#i’m getting to point where even reading fanfic is hard

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

not having my adhd meds for like practically half a year is really fucking me up…

[patches-am]

valentine

you’re so dark, babe. but i want you hard

pairings: wednesday x fem!reader

word count: 2.55k

warnings: smut, mentions of dissecting animals, strap-on referred to as cock (w receiving)

summary: enid convinces you to get wednesday a valentine’s gift so you think of something morbid, reader is a shape-shifter and a huge arachnophobe

a/n: this is my first time writing a fanfic let alone smut so do keep that in mind ;)

MASTERLIST

⋆ ♰.˚🦇🕸️ˎˊ˗

The rain creates a relaxing sound against the greenhouse’s glass as Miss Thornhill teaches. It’s so relaxing that you’re one blink away from the spectacular thing that is sleep. Your eyes feel heavy and slowly roll back every so often, it’s taking all your willpower not to fall asleep. Most of the other students are listening, and some messing about. Enid’s giggling can be heard which causes Miss Thornhill to send her a knowing glare with a raised brow. Enid, who is sitting a row down from you, quickly becomes quiet, her face turning red, almost like a beetroot.

You then avert your gaze to the girl sitting next to you, Wednesday. You can’t help but wonder how she has such good posture… with how straight she’s sitting, there’s no way on Earth her back doesn’t hurt. But, there’s no denying that you feel like you’ve got a back of an 80-year-old.

09:38

That’s what the clock reads. You groan internally, still another 22 minutes left of the lesson. At least you don’t have to write and give your poor hand a workout… right?

After spending the majority of the lesson talking about the plant that’s situated (in seed form) on every desk, Miss Thornhill finally instructs the class to plant it in their designated plant pot.

Wednesday takes the watering can before looking over at you with a deadpan expression.

You frown, too tired to even understand what she’s signalling. You stare at her blankly before speaking. “Wha-“

“-The seed.” She points out the obvious, her once deadpan expression turning into a slight glare at your laziness.

You take the seed out of the packet, placing it into the dirt but you jump, quickly pulling your hand away. “Fuck me! There’s a spider!” You push yourself away from the desk. If it wasn’t obvious by now; you’ve got arachnophobia.

Miss Thornhill’s eyes widen at the sudden commotion. She averts her gaze to you and Wednesday. You’re sat quite a distance away from your desk whereas Wednesday just rolls her eyes, returning to the task.

“Y/N, please. Be more mindful of your language.” Miss Thornhill affirmed, causing a few students to turn their heads. Her tone is stern but soft at the same time, giving her that nurturing presence.

“I’m sorry, miss- but I almost just died.” You protested an expression of disbelief painted on your face. Still shaken by the whole thing. It’s hairy legs… ugh. You close your eyes with a frown, shivering as you recall what you’d just witnessed. Your response elicits a few muffled chuckles from your classmates.

Miss Thornhill just sighs in response, crossing her arms and looking at you with a sympathetic expression. “If I hear any more of that language coming out of your mouth; you’ll get detention.” You let out a small sigh at her words, slumping down into your chair out of defeat.

Wednesday glances at you from the corner of her eye, an amused yet displeased look. “Remind me, why do I entertain you with my company?” She mutters, not at all amused by your little show with the spider.

You let out a small huff at her words, crossing your arms and moving closer to the table. “Where did it go?” You ask, warily looking over at the plant pot.

“I threw it across the classroom,” Wednesday replied nonchalantly. Placing the watering can back down once she’d finished.

Your eyebrows raise, looking over at her with a heartfelt pout. “Aww, thank you, Wends!” You jokingly put a hand over your heart, showcasing your ‘appreciation’ of such affection.

“I didn’t do it for you. It was merely a distraction to me. Don’t flatter yourself.” She responds, looking over at you with a glare. Her back is still as straight as ever and her arms are crossed. Deep down both you and her know she did it for you.

The bell soon rings, signalling the end of the lesson. You stand up, tucking in your chair before picking up your bag. Wednesday’s already gone, it’s as if she just vanishes into thin air the moment the bell rings. Not once have you seen her leave the classroom.

Enid quickly catches up to you, both her hands resting on her backpack’s straps. She smiles brightly, it’s sickening how happy she always is.

“So… Have you got Wednesday anything for good ole Valentine’s Day? You do know that’s tomorrow?” She proclaimed, her eyes wide with anticipation as she strides beside you in the hallway.

You let out a small sigh, rolling your eyes. “You know how she feels about that day. She ‘doesn’t see the point in such a frivolous and commercialised holiday.’” You mimic, making a bad impression of her.

Enid pouts, looking at you with puppy eyes. It’s irritating how nosy and obsessed she is with you and Wednesday’s relationship. It’s as though she doesn’t know what privacy is or what boundaries are.

“Come ooonnn, Y/N! Get her something!” She presses, it’s obvious you’re not going to win this. You clench your jaw, looking over at her before sighing. You hesitate before nodding. Enid swirls in response, jumping up and down ever so slightly which elicits a few glares from the other students in the hallway. She ends up bumping into a student, she’s too distracted apologising so you take this as a chance to slip away.

⋆ ♰.˚🦇🕸️ˎˊ˗

21:53

That’s what your phone read. Throughout the day you’d been thinking about the perfect gift for Wednesday. You’re lying on your back in bed. Yoko, your roommate, is down in the shower block, you’re alone. Your eyebrows suddenly raise, eyes widening.

Dissecting!! Dissection..? whatever.

You should catch an animal that she can… cut open? Whatever it is she does. You smile to yourself, fist-bumping the air at your spectacular idea. You take out your phone, searching up ‘popular dissecting animals.’

• frogs

• fetal pigs

• cats

You frown at the results… Not gonna kill a poor cat, where in the hell would you even get a frog and fetal pig?? You scroll down more, your eyes land on the perfect animal: a rat.

They’re everywhere, you’re also pretty sure that the school’s waste area is full of them. Easy target. You prepare for your rendezvous. Finding a carrier bag to put the rat in.

Shape-shifting into a bird of prey was your best bet at catching a rat. Especially with the limited time you had. You hate shape-shifting, your body always felt all yucky and tingly afterwards. But, as cheesy as it sounds; she’s worth it.

As soon as you sneak out of the building, the cool air hits you. It’s a clear sky, giving you a perfect view of the stars. The moonlight creates a relaxing and dark atmosphere. You walk to where the bins are. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet with each step. You place the carrier bag on the floor, making sure you’ll be able to put the rat in once you’re a bird.

You shapeshift into a hawk, perching yourself on a roof that gives you a perfect spot to spy on the area. Using the exceptional eyesight of the bird, you spot a rat. You keep your eyes locked on it, waiting for the perfect moment.

Spotting the perfect moment, you swoop down, you extend the bird’s leg, capturing the rat with your claws. You fly over to where the bag is situated, dropping the rat into it. You shape shift back into your human form, looking at the live rat. Wednesday would probably prefer it to be alive- at least that’s what you think.

⋆ ♰.˚🦇🕸️ˎˊ˗

05:00

Your alarm went off painfully early. Wednesday was always up early in the cafeteria. You saw this as a chance to give her the ‘gift.’ It may not be conventional but she’ll like it… right? In her own way.

You soon get dressed, dragging yourself out of your dorm and to the cafeteria. The plastic carrier bag in your left-hand carries the rat. It’s not moving, might be asleep or might be dead. You don’t know.

Wednesday is already there, she’s the only person besides the dinner crew there. She’s got a bowl of the odd porridge she eats every morning. You know better than to ask what’s in that. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had some bugs in there for ‘protein.’

“Hiya, Wends… Wed-nes.” You smirk, sliding yourself onto the chair opposite her. You know she hates nicknames but it’s not your fault she’s extremely fun to tease.

“Y/N.” She responds dryly, her eyes focused on her porridge. She’s happy to see you, though she’ll never admit it or show it, she is. She moves her eyes onto your face, a curious glint in them.

“You’re not usually up this early.” She states, acknowledging the fact that you’re not a morning person. It’s pretty obvious, you still look half asleep.

“I got you something for Valentine’s Day. Just hear me out before you say anything.” You plead, bringing the bag up and placing it on the table. Definitely unhygienic.

Wednesday opens her mouth to protests but decides against it. She sighs and lets go of her spoon, leaning over and looking in the bag. Her eyebrows raise ever so slightly. Not at all expect the Valentine’s gift to be an animal.

“It’s for the dissecting stuff. I don’t know what it’s called.” You shrug, adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position on the stool.

“A rat.” She hums, moving her gaze from the sleeping rat and onto you. Her face portrays the fact that she seems to be impressed.

“I don’t like such a commercialised and pointless day… But, I must say, I’m not exactly opposed to such a gift.” Her dark eyes analyse the animal in front of her. She nodded one last time before averting her eyes to your face.

You smile at her reaction. Glad that she reacted well. Wednesday on the other hand stares at you, she’s very much happy with such a thoughtful gift, but she’d never admit that- not while she’s alive anyway.

She looks around the cafeteria, making sure there are no prying eyes. She turns back to you and grabs you by your tie, pulling you into a soft kiss. The kiss conveys an unspoken ‘thank you’ from her. After a few seconds, she pulls away, going back to her breakfast.

⋆ ♰.˚🦇🕸️ˎˊ˗

Wednesday had been experimenting on the rat specimen all evening in Eugene’s shed. Holding a scalpel, she observes the rat’s organs, pulling the skin back with her gloved hands to see different angles.

By the time you’d arrived, she was finished. The shed was nice and clean, the rat nowhere to be seen and her equipment back in her satchel. Wednesday, still in the school uniform, pats her blazer down, making sure she looks presentable before turning to greet you.

“Hello.” She greets, her voice soft. She leans back against the desk that’s in the shed, her arms folded against her chest.

“I was entertained by the rat you had given me.” She says, her eyes fixated on yours before she continues hesitantly. “…Thank you.” She whispers, moving her gaze away due to the vulnerability she’s feeling.

You smile, just nodding in response. You understand she’s feeling a bit uncomfortable with how open and vulnerable she’s feeling, you don’t want to escalate those feelings. You move closer, eat step sending a surge of electricity throughout you. Your hand moves forward, gently taking her own. Leaning down, you brush your lips against hers allowing Wednesday to close the distance, which, she takes. Wednesday leans forward, capturing your lips into a dance with her own.

After a few moments, Wednesday pulls away, a small smirk on her face. She turns around and reaches for her black satchel. Her manicured nails brushed against the leather. She unzips the back and pulls out a harness- sorry… strap-on?

“How’d that even fit-“ She quickly cuts you off, lifting her cold finger to your lips, silencing you. A small amused smirk plays on her lips.

“The Addams family holds many secrets…” She purrs, her nails gently scratching your cheek, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Very relaxing. With skilled hands, she secures the strap-on around your waist, even through your clothes you can feel the cold leather. Her fingers linger, tracing the outline. You shiver at her touch, captivated by the intensity of her gaze.

“I might open up to this nauseating holiday after this…” Without wanting, she shoves you back roughly, causing you to stumble onto the floor. She straddles your body, the strap-on pressing up against her stomach. Her pale hands reach under her skirt, pulling her black lacy panties to the side.

“Inside. Now.” She says, her tone leaving no room for argument. You quickly nod, your hand wrapping around the cock and blindly positioning it at her glistening entrance under her skirt.

Once she feels the tip run against her, she lowers herself down. Impaling herself with the cock. A small sigh escapes her lips, eyes closed as she starts to move. Her hands on your shoulders for support.

“Guide me.” She coaxed, looking down into your eyes. Her face is flushed, hair slightly dishevelled. It’s a sight a single soul would never expect to see or happen. You obliged to her request- or demand, your hands move to her hips, helping her move. Her hips buck involuntarily now and then.

Over the next few minutes, her movements evoke small whimpers every so often and small sighs of pleasure. Her noises started to escape her cold lips more often, signalling she was getting closer and closer to the edge. Her forehead rests against yours as she continues to ride you, her moans and the sound of the cock entering her is all that can be heard. She kisses your cheek, letting out another small whimper as your fingers move to her sensitive bud under her skirt. Your thumb rubs tight circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, her hips grinding down on both your thumb and the cock.

“Oh- Th… That’s it, good… pet.” She whispers breathlessly, her tone betraying how needy she is for a release. Her nails dig even tighter into your shoulders, even through your blazer you swear she’s broken your skin. Wednesday’s teeth are gritted as her movements become more forceful.

“Bite my neck… Now.” Her hands bury in your hair, using it as leverage to push you into her neck. You open your mouth, your teeth coming into contact with her neck, biting down. She throws her head back, both out of pleasure and wanting to give you more access. The metallic taste fills your mouth, hearing her noises and the taste elicits a moan from you.

“Y/N…” She moans in a growl-like manner as she climaxes, her juices coating the silicone cock. You take your hand away as you move away from her. She collapses against you, breathless as she recovers from her climax. Her hips bucking and legs still shaking around you. She pulls back and looks at you with that same smirk as she did earlier. She presses her hands against your chest, pushing you so your back is fully pressed against the floor.

“Now… Be good, pet, and lick me clean.”

