Like always.”

His touch sends a jolt through you, and you meet his gaze, your eyes locked in a silent conversation. In that moment, you both know this partnership has become something more, a budding connection waiting to bloom amidst the petri dishes and microscopes.

The shared look hangs heavy in the air, the frustration of the stubborn E. coli forgotten. Logan's hand lingers on yours, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and a blush creeps up your neck.

“Maybe,” he starts, his voice a low rumble, “we should take a break from these little buggers. Grab some coffee, clear our heads?”

You nod mutely, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Stepping out of the lab, the rain has stopped, leaving the air fresh and clean. As you walk side-by-side, a comfortable silence settles between you. You steal a glance at Logan, his profile sharp against the setting sun.

Reaching the familiar coffee shop you frequent, you order your usual, Logan opting for his favorite with extra whipped cream (a detail that makes your stomach flutter with a strange mix of amusement and affection). Settling into a quiet corner booth, you both sip your drinks, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

“Thanks for sticking with this project,” Logan says, his gaze fixed on you. “It wouldn't have been nearly as fun without you.”

A shy smile graces your lips. “It wouldn't have been so bad with you either.”

He leans closer, his eyes searching yours. The air crackles with unspoken desire. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Can I do something?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You nod hesitantly, a shiver running down your spine. He closes the distance between you, his hand cupping your cheek. His touch is soft, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

The kiss is tentative at first, a brush of lips that sends a wave of heat through your body. But then, something shifts. He deepens the kiss, his hand moving to cradle your head, tilting it for better access. You melt into him, the taste of coffee and something uniquely Logan swirling on your tongue.

The kiss is brief, broken by a gasp for air. He leans his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Your eyes flutter open to meet his, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“Wow,” he breathes, a mixture of awe and amusement in his voice.

You can only manage a shaky smile, your heart overflowing with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness. The world seems to tilt on its axis, and for a moment, only you and Logan exist in this small corner of the coffee shop.

As you pull back and smile, a newfound confidence sparks within you... Maybe this partnership, born amidst bacteria and microscopes, could blossom into something more. And you, for one, are eager to see where it leads.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think Azul and the Tweels have a longer/shorter lifespan than others since they’re seafolk?

While it's not totally clear how aging works for a half human-half fae like Sebek, I'm pretty certain that all full-blooded non-fae have the same general lifespan as a human. I think the expectation that merpeople in particular (but not beastmen or humans) have extended lifespans comes more from lore outside of Twisted Wonderland rather than pointing to any actual in-universe logic that would imply it. It's an idea I often see in fan works of the angst variety--but I in no way think it's canon. Remember, just because it's the fact in one interpretation of mythos doesn't mean it's true of another interpretation of mythos!

There's two big pieces of evidence that merpeople in TWST age the same as humans. For one, all the flashbacks we get pertaining to the Octatrio's childhood (which theoretically should have been "a long time ago", not a handful of years ago) doesn't imply that a large period of time has passed. There are no major attitude or cultural shifts in the world around them. They also all seemingly matured at roughly the same rate, which is not the case for fae. Malleus, for example, is still considered "a baby", but we've never heard the merfolk characters be referred to or treated in this sense of "still being babies" since they're all 17. The Octatrio also does not act in ways which would show us they’re “out of touch” with time, unlike Malleus (who struggles with technology and being punctual), or Lilia (who expresses surprise at how much countries have changed and has worldly wisdom from his long life).

The other piece of evidence is book 6, part 82. Following the events at Styx HQ, the students all have a tearful reunion at NRC. Malleus also restores an aged Vil (his life force had been drained by Tartarus) to his previous youth. After this, Malleus expresses confusion at how "humans" like Vil can wither and fade in less than a century. 100 years seems like the blink of an eye to a long-lived creature like him. Lilia then informs his prince, "It's true. Human lives are as ethereal as silk thread on a spinning wheel—and just as easily cut short. But their fragility can be a boon. Interweaving and layering those threads creates the strong, resilient tapestry of their history. Such is the creature called man—neighbor to we creatures of the night." What's important here are the characters that fade in and out on the screen as Lilia speaks these lines:

That's right, even though Lilia's dialogue uses terms like "humans" and "creature called man" while referring to them having short lives, beastmen, whatever the heck Grim is, AND merpeople characters are included in the visuals of the scene. To me, this means that all nonfae have roughly the same life expectancy and that fae are the only major exception to this. There's other circumstantial evidence that supports this as well; Sebek calls all nonfae "humans", Malleus refers to groups of nonfae as "children of man", etc. I think it would also just feel weirdly dissonant if like half the races we know of (merfolk, fae) have long lifespans and not just the one (fae). It works better narratively to single out the fae as being abnormal. Not only would that make sense historically (because it partly explains why others feared fae specifically and why fae get othered), but it would also heighten the drama for book 7, which features Malleus wanting to stop the flow of time. What is added here if merpeople also have extended life spans? Nothing is; I'd actually say it might distract from fae having the spotlight this book.

[yokohamapound]

BSD Boys With a Nervous Flier S/O

For Amulet! <3

(I added Chuuya for me. :P)

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Edogawa Ranpo, Nakahara Chuuya

Contents: NSFW jokes/references, fear of flying.

Dazai Osamu

Don’t bother trying to hide it. Dazai can pick up on every tiny little tell, so unless you’ve got the world’s best poker face, he’ll figure it out before you say a single word. It’s all there, the shrunken pupils when he shows you the tickets, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants when you’re booking the taxi to the airport, the harsh, unsteady breathing when you’re queueing to check in. 

For once, wisely, he drops the double suicide jokes. The last thing you need to think about right now is you or him dying, and he’s that much of an ass. Most of the time.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaning in and whispering in your ear so it doesn’t carry to the other passengers in the boarding queue. “Guess what?”

You frown, distracted momentarily, and look at him. “What?”

His eyes glitter with mischief, and his smile widens into a full blown smirk. “You know how your ears sometimes pop when the cabin pressure changes? They say you should have chew gum or suck on candy.”

Your eyes narrow, suspicious. Dazai leans down to look into your eyes, grinning. 

“I don’t have any candy, but I’ve got something you can su—oww!”

He deserved to have his foot trodden on, really. Dazai might pout, but internally he’s smug that his plan to distract you worked. He’s got plenty more like that up his sleeve. 

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Flying with Fyodor is something different entirely. With the weight (and wallet) of the Decay of Angels behind him, he would never fly on a commercial airline. Normally he doesn’t care much - he’ll take a helicopter or some other type of solo plane. If he’s taking his precious myshka though, he’s flying in style. 

Naturally, he already knows about your fear of flying.

You can take comfort in the fact that Fyodor has literally already thought of everything. There are multiple contingency plans for any conceivable emergency onboard the jet. He has a backup helicopter. There are parachutes. There are backup parachutes. 

All you have to do is get dolled up and sit pretty on one of the luxurious recliner seats, being fed little tidbits of fruit and cake and sipping champagne. Fyodor has his laptop out, watching the endless screeds of incomprehensible information, one resting on your thigh, thumb tracing circles into your warm, soft skin. 