⋆ ♰.˚🦇🕸️ˎˊ˗

[ghost-bxrd]

Been mulling over Titans Tower and it's really interesting to me how it's treated in Fanon as compared to how the events transpired in canon. it's a really fun topic! Honestly, the original writing in canon is DOGSHITE but not for the usual reasons people cite.

Here's what does make sense in canon but is largely ignored (this is using canon characterisations at the time): First, it's all about the whole Titans team, not just Tim. They really downplay his death a lot, did not put up his statue or honour him whatsoever. Plus the hero community tends to victim-blame him a fuckton. Jason is showing that his death could've happened to anyone. Second, Tim and Jason are just two yearish apart—Jay died at 15, Tim becomes Robin at 13—so those Titans are more like his colleagues than anything else; he's not some older guy beating the shit outta them. Third, Tim’s indifference to Jason's comments and his cockiness about being a better Robin are pretty on-brand for his early portrayal as Robin. (I think fanon Tim derives a lot of his characteristics from his Red Robin run, which is valid as well! But here in particular we have Robin Tim... who... was... uh... a bit of an asshole when he was written back then and the HUBRIS on that man? Immaculate.)

What still makes this absolutely dog shit is the dialogue and how Jason is pouring his heart out to someone who he doesn't really care about. Jason... just doesn't operate this way... Why's he trauma dumping on... tim... ???? It makes no sense whatsoever because Jason really is someone who'd keep those vulnerabilities to himself. Why would he open up to... CANON TIM??? He makes scathing remarks when faced with Bruce and Dick because he knows the knife twists then and at he cares about their reaction. But not tim ????? Canon UTRH doesn't even mention Tim ????? ???? So in the end it's still shit imo.

I also find the use of Pit Madness in fanon super interesting, despite it not being canon. It's used to propel the Titan's Tower incident, which fascinates me because it shows how people are willing to work around its flaws to maintain consistent characterization in their works (which is !!! cool !!)

It's so interesting how many other incidents that do occur in canon aren't as well known as this one aren't given much thought. But this one is and it's interesting how people try to work with it regardless of it's flaws originally!

I'd really love to hear your opinions about it and how flexible you are with the Titans tower incident! :) How do you work with your Jason and your Tim? because it's cool to hear your analysis etc etc

Hooo boi okay i was planning on replying to this earlier but this deserves a proper, thought out response (which I’m shite at but I’m trying here. Words are hard.)

For one, I wholeheartedly agree with the whole trauma dumping thing.

Obviously we all have different tastes in media and I know there are quite a few people who enjoyed the confrontation with Tim, which is totally fine, but personally… yeah, not my thing.

I got into the Batman/batfam fandom via fanfic, so my first introduction was some version of Titans Tower I believe. I was super intrigued by the characters and the tidbits of lore sprinkled throughout that I immediately began reading up on them and digging through the internet for more info and background story on them. Which then quickly evolved into the part where my adoration for Jason’s character began and a short phase where I absolutely despised early canon Tim.

Like— all the victim blaming. He seriously couldn’t mention Jason without adding something derogatory about getting himself killed, which sat so, so wrong with me. Not to mention the Titans just accepting a new Robin right off the bat and joining in blaming Jason for his own death. I’m pretty sure that was the point where I swore off comics for a long while and decided to live off fanon 🤣

And then Jason’s part in the Titans Tower incident. I think part of how weird the canon event was is due in part to how the writers fumbled to depict trauma? Or maybe they just outright hated him because I know a lot of people back then despised Jason and his run as Robin.

Whatever the reason, I think I genuinely cringed when he revealed the Walmart Robin costume he was wearing. And then the trauma dumping.

Jason is smart enough to know Tim wouldn’t care about his grievances. I mean- dude just broke into his hideout to attack him, I think Tim’s about as done with Jason as with any other criminals, regardless of his past. And all that is proven by Tim fighting back tooth and nail without pause. He doesn’t even react to the accusation of the missing statue in Jason’s honor. Like, he genuinely doesn’t seem to care. And why would he? They don’t know each other.

And yeah maybe he was trying to beat some sense into Tim (which is still wrong but— vigilantes I guess? Idk) and make him quit Robin, but Jason’s also smart enough to know that Robins don’t quit easily. And then, as soon as Tim is down for the count and can’t keep fighting, Jason leaves. Just like that. No actual murder attempt, no kicking-while-he’s-down (at least as far as I remember).

It makes no sense. What would Jason be gaining from that encounter? Why would he blame the kid that replaced him and not the guy that did the replacing? Hell, it would make more sense for him to go after the Titans than Tim. Not the mention him casually doubting Tim’s talents when he must have done some background checks on him.

It’s why I like the idea of Pit Madness I guess, and that Jason actually went to the tower with the intent to kill. Because that way the entire thing wouldn’t seem so… pointless.

As for how flexible I am with the Titans Tower storyline, it really depends on the route people choose to explore. But I’m a huge sucker for the “Jason was Tim’s Robin” trope where there’s at least a mild amount of hero worship going on. 👁️ Oh, and happy endings. I can’t deal with tragedies.

But yeah these are my thoughts on it. Obviously no hate to whoever enjoyed the comic mentioned above 💚 we’ve all got different things we resonate with after all~

[vgilantee]

dorm room antics {ethan landry}

ethan landry x fem!reader

requested: n/a

words: 2k

a/n: surprise! turns out when my brain decides to work, i can write a 2k word fic in three hours. which means you guys get a march fic! this fic is part of what i like to call “char’s ethan fic universe” in which i haven’t written any other fics, but it’s all apart of the long ask i sent julie (this one here) so i will mention a couple things here that reference it. Also on referencing things, i was tempted make a star wars reference in here, but julie doesn’t need more reasons to point and laugh at me and call me a star wars nerd (julie would never point and laugh at me, i love her). This is not a smut but things get a little steamy. There may be an alternate version that starts the same but is nsfw (oh my god finding a gif for this fic was too hard and this isn't even the one i wanted, but tumblr hates me)

warnings: steamy!, if you were reading fanfics in the 2000s/early 2010s this would count as an orange

pronouns: none used

You had everyone’s timetables memorised, all of you did. It was one of the first things the four of you did at the start of each semester; you sat down and learned each timetable so you always knew where each other was throughout the day. It was how you knew that Chad would be out of his dorm. 

You knocked on the door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Ethan didn’t know you were coming over, you wanted to surprise him with your company on his day free of classes. After your first and only class of the day, you would usually be with Mindy in the library or Tara in one of her lectures. But Mindy had ditched you to spend time with Anika, and Tara was in bed with the flu. Not that you needed the excuses to spend time with Ethan, but Mindy didn’t entirely trust him, so the excuses were required to satiate her. 

The sounds of moving around came through the door, and you heard Ethan muttering that he was coming. 

“Oh, hey.” Ethan’s curls bounced a little as his head tilted in surprise. He gave you a dopey smile and stepped to the side, letting you move past him and into the room. You had been in the dorm a few times, but you still couldn’t help turning in a slow circle to look around. On his bed was a textbook and notebook, as well as various pens scattered on the sheets. 

“Sorry, did I interrupt your studying?” You turned back to face him, lazily pointing at the study supplies on his navy sheets. Ethan blinked, almost as if he forgot the stationery was even there, before shaking his head. As he did, you noticed just how long his curls have gotten, falling into his eyes more than usual.

“No. I mean yeah but-” He bit his lower lip gently. “You’re always welcome to interrupt my study.” Ethan’s mouth quirked in a shy smile, trying to hide how he cringed at what he said. 

You took a step toward him and reached your hands up to his shoulders, lazily looping them around the back of his neck. Almost immediately, Ethan’s hands moved around your waist and pulled you flush against him. 

“Are you sure? I can leave you to your…” you glanced over at his bed to try and decipher what subject he was studying, “I have no idea what that is but I’m sure it’s important.” You felt the breath of Ethan’s laugh against your hair. 

“It’s programming and yeah, I’m sure.” You turned back to him, making quick glances down at his mouth that was so close. “Don’t leave.” Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper, embarrassed but pleading, and you stopped fighting the voice in your head and leaned up to finally kiss him. 

It quickly deepened, one of your hands moving to his face and the other weaving into his hair. Ethan’s fingers dug into your waist, pulling you even closer to him, so close that one of his feet ended up between yours.

When you pulled back to take a breath, you kept your eyes closed, foreheads rested together. 

“Bed?” You felt his hands tighten slightly as your breath hit his mouth. You and Ethan had slept together before, but only a handful of times, and every time Ethan started out quietly excited, and shy. 

Ethan let out a single hum before dropping his hands to the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to jump lightly and wrap your legs around his waist. As soon as he was sure you’re safely held up, he took the five steps from the door to his bed. You expected him to place you on the bed, but instead he turned and sat down, sitting you on his lap. As soon as you’re comfortable (which took a fraction of a second) you pulled him forward by the back of his neck, reigniting the kiss more desperately. You left one hand weaved into his curls, but the other dropped to grip his bicep. 

His hands slide up from your thighs, pausing briefly on your ass to give the muscles a gentle squeeze. You rolled your hips gently forward in response to the squeeze, and you felt the light vibration of his hum against your mouth. Ethan moved his hands up a little further, encouraging your movement, and you gently bit his bottom lip. Ethan opened his mouth and the kiss quickly became messier, tongues rolling against each other and teeth occasionally bumping. 

As you moved to pull away, you pulled Ethan’s tongue into your mouth and sucked on it gently pulling a moan from deep in his throat. You opened your eyes, seeing him with his cheeks flushed red and his eyes still closed, his mouth opened slightly. 

You could never get over how pretty he was, especially when so flushed. And you always felt a swell of pride because you were the one able to get him like that and the only one who got to see the sight underneath you. 

Ethan slowly opened his eyes, pupils blown. He slowly raised a hand, pushing some of the hair that had fallen out of its place in your ponytail behind your ear before quickly leaning down and gently bit and kissed at your neck. Your head rolled to the side, desperately exposing more skin for him to give attention to. His tongue rolling over his teeth marks elicited gasps from you, your fingers lightly tugging at his hair in a silent plead for more. 

A soft moan broke from your throat as Ethan bit down, slightly harder, and sucked, determined to leave a deep mark. You pulled harder at his curls in retaliation and rolled your hips against him. Ethan dragged his tongue across the mark, continuing to move it up your neck and along your jaw until his mouth meets yours again for a short kiss. 

“You sure?” Regardless of how many times you made it clear to Ethan that you wanted him, he always asked, checked to make sure that you hadn’t changed your mind. You rolled your hips again in a silent reply.

“Completely.” Ethan let out a whimper before pulling your hips down, letting you feel his need for you under your core. You let out a choked sound before pulling Ethan into a rough kiss that left him gasping. 

For every roll of your hips, Ethan responded with a sound against your mouth, though it didn’t take long for him to begin retaliating instead with soft thrusts upward. Your head fell back with a breathy moan, and Ethan quickly began pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat, humming every time he felt you make sounds. 

“Ethan.” You whispered out his name and his hips twitched forward, further into you than his teasing rolls. Using the hand in his hair, you pulled his face back to you, and your other hand slid down his chest before slipping under the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips grazed across his abs, and you smiled against his mouth as stomach flinched from your touch. Your hand continued to move up to his chest, dragging his shirt with him, until you pulled away, silently begging for him to take off his shirt.

Ethan dragged his hands from your waist, across your thighs, prolonging taking his hands away from you, but finally he did, following your quiet ask and took off his shirt. You raked your fingernails down his chest to his stomach pulling a whimper from Ethan, before your hands quickly moved to loop around the back of his neck, moving to kiss him as his warm hands met your skin again, one hand snaking under your shirt to rest on the bare small of your back, and the other resting softly on your cheek.

You gently let out a moan as Ethan bit down on your bottom lip, your nails digging softly into the skin on the nape of his neck.

“Oh, fuck!” Chad’s sudden voice caused you to jolt. You hadn’t even heard the door open, you were so engrossed in the feeling of Ethan. Ethan quickly pulled away from you, and you tried not to follow after his suddenly-missing mouth. “Ew, that is so not what I wanted to see in my dorm.” You rolled your eyes, flipping Chad off over your shoulder. 

You tried to fight the soft smile as Ethan pressed his face into the side of your neck, wanting so desperately to hide from his roommate. His soft curls brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps. 

Turning to follow the movement of your arm, you glared at Chad, who had a hand over his eyes while dramatically using the other to feel around for his side of the room. 

“Oh fuck off, Chad.” You said with a slightly amused laugh. Ethan sighed into your neck and the sudden breath made you realise that you were gently stroking his hair. Your fond smile won against your fighting as Ethan hid. 

“This is my room!” Chad threw his hand up, keeping the one already over his eyes pressed firmly in place. “Now, are you done dry humping each other so I can grab my shit?” You reached for the bed beside where Ethan was sitting and grabbed one of his pens, throwing it at Chad but missing. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Slowly, ever the drama queen, Chad peels his hand from his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sound of relief.

“I can’t believe you almost defiled my poor, virgin eyes.” He pressed a hand to his heart while walking toward his desk to grab his forgotten textbook. “Corrupting my innocent soul with your filth.” You threw another pen at him, this one hitting him square in the head. 

“Innocent, my ass.” Chad let out an indignant gasp. “Don’t you,” you mocked the sound he made, “me, fucker. I’ve walked in on you doing worse.” He gasped again. 

“I would never!” His voice was weighed down with sarcasm and he pressed his textbook to his chest. Chad tsked at you before walked back to the door. “Don’t get cum stains on my bed, assholes.” Ethan let out an embarrassed groan against you skin, and you flipped Chad off again.

“I’m going to move to your bed just to spite you.” Chad scrunched his nose in disgust and Ethan pulled back from your neck to stare at you in shock, praying you weren’t serious.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Chad, ever the dramatic, pulled the door shut, ensuring that he got the final word. When you looked back to Ethan, he was still looking at you, eyes wide in horror. You winked at him with a smile. 

“You wouldn’t..?” You snorted out a laugh and your head fell back, shaking your head. 

“Fuck no.” You ran the backs of your fingers across his cheek softly, revelling in the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Ethan sighed, leaning into your fingers. “He would be so lucky.” His mouth dropped open again and you leaned forward to kiss him on the tip of his nose. Ethan let out a contented hum, and the soft sound caused your hips to grind against him on their own. Once again, Ethan’s fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your waist.

“Did he ruin the mood?” Your voice was shy, unsure whether his bruising fingers was a warning to stop, or him trying to hold back. 

“No. Not for me.” Ethan leaned forward as he spoke, saying the words against your shoulder before pressing a light kiss to your skin, rolling his hips up lightly against you to pull a sigh from you while your head rolled back. “Not when you look like that on my lap.” Neither you nor Ethan knew where his confidence came from, but you quickly pushed your questioning aside as he pulled your core down against the tightness in his trousers and bit down on your shoulder softly. 

moot tagging: @websterss

[yinyangyandere]

ll Yandere Anxiety HCs 🧡

[SPOILERS FOR INSIDE OUT 2]

Synopsis; A long list of headcanons on how I think Anxiety would be like as a yandere, as well as somewhat of a fanfic

ll Caution: General Yandere Mindset, Mental Manipulation, Betrayal, Obsessive/Possessive Behaviors, Bad Ending, Possible OOC Writing

A.N.; Not me literally writing a 9-page Google HC Doc yandere scenario for an emotion jfnjrndjnredj3j3er But seriously, I love Anxiety so much. I felt like she had a good deal of nuance to her character, in-between her wanting to help Riley for the future with good intentions in mind, but executing it poorly. Should go without saying she’s probably my fave in the franchise, and one of my fave Disney characters now.

At the same time, I noticed a lot of her behavior could potentially be ripe for a depiction where she wanted to protect Riley SO much that she’d do anything for her. Eventually, that led to me making this; it should be noted that you are not Riley in this though. It’s intended to be a what-if situation, if OG Anxiety displayed yandere-typical behavior and was inside your head instead. Hope that makes sense.

Anyways, make sure to acknowledge the warnings before reading further! If any of the above topics make you feel even a bit uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to look out for yourself and click off. Your mental health is important!

If anyone needs anything additional tagged, I’ll do so and edit the post with the added warning. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

----

First things first, I’m so sorry for you; imagine having a yandere that exists solely in your head, and no matter how hard you try to get rid of them, they’ll always be there. They exist as essentially a part of you, and removal of such things is far from easy. Especially so if that yandere in question is a personification of an emotion, which leads me to your lovesick “headmate” today: Anxiety.

🧡 ll Start:

She first showed up when you first began your puberty, similarly to Riley’s Anxiety from the movie. Like the others, she adores you and only wishes for the best when it comes to you. But all the while, the love Anxiety felt for you was growing more and more with each passing day, much more exponentially than what the other emotions in HQ felt.

Unconsciously, she slips her way into becoming the lead emotion, making you become an overall cautious individual as a whole. The others mostly disapproved of this, but they still went along with what Anxiety had in store for you since she could be pretty good at persuading everyone else into what she wanted.

Anxiety would, of course, step back so the rest can help you when needed, but as time went on, the other emotions needed to be more insistent on getting Anxiety to back down from the Control Panel. It had gotten to the point where Anxiety was basically piloting you for nearly the entire day without any of their input!

However, an awful pit in her stomach grew as well. Anxiety couldn’t help but squeeze her criss-crossed arms together as she observed your Joy manipulate the panel. ‘You were doing just fine with me in control!’ Anxiety couldn’t help but think to herself. ‘There’s no reason why I needed to step down!’

This feeling, this thought, persisted through multiple days and weeks. All the while, scenarios of you having a bad future because one of them made a mistake replayed on loop inside the girl’s head. She could’ve stepped in and stopped them, making sure you were safe, but she didn’t! She wouldn’t ever be able to forgive herself if she couldn’t protect you!

Anxiety, while she disliked these feelings, grew into someone who didn’t talk much to the others. She became antisocial, only focusing on tending to you and ensuring both your safety and happiness.

Sleepless nights and jealousy-filled days passed, and her obsession towards you never waned in the slightest. It grew, larger and more present, until it encompassed her entire life in her eyes. Anxiety lay awake one night, eyes wide open and staring up at the ceiling. Her mind just wouldn’t stop racing, thinking of you and how she could help you so much more if she was more in-control of things around here.

…Wait. Maybe…if she was more in-control…the sole emotion to take care of the Control Panel…

That idea persisted inside her head for days on end. She didn’t talk to the others during this time, refusing to answer their questions on why she was acting so weird and off recently. They wouldn’t understand. They’re your emotions, yeah, but Anxiety was your main one! She was the one who made sure you’d be protected in any situation!

Finally, it all came to a head when your Joy pointed out how obsessive Anxiety has been over you. The others agreed with Joy, and seeing everyone else loom over her with those questioning looks of theirs made Anxiety feel trapped. In an uncharacteristic act of rage from her, Anxiety shouted back at them, yelling that they would never be able to understand how she’d feel and that she was the only person there who truly cares for you. She stormed off before anyone else could retort back.

When she came back, in the middle of the night, she wasn’t alone. Alongside her was the Mind Police; she was able to convince them that the emotions there were actually rogue secrets and that the real ones are missing. Anxiety watched silently, fidgeting, unable to stop the slight guilt in her heart as she watched her former friends be pulled away and be stuck inside the Vault. ‘It’s for you,’ Anxiety reassured herself, talking about…well, about you. ‘Everything I’m doing is for you.’

It was weird at first, adjusting to being the only emotion left inside H Q, but she got the hang of it pretty quickly. Since, as the days ticked onwards, Anxiety swooned over you, sometimes talking to you as if you’d be able to respond back to her. Finally, she had you all to herself, and she’ll guarantee that she’d be able to keep you from harm’s reach while being able to bask in all of you.

🧡 ll Further Descent:

Boy, if you thought Anxiety had gone off the deep-end before, she certainly has now. Her days and nights are completely consumed by you. HQ is absolutely covered in drawings and little origami depictions of both you and her (and, while she’d often blush while doing it, she also enjoyed treating them like dolls and making them give little kisses to one another). Interspruced with all of that is her written ramblings, and it felt like that the further you went down in her notes, the more fanatical it became. 

Sometimes, she’d have small sparks of self-awareness. Anxiety will clean up HQ and tidy it, all while reminiscing on her love for you. These small moments of clarity will give her twinges of regret and doubt, but she’d push them all in the back of her mind in the end. After all, it’s for the greater good. She’d assure herself that she really was the only person who could truly be able to acknowledge everything about you until that assurance soon became a truth in her eyes. A stone-cold, unrelenting truth.

Meanwhile, you’d become much more nervous, “unstable” in some cases. Nowadays, you feel too apprehensive about going outside, quitting your in-person job in favor of an online or at-home one. Groceries are delivered to your door-step, and appointments you need to go to, like for a check-up or surgery, are done with great reluctance. After, you immediately rush back to the safety of your abode.

When it comes to social interactions, Anxiety also makes sure that, while you’d have friends, they wouldn’t get too close to you. She can’t have them hurting you, physically or emotionally! Though, deep down inside of her, Anxiety does feel a hint of possessiveness towards you, but it mostly comes out as her afraid for your well-being.

Crushes definitely are a no-go. Any attempts on trying to get closer to a love interest you may have is completely out of the question in the eyes of Anxiety. She’ll break the button that makes you feel socially-awkward if she has to.

Anxiety notices soon enough that your feelings of loneliness are increasing rapidly, and attempting to brainstorm an idea where both of you could be happy, a lightbulb goes off in her head.

She goes down to the studio where they produce your dreams, and through some sly convincing and surprising ability to help sway others to what she wants, Anxiety is able to control your dreams with full access. Now, she hopes that her plan will work. 

🧡 ll Meeting You in Person:

Well, in-person is in very large quotation marks, but it’s the closest thing she can get to doing such a thing. 

After making sure everything was in working order and looked good, Anxiety waited for night to come and for when it was finally time to reveal herself to you. The studio, while it mostly worked with actors, also had the option of summoning your consciousness in a tangible form; how else did you think those falling dreams would cause you to wake up violently right as you hit the ground? Though, Anxiety was using it for a much, much different purpose now.

She sweated bullets while she waited, stimming in both excitement and worry on how you’d react to her. Anxiety suddenly stood still when your eyes finally shut, signifying that it was time to enact her plan.

Pressing various buttons and switches, she grinned as the thing shuttered and spat out smoke before shooting a project of light from the machine’s camera. It morphed, taking form, until you were finally there right in front of Anxiety. You blinked, confused, before turning to the delighted squeak you heard. 

You nearly barrelled over as you felt a sudden force of weight being flung right around your torso, and as you looked down through the wild forest of orange hair that somewhat covered your vision, you saw Anxiety tightly wrapped around you in a hug. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her smile beamed wider as she snuggled into you just a bit more.

“I…I finally get to see you,” you heard her mumble. “I never thought I would, but…here you are! With me!”

You gave her a confused expression, unsure of how to react. “I’m sorry, but, uh, do I know you?”

Anxiety’s eyes snapped open, tears wiped away in a flash, as she glanced up at you and immediately backed off. “O-oh, oh my gosh! I’m so, so sorry; that was so dumb of me, ugh!” She muttered the last part under her breath.

What follows is what you’d expect: she explains to you that she’s your personification of Anxiety, but makes sure to add that she only steps in to prevent you from making possible bad decisions. At least, that’s partially true. Then, she gives you a small tour of the place, deciding to give you a tour of HQ another day (when she doesn’t have your face plastered all over the walls…). After, she insists to you that she’d do anything for you. Figuring that this was all a dream, you simply ask her for some levity from your struggles in reality. In short, you two have fun.

Anxiety is extremely reluctant to allow you to go, but she figures that it would be too suspicious and off-putting if she begged you to stay. When you awake, you just figure that it was some sort of strange lucid dream before going about your day.

So, it surprises you when you see Anxiety again the next night…and the next…and the next…and the next. Around the third time, you realize this is abnormal and start feeling uncomfortable around Anxiety. She notices, and asks you about it. You just wave it off, saying you’re a bit nervous for work tomorrow. Anxiety’s very doubtful, but she goes with it.

However, when she shows up again on the fourth night, you’ve had enough. You’re creeped out with her, and explain to a now very concerned Anxiety that she can’t be real. “I am!” She retorts back. “But-but that isn’t a bad thing! That just means you can talk to me if you have anything troubling you! Please, don’t run! I’m not going to hurt you!”

Even though you did, in fact, run away from her that night, she just showed right back up again the next. What then happened was a repetitive cycle of you running away from Anxiety as she tries to explain her side of the story, waking up, and then going right back to Stage 1. You ask your doctors for a higher dosage of anxiety medication in hopes it would quell what you perceived as delusions. But no matter what you tried, no matter what medicine you took, Anxiety will always be the first thing you “wake” up to.

It had maybe been almost two weeks when you finally relented. Anxiety, however, seemed a bit snarky. “So, have you finally run all out-of-steam? Can I finally get to tell you what’s going on?!”

It took you a few seconds to reply. “...Yeah. Go ahead.”

She let out a sigh of relief, before she explained more on why she’s being so persistent with you. She figured that, since your life wasn’t the best at the moment, Anxiety would help give you some escapism during the night as a relief. While you still felt a bit off-put by one of your emotions continuously showing up in your dreams, and of all of them it’s the Anxiety one, her reasoning did give you some respite. She made sure she didn’t slip that she just really wanted to spend time with you too, though.

It took you a little while to warm up to both the idea and her again, but after some time, you started to enjoy your little adventures with Anxiety. She was funny, sweet, kind, and had all the same interests as you did. She became your best friend, but in Anxiety’s eyes, you two were already in a relationship.

Every time you awoke, she did a little happy dance at the progress being made. Heck, she even had a checklist full of things to make certain you’d fall for her in return. Anxiety was not going to allow herself to destroy your bond together with her. At this point, her whole life really is about you. She loves you so, so much and every day she gets more exhilarated at getting closer to the stage where she’d ask you the question.

Months pass on, and it’s now around the end of the year. She decided to give you a little celebration, convincing the workers below to set off fireworks outside. HQ was decked out in festive decorations, illuminated by the glow of the bright flashes of light outside. When Anxiety sees your gorgeous face lit up by the colors set off from the other side of the window, her heart thumps louder in her chest, almost to an audible level. Her breath is caught in her mouth, but shaking off the stunned reaction she has towards you, Anxiety figures now would be a good time as ever to ask you: do you love her as much as she loves you?