If you want a sedative, he’ll allow it, though his tone is subtly disapproving. He doesn’t like seeing you passed out (unless he’s been the one to drug you or exhaust you, naturally.) Still, if it makes you feel better.

He has…other methods to distract you however. Ones you’ll learn all about when he orders the cabin crew out of the main seating area and draws the curtains. You’ll be flying so high you might not even notice you’ve landed. 

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo has an easy solution to all your fears and anxieties—he’s such a baby that you have to look after him and you just won’t have time to worry about the plane going down, because you’ll be trying to convince him he can’t cram a whole gumball machine in his suitcase.

“It’ll fit!”

“You know it won’t! It’s physically impossible. You’re supposed to be a genius!”

“Well, I'm on vacation!”

He’s exuberant and excited to wander through Duty Free and buy all the varieties of chocolate and snacks they sell. Ranpo isn’t getting on that plane without snacks. Have you eaten plane food? That’s simply not going to cut it for the World’s Greatest Detective. 

It’s almost…calculated, the way he seems to rush off to a new thing every time your jitters start coming back. Your heart starts to race, your mouth goes dry, and then you notice Ranpo is gone from your side again. 

By the time you get onto the actual plane, you’re lowkey exhausted, and he still looks as smug as ever, his bag of chips rustling as he snacks in his seat. He opens his eyes, looks around the plane with that sharp, green gaze, then shrugs and settles against the backrest. 

“Nothing wrong with the plane, we’ll be fine,” he declares, tossing a chip into his mouth. “Do you think they have Ramune?”

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya is a well-travelled guy due to his position as a Port Mafia executive and enforcer. It seems as if he gets sent abroad now and then to look after the mafia’s foreign interests and contracts. Koyo seems to stay back more, acting as Mori’s advisor, so it’s Chuuya who racks up the airmiles. He generally travels first or business class, because he’s not about to be back in the cattle runs—sorry, economy. 

He’s so used to it by now that booking the flights, packing, and getting to the airport are a breeze. It’s so mundane to him that he’s a little surprised to find out how frightened you are. He has to admit, it’s kinda cute. 

He lounges next to you in your first class seats, a glass of wine in one hand and your hip in the other, cuddling you against his side. 

“Dollface, what’re you shakin’ for?” he teases, poking you in the ribs. “You forgettin’ who you’re flyin’ with?”

Oh. That’s right. Mr. Gravity Master himself. 

“So if something happens, you could stop the plane falling?” you ask, almost in disbelief. 

He scoffs. “What do you take me for? You’re gonna be on the safest flight in existence. They should be paying me to fly.”

[defectivevillain]

attempts at amnesty

pairing: Harry & Reader (platonic)

the reader is gender-neutral. their race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

“You should get some sleep, Harry,” you suggest, changing the subject. “We have a long day ahead of us.” Harry’s face is pinched and he stares at you for a moment, before shaking his head. He won’t let his guard down, and you can’t really blame him. You take a deep breath, before trying to think of a way to assure Harry that he can trust you. “Here.” Harry stands at the object you hand him with thinly-veiled confusion and apprehension. “It’s my wand,” you explain, “A wand is a wizard’s most powerful accessory, weapon, and aid. I’m giving my wand to you to show that I mean you no harm.” “You trust me with your wand?” Harry whispers. “Yes,” you respond instinctually. You decide that more people need to show their trust and faith in the boy.

Canonically, Harry’s first introduction to the Wizarding World was wonderful and magnificent, but it was also jaded. He was left to make his own assumptions about magic from the behaviors of those around him. But what if Harry Potter had a trustworthy adult to teach him about the Wizarding World—one who always had faith in him, stood up for him, and protected him?

word count: 4k | chapters: 1/? | ao3 version

warnings: canonical child abuse

author's notes: I’ve been battling with myself to even post this fic in the first place, so please know that I am trying my best and taking the utmost care to assure that I am not upholding JKR's prejudices. And if you don’t want to engage with this at all, I completely understand.

This is a reader-insert piece primarily focused on the platonic relationship between the reader and Harry. The reader in this piece is gender-neutral—relatedly, the word “wizard” is used as an ambiguous, gender-neutral term that encompasses all gender identities. The reader will also be written as racially ambiguous & no physical descriptors will be used. In future chapters, they may be referred to with they/them pronouns.

This piece is going to tread the line between canon divergence and canon noncompliance, so there will likely be many canon inconsistencies. You may have to suspend your disbelief a *little* to enjoy this story. But it will still be largely centered around the events that take place in the seven books.

I have most of the general premise written for this already, but very few of the details and necessary transitions are written. I think this first chapter is a bit choppy, for example, but I don't want this fic to die in my drafts... so I'm letting it run free.

October 31, 1981

You’re having a strange day: a few of your top students completely forgot about the Ancient Runes essay you assigned; at breakfast, Headmaster Dumbledore announced that the next Hogsmeade trip would be postponed; you nearly got mauled by an unfamiliar owl... Things are just odd today. You don’t put much stock in Divination, but even Professor Trelawney’s ravings are starting to sound less mad than usual. Something is in the air.

As you’re walking about, you hear the whispered conversation of two Gryffindors in the hall. You’re not above eavesdropping, so you lean against the closest wall and listen. Besides, you could easily punish them for being out of bed after-hours; if anything, you’re doing them a favor by letting them continue to walk the halls unimpeded. 

“Did you hear? James Potter and his wife were killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” A third-year Gryffindor, Evelark, says.  

“Really?” Their companion says, clearly suspicious. “Lily Evans, too? I heard they were both rather talented wizards.” 

“Yes.” The student confirms. "But there’s good news—great, even. Their child, Harry, survived the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse. Not only did he survive, but the curse rebounded and killed the Dark Lord."

“Seriously?!” The other student remarks.  

“Crazy, right?” Evelark exclaims. The elder Gryffindor looks skeptical. The younger student sighs and continues to speak. “They say Harry has a scar on his forehead to show for it.”  

“I don’t quite believe you, Evelark.” They huff.  

“That’s bloody fine,” the younger Gryffindor scoffs, clearly bothered by their companion’s suspicion. “You’ll see it in the Prophet tomorrow." 

“If you say so.” With that last remark, the two Gryffindors make their way back to their common room.  

You watch them retreat for a moment, before eventually letting them fall out of your sight. For a few moments, it feels as if you’re stuck to the wall. Eventually, you manage to peel yourself off of it and walk away.  Your heart pounds traitorously in your chest and a buzzing noise reverberates through your ears and into your skull. Surely the Dark Lord can’t be dead. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. 

You begin to walk down the hallway, suddenly burdened with the pressure of coming to terms with the supposed end of the war on your own. You mechanically make your way back to your office and, before long, you’re sitting at your desk. Admittedly, you can’t quite bring yourself to believe what the students were saying. Even if it were true, one unshakeable fact remains: Voldemort would not die so easily. 

Little do you know, at that very moment, in Little Whinging, Surrey, young Harry Potter is placed on the Dursleys’ front porch. In a few hours, the very ordinary Dursleys will wake up to a very unordinary sight: a baby on their doorstep. For now, James and Lily’s son sleeps peacefully—with no knowledge of the horrible, gruesome events that took his parents from him.