✨🧡 ll Yes:

“Well…ah, it’s a bit weird to be dating one of my emotions…”

Anxiety’s wide-eyed face immediately turns down on itself, pupils shrinking and a frown making itself very well-known on her face. No, no! You can’t-!

“...Ah, why not? Sure!”

I hope you’re stanced up because if not, you will be thrown to the ground in another one of Anxiety’s tight hugs. She keeps on letting out happy squeals, unable to contain her absolute joy at your response. You laugh at how cute she was, returning her hug. She smiles even wider at that.

“I love you, I love you, I love youIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouILOVEYOU!” Anxiety repeated, her tongue twisting near the end making her almost unable to be understood until her final declaration of love. You giggle, and at this her green eyes open up and twinkle at you, a smile spread wider across her face than ever before.

“I love you too.”

While Anxiety never truly does let go of her obsessive tendencies towards you, they do somewhat lax now that she knows you love her back. Her mind sometimes wanders to the other emotions locked up in the Vault, and now on her off-days, she actually goes and visits them, talking to them through the cell. Of course, they’re pissed off at her, but she just can’t stop gushing about you and how much you love her back. Anxiety is too lovestruck to notice the gagging coming from Ennui, Anger, and Disgust inside whenever she goes on another long spiel about how your kisses feel or the flower you gave to her the other day.

Speaking of gifts, while she loves to talk to you about your interests and hyperfixations, Anxiety’s personal go-to love language will always be presents. Whatever you want, she’ll make it happen in the dream.

If you had a bad day too, Anxiety will do double-duty to make sure you wake up feeling ten times better than what you felt like going to bed!

As you grow older, Anxiety reflects back on how when you pass away, so will all of them. But while she still frets over it, there’s also the reassuring thought that she may be a human in the next life alongside you. So, instead of being inside your head, Anxiety will get to live out in the real-world right beside you. But as long as she’s with you, any future is great to her.

Overall, Anxiety feels like a weight that’s been on her since her very inception has finally been lifted. She’s much more relaxed and allows you to go out more as long as you don’t cheat on her. Thankfully, you never do, and she couldn’t be more than grateful.

Life was finally good for her, and she couldn’t be any happier.

💔 ll No:

You smiled awkwardly down at her, the tension in the room suddenly becoming more palpable to you. “I-uh, what?”

Anxiety’s grin falters. “Do you love me?” She repeats.

Your smile becomes a frown, and so does her’s. “I’m…I’m going to be honest with you, Anxiety. I love being your friend. But if you’re asking if we should date, I just can’t accept.”

Immediately, Anxiety shouts out. “WHY NOT?!” Panic is written all over her face, chest heaving in a faulty attempt to calm herself down. 

You flinch back from her, suddenly unsure of what to do. “It’s just-I-I don’t know!” You replied back. “You’re literally an emotion! Something my mind made up! You’re not real!”

Those last words hurt her worse than any knife ever could. “You-you don’t mean that! I know you don’t! We’re supposed to be happy together! I did everything for you! So please just love me! LOVE ME!”

You took a few steps back, unknowingly bumping into an ajar closet. When you turn around, you gape in abject horror.

Thousands of drawings and art crafts of you, reciprocating Anxiety’s adoration, filled your sight. You turned down to a sheet of paper that innocently slid to your feet.

‘I got rid of the others. I hated to, but they’d never be able to understand how I felt towards them. They were in the way. But now, we can be together forever! I can’t wait!’

Oh toaster strudels.

You whip back around to face Anxiety, fear evident on your face. She looked just as stunned as you, her green eyes prickling with tears as she shook her head. “I-I promise,” she tried to explain. “I didn’t think it would ever go this far. But I need you to love me back. I NEED YOU!”

Fast on your feet, you’re barely able to dodge Anxiety’s attempt at grabbing you, and without thinking, you go towards the window. You need to get out of this dream, A.S.A.P.

“NO! DON’T-” Too late.

As you fell, wind sweeping through your hair, you turned to gaze up at the window. The last you saw before you jolted awake was the speck of orange looking out the broken window, crying her eyes out and sobbing to herself.

Afterwards, you refused to fall asleep. You chugged energy drinks, made sure to take your anxiety medication every day, watched horror movies so you felt too scared, turned up your home’s lights, anything to make sure you wouldn’t go to sleep and see Anxiety again.

But in turn, you felt your own anxiety levels rising. You felt an irrational, unstoppable fear of attending to your job, jumped at every little creak in the house, the unexplainable drowsiness present in your fits of worry, you all knew it was the work of Anxiety to get you to go back to sleep and see her again.

Of course, you couldn’t stay awake forever. It happened one day when you did your best to explain to your boss why you haven’t been going to work. Your voice was slurred, giving away your sleepiness, and your boss on the other end worryingly called out to you as both your phone and your body landed on the cold floor.

🧡💔 ll Nice to See You Again:

You woke up on top of a comfortable bed, and while you were coming to, you noticed the rope wrapped tightly around you. A bandana had been wrapped around your mouth as well to make sure you didn’t make a peep.

At the foot of the bed, was Anxiety. She looked much more worn-out, eyebags present and hair an absolute mess. She was fiddling around with a clipboard at first, but as her eyes glanced at you for a moment, she realized you finally came to.

“Oh! Hey, didn’t notice you were awake there!” She ignored the cries of protests coming from you. She laughed, her loss of sanity being noted in her giggles. “I guess you always were a heavy sleeper!” You didn’t laugh back.

She got closer to you, any talk you had with her about personal space thrown out the (now repaired) window. Her eyes were bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept either. “I mean, it makes sense. You were awake for a really long time out there. In fact, you didn’t sleep for four whole days! Can I ask why that is?”

You glared at her. She huffed. “Ooooh, I think I know what it is,” she muttered. “I bet you didn’t want to get nightmares. Well, it’s okay now! Your girlfriend here, Anxiety, will make sure you have only good dreams from now on!” She puffed out her chest. You didn’t know if she was mocking you or genuinely deluded into thinking that was the truth.

You uncomfortably shifted as she crawled to the other side of you, wrapping her arms around your bound form despite your discomfort. “I’ve been so, so alone these past few days. I missed you, I missed you so bad. But now, you’re back! With me! I can’t wait for what adventures you have planned for the both of us.” That final note in her voice, that seemed to almost hiss out, gave you a sense of fear. You were too scared to fight back or even move, just allowing Anxiety to make up four day’s worth of no hugs.

“I promise that I’ll be the best girlfriend you could ever ask for. No other person knows you like I do. Nobody.”

Should I even have to explain to you that your two’s relationship is toxic now? Because it is. Like, hazardous waste-type of toxic.

In her deluded mind, Anxiety fully believes that you just ran through that window because you were scared of the commitment, and that you just responded no to her love request because of the same reason. In time, she thinks she’ll be able to win you over, and considering how you can’t really get rid of her, you’re unfortunately stuck with her.

When you eventually did wake up, you found yourself in a hospital room, alone. At least, physically. You couldn’t help the onslaught of hopeless tears that trickled down your face.

In the background, Anxiety was fiddling with your feelings, not thinking about your own desires on the matter. She smiled, chuckling, when she found what she was looking for, hidden deep within the recesses of your hypothalamus: the control center that managed who you found romantically appealing.

She was smart about it, though. Despite wanting to just crank it all the way up, she gradually made it so you found her more alluring without you even noticing the changes.

You were immensely terrified of her at first, discouraging her, but as she set your romantic feelings towards her higher slowly, Anxiety noticed the change you had in your demeanor.

Eventually, she was comfortable in allowing you to finally be untied (she had undone the makeshift gag a little bit ago), and while she was a bit disappointed at still seeing you be uncomfortable around her and shying away, that just made Anxiety more determined to get you to fall in love with her.

Was doing all of this morally wrong and cementing her fully into the deep-end? Yes.

But did she truly care about that currently? No.

She can think about the moral dilemma years down the line when you two are fully reciprocating love towards one another.

Anxiety accidentally let out an excited snort at you finally hugging her once again. She clasped her hands over her mouth, blushing right after. You found it to be…weirdly cute.

Eventually, your romantic feelings were almost at 100%. As time passed on, your life became better as you started to reflect that same strange comforting feeling Anxiety felt towards you. 

You felt inclined to question why you were getting these emotions for your mental stalker, but any attempt to further examine this is usually quashed thanks to Anxiety’s interference. Soon, you don’t even get these questions anymore. They just feel like they come naturally to you.

Those same reactions Anxiety had towards you were now being felt by you, except obviously with her. Shy gazes at her cute orange hair before looking away when she goes to return your look, fully enraptured in her kind voice and nodding along to whatever she said, blushing whenever you were complimented by her, the list goes on.

The fact that she did awful things almost seems to become a distant memory to you, until much later on, it becomes completely forgotten in your eyes.

Eventually, it came to a head. One night, when the two of you were alone, you tapped her on the shoulder. You smiled at her, blush clearly evident on your face as you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck.

“H-hey, uh, Anxiety? Can I ask you something kinda’...important? Promise not to freak out or anything, okay?”

Anxiety nodded violently. “Yeah!! Yeah, tell me anything!” She leaned in closer, eyes trained fully on you. Her hands were rolled up into fists, vibrating slightly in barely-disguised eagerness. After a bit of stammering, you finally were able to lock eyes with each other.

“Do you, um…want to go out with me-?”

“YES!! YES!!!” Anxiety jumped to respond, flapping her hands happily as she raced around the room. You laughed, before abruptly getting stopped by the kiss that Anxiety had placed on your lips. Both of you looked stunned for only a brief moment, before you happily returned it.

If emotions had brains, Anxiety was sure it short-circuited at that moment.

Finally relinquishing, you stepped back, only to lunge forward when you caught her about to fall right on her back.

“Woah, Anxiety, are you okay?” You chuckled. Anxiety looked up at you with a tired, but completely and utterly smitten look on her face.

“Never been better.”

Things were definitely better now. Much like if you said yes to her original proposal, she gives you more freedom in exchange for always being beside her when you’re dreaming. You happily accept, none the wiser of the manipulation Anxiety pulled to get to this moment.

She sometimes reflects on her actions, knowing full-well what she did was completely, morally-reprehensible. But at a certain point, Anxiety just sighs and puts it into the very back of her brain.

Yes, what she did was absolutely wrong. But, when she looks at you, finally head-over-heels for her as much as she is with you, Anxiety really can’t help but smile.

“I really am sorry, guys, but it was all worth it in the end.”

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Geto Suguru x Reader Fanfic Part 2

You sell yourself to a brothel to feed your family and Geto Suguru is in charge of training you to be the perfect submissive sex doll. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Geto’s. I’m not sure how many parts it will have. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Dubcon. Submission. Extreme humiliation. Voyeurism. Light degradation. Masturbation. Oral sex. Deep throating. Fingering. Public nudity. Lots of implied stuff with the other trainers. This is the “meet all the trainers” part. Divider by @benkeibear!

Suguru awakens to find his new doll in his bed, curled up to him in her sleep, her soft naked body warm against his. He raises up and looks at her sleeping face, already feeling guilty for the things he’ll be doing to her today. 

It was her bad luck that he was the only available trainer when she arrived. Well, better him than Sukuna he supposed, but she truly is a bad match for him. She’s naturally very shy and sensitive, making his humiliation-based training particularly hard for her. 

He doesn’t want to hurt her. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but preparing her for her life as a doll is the kindest thing he can do for her now that she’s already signed the contract. Without proper training and preparation, the next ten years will be hell for her. 

The early days of training are critical. It’s when boundaries and trust are established. One of the main elements of his style of training is building trust. She has to trust her master, to believe her master won’t hurt her, to look to her master for safety. Only then can she fully submit and give herself completely. 

To facilitate this, Suguru insists his doll remain naked during the training. Part of it is the humiliation angle, but more important is establishing for the doll that she can be totally vulnerable with him, and that he will protect her even when she has literally no other barrier against the rest of the world. And to drive that point home, he has to parade her around the house, letting the other trainers leer at her, but not allowing anyone to touch her. A couple of the trainers help him out with this, pretending to be more threatening than they actually are just so that he can appear more protective. 

She’s going to hate that. She’s probably going to cry. Fuck, why would a sweet young virgin like her come here in the first place? What was she thinking? She mentioned taking care of her family. He supposes that was a good enough reason if they were desperate, but it still bothers him. 

He climbs out of bed and stretches, then looks at her again. He’s already crossed a line he, as a trainer, shouldn’t have crossed. For his particular training, he never allows a doll to sleep in his bed with him. He’s supposed to be firm, unyielding, uncaring. In the past, if he’s shown even the smallest amount of compassion, it’s led to dolls becoming emotionally attached to him. That’s the cruelest thing that could happen to a doll, because they can’t stay with him. 

So when he senses that a doll might be developing feelings for him, he begins treating them more roughly, more coldly, and that usually nips the problem in the bud. 

But on the very first night, he let her sleep in his bed? Is he going mad? That’s a recipe for disaster and he knows it. So today, he won’t give an inch. He’ll be hard and cold as stone, to establish that all important boundary. 

***************

You wake up shivering. It takes you a moment to remember where you are, and your body subconsciously rolls over toward the other side of the bed, seeking warmth where it found some last night. But the bed is empty. As your mind clears, you realize the covers have been pulled away and you’re lying there in Suguru’s bed, naked, with nothing to cover you. 

Sitting up, you rub your eyes and look at the man standing at the foot of the bed, staring at you. Suguru looks perfect of course, every glossy hair in place, the loose clothing somehow looking sexy on him. You sigh as you try to smooth your hair out with your hands.

“Get up,” he says, and you immediately notice that his tone is a bit sharper than it was yesterday. “There’s a hairbrush in the bathroom you can use. Make yourself presentable so you don’t embarrass me in front of the other trainers.”

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess to resist giving him a look and pointing out that he’s not the one who’s going to be embarrassed. Instead you silently crawl out of his bed and head for the bathroom, very conscious of the fact that he’s watching your every move. 

When it’s time to leave his room, your heart starts hammering wildly again. You’re actually going to walk through this house completely naked. Everyone is going to see everything you have. You feel your face heating up and tears threatening to drip from your eyes. 

“Let’s get a few things straight,” Suguru says before he opens the door. “Do not try to cover yourself. Do not turn your back to anyone who approaches you. Do not try to hide behind me. The other trainers will likely see you. They might even stop to look at you more closely. But they aren’t allowed to touch you. If one of them tries, tell me immediately.”

You nod, feeling numb as a few stray tears leak down your face. 

“Answer properly.”

You look up at him. “Yes, Master Suguru.”

“Let’s go have breakfast then,” he says, and you feel a little sad that he’s seemingly stopped patting your head and smiling at you. 

Those thoughts evaporate as you take your first steps out of his room. The hallway is empty now, but you know you could run into someone at any moment. And there’s no doubt there will be people in the dining hall. 

You walk behind Suguru, looking at the floor, trying to pretend this isn’t happening. But as you start to pass by a particular door, it suddenly swings open and a tall, muscular man with black hair steps out. He has a scar on the corner of his mouth, and looks a little rough around the edges, but he’s undeniably handsome. He’s pulling a rather tight fitting shirt over his head as he says, “Hey, Geto, do you know what they’re serving for-“

He stops mid sentence when he notices you. He glances at Suguru, then his sharp green eyes focus on you. “This your new doll?” 

“Of course,” Suguru says. It’s pretty obvious. 

The man’s eyes slowly move up and down your body, making your skin flush all over. “Got a good one this time,” he says, and he actually licks his lips! 

You can do nothing but stand there, letting him look at you. You wish Suguru would move on already. 

Just then a feminine voice calls out from inside the room the man just opened. “Tojiiiii~ come back to bed!”

He turns his face toward the voice. “I’ll be right back. Gonna grab us some breakfast!”

A second later, a woman appears at the door. You notice two things immediately. One, she’s completely naked, like you, and two, she’s beautiful. She hooks one arm around the man she called Toji’s waist and says, “The only breakfast I want is your cock.”

Toji grins down at her. “You had my cock for breakfast yesterday. And for lunch. And dinner. And a midnight snack.”

She giggles, seeming completely unbothered by the fact that both you and Suguru are witnessing this exchange. You wish you had her confidence. 

Toji playfully slaps her bare ass. “You have to eat some real food or you might start losing weight,” he says with a laugh. “And then what am gonna hold onto while I’m pounding that pussy?”

She gives him a pouty look, but says, “Okay, but hurry back! I get lonely without you!”

Toji gives her a wave as he jogs down the hall, leaving the woman standing naked at the door. She looks at Suguru and says, “You two wanna come in?”

Your heart nearly stops. Are you going to be having orgies? With Suguru, this woman, and Toji?

But Suguru simply smiles at her and says, “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to pass.”

The woman shrugs and closes the door, leaving you alone in the hallway with your trainer. 

You hate to admit it, but the bizarre show you just saw makes you feel a little better. The woman in the room certainly didn’t mind being naked in front of other trainers. Maybe that was just normal around here. 

As the two of you move further down the hall, you’re startled by loud, desperate screaming coming from one of the closed rooms. You nearly jump out of your skin, reflexively grabbing Suguru’s arm. You release it quickly, thinking this might be against his rules, but he pulls you closer to himself and puts an arm around you. 

“It’s okay,” he tells you, “that’s just Sukuna’s room. Be thankful you didn’t get stuck with him.”

As you listen to the screams, you honestly can’t tell if they’re cries of agony or ecstasy. Maybe it’s both. “What’s he doing to her?” you ask, clinging to Suguru’s side. 

He looks genuinely disturbed as he says, “I don’t want to know.”

Once you move far enough away that you can’t hear the screams anymore, Suguru separates from you. It’s a cold, empty feeling and you hate it, but you know you can’t cling to him forever. 

You finally reach the dining hall, and your entire body goes rigid when you see that there are more people in here, more people that will see you naked. You quickly spot Toji standing at a long table full of food. He’s balancing two plates on his arm as he fills them with food. Aside from him, there are three couples. 

At a table close by, reading a newspaper, there’s a blonde man wearing strange glasses. He’s dressed in a very dapper style, with a button down shirt and a tie. Sitting in his lap is a pretty woman wearing a pale pink sundress that appears to be way too short for her. She has a pink bow in her hair, and she’s giggling like a school girl despite clearly being in her mid 20’s. You can’t hear what they’re talking about, but the man seems calm and collected while the woman seems slightly nervous as she fidgets in his lap, eating bites of food off the single plate sitting in front of them. 

Further into the room, you’re surprised to see a woman sitting on a table instead of in a chair. She’s wearing black leather boots that reach her thighs, and sitting in a chair in front of her, between her legs, is a pale young man with his hair pulled into two short ponytails, one on each side of his head. He’s holding a plate of food in one hand and feeding the woman with the other. 

“I didn’t know one of the trainers is a woman,” you say. 

Suguru laughs. “Oh, she’s not a trainer. The guy feeding her is. He trains dominant women.”

You can’t help staring at them, thinking to yourself that this woman got lucky. She gets to boss her trainer around? Sounds like a dream come true. 

Of these two couples, the men don’t so much as glance up at you, as if you don’t even exist. The women look at you briefly, seem uninterested, and return their focus to their trainers. 

But the third and final couple is a different story. Sitting in a chair at a table close by is a tall, impossibly beautiful man with white hair and sunglasses. Kneeling at his feet is a cute young woman who looks around your age. She’s technically clothed, but you’re not sure who should be more embarrassed, you or her. 

The “outfit” she’s wearing consists of what looks like bra and panties, each with black fur trim. The bra is so tiny that it barely covers her nipples, and the panties have a hole cut into the back so that a long furry black tail can hang out through them. It takes you a moment of staring to realize the tail is connected to something that’s literally stuck into her ass. You squirm at the thought. The woman can’t sit normally, it would be impossible, so she’s forced to kneel awkwardly on the floor in front of her trainer, who is pouring food into the palm of his hand and holding it down for her to eat, her pink tongue darting out to lick his hand. 

Suguru directs you to a chair and tells you to sit. You’re grateful to have the table in front of you, covering your lower half. 

“Wait right here, I’ll get us some food,” he says. 

You look at him with pleading eyes. “You’re going to leave me here?”

“I’m just going up to that table,” he says, pointing to the table full of food. “I’ll just be a moment.”

You hate the idea of being left alone, naked, in a room with strangers, but what choice do you have? You nod and then watch Suguru as he walks across the room. With every step he walks away, you feel more and more vulnerable. 

A few seconds after Suguru leaves, the white haired man stands up from his chair and walks toward you. That’s when you notice the bright pink leash attached to a matching collar around his doll’s neck, as she crawls on hands and knees beside him. You find yourself feeling even more sorry for her than you do for yourself. 

The white haired man stands right beside you and lowers his sunglasses, looking at you with eerie blue eyes. “Wow, you’re a cutie,” he says. “I bet you’d look great in a leash.”

You shrink away from him automatically. There’s something unsettling about him even though he’s every bit as beautiful as Suguru. He reaches one hand toward you, grinning as he says, “I bet you’re soft too…”

You draw back, closing your eyes and calling out, “Master Suguru!”

When you open your eyes, Suguru is standing between you and the other trainer, grabbing the arm of the white haired man. “Yo, Satoru,” Suguru says in a pleasant voice. “I see you’ve met my doll. You can look, but if you touch her, we’ll have a problem.”

There’s an edge to Suguru’s voice as he says that last part, a darkness in his eyes. The man he called Satoru backs away, slipping his arm from Suguru’s grip. 

“Oh, don’t be stingy, Suguru! I always offer to let you fuck my dolls!”

Suguru frowns at him. “And I always tell you that’s inappropriate for the training.”

Satoru laughs. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud! Kitty here said you have a pretty face. She said she’s fine with you doing whatever you want with her! Right, Kitty?” He jerks the leash, pulling his doll’s face up to look at Suguru. She looks like she’s definitely not fine with it, but she nods anyway. 

“No thanks,” Suguru says. “I don’t enjoy making dolls cry.”

Satoru looks at him curiously. “But they’re so cute when they cry!”

Suguru shakes his head. “You stick to your training style, I’ll stick to mine.”

After Satoru and his doll return to their table, Suguru sits down beside you and spreads out a couple of plates filled with delicious looking food. “Eat up,” he says. “You’ll need your strength.”

With zero hesitation, you begin eating, trying several different foods and loving all of them.  When you cram a large bite of waffles into your mouth, you can’t suppress a small squeal of delight. You’ve never eaten something so tasty before!

Then you remember where you are, who you’re sitting next to, and you look up at your trainer. He’s wearing a smile while he watches you eat, occasionally taking bites of his own food. There’s something warm about his expression that makes you blush. 

You glance around the dining hall. Toji has already left, carrying plates of food back to his room like a waiter, but someone else has appeared, moving along the length of the food table, filling a single plate. The man has a contradictory appearance. He has several black lines tattooed on his face and what’s visible of the rest of his body, and shocking pink hair. These wild traits are contrasted sharply with his surprisingly refined, elegant mannerisms. He’s wearing a silk robe, open at the chest to reveal more tattoos on his impressively muscular torso. But he carries himself like royalty. 

The man takes his plate, mostly full of various breakfast meats, and sits down at a table across the room. He looks up, seemingly notices you staring at him, and flashes you a grin full of teeth that are entirely too sharp. You flinch and look away from him, automatically clutching Suguru’s sleeve. 

“What’s the matter?” Suguru asks, then sees the tattooed man. “Oh, that’s Sukuna.”

You don’t dare look at the man again, so you stare at your plate. “The one who tortures his doll?”

“Well, I don’t know if his training includes actual torture, but I do know he does something very cruel to his dolls.”

You look at Suguru, waiting for him to go on. 

He avoids your gaze, picking at the food in front of him. “He lets his dolls get attached to him. In fact I think he encourages it. We never see the dolls he trains until they’re being sold to new owners. At that point they’re always making a scene, crying, begging to stay with him… it’s a mess. And Sukuna just stands there laughing, as if the whole thing is amusing.”

You chance another glance at Sukuna, then quickly look away. “Why would they want to stay with someone who hurts them?”

Suguru still doesn’t look at you as he answers. “You’d be surprised what people can be conditioned to enjoy. Look at Satoru’s doll. She’s almost as new as you are, so right now her training probably feels unbearable. But by the end, she’ll adore being treated like a pet.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then you ask him, “Will I enjoy being embarrassed and bossed around?”

He finally looks at you. “If I do my job correctly, yes.”

It hits you then, the truth of all this training. Suguru is training you to not just endure being treated this way, but to enjoy it. To love it. Because if you don’t, then you’re going to be absolutely miserable when you’re being treated this way by your eventual owner. You stare at him, suddenly feeling affection for him that goes beyond being physically attracted to his beauty. 

You blurt out a quiet, “Thank you,” and Suguru looks down at you with a surprised expression. 

As you finish eating, you look at the trainers again. Why is it that every single one of them is absurdly good looking? Maybe it’s a blessing. After all it’s easier to have sex with people you find attractive. But then again, maybe it’s a curse, because it’s way too easy to fall in love with men like these. And even you understand why that would be a terrible thing. 

When you get back to Suguru’s room, he wants to work on your training right away. He makes you masturbate in front of him again, which is somehow worse this time. Maybe it’s because you’re starting to like him, but doing insanely embarrassing things while he watches intently just makes you want to disappear. You try to stick to his rules, asking for his permission to cum and looking him in the eyes while you do it. 

After you’re finished, you expect to have to suck his cock again, but instead he motions toward his bed and says, “Climb on, but stay on your hands and knees.”

“Yes, Master Suguru,” you reply, getting onto the bed in the position he wants. 

You feel the bed shift as he gets on the mattress behind you, then you feel his hands on your thighs, pulling your knees widely apart. “Ah!” you cry out, realizing that your pussy is drenched and dripping from just cumming minutes ago, and it’s going to spill all over his fancy covers. 

You start to turn your head to look back at him, but his voice suddenly says, “Face forward. Don’t look back.”