Meanwhile, you’re left to the solitude of your office, an uncomfortable tension lingering in the air. An inexplicable shiver rolls down your spine; and it takes you a long time to fall asleep that night.

Eleven Years Later

You know very little about Harry Potter—or, “The Boy Who Lived,” as the Wizarding World has dubbed him. Admittedly, you are pretty uncomfortable with how easily the wizarding population seems to idolize the boy. He’s just a boy, after all. The story behind his parents’ death and Voldemort’s defeat is painted out to be a heroic feat for young Harry, but you can’t see past the tragic nature of it all. You seem to be in the minority in that regard. 

These days, Harry Potter is somewhat difficult to track down. At least, that’s what you glean from your brief conversation with Albus Dumbledore regarding the boy’s Hogwarts letter. Apparently, several letters have been sent to the home of his Muggle relatives—but they have gone so far as to relocate to a shack on a deserted island to prevent Harry from receiving his letter. The thought is troublesome. Albus requests that you deliver the boy’s Hogwarts letter in person and take him to Diagon Alley—where you’re also supposed to check on a vault at Gringotts. You grit your teeth and sigh. You’re not usually the one who has to visit families on account of Hogwarts, but McGonagall doesn’t have the time to meet with Harry. You’re the second choice, apparently. 

Your conversation with Albus then prompts you to find yourself standing outside the aforementioned seaside shack in the pouring rain. After a moment, you cast a Tempus charm, finding that it is now midnight on July 31st—reportedly, Harry’s birthday. You glance through the front window, only to find a thin, bruised boy sleeping on a shoddy hardwood floor. That must be Harry. His relatives are nowhere in sight—they must be occupying the other rooms. Somehow, you doubt that they are sleeping on the floor. The thought of Harry’s relatives treating him so callously fills you with irritation. 

After a moment’s contemplation, you unlock the door with an Alohomora charm and find yourself on the business end of a rifle—courtesy of Harry’s uncle, Vernon Dursley. You huff a laugh at the Muggle’s pseudo-bravery; it fades quickly when you cast a spell that makes his rifle melt into a puddle on the floor. You immediately elect to ignore Potter’s relatives and instead address the boy directly. You tell him that he’s a wizard. Predictably, he doesn’t believe you. 

“I’d be happy to explain further, Harry, but not in this company,” you say, with a glance at his relatives. His aunt and uncle are hovering awkwardly over their son, who is panting heavily after you momentarily cast an Ebublio Jinx to stop him from speaking. You hadn’t actually intended to drown him, of course, but his parents don’t seem to care about your intentions. You sigh and turn back to Harry. “I’ll stay here for the night. We’ll depart in the morning and I’ll show you to Diagon Alley, where you’ll get your school things.” Any further argument falls on determined ears as you cast an impromptu ward that prevents the Dursleys from stepping any closer to Harry and you.

You don’t sleep well that night—and Harry doesn’t either. It seems he doesn’t quite trust you yet—and, from what you can glean from his upbringing, you can’t entirely blame him. Instead of waiting until the morning, you decide to explain the circumstances of his birth and Voldemort’s return. It’s certainly a difficult conversation—you believe you’re far from the best person to be explaining all of that to him. You soon find yourself troubled by the fact that Harry didn’t know how his parents died; the Dursleys’ “car crash” story was beyond disrespectful.  

“So Voldemort-” Harry starts, after you’ve explained the circumstances of his birth; Hogwarts and your role as the Ancient Runes professor; and anything else you thought pertinent to mention. 

“It’s generally frowned upon to utter his name,” you interject instinctively. Harry blinks at you. 

“Then why do you say it?” Indeed, Harry noticed that you hadn’t refrained from saying Voldemort’s name. You take a deep breath, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that you’re the one tasked with introducing the boy to the Wizarding World. Something about that doesn’t feel quite fair. You didn’t know James and Lily well—while you were in the same year at Hogwarts, you hadn’t been friends with them. Harry is still staring at you expectantly and you have to take a moment to refocus your thoughts.  

“There is power in knowing someone’s name—recognizing their power—and choosing to acknowledge it,” you begin. “Avoiding the Dark Lord’s name only transfers accountability, and furthers the false notion that he is too powerful to be opposed by anyone.”

Harry is staring at you blankly and his eyes are almost saying “I have no idea what you just said.”   You smile and reach out to ruffle his hair, before remembering that he likely wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Your hand falls to your side again and Harry just blinks confusedly. 

“You should get some sleep, Harry,” you suggest, changing the subject. “We have a long day ahead of us. I’ve cast a spell that prohibits any of your family members from entering this space, so you will be safe here.” Harry’s face is pinched and he stares at you for a moment, before shaking his head. You take a deep breath. He really should get some sleep—the two of you are going to have a lot to do, what with the travel to Diagon Alley and the shopping for school materials. He’s only eleven years old, so he needs the rest. You try to think of a way to assure Harry that he can trust you. Suddenly, you get an idea. “Here.” Harry stands at the object in his hand with thinly-veiled confusion and apprehension. 

“It’s my wand,” you explain, “A wand is a wizard’s most powerful accessory, weapon, and aid. A wand is the extension of a wizard’s power; without it, they can cast very little magic.” You decide to negate the existence of wandless magic for now. That’s something you can explain later. “I’m giving my wand to you to show that I mean you no harm.”

“I advise you not to try using my wand, both because it will likely not work and because underage wizards aren’t allowed to cast magic. When we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow—or, I suppose, later today—we’ll get you your own wand.” You hate to overwhelm the boy with all that information, but you fear that he’ll be overwhelmed regardless. He was being raised as a Muggle, after all. Harry isn’t familiar with anything from the Wizarding World. You notice the wary expression on his face and wait for him to question you about the purpose of a wand, the spells a person can cast with one. 

“You trust me with your wand?” Harry whispers quietly. His voice is unsure and, upon noticing this, your heart breaks a little.

“Yes,” you respond instinctively. You decide that more people need to show their trust and faith in the boy. Harry likely didn’t hear that often—if at all—during his childhood. The Dursleys treat him like he doesn’t exist. The thought makes your blood boil, but you resign yourself to thinking about that later. “Anyway, I’m going to try to sleep a bit. Feel free to do the same.” You conjure up two futons before reclining on the first one and closing your eyes. 

Before you can drift off, you remember what you’ve forgotten. “Harry?” You ask. He hums. “Happy birthday.” You whisper before closing your eyes. Sleep comes quickly, preventing you from comprehending his response.  

Hours later, your wristwatch goes off and jolts you from slumber. You blink and slowly push yourself up to a sitting position before chancing a glance at Harry. Harry is sleeping, thankfully. Your wand is in his hand. You’re not quite sure how to wake him. You settle for saying his name quietly and he wakes within a few seconds. The thought that he has to remain vigilant, even when he’s sleeping, is deeply troubling. In the short time you’ve spent in this clumsily built shack, you’ve learned a lot more about Harry Potter than you would’ve liked to know. 

You didn’t originally foresee having to spend the night in the shack, so you didn’t bring food. You tell Harry that you’ll stop for food before shopping. Harry watches as you pack up your things. You almost urge him to do the same, before realizing that he has next to nothing, save for the clothes on his back. You grit your teeth. Did Albus know about the nature of Harry’s upbringing? The mere possibility sickens you. You push the thought aside. For now, getting the boy’s school supplies is the priority. [That, and the vault key the headmaster trusted you with. Then again, you’re not too happy with Albus at the moment, so you’re keen to let that slip to the back of your mind.] 

“Dumbledore made us a Portkey; it’ll send us over to downtown London,” you explain, gathering the remainder of your things before beckoning for Harry to follow you. “A Portkey is an item that transports you to a predetermined location when you touch it.” You explain.  

“Hold on, Harry,” you tell him once the two of you are situated outside of the shack. Harry stares at you for a moment, before you reach out and hold the worn old boot sitting on the ground. Harry looks extremely skeptical, but he grabs onto it and the world begins to swirl around you. 

Moments later, you’re falling down to a wooded area on a side street. You take a deep breath and turn around to look for Harry, only to find him sprawled on the ground. You bite down a laugh and walk over to him, offering a hand. He takes your hand and you pull him to his feet. “Is it always that unpleasant?” Harry asks. 

“No, you’ll get used to it,” you say reassuringly. You take a quick look at your surroundings, happy that you recognize where you are. You will only have to walk a few minutes to get to the cafe for breakfast. “Now, let’s grab something to eat.” You motion for Harry to follow you and he does so, albeit while still being shocked at his surroundings. 

By the time the two of you make it to the cafe, the novelty seems to have worn off for Harry. You’re sure he must be starving. You settle into a small table in the corner of the space, pleased that it isn’t very busy. A waitress stops by your table and asks for drinks, but the two of you end up just having water. When she returns and asks about food, you encourage Harry to choose whatever he’d like. He eventually decides on a chocolate croissant and, when the food arrives, the two of you eat in silence. 

After your pleasant breakfast, you pay the bill and head out with Harry. It doesn’t take you long to notice the stress that seems to string his shoulders together. The boy’s brows are furrowed. “You alright there, Harry?” You question. He flinches for a moment, as if torn out of his thoughts. 

“You said we were going shopping, but-” Harry breaks off, looking embarrassed, “I don’t have any money.” Your heart sinks at the shame on his face. He shouldn’t be ashamed of anything. Even if he were to truly have no money, Hogwarts has a funding program. However, Harry does have the money his parents left him—and you’re quick to tell him that. 

“Sure you do,” you remark. “You have access to everything your parents left you. It’s all in a vault in Gringotts.” At Harry’s questioning look, you explain. “Gringotts is a bank in Diagon Alley. It’s one of the biggest wizarding banks in the world. Your parents have an account there—Dumbledore instructed me to show it to you.” You were given explicit instruction not to give Harry the key, but you’re apprehensive about that. The Potter vault is rightfully Harry’s and no one else’s; even the headmaster can’t control that. 

Before long, the two of you are standing a short distance from the Leaky Cauldron. You earn Harry’s permission to disillusion him—once you mention that he’s famous, he’s quick to take you up on the offer—and the two of you manage to make it to the courtyard within a few minutes. The disillusionment spell wears off and Harry murmurs his gratitude, before staring at the brick wall in front of you with thinly-veiled trepidation. You smile at him, before tapping the correct brick. The wall slowly falls away to reveal the twisting streets of Diagon Alley. Shops line the pavement and pedestrians walk about. There’s an energetic buzz in the air; evidently, you’re not the only one going shopping for school supplies. 

You chance a sidelong glance at Harry, delighted to see an awestruck expression on his face. After giving him a few moments to look at it all, you reach down and extend an arm for him to hold. Diagon Alley is chaotic, even to someone familiar with it; you don’t want to lose Harry in the crowd. Harry takes your arm and the two of you walk along the cobbled path. 

“We’d better go to Gringotts first,” you remark, breaking Harry out of his reverie. Harry nods, although his attention is quickly captured by all the shops and stores lining the street. You promise him that you’ll visit many of the different shops once you visit the bank first, which seems to appease him for the moment.

Harry’s jaw falls open once you both enter the entrance hall of Gringotts. Indeed, the building is rather luxurious—with long, elegant pillars and well-carved desks scattered around the space. The sound of quills against parchment fills the air. You allow Harry to follow behind you as you approach the service desk and ask for a goblin’s assistance. Within moments, a goblin by the name of Griphook is leading you towards a mine cart and closer to the vaults. You don’t realize that you’ve neglected to explain goblins and other magical beings to Harry until he’s asking you about them in a hushed voice. 

You try your best to explain goblins, vampires, centaurs, werewolves, and more to Harry to the best of your ability. Funnily enough, Griphook occasionally chimes in with his own remarks. By the time Harry and you are finally at the vault, you’re certain that his head is likely spinning from all the information. You smile and motion for Harry to open the vault with the key you gave him. The look on his face as the vault door opens to reveal the Potter inheritance is priceless. You linger outside the door, but try to advise him to only take as much as needed. Harry eventually decides on taking a small amount. You assure him that it’ll be enough to last him the school year. 

“We have one more stop to make, unfortunately,” you say to Harry once he’s done in the Potter vault. The boy looks at you in confusion. Griphook nods and, with a wave of his hand, the mine cart is shooting down the rails once more. You can tell Harry is resisting the urge to ask about the vault you’re going to. You decide to tell him that Dumbledore sent you to retrieve something. You don’t want him to think that you’re keeping secrets from him; unfortunately, you know you can’t tell him any more than that. 

Upon arrival at the vault, you realize there’s nothing in it, save for a rather flimsy bag. You take the bag in hand and step out of the vault. Griphook sneers and mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. You notice Harry warily glancing at the parcel in your hand as the cart makes its way back up to the lobby. 

“Thank you for your help, Griphook,” you remark, once you are back in the entrance hall. You watch Harry nod and send him a small smile, to which Griphook rolls his eyes and walks away. You resist the urge to laugh at the visible fascination on Harry’s face. You don’t blame him, of course. He didn’t grow up in the Wizarding World, so everyone and everything he’s seeing today is entirely new to him. 

After Gringotts, you decide to take Harry to the bookstore to pick up his textbooks. Harry gets all his required textbooks and a few other necessities. After that, the two of you head to The Apothecary for his Potions ingredients. 

Next, the two of you walk into Ollivanders. Harry gets his wand, albeit after thirty minutes. Ollivander seems to be on the verge of having an aneurysm, but the confused frustration on his face quickly fades to wary fascination as Harry finally finds his wand. Ollivander explains that the wand had a brother—one other wand with the same core, a phoenix feather. The other wand belongs to He Who Must Not Be Named. Ollivander is about to continue speaking, but you cut him off and catch Harry’s eye, looking to the door. He understands and follows after you. The two of you leave Ollivanders and you take a deep breath. That was unexpected. Harry is regarding the wand in his hand with a mix of excitement and fear. 