Then, you feel his fingers on the flesh of your folds, opening you. A shudder ripples through you, being touched by him in this way for the first time. But it’s also, like usual, extremely embarrassing. He’s prying open and examining your messy, leaking cunt, and you can only whimper in response. When one of his fingers, or maybe his thumb, grazes over your clit, you gasp, holding the breath in your chest for a few seconds before remembering to breathe again. 

****************

Suguru stares at the spread open pussy in front of him, and wants to absolutely destroy it. 

His new doll is clearly in distress. She’s embarrassed, of course. He’d purposely made her pleasure herself first so that she’d be soaking wet, her own cum dripping down her thighs. But at the same time, she clearly wants him to touch her. As his fingers brush over her already sensitive and swollen clit, he can see her hole clenching around nothing. 

“Are you really a virgin?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a virgin dripping so much before.���

She stiffens, her whole body going rigid. “Yes,” she murmurs, her voice quiet. 

“Answer in complete sentences.”

She hesitates, her body trembling now. “Yes, I’m really… a virgin… Master Suguru.”

He’s stroking her clit with circular motions, and she’s making cute little breathy moans. “I noticed you don’t finger yourself when you masturbate,” he says. “You only rub your clit. Why?”

Her skin is flushed, as if her whole body is blushing. “I’m… scared to… ahh…do that…”

“Scared to put your finger inside?” he asks, and at the same moment, edges one finger into her clenching hole, just up to the second knuckle. Her entire body jolts, and she makes a terrified yelping sound as she pulls away, off his finger. 

He sighs. “You panic when I even start to put one finger in? How are you going to handle a cock?”

She’s quiet for a moment, save for her rapid breathing. “I don’t know,” she finally says, and from the sound of her voice, she’s holding back tears. 

He puts his hands gently on her hips and scoots her back to him. “Did it hurt?”

“No. It just scared me.”

Suguru begins lightly stroking her clit again. “Let’s try it again, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, then he hears her shaky voice say, “Okay.”

He eases his finger into her again, not deep enough to hurt, just barely enough for her to feel something inside her and clench around it. Her breath hitches as he gently pushes it in and out, never going deeper than that second knuckle, not wanting to scare her again. “How does that feel?” he asks her. 

She’s making those little moans again. “It feels… good… so good, Master Suguru.”

He uses the fingers on his other hand to rub her clit, and her legs quiver, barely holding her up. “M-may I please… cum… Master?”

“Hmm, I need to think about it,” he says teasingly, slowing down his strokes. 

“Please, Master Suguru,” she says, her hands gripping the covers. “It feels too good! I can’t hold back!”

He removes his finger completely and stops stroking her clit, giving her a moment to regain control. But the sudden loss of pleasure makes her whine. She pants for a moment, her pussy clenching air, arousal sliding down her thighs. 

Fuck, he wants to shove his dick all the way in on the first thrust. 

“Master Suguru?” she asks, her voice small and hesitant. 

He resumes his earlier motions as he says, “Yes?”

“Are you… going to have sex with me now?”

He blinks. He wasn’t expecting that question. “Do you want me to?”

She doesn’t respond, so he presses his finger just slightly further in. “Answer.”

“Y-yes! I… ahh… want you to… Master Suguru,” she gasps out the words, then says,  “May I please cum now?”

“Why do you want me to?” he asks, ignoring her pleas, still stroking her. 

Again, she doesn’t reply, only moans her sweet cries. 

He leans over her, putting his mouth close to her ear, and says, “Answer and I’ll let you cum.”

She shudders, her whole body trembling. “Because… you won’t hurt me.”

He draws back, staring at her soft, delicate form. “You can cum now,” he tells her, and she does. He watches her body spasm, her pussy clamp down on his finger as she moans loudly. And then she collapses on his bed, her face buried in his pillows. 

“I won’t fuck you tonight,” he says. “I don’t think you’re ready for that right now.”

She turns her face to look up at him, her eyes glossy and shimmering with unspilled tears, her face red from exertion and embarrassment. God, he wants to fuck her virgin pussy into oblivion. 

But he can’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. 

He hasn’t told the owner about his new doll being a virgin. If he does, he knows what will happen. He’ll be told to leave her “unspoiled” so that whoever her owner is will get the privilege of deflowering her. A fully trained virgin doll? It’s such a rarity that it’s almost unheard of. If a virgin ends up as a doll, it’s almost always on the direct market, not from a training establishment like this one. Because who could imagine a doll going through the training process without losing her virginity? And women who ended up at the Doll House were generally a bit older than the “barely legal” dolls who were often sold directly by their greedy families. 

Suguru is torn about what to do. On one hand, her value will double if the owner finds out she’s a virgin, and Suguru’s commission will be greatly increased. On the other hand, sending her out as a virgin doll would be cruel. She’d be totally unprepared for one of the biggest aspects of being a doll, not to mention the fact that he doesn’t know who her owner will be, what sort of person will be taking her first time. It could be a sadistic monster who would enjoy being as rough as possible on her. 

And then there’s the other reason he’s hesitant to pop her cherry. Being her first lover is a sure fire way to make her develop an emotional attachment to him, and he can’t allow that. And if he’s being totally honest with himself? He’s afraid he’ll develop an attachment to her. 

So for now, he’s holding back until he can decide what to do, even though he’s been imagining her tight little pussy stuffed full of his cock all day. He’s hard as a rock right now after watching her cum twice, so he pulls his erection out of his pants and looks at her. 

“You’ve been neglecting Master Cock all day,” he says, smiling at her and lightly stroking himself. 

A smile dances at the edge of her lips, but doesn’t fully spread across her face. She slides out of bed and to her knees in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Master Cock,” she says, looking at his shaft as she takes over stroking duties.

Her hands are soft and warm, still a little unsure in their movements, but she’s learning fast. She runs her tongue up and down the length before taking the entire thing in her mouth, part of him literally going down her tight, wet throat. She pulls back to breathe and to use her tongue to lap at his leaking tip. 

He doesn’t have to give her directions this time. She’s using her whole mouth, tongue and lips and throat, to pleasure him. She’s taking him in so deep that she’s occasionally gagging, as if she can’t get enough of his cock, as if she worships it. 

His eyes are glued to her. She looks so fucking pretty on her knees between his legs, choking on his cock. But he thinks she might be even prettier with that cute face covered in his cum. 

She can tell he’s close, from the way his dick is twitching in her mouth or from the quiet moans he’s trying to suppress, he’s not sure. But she pulls back and looks up at him with the sweetest expression as she says, “May I please have your cum, Master Suguru?”

He’d much rather be shooting it into her womb, but painting her face with it is the next best thing. She opens her mouth and extends her tongue, and he lets his cum shoot out across her nose, in her mouth, over one eye, splattering her cheeks and chin. 

It seems that she didn’t expect that. She probably thought he’d cum on her tongue again, but she’s handling it well. No panicking or trying to immediately wipe it off. Instead she looks up at him. “Is it okay if I clean my face, Master Suguru?”

He tilts his head to the side, letting the small front strand of hair fall over one eye. “Oh? After I went to the trouble of making you so pretty? I thought you’d at least keep it on until after lunch.”

There’s finally a spark of alarm in her eyes, but before she can say anything, he laughs. “I’m just joking. You can go wash your face in the bathroom.”

“Thank you, Master Suguru!” 

He watches her get to her feet and step lightly into the bathroom, then sighs to himself. He’d planned to be a little harder on her today, but he just can’t bring himself to be too cold or cruel to her. She has a glow to her that he can’t diminish. At least for now. 

But this situation can’t last forever. He’ll have to make some important decisions, and make them soon. For her sake as well as his. 

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv

[mrspasser]

I saw you on the train - Sterek Fanfic

Sterek fanfiction, shamelessly based on this Tumblr post by @tsaiko. (OP, please let me know if I overstepped!) This is also on A03.

I saw you on the train

Derek gets on the subway after work, mentally bracing himself for having to deal with people because he didn’t charge his phone last night. Or he did, but his pup chewed through his charger cable and he frankly didn’t notice the nearly empty battery until he was already at the office. Any other day he loves his old brick of a phone, but today it was a bit of a bother that nobody had a charger that he could borrow. Ergo, he has no music to drone out the conversations of the other passengers.

He makes his way a little down the train car and sits down in an open seat. Across the aisle and one seat down are two men, mid to late twenties. They’re having one of those whisper-shout conversations with each other, where the words at the end of each sentence get louder with their anger, before they remind themselves that they are in public and go back to furious whispering. Derek can tell they are trying to be quiet, but emotions are high. Things are tense between them, it’s obvious within a few minutes of involuntary eavesdropping.

He knows he should try to ignore them, but it’s pretty hard to do. They’re in Derek’s direct line of sight and one of them has the most mesmerising whiskey coloured eyes he has ever seen. Right now, the lines around the young man’s eyes are hard and stressed, yet Derek can imagine the twinkle that would be there when he’s in better spirits. It fits the slight uptick of his nose. Somehow he just knows the guy can be a nuisance in all the best ways. He has an expressive face, which makes him far more interesting to Derek than his more generically handsome partner, who has neatly styled brown hair and blue eyes.

It’s an easy guess that the two of them are in a relationship, even though the expected easy chemistry is missing. But there aren’t many people that would be fighting in public, except when they’re in a close, intimate relationship. It’s a bit odd that they chose to have a discussion about the future of their relationship on the subway during rush hour, but whatever, they probably had a head of steam up on this topic. 

It's a relationship drama that doesn’t involve Derek, yet he’s kind of forced to listen to it as one of the few people without headphones in the direct vicinity. There’s an older woman that glances curiously in the direction of the two men every now and then, but she’s reading a travel guide in a language that Derek can’t place, so chances are her English isn’t good enough to know what the two are talking about. 

The gist of their discussion is that the one with the blue eyes wants to move forward with their relationship, maybe move in together, while Whiskey Eyes wants to slow down. Suddenly, Mr. Generic breaks in with a story about how his mom hates the city, but she moved to New York to stay with his dad and has lived there for twenty years now. And then he actually says the words: “Because relationships are about sacrifices.”

Whiskey Eyes looks like he wants to argue that point - which Derek can understand - yet he decides to follow his boyfriend’s reasoning. “And what have you sacrificed for our relationship?”

The barely hidden sarcasm in the question is apparently lost on Mr. Generic, because he has the audacity to come up with something or other he missed out on because he went with his boyfriend to a wedding. “We flew all the way back to California for your step brother’s wedding. I even had to sleep on the floor of your childhood bedroom!”

Like Derek, Whiskey Eyes is totally unimpressed with that answer and even rolls his eyes. Of course, his boyfriend doesn’t like that and their whispered argument continues. Derek can’t exactly hear what they’re saying, though it’s apparent that things aren’t getting better. Then, in a voice clear as day, Whiskey Eyes asks: “Name one thing I’m interested in.”

Mr. Generic freezes. He does a pretty decent impression of a store mannequin, with the vacant expression and the empty eyes. Derek can almost hear the dial tone coming from his brain. It’s clear that he can’t come up with a single thing that his boyfriend likes. On top of that, he looks confused as to why he’s even asked that question.

Things are quiet after that. The boyfriend tries to talk to Whiskey Eyes a couple of times, but he ignores him and just stares straight ahead. There’s a grim expression on his face, his jaws clenched. Still, the boyfriend doesn’t seem to understand the trouble he got himself in. 

The train pulls up at the station, Derek’s stop, and Whiskey Eyes gets up. “Baby?” Mr. Generic frowns at his partner. “This isn’t our stop.”

Whiskey Eyes gives him a cold glance. “It’s my stop now.” The doors open and he walks out. Just fucking walks off and leaves him on the train. 

Derek almost forgets to get off himself, he gets out just before the doors close. The boyfriend comes to his senses too and he jostles roughly past Derek in his hurry to go after his partner. Or ex-partner, probably. Because Derek sincerely doubts he can recover from that. He almost feels bad for the idiot. Or not, since the contents of Derek’s messenger bag go sprawling across the platform because of his rude shoulder check. 

The platform of the small station empties out quickly, leaving Derek to pick up the notes that spilled from their folder. When he looks up, still on one knee and with his papers in hand, he sees the couple from the train. They’re standing halfway between Derek and the exit and he’s just in time to see Whiskey Eyes pull his arm loose from Mr. Generic’s grip. Their voices echo in the empty station.

“We are through, Matt. I should’ve realised before that it wouldn’t work out, this thing between us.” Whiskey Eyes gestures angrily between them. “If there ever was a thing, because I’m starting to think I was the only one who was really invested.” 

Mr. Generic - Matt - scoffs. “You’re overreacting. And for what? Just because I couldn’t remember the name of your favourite movie from the top of my head? It’s Star Track, or something.”

“Star Trek,” Whiskey Eyes corrects, emphasising the last word. “And my favourite is Star Wars, not Star Trek.” He looks like he’s completely done with his ex-boyfriend’s bullshit. “Good bye, Matt. I’ll ask Lydia to pick up my stuff from your place later. Don’t follow me please.” He turns on his heel and walks to the stairs. 

“Baby…” The now definitely ex-boyfriend tries to keep up with him, but he’s quickly shot down.

“Don’t follow me.” The words are cold and clipped, making the ex-boyfriend stop in his tracks and just watch Whiskey Eyes disappear up the stairs.

Derek briefly makes eye contact with the asshole ex-boyfriend as he too makes his way to the exit. The man ignores him, mumbling something about ‘stupid nerd shit’ as he fumbles his phone from his pocket and simultaneously checks the board for the next train.

Yeah, Derek doesn’t feel sorry for him.

He does feel sorry for the whiskey eyed young man he finds standing forlornly just outside the exit of the train station. The guy just looks so lost that Derek can’t help but go up to him. “Are you okay?” he asks, startling the other.

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Whiskey Eyes hurries to say. Then he looks around him and huffs a small, sad laugh. “Actually, I’m not. I don’t have a clue where I am and I just realised that I left my keys at home and my roommate won’t be home until late tonight.” 

“Shitty day, huh?” Derek remarks, showing him a sympathetic smile. 

“You can say that again,” is the blunt answer. It sounds almost rude, though it’s followed by a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I mean, I didn’t want to…” Derek isn’t really sure what he’s apologising for and neither seems he. “Sorry. Again. You caught me at a bad time. I just broke up with my… Well, my ex-boyfriend now.”

“I know,” Derek answers and he winces, because it’s clear he was listening in to things that were none of his business. “I mean,” he tries to course correct, “I couldn’t help but overhear. I was on the train too.” 

“You were?” Whiskey Eyes blushes a delicious shade of red. “Fuck. That’s embarrassing.” 

“Nah.” Derek shrugs. “If anything, he’s the one who should be ashamed. Like, who doesn’t know Star Trek apart from Star Wars?”

“I know, right?” He’s still blushing, but it goes well with his smile. 

Derek usually isn’t this forward with strangers, but right now he feels like taking a chance. He could be mistaken, but he doesn’t think he is, not with the shy way Whiskey Eyes is rubbing the back of his neck. So he asks: “Would you like to get something to eat? I’m on my way home and I was planning to get some take out, but if you want, we can go grab a bite together?” 

“Uh, sure!” Whiskey Eyes is only a bit taken aback by his question and seems eager to distract himself from the situation from earlier. “Yeah, why not? I have to wait until my roommate gets home anyway.” Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Stiles, by the way.” 

“Derek.” He takes his hand and is pleased to find it warm and firm. “How do you feel about Thai food?” 

They settle down in the window seat of the small Thai place a block or so from Derek’s home. Stiles declares it the best Tom Kha Kai he has ever had and they discover that they’re born in the same county in California. Derek’s family moved out when he was about twelve years old, yet Stiles’ father still lives there. And so does his recently married step brother.

Conversation flows easily and Derek is happy to discover that Stiles indeed has a very appealing sparkle in his eyes when he’s amused. 

Four months later, they kiss for the first time. Another four months later he finds himself lying on a thin camping mattress on the floor of Stiles’ childhood bedroom. There’s a large Star Wars poster above the bed, with the letters of the opening crawl. Glow in the dark stars that have long lost their shine dot the ceiling. 

A little above him, Stiles rolls so he can look down over the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry my bed is so tiny,” he whispers. “Are you sure you’re okay down there? We can switch!”

Derek catches the hand Stiles extends to him and presses his lips to the knuckles. “I’m fine, sweetheart. It’s just for a couple of nights anyway.”

Stiles smiles fondly at him. “Okay, if you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” Derek nods. He presses another kiss to the back of Stiles’ hand. “Now go to sleep, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Stiles yawns and nods. As only son and best man he’s invested in making his father’s wedding day a success. “You really don’t think he’d let me walk him down the aisle?” 

Derek chuckles quietly. They’ve been over this before. “Just leave that part to Scott and his mom. Don’t steal their thunder.” 

“Right.” Stiles caresses the side of Derek’s face one last time and then tucks his arm back underneath his blanket. “Good night, Der. Love you.” 

“I love you too. Good night.”

[ao3-shenanigans]

Hi! Just a thing I wrote in honor of Comment Day. Maybe you might want to read/share it?

Every writer I have never known a writer is always happy to get positive feedback, but some readers believe if they leave kudos or a comment, they’re bothering the writer. Here’s a comparison that might explain why that isn’t the case.

Imagine that the fanfic is a play, and the author has worked really hard on the whole thing: costumes, scenery, the plot, characterization, everything. It’s opening night. The stage manager (AO3) gives the author the headcount (hit number) of the audience (the readers). The writer is now able to imagine 10 or 100 or 1000 people sitting in the audience, watching what they have created. While a big number is fantastic, most writers are thrilled anyone wants to see what they’ve made.

When the play is over, the writer comes out to take a bow.  One hundred people are in the audience.

Two people clap (left a kudos).

Everyone else gets up and walks out in silence.

Obviously, the writer is happy these two people clapped, but they’re also thinking, “Did… did the other 98 people hate it? Were those pity claps? Was it that bad?”

That’s what’s happening on AO3. A fantastic single-chapter fic will get over a thousand hits and wind up with maybe 5 to 10% of those readers leaving kudos. The other 90% could include people re-reading, and numbers get more complicated with multichapter fics since readers can leave kudos only once.

But essentially, a lot of readers see a fic as being more like a movie, where the audience just leaves at the end. It’s even harder for an “older” fic (“older” can sometimes be applied to fics posted only a month ago), where the “play” has been running a while, the author is still there doing everything, but now people decide since it’s not new, there’s no point in showing they liked it.

Maybe one in a hundred readers, sometimes fewer, leaves a written comment. This is like hearing someone in that theater cheering. If it’s a piece of feedback that’s more detailed than a keysmash or an “I like this,” that person is giving the author a standing ovation. And if someone recommends the fic somewhere, maybe saying so in a comment, it’s like getting a rave review on the cover of the New York Times!

All of these are happy things. Kudos, comments of any length, recs, all of them make an author’s day shiny and happy. They’re absolutely fantastic! No writer is bothered by anyone doing these things.

Maybe you’re still thinking, okay, I can see I’m not bothering the writer, but does just writing “I really enjoyed this fic” do anything?

Yes. Because there are the other, less happy responses. Some comments might be demands, making the comment less about thanking the writer and more turning it into a to do list for them. Some authors see their work has been bookmarked only to realize it has a note like “this is awful” or “TLDR” or “started okay but was stupid by the end.” The default for bookmarks is everyone can see them. Finally, anyone who has written fic for any length of time has dealt with flames. These aren’t constructive criticism; they’re flat out abuse, ranging from name calling to highly detailed insults that are the exact reverse of a long, happy comment. Authors look in their email, see someone has commented on their fic, and are thrilled, only to read the comment and be told they are worthless, stupid, untalented. Everyone gets these sometimes, and writers should ignore them, but most of us have sometimes cried over them. Picture that same theater full of silent people, with one or two people clapping, and suddenly someone stands up and starts booing and hurling rotten tomatoes on stage. Readers might not even know it’s happening since writers usually delete those comments. But they still sting.

Kudos and compliments are not annoying anyone. Flames, on the other hand, are awful. The difference is the polite reader who chooses to say nothing out of shyness backs away from doing something that will make the writer happy, while the rude reader actively goes out of their way to make the writer unhappy.

I’ve been in fandom quite a while. Interaction has dropped since the old days, and it’s even dropped off over time at AO3. I’m not sure why, unless it’s that readers regard hits as being like views on TikTok. Since TikTok’s algorithm chooses what will show up more often in people’s feeds based on views, that makes some sense there, but AO3 doesn’t do that. There is no popularity contest writers are winning through views. Unless you tell them, they may think you hated what they wrote and that the flames are the genuine overall reaction.

The moral? If you love something, or even like it, show the writer some appreciation. The second it takes to leave a kudos might make them feel happy the whole day.

Comments and Kudos are probably some of the best gifts to give your favorite artists and storytellers (they’re free and easy too!)

[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[starryiguess]

Heya :)

I was wondering if you could write some reader angst with Boothill (maybe reader gets poisoned, injured, nearly drowns etc.)

Hi i0fty, thank you for requesting! Originally, this was supposed to be a short fanfic, but my friend 🕶️ wanted to collaborate too so you got a really long fanfic! Apologies for taking so long but I hope you enjoy it!

————————————————————————

Hurt! Reader with Boothill

Warning: Themes of anxiety, blood, guns mentioned, hurt no comfort, and ambiguous ending

Word Count: 930

🕶️ -

“Where are you going now?”

You sighed, eyes staring at Boothill’s hurrying figure as he scrambled to find the location of his lost hat. He’s so focused on finding it that he unintentionally ignored your question, but you already knew the answer.

“Son of a gun—where is it?”

You could see the panic in his movements, the slight crunching of the metal that made up his body as he flipped things over…very gently. The books you had set on your shelves were opened slightly, his eye peeking through the pages. At this point, he was getting delusional.

“It’s not here… dang! I could’ve sworn I put it here last night..” His hands rest on the table next to your bed, grasping onto emptiness with an expectation that the hat would appear out of thin air. After a few more minutes of slight panic, desperation, and finally acceptance, Boothill huffs as he sits down next to you. You felt the familiarity of cold metal against your skin as he held your hand. His eyes search for signs of sympathy on your face…until he sees his beloved hat upon your head.

Your face wasn’t showing sympathy, it was showing annoyance. The “I can’t come with you…and I know, but it gets crazy boring around here” face. Last night was therapeutic, and you’re too attached to your robotic boyfriend to let him go on these dangerous missions, not to mention the fact that your anxiety was going through the roof. Boothill’s mouth curls into a stupid grin, seemingly as if he was reading your mind.

“Missing me already, huh?”

You wanted to punch him, but you would just end up with swollen knuckles. Deep inside your heart, burrowed underneath everything, there was an ache. It was increasingly harder every time he went away to subdue this ache.. it was like a migraine that never completely disappears. You were scared. Scared for him, scared that he would go one day and never come back. Scared that his beautiful features would be painted in blood. Scared that his eyes would witness unspeakable scenes. Scared that he would lose his way back to the comfort of your home. Boothill is a mind reader when it comes to you. Still, you always found it surprising that he was so capable of pinpointing the exact emotions that were flowing through your being, but you know he knows you.

“Sugarplum, I’m gonna’ be alright. You don’t need to worry about me.” His filtered laughs filled the room with warmth. “I’m like, 80% metal, in case you forgot. Even if someone caught me off guard—which has never happened before— and got their puny hands on me, they would get a hard-“ash” punch to their head. See?” Boothill patted his “biceps” with a reassuring smile. Gosh, you were so in love with this cheesy man.

“Yeah.. yeah-you’re right.” You breathed out, anxiety melting away slowly at his words. “Just—hm. Just be careful, alright? I don’t want you coming back late. Twelve is the time you have to be back.”

Your words caused Boothill to laugh softly into his hand. You could see him laugh. You could see how he was struggling to comprehend his curfew. You could see sincerity creeping into his face.

“Alright. Ya’ got yourself a promise.”

Boothill’s fluttering kiss on your cheek was quick and sweet, but two seconds later he was standing beside your room window, one hand opening it up while the other tilted his hat as a goodbye. You wondered when exactly he swiped it off of you. Midnight. He should be back by then, right?

It was one in the morning. Midnight had passed and your shoes had already been put on. Your coat was stretched over your back, your hands slid into the sleeves. Your door was unlocked and you ran. You ran for the fear of never seeing him again. You ran with blurry eyes and adrenaline. You ran without thinking. You ran until the ringing of gunshots registered through your ears. You stopped running, and you could see Boothill.

“I found you.” Joy and relief flooded through your body, and you had a million things to say to him. But why?

Why was it hard to speak? Why was it hard to keep your eyes open? Questions rang around in your head. Was Boothill saying something? You couldn’t hear him. There was something wet on your face, was he crying? Your eyes are tired.

You decided to let them rest, just for a little while.

⭐️-

You shouldn’t be here right now. No. No. No! He could faintly hear gunshots echo in the room, but Boothill only focuses on you. A pool of crimson envelops your silhouette. Eyes closed. His hands have blood, your blood. He curses, or tries to really.

Disbelief. Anger. Fury. Boothill whips out his gun and starts shooting at the perpetrators. Splats of their blood are now on the walls. They stopped moving after a while yet he still shoots. The gun clicks from the lack of bullets in the chamber. Because of them, no, himself, you’re gravely hurt.

His eyes dart back to your unresponsive form. Boothill kneels down then carries you. Quick, but not too hasty to prevent the bleeding from worsening. His right hand on your shoulder, left arm under your knees, and your head resting on his shoulder. Boothill doesn’t know where he’s running to, but you need help immediately.

“You’ll be okay.” He doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince you or himself. His voice gets desperate and cracks.

“You have to be.”

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Hi there! As a new fic writer, I was wondering if you had any writing advice (in general), but especially for writing dead dove. Do you have any advice on how to make your writing impactful and more emotionally devastating (lol)?

I’ve always thought writing that hits a reader so hard that it effects them emotionally—as if they’re a part of the story themselves—are some of the best written (and my personal favorites to read).