“Harry?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Harry looks up to you in surprise, before nodding hesitantly. You bite your lip and try to find the right words. “You’re not worried about the wand being a brother to Lord Voldemort’s, are you?” 

Harry is silent. That is enough of an answer. 

“It’s okay,” you remark. “You share the same core and nothing more. Voldemort’s wand is likely made with different wood and is a different length. Besides, you’re not anything like him, Harry.” 

“Are you sure?” Harry murmurs, so quietly that you nearly miss it. It takes you a few seconds to recover from the emotional whiplash of that remark. 

“Positive,” you remark, your eyes suddenly burning for some reason. This boy… He deserves far better. 

And speaking of deserving better, it’s still Harry’s birthday. You get the feeling the Dursleys didn’t give him birthday presents. Harry has been rather pleasant company, and you feel that you should get something for him.“You probably didn’t have many pleasant birthdays with the Dursleys,” you start. Harry diplomatically keeps silent. “And, well, I’d like to get you something.” Harry blinks at you in disbelief. “I’m thinking I should buy you an owl; they’re really useful. How does that sound?”

“Brilliant.” Harry grins. You smile and lead him towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. Twenty minutes later, the two of you are exiting with a cage in hand. Inside, there’s a snowy white owl that chirps at Harry happily. The boy decides to name her Hedwig. 

“I hate to leave you, Harry,” you remark some time later, once you’ve left Diagon Alley and are outside the Leaky Cauldron. “But, unfortunately, I have to return to the castle and give this parcel to Dumbledore.” Harry nods as if he’d expected something along these lines. You frown. Despite your short time with the boy, you feel rather uneasy with the thought of leaving him to his neglectful relatives for the duration of the summer. You suppose you don’t exactly have a choice, though. If only there were something you could do for him… 

“I’m willing to bet those relatives of yours don’t know anything about magic,” you start. “So, they won’t know that underage magic is prohibited. I’m not encouraging you to perform any underage magic, but a gentle reminder of the fact that you can cast spells will probably be enough to prevent them from…  bothering you.” You nearly slip up and say “harm” at the end there, but you manage to save yourself. 

“Also, now that you have an owl…” You continue, “You’ll be able to send people letters. If you’d like, you can send me a few.”

“I’d like that,” Harry smiles. 

“Great,” You summon a piece of parchment and quill, before quickly scrawling out your address. “Just send Hedwig here. I have an owl too, so you can expect a timely response.” Harry nods and pockets the piece of parchment. “Now, let’s get you back to your relatives.” You hold out an arm and Harry takes it. 

Moments later, the two of you are standing on the sidewalk leading up to Number Four Privet Drive. Harry wobbles on his feet for a second before righting himself. You watch as Harry stands on the sidewalk, evidently not thrilled to be returning to his relatives. You can’t say you’re thrilled for him, either.

“Well, here we are,” you announce. You take a deep breath, wondering why you feel guilty for leaving the boy with his relatives. “I’ll see you soon, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your summer!” 

“Thank you,” Harry responds with a small smile. You hold your wand up and wink at him. His hand moves to his pocket and the smile on his face widens. You decide to wait on the sidewalk as Harry paces up to the front door and rings the doorbell. For a long moment, you’re convinced that his relatives won’t let him into the house. Eventually, his aunt steps forward and quickly ushers him into the house, glancing to the side as if making sure no neighbors are watching. Her eyes meet yours and she bristles, quickly shutting the door behind her. You grit your teeth and stare at the house for a moment, before shaking your head and Apparating to the Hogwarts grounds.

endnotes: I can't believe I'm finally posting this!! My 71 page google docs draft is very thankful.

Despite that ^ I am not going to have any kind of update schedule. I'll post whenever I feel I've completed a chapter. No promises on when or how that will manifest.

I initially wanted to write Harry to be Sorted into Slytherin, but then I realized that would deviate too much and just end up making a whole murky mess of the timeline I already created. So... yeah.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! I'm really looking forward to digging into this story. Mwhahahahahha.... AHHAAH... Whew, sorry. Had to get that out.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

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[cripplecharacters]

What are your thoughts on people making random characters albino (especially regardless of their race, even if they aren't black? Would it count as fetishizing under certain ways?

I've heard that albinism can appear in any race group, but I'd just like to know how you view just random characters casually having albinism (even without it being sexualized for fetishized)

Hey!

Casual representation is great. Not just albinism, but disability in general. You don't always have to go into complicated details of "how's it like to be disabled". But just because it isn't meant to be a work about a certain condition doesn't mean you shouldn't do your diligent research - if by making random characters have albinism you mean giving them the "aesthetic" and nothing besides that, it would be fetishization or at least just poor representation.

Also, for this answer I'll be talking about oculocutaneous albinism because I'm fairly sure that's what you were referring to, but please be aware that there are other types, like;

ocular albinism (has 3 different subtypes)

Heřmanský–Pudlák syndrome

Chédiak–Higashi syndrome

Griscelli syndrome

oculocutaneous albinism also has multiple (7) main subtypes, with some of them splitting further. You should take that into consideration as well when deciding on what kind of albinism your character(s) has. I'm not saying that you should write "X has oculocutaneous albinism, type OCA1b" in your book, but it will help to inform you what their needs and symptoms could be.

First thing I will mention is that the word "albino" is generally not the preferred term and you probably shouldn't use it unless you have albinism yourself. Here's a page on it by the National [USA] Organization for Albinism and Hypopigmentation or this post we reblogged recently.

To make sure that your representation works, you need to understand how albinism works. Even if it's a side or minor character, you should be aware of the symptoms other than just the lack of melanin. Prime example, the extreme majority of characters with albinism in media don't have any vision issues at all, which is not how it is in real life. If you make a character with albinism, you're making a character who is blind or low vision. It's important to research aids and assistive technology, as well as blindness tropes that your character could fall into. For a character that only shows up occasionally, it's still important to show things like a white cane, their light sensitivity, them having to avoid the sun.

If that's your approach to "making random characters be disabled" then you should be good. A lot of disabled characters end up boxed into specific tropes (for albinism: being evil, being emotionless, having magic powers, or being mystified because of their disability) so having e.g. a background character with albinism who has a regular job and shows up in the story from time to time would mitigate that. People with albinism are normal people.

It's true that a person of any race or ethnicity can have albinism! Some types of albinism are more common in certain demographics; for example, Heřmanský–Pudlák Syndrome appears much more frequently in Puerto Rico and OCA4 is almost exclusively seen in Japan, and oculocutaneous albinism is more common in sub-Saharan Africa as a whole (which is a giant area, but there's not much statistics about it). But your character could be of any background to have albinism in general.

In short, if the representation would end at "giving a character white skin, white hair and red eyes*" then it's more fetishistic than representative; that's just using the appearance but ignoring everything else. Keep in mind that it's a medical condition, not an aesthetic. If a character stops having albinism when they dye their hair, tan, and wear colored contacts, then that's just a character who happened to have light hair skin and eyes, not a person with albinism. Good representation of disability means showing the disabling parts of it - again, you don't have to go into detail about how it is to have albinism if the character shows up for two chapters, but show them navigating with a white cane.

*In real life, people with albinism don't have red eyes. I mention it because it shows up in media all the time. It just screams fetishization because it's not a thing - most people with albinism will have blue, gray, hazel, or brown eyes.

I hope that this helps - if you have a more specific question, feel free to send another ask. I also recommend going through our #albinism representation tag, it might answer some of the questions you might have.

mod Sasza

[yaekiss]

#MailroomOpen! hi hi my darling qi this is the promised letter to my Special Little Guy!! letter delivery for yandere tartaglia with a nsfw reply back and also a meme reference for number 25 if it's alright? pet names are a-ok, encouraged even. ok here goes, thank you so much for doing this!!! i am cringe but i am free ♡

(The letter that arrives is black with gold borders and purple ink, with a purple lipstick kiss mark on the back of it. There are doodles of stars, moons, skulls, and hearts in the margins. The penmanship is neat and playful, every i and j dotted with either stars or hearts, depending on the subject matter. A small box of the same color as the letter comes with it, inside is an ocean-blue collar with a tag that says "My Ajax". It looks expensive.)

My lovely Ajax,

It's only been a few weeks since you left, but in my opinion, any time away from you is too long. I miss your presence, your conversation, your cooking, and some more...intimate things. I'm sure you feel the same. I really wish you didn't have to leave so often, sometimes I think you might care for your Tsaritsa more than me~ Hehe, I'm only joking, of course. I know you're very loyal, and love me very much... (There's a furious scribble over the next words, but you can just barely make out that it says "maybe more than you should") Anyway, moving on, this letter should arrive with a collar. I picked them out special just for you; blue like your eyes! There's a matching leash, but I kept it with me so we can use it when you get back, hehe ♡. Make sure to show me how pretty you look with it on, okay puppy~? ...And come back safe. I'll be patiently awaiting your return, hopefully soon.

~Your darling

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Tartaglia, no gendered terms for reader, Tartaglia calls you "dearest exalted", mentions of blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Tartaglia, worshipping (reader receiving), collar and leash (used on Tartaglia), masochistic Tartaglia, mentions of mirror sex, Tartaglia calls himself puppy once, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Weird, as soon as he handed his parcel to me, he started booking it to your address, like damn it's not a race?! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

A medium-sized parcel finds its way into your possession, placed in front of your doorstep. The box is made of smooth varnished timber and the intricate details are inlaid with gems and shards that match the stunning shade of your eyes. Judging by all the elaborate carvings and the overall quality of the trunk, it must have cost him a pretty penny, especially if it was commissioned just for you. 

Flipping the lid of the box open at its hinge, your eyes are greeted by the sight of the sheer amount of items he sent to you. Ajax is nothing but a generous lover and it's definitely evident with all the gifts he prepared for you this time. Starting out, there are a few neatly packed food containers imbued with a charm that helped to preserve their contents perfectly over the lengthy delivery trip. Each one is labelled with the name of the dish it holds and after looking through the various containers, you realise they’re all your favourite dishes, lovingly made from scratch by Ajax.

To a side, there’s a hefty drawstring pouch. Tugging the bag open, a large pile of mora shimmers back at you. You should’ve known he would spoil you like this even if he were away. Tucked underneath the bag of mora, is his letter.

The envelope is a version of the one typically used for fatui matters, except this one is a lot gaudier than usual. …It’s the kind used for letters addressed exclusively to Her Royal Highness, the Tsaritsa. Just the look of it is expensive: A frosted gold border lines the front of the envelope and his wax stamp seals the letter shut at the back, away from prying eyes. Surely using an envelope reserved for the Tsaritsa for you is more than a bit… blasphemous. Nonetheless, you try not to think too much about it and gingerly open the letter up to read his reply.

His handwriting is scrawling and slightly messy as always but you know that it’s just from the eagerness that he seems to constantly have while around you, like some sort of oversized puppy. Present is a tangible tenderness in all his words and you can just about picture the silly little smile he had on his face while he wrote this letter to you. Additionally, there are hearts blotchily drawn in a rusty red around in the margins to match your love letter sent to him. His response reads:

“To my highest divinity, my owner,

It’s so so so good to hear from you, dearest exalted! Ah, I can’t believe you’d miss me, I’m swooning, at least now I know I’m not the only one left longing. I saw you mention that you missed my cooking so to remedy that, I prepared some of your favourite dishes, I didn’t quite know which one would be the best to send to you, so I just sent all of them, haha. Please let me know if they’re to your liking, dearest exalted. Regarding missing my presence… there’s only 1 solution for that which you’ll see soon enough!

I saw your scribbled-out words. ‘Maybe more than you should.’ My reverence for you must not be enough, and that’s why you still doubt me, doubt my love for you, right, dearest exalted? Although the Tsaritsa may be important to me, however, even the loyalty I have for her cannot hold a candle to the utmost adoration that I have for you. Far, far, far from it. What you see right now is but a mere glimpse of my endless devotion and love for you, dearest exalted. There is so much more that I would do for you. Just say the word, that’s all you’ll ever need to do, and I’ll carry out any of your orders till the end of my days. Even in death, I’d still be yours to command. Beyond the grave, that’s how much you deserved to be loved, dearest exalted. (His paragraph drips with festering lovesickness in the way the ink looks to be redder than the one in his inkwell.)

Ahem, moving on! Thank you for the collar, it sits wonderfully around my neck and fits like a glove. Really brings out my eyes too, was that intentional? And the tag… oh, the tag. I must confess, I’ve imagined what it would be like, to have you attach the leash to it and tug me in front of the mirror, making me watch through the reflection as you have your way with me. I would let out all the sounds you said you liked hearing from me, my moans or whines or screams, I’d give you anything you want. You could be as rough as you’d like to too, pulling harshly on the leash as you take your frustrations out on me, you know I love whatever you grace me with, dearest exalted.

I’ll end my letter here, my remaining words can be relayed when I’m back soonest, I promise! Remember to tell me if anyone has wronged you, I’ll gladly rid you of them, dearest exalted. Can’t wait to be under you again! 

Your most devoted puppy,

- Your Ajax -”

That’s certainly… a reply worthy of your contemplation, to say the least. Inserting his reply back into the envelope, you wonder what else he could’ve left unsaid in a letter that’s already chock full of the rawest form of veneration towards you. Sitting in pensive silence, your mind reels. Fortunately for you (or perhaps it’s the contrary), your answer arrives frighteningly fast, disrupting the stillness. 

There’s a knock at your door, a familiar keening whine bleeding through the wood.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: In Which Chilchuck Begrudgingly Has Feelings for his Coworkers, and Kabru Has...Something. He Sure Has Something Going On Over There.

Before we continue, I feel I should clarify 2 things:

I've been trying, ish, to avoid spoilers for this comic, but I've watched through the Golden Country episode and more importantly I'm so bad at not reading spoiler-y but interesting- and insightful-looking analysis. So, much of this commentary isn't wholly original and any particularly genius theories of future events are likely made with actual foreknowledge.