Thanks so much!

the most important and effective advice in general that I can give anybody when it comes to writing, is that ‘practice makes perfect’.

however, it’s also important to note that I am by no means saying my writing is ‘perfect’ — because you (general you) stop learning and improving your skills the second you believe what you’re doing has already reached the point where it’s ‘perfect’, and that’s where it becomes a problem. there’s a difference between being proud of yourself and your work (which you should always be) and thinking that your work is already ‘perfect’. 

so what I’m saying is; as long as you’re willing to keep learning, you will only keep getting better. always practicing, always learning.

your first ever work may not be as satisfying as you want it to be, and that is okay. looking back, the first ever fic I wrote almost 8 years ago would not be satisfying if I wrote it recently — considering how my writing style has changed, as I’ve found (still am continuing to find) what represents myself best in my works, and how I’ve learned and improved my skills — but that fic was still my creation and I still am proud of myself and of the art I’ve created; the thing is that I’ve practiced and learned and I’ve come a long way, and that’s what really matters.

as for writing dead dove, my advice would be ‘don’t hold yourself back just because you think this is too violent or too disturbing’. as I’ve always said, there is no such thing as ‘too far’, ‘too graphic’ or ‘too triggering’ when it comes to any form of art. 

that being said, content warning is just as important. warn your potential readers beforehand about what they might be getting themselves into if they decided to give your writing a read. this doesn’t mean you have to ‘spoil’ your fic to them, just let your readers know what kind of content is in the work — for instance, child death, blood and gore, non-con, drug use, human trafficking, etc — so that your readers can decide for themselves if the work is too much for them.

but that does NOT mean you should stop writing about This Specific Topic You Love to Write About just because it’s too triggering for your readers. why? because, while your readers should always be appreciated, you don’t write for them. you write FOR YOURSELF.

write what you want to read.

write whatever you want.

you, the writer, are the priority of your work.

don’t write something you don’t want to write just because it’s what your readers want. 

don’t hold yourself back from writing what you want to write just because your readers don’t like it.

the most important factor about writing fanfics and/or original works is that writing should be something you enjoy. not a job (even if you write original work as a career), you should always have fun doing what you’re doing. that’s how you can do your best.

the trick to writing an impactful and emotionally devastating scene is if YOU are invested in what you’re writing enough that words come from within yourself. and you can only be invested in what you’re writing that much if you love and enjoy what you’re writing.

it’s more difficult to love and enjoy what you're doing, if you’re doing it to please other people.

you see where I’m getting at? it’s all about your love, enjoyment and passion as a writer. 

you don’t write for your readers. you write for yourself, and your work will attract to it the right readers who love the same thing you do. and that’s how you successfully write an impactful and emotionally devastating scene that can make your readers cry.

don’t think about whether or not your writing will have enough impact on your readers when you write, because thinking about that will only distract and prevent you from reaching your best potential. just be invested in your writing. 

don’t think about whether or not your readers will like this; because worrying about whether or not your readers will like it will also distract and prevent you from doing your best.

if you want your readers to feel as if they’re a part of the story themselves, you yourself have to be emotionally invested in it that you feel like you’re a part of the story yourself. and that can only happen if you’re doing it for you. not for your readers. not for anybody else. but for you.

repeat after me ‘I am the priority of my writing’. 

again, be invested in your writing. write whatever you want to write, no matter how disturbing or fucked up or violent your work gets, write whatever you want. just don’t forget to tag all the trigger warnings properly.

you don’t ‘try to attract people to read your work’. you get invested in your work, you write whatever you want, out of love and passion, and your work will attract the right readers to it.

I have no doubt you will become one of the best writers out there, anon. keep learning. keep writing. I’m rooting for you.

[genshinluvr]

Where's the Update? (Genshin Filler)

Pairings: Somewhat Genshin men x Isekai'd!Reader, but there's no romance in this fic... at least, I don't think there is one

Summary: You and the men go and visit the person who writes the script for every project you all do.

Note: Here's a random filler fanfic because I feel bad for not updating in so long. This is me trying to write something because I've been having a really hard time getting back into writing and updating. I don't expect anyone to read this, really. But since I've been getting numerous asks about when am I going to update, here is a filler chapter. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k

“Are you sure you want to ask her about it?” Aether asks nervously, watching you approach the closed door to an office.

You nod at Aether wordlessly, knocking on the door. Aether turns to the other men, pursing his lips while the others behind him shrug their shoulders. Dainsleif sighs and rubs his temples, watching you press your ears against the door after not hearing a response from the person behind the door.

“Maybe we shouldn’t disturb her.” Tighnari rubs the back of his neck, tapping his feet on the ground while subconsciously trying to hear anything behind the door.

Again, there’s no response from behind the door. You let out a huff of breath before knocking on the door again—no response from the person in the room. You groan and press your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s been, what, six months since you have heard from this person.

“I understand she was busy with her life, but we’ve been waiting for so long for an update. She even said she would try to update us when she can, but….” You trail off, rubbing your eyes with mild annoyance.

Al Haitham shrugs, opening his book while leaning against the wall. “Exactly. She would try to when she could, but she wasn’t able to because she was busy with her life.”

You try to refrain from breaking the door down yourself and drag this woman out of her small space to have a word with her. However, being a nice person (you try), you refrain from doing so. Before you can knock on the door, the door opens, and lo and behold, the woman in question finally answers the door.

Her eyes widen, and she glances at the calendar frozen in time on the wall. “How long have you guys been standing out here? How long has it been since…” She trails off, scratching her head.

A fake smile plasters on your face while you press your lips into a thin line. How long has she been in that room to the point where she loses track of time? You clear your throat, placing your hand on the woman’s shoulders, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Dear author, it’s been a long time since we’ve heard something from you. It’s, uh, good to see you again!” You said, feigning cheerfulness. 

The woman pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, only for it to slide down. “Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She mutters.

“Aside from the small life updates here and there, we’re happy to see you again!” Kaveh interjects, placing his hand on your shoulders and giving them a squeeze as if he’s warning you to be nice. 

The woman shakes her head, gesturing for you and the others to enter the small space of her office. You and the others walk into the small area, surveying the space. You’re surprised to see an organized work area for someone who barely has the time to update. Speaking of organization and updating… this woman has time to organize her workspace but not enough time to update?

The woman collapses on her seat and turns to look at the crowd in her office. “What are you all doing here? I’m assuming it’s not to check up on me.” She teases, pushing up her glasses, only for them to slide down once again.

Itto nudges you, gesturing you to answer the woman in front of you. You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck when you feel multiple eyes focusing on you. “What do you mean? We are! How have you been doing in the past few months? How’s life?”

The woman sitting in front of you shifts in her seat, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve been stressed and incredibly burned out for the past few months, but I’m doing okay.” 

You nod, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Silence falls over you and everyone in the room. The woman kicks her feet back and forth, unsure of what to say. Scaramouche rolls his eyes and groans, garnering attention from everyone in the small space. 

Scaramouche points at the woman, “Ugh! Enough with beating around the bush! When are you going to update?!” he demands. 

The woman stares at Scaramouche with wide eyes, almost clueless. “Update….?”

Venti giggles nervously, pushing Scaramouche to the side. “Don’t mind him. He’s just, uh, lacks filter.”

You grab the closest chair and drag it over to where the woman sits. You sit beside her and clasp your hands together, crossing your legs. She stares at you and glances at the others blankly, pressing her lips into a thin line. You let out a long sigh, hugging your knees to your chest.

“How are you, really? I know you said you’ve been stressed and burned out, but how are you?” You whisper.

The woman leans in her seat, rolls her head back, and stares at the ceiling. “I’ve been stuck in a loop,” she says, “The constant loop of doing assignments, dealing with personal life, worrying about whether I would graduate on time, and wanting to write so many things, and yet nothing will come out.” The woman leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.

“So… you weren’t slacking off on writing?” Childe asks, only to get slapped upside the head by Zhongli. 

The woman makes a so-so gesture. “Yes and no. I want to write, and I have been trying my best to write something. However, I would lose the motivation to write, and writing isn’t as easy as it seems. It takes a lot of time and effort— at least for me, it does.”

You rest your chin on your knees, staring holes into the woman’s skull if you stare any harder. The woman shifts in her seat while you continue to stare her down. You inch closer to her and awkwardly pat her head while she sits there, reminding you of a gargoyle. “I’m not good with comforting people, but I hope this makes you feel a tiny bit better despite my failed efforts.” You said, giving her an awkward smile.

The woman snorts before sighing and turning to her computer. “I’ll have something out hopefully soon. Would a filler update be okay? I want to get something out, you know? And maybe once I get used to writing, I’ll try my best to update more.” She mutters, tapping on her chin.

“If it works for you, then it works for you. I don’t speak for others, but I can wait,” Xiao comments, looking at you from the corner of his eyes while you rub the back of your neck, attempting to avoid his gaze.

The woman sighs, opening the file on her computer to show many uncompleted works. Lots of stories, both titled and untitled— some have a decent amount of words while others have little to none. You peek over her shoulders, squinting to read the title of the unfinished stories. “Oooh! Another chapter for Tragic Outcomes?! Wait, that document says you haven’t touched it since September!”

The woman clears her throat, nodding sheepishly. “I have a somewhat decent amount typed out, but I didn’t like where it was going…” she trails off, “So, I decided not to work on it.”

You turn to Xiao. “Do you think I dumped you in that story?”

Xiao scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I would do it if I were you.”

You turn to the computer and watch the woman scroll through the endless documents. The majority of them are completed and have already been published. However, a few catch your eye.

“What’s this one? It said you opened it two weeks ago.” You point at the somewhat.

The woman sighs, slumping in her seat. “It’s been sitting on my head for a while. I like the idea, but I feel like people are going to complain about it.”

Wriothesley scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t please everyone, you know? People will find the littlest things to complain about. Your character doesn’t act the way they do? They whine about it. Your character does something this one specific person wouldn’t do? They whine about it. You have your character be paired up with one of us and not this specific person? They whine about it.”

“Why do they whine about these things? It’s not like the author specifically makes the main character based on them. If they want something very specific, they can pay up and commission her for something specific.” Itto declares, propping his hands on his hips. “And if they don’t want to do that, then too bad, so sad.”

“Care to tell us what this uncompleted story is about?” Cyno asks, walking over to the woman’s desk.

The woman scratches her head. “I don’t know if I want to say it.”

Tighnari blinks at her, tilting his head. “Why not? Is it because you’re worried people aren’t going to like it and will complain?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, it’ll be me spoiling the future story that I’m trying to work on. But if that doesn’t work out, then I’ll start a new series.” She shrugs her shoulders, leaning in her seat while scrolling through the documents. The woman gets up from her seat and starts moving them towards the entrance of her office. “Anyway, that is all for now! Thank you all for visiting me, but I do need to complete a few things.”

After being kicked out of the office, you and the men all stand at the front of the woman’s office, looking at one another. You sigh and plop on the ground, rolling over and curling up into a fetal position.

“How much longer do I have to wait?” You groan, rolling around on the grass.

Capitano huffs. “The more you whine about it, the more she’ll delay it.”

You glare at Capitano from where you’re at before sitting up. “I don’t think she will do that!” You argue. “Archons, I hope she doesn’t.” You scramble up from the ground, knocking on the office door.

“What are you doing?” Dottore sighs, rubbing his temples as he and the others watch you knock on the door repeatedly.

“I’m going to tell the author that she can take as much time as she needs because—” 

Neuvillette shakes his head, grabs you by the waist, and tosses you over his shoulders. “We understand the sentiment, but there’s a chance you’ll make her upset.” Neuvillette pats your head as he walks away from the office, and the others follow.

Note: To be honest, this was way easier to write than stories with plot— and I have a lot in the drafts, and they're all unfinished and untouched, which sucks because I want to write, but the motivation is nearly nonexistent. I'm not sure when I'll actually post a full plot fanfic, but we'll have to wait and see. As you can see, there are little to no hashtags because it's not really the usual story I post, and it's a filler fanfic. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing #5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Shorter list this time, but longer points. I expect this one to be more divisive, but it is what it is, and this is what ‘no one tells you’ about writing, after all. This one’s all about feedback and how to take it, and give it.

1. Not everyone will like your book, no matter how good it is

I’ve said this before, granted, but sometimes you can have very arbitrary reasons for not liking an otherwise great story. For example: I refuse to watch Hamilton. Why? Because everyone I knew and their dog was trying to cram it down my throat when it came out and I still don’t really like musicals, and didn’t appreciate the bombardment of insisting I’ll like it simply because everyone else does. I’m sure it’s great! I’m just not watching it until I want to watch it.

It can be other reasons, too. I won’t read fanfic that’s written in first person, doesn’t matter how good it is. Someone might not watch a TV show because the primary cast is white or not-white. Someone might not watch a movie because an actor they despise is in it, even if the role is fantastic. Someone might not watch or read a story that’s too heavy on the romance, or not enough, or too explicit. I went looking for beta readers and came across one who wouldn’t touch a book where the romance came secondary in a sci-fi or fantasy novel. Kept on scrolling.

Someone can just think your side character is unfunny and doesn’t hear the same music as everyone else. Someone can just not like your writing style with either too much or not enough fluff, or too much personality in the main narrator. Or they have triggers that prevent them from enjoying it the way you intend.

How someone expresses that refusal is not your job to manage. You cannot