When I said on the first post that I was starting the comic because "I need to know what happens", what I specifically meant was "I need to know how the Laios-Kabru dynamic ends up, and the general geopolitical situation, so I can accurately daydream what sort of tariffs they'll set in the kingdom of which Laios is definitely not going to be the one managing the political, economic, or social minutia." Tariffs are going to be important, okay. They're a key way a nation-state interacts with other nation-states, especially one with rare materials to trade, powerful neighbors who want them, and the natural barrier of an ocean. Truly, every fantasy series ever should be required to have an epilogue or many an additional book/season/etc of a The West Wing-style depiction of day-to-day governance of whatever resulted from the story's climactic finale.

Okay, back to the liveblog.

.

Inch resting. The manga characters, having met the Mad Mage, keep using she/her pronouns for them, where in the anime they used he/him. I assume one of these is just, like, wrong - some translation choice was made before truth was revealed later in the course of publication?

But it makes SENSE that the characters wouldn't necessarily know, at this point! The Mage's appearance is pretty gender-neutral, especially as an elf, an notably gender-ambiguous race. So the characters in the manga picked one guess and stuck with it, and the characters is the very slightly alternate timeline of the anime picked another and stuck with that!

Now: having used they/them throughout this musing and previously he/him because a) the show and b) that's what I saw in fandom, I think I'll switch to referring to the Mage with she/her pronouns now. Because A) that's how the thing I'm reading apparently will be doing it, and B) they still call her "Lord of the Dungeon", which is obviously the greatest gender option of all.

...however, the manga does keep saying "lunatic magician" rather than "Mad Mage" (caps mine), which is a TOTAL failing in drama. Always alliterate, preferably archaically.

.

Orc woman: Ugh, this halffoot sucks. I'll tolerate his company only as a favor to the vegetable guy.

Orc woman after listening to Chilchuck complain about his coworkers for an hour: Nvm, this halffoot is a worthy and loyal friend of the vegetable seller, and I guess those other guys too. He's just emotionally constipated about it.

.

Laios just has these soft little fond smiles sometimes and I? want to hug him?

.

MY MAN IS BACK!! Kabru wink count: 1 this chapter, 4 total [updated as I read]

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Corpse Retriever: If you don't report us for trying to get you guys killed so we could collect a retrieval fee, we'll let you kill those two of our guys who are already unconscious and collect that fee yourselves. We'll just take 30% of it, for not telling on you.

Kabru, internally: Hm. Well, I'm not king of this dungeon yet, but nonetheless I feel comfortable passing and executing a just judgement upon you for your many known, presumed and planned crimes. Emphasis on 'executing.'

Kabru aloud: I accept!

Kabru: [starts killing them with a classic faint, wide-eyed smile]

What a guy. He's even holding that knife so well. Look, next he's analyzing social trends and acting ruthlessly to adjust them toward the direction of the greater good!

What a guy. Truly this is a "so my type that it's embarrassing" situation.

.

I can't efficiently crop panels to show all this, but favorite parallels in these chapters full of parallels:

Kabru's breakdown of the Touden party is like Laios eagerly explaining and analyzing the behavior and anatomy of monsters (including, though we don't know it yet, calculations for killing them - though we DO see him saying that humans are easy to kill because he knows all the physical weak points!)

The references throughout these two chapters, by Kabru and his party, to the interconnected socioeconomic dynamics of the island and dungeon - the corrupted system fails to check corpse retrievers, the Island Lord as an annoying but necessary bulwark against the Elves, the dungeon growing hungrier as fewer adventurers go down because there's less money and more risk - are so so so like Senshi and Laiois discussing the dungeon biome's ecosystem and food pyramid.

The whole vibe of the party re: their respective weirdo tallman leaders. We watched Team Laios develop this, recently crowned with Chilchuck's near-tearful argument to turn back for a rest, which means we can recognize it when we're dropped into it with Team Kabru: that "this guy is SUCH a goddamn weirdo, but I already followed him into some level of hell, so I'm obviously not turning back now." Kabru's party does think he's weird - "You remember so much about other people that it's creepy." "Why are you enjoying this?" But they're also pitching in on the speculation like Team Touden all hel cook monsters. Compare:

Also!! Something something predisposed beliefs and presumptions of others... This party is so eager to assume the worst of our party, even though our party objectively saved them from perma-death twice, once from ghosts and once from being eaten by fishmen. Chichuck is greedy and bossy, Senshi smells so...notably...that he's judged to be sketchy af... Kabru is trying his best with what info he has, he knows it's not enough to pass a judgement and he wants more, but it's very...uncomfortable? To see this sort of discussion of people we know are great, when we're so used to watching monsters be killed with exquisite understanding and respect.

...I'll chew on that angle of theme more later. Man, you know how, say, what makes the musical Hamilton so good is at its heart it's just like 5-10 leitmotifs that interweave to create every single song? Dungeon Meshi is like that. Hmm a Dungeon Meshical...

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"Yeah, yeah, we've all heard your weekly lecture about how someone responsible and sociopolitically conscious needs to take the dungeon and the throne or everyone in this region is doomed. None of us can wait to see you flip off the Island Lord to his face. Eat your rations, buddy."

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JUST THE CUTEST, INNOCENTEST, POLITEST, HELPFULEST (WITH NO ULTERIOR MOTIVATIONS WHATSOEVER) YOUNG MAN!! LOOK AT HIS BIG BLUE EYES AND EAGER LITTLE SMILE!

[3 seconds earlier:

I'm obsessed. In the spirit of this comic: I want to eat him with a spoon. I want to take small divots out of him and lick each one carefully off the spoon, luxuriously exploring and enjoying the complex texture and flavor. Like he's a really good pudding. And then I want to see if, if he and Laios kiss, do they both explode in antimatter.

[simp-for-fiction]

Diary Theodore Nott x reader

Warnings - None really, just Theo teasing reader. Prompt- "Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?" Blurb, Words= 500

You walked in your dorm room exhausted after a long day. I mean who wouldn't be tired after double potions?

As you walked in you saw your best friend who had your heart racing in ways it should not, but you managed to keep your composure and greeted him.

"Hey Theo, what are you doing here? "

You didn't even bother asking him how he got in the girl's dorm because you knew he would never tell.

Theo turned around a with a mischievous smirk and twinkle in his eyes and your diary in his hand.

Your face paled. Did he read it, it looks like it, does he know?

" P-put that down Theo!" you exclaimed terrified of what he read.

" Why love? It's not like I don't know much about you" He voiced with amusement clear in his voice.

" Because.... because its personal!" you said knowing he didn't believe you.

"Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?" He asked with gentle eyes already knowing the answer.

"Shit " you whispered thinking you were about to get rejected.

"Listen Theo, I'm sorry, I know you don't think of me that way. I mean how would you---

"Love" he said trying to stop your rambling.

"we have been best friends for years and then stupid me---

"Darling " he tried yet again.

" just had to catch feeling and ruin the friendship but you can't blame me you're amazing and ---

"Y/N!" he shouted finally getting you to stop rambling.

"Never ever say that stuff again, you don't know how much you mean to me." He said his eyes alight with emotion.

"But- "

Then he kissed you, his lips so soft tasting of smoke, he held your face like you were made of glass, like you would break at the slightest of touch. You both broke the kiss panting with lips swollen.

"Listen to me love, I've been in love with you even since third year when you punched that gryffindor for making fun of me. When you cleaned me up after my first fight. I can't even tell you how much I love you. I never thought you would like me back." he panted eyes filled with adoration for you.

" Oh Theo " you said your voice as sweet as honey caressing his cheeks.

You hugged him tight like you would never let him go.

" So how much did you read?" you asked hoping he hadn't read some of your cliche habits.

" Oh, not much, just that you still sleep with Mr. Snuggles who I gave to you when we were 7. " Theo laughed out voice filled with affection.

" Shut up, he's cute." You whined.

" Not more than me, right?"

"You wish Theo " (anyone get the reference?)

If you want to support me buy my book !

[band--psycho]

Chibs Telford x Reader - Perspective

For @munsinner who requested this story so long ago for my dialogue prompt writing challenge!

Dialogue Prompt 380 - I'm breaking every rule in the book by being here

Everything was going to shit.

And what’s one thing that came when things went to shit, other than more shit? 

Perspective.

That’s why Chibs was here; at Y/n Tellers front door, working out how to tell her he loved her. 

Because he’d had enough; enough of sticking to the rules, enough of trying to be the good guy, enough of denying himself the one person he craved more than anything. 

Y/n Teller.

The princess of Charming, his best friend's younger sister, the one woman he swore he’d never fall for…

He’d tried. 

He’d tried so fucking hard to not fall for her, and even when he did fall, he tried so hard to push those feelings aside and act like they didn’t exist. 

But there was no one else for him.

No one else could magically make him smile on the dark days, no one could make him laugh as loudly nor could anyone calm the storm that tore through his mind late at night when he couldn’t sleep. 

Y/n Teller was the only woman who could. 

And selfishly, he wanted more. 

Even though he knew he shouldn’t.

He wanted more than late night chats at 3am, more than stolen glances when no one else was paying either of them any attention, more than a possibility of love. 

He wanted her, completely.

He wanted to tell her how he truly felt.

No more secrets. 

No more ‘almost’ moments.

He wanted her to be his; and to be hers in return. 

He wasn’t a saint, by any stretch of the imagination, he’d done things he’d regretted or wished he could’ve changed. 

The last thing he wanted was for Y/n to become another regret, another ‘what if moment’ in his life. 

He could work out the consequences later, but he needed her to know how he truly felt.

He knocked at her door, a small chuckle slipping past his lips when he heard her swearing about who was waking her up at this ridiculous hour.

Her swearing continued when she opened the door, wearing a fluffy dressing gown and matching fluffy slippers. Even in the middle of the night, when she wasn’t even trying to look good she was still the most perfect woman he’d ever seen. 

Her anger soon diminished when she saw who was standing there.

“Chibs?” She questioned, her eyebrows narrowed in confusion as to what he was going here in the middle of the night. 

He didn’t answer; silence descended upon both of them, as his mind tried to work out what he was going to say to her now that he was here. 

“Filip?” She asked again; softer this time as she placed her hand on his shoulder; her confusion shifting into worry. 

A million thoughts raced through her head about why he was here; had something else happened with the club…

“I’m breaking every rule in the book by being here,” he muttered, as he took a step towards her. 

Those words brought her back to reality.

A small gasp fell from her lips as she processed the words he said; she knew what he was talking about. 

There was only one rule she knew of that he could be referring to, and it made her heart skip a beat. 

“I need ye, lass, and I’m done pretending I don’t,” he continued; his eyes meeting Y/ns as he took another step closer towards her, she didn’t move, she just stood still letting him almost close the distance between them completely. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she breathed shakily as her arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

“I know,” he agreed quietly, glancing down at her lips before meeting her eyes again. 

“We should stop,” she whispered, her lips now inches away from Chibs’.

“Is that what ye want, love?” 

That’s not what she wanted at all.

But she knew that if they did this, if they broke the rules they’d both been sticking too for so long, she could never go back. 

“No,” she answered simply. 

That was the only answer Chibs needed before he closed the small distance between them. 

The world melted away. 

For a moment, nothing else existed; it was just the two of them, losing themselves in one another.

Without a word, they moved together, back into her flat, where Chibs kicked the door shut.

They kissed with a desperation that spoke of a need that had been building for far too long.

Chibs pulled her in close, his breath hot against her ear. “Yer mine now,” he mumbled, in between kisses,  “and I’m not letting ye go.”

And with that, he picked her up, carried her to the bedroom, both of them knowing that after tonight, things would never be the same again, but both of them being too lost in each other to care about the consequences.

[mariacallous]

So, I'm not an expert in Chinese history, but I've read a lot of books on modern China (post-1949) and one interesting thing I notice is there's a fair number of western PhDs who rely on access to Chinese Government controlled documents to do their research and also just magically seem to also follow (generally) the CCP party line on Chinese history.

case in point, I'm working my way through David Shambaugh's "China's Leaders: From Mao to Now" I've gotten through the Mao and Deng chapters and while there were no glaring revisions, there were a lot of interesting things that leaned into the Party line of Mao being "70% good, 30% bad" for example the literally ONLY reference to Tibet was in the Mao chapter where he off handedly mentioned that while the PRC was founded in 1949 "Tibet and other provenances were not liberated till the 1950s" also following the party line that Mao before 1957 was good for China he stated without any source that Mao had Neurosyphilis which was effecting his mind during the Cultural Revolution. I've never heard this before having read Mao: The Unknown Story, Frank Dikötter's trilogy of China under Mao, and a number of other books that touched on Mao or his time.

also just now he rather boldly declared that the while people say the USSR "collapsed" "it was overthrown" and then moves on without clarifying what that means.

I've noticed as a generalize of these kinda of Sinophiles they lived or studied or visited regular China and are very strong believers in the idea of China as one continuous, largely unchanging nation/civilization for 3,000 years (Shambaugh using this figure in the opening chapter and Mao chapter) or 5,000 years (he switched to this number in the Deng chapter) while there are connections of course and cultural roots etc, one would not talk about European nations this way. Indeed Shambaugh at one point said Deng unleashed "the inherent entrepreneurial spirt, in the DNA of all Chinese" which could be a cute turn of phrase but again I've run into this idea of basically race science about the Chinese (but a good thing!) from professors like him before

I think it should be uncontroversial to say that while people have lived in China for 5,000 years and their history informs the society there now, its not different from the ways Rome informs Europe, and that the PRC does not represent a largely smooth continuation from the Empire but a clear break and building of a totally new nation for better (and mostly) worse. Also I can't stand anyone who lauds dictators, like giving Mao any "credit" for "building China" or acting like Tiananmen Square was the one regrettable stain on Deng's otherwise wonderful record.

that doesn't surprise me much, tbh - there's a similar phenomenon with "REES" or Russian and Eastern European Studies experts, who more often than not tend to be more R and less EE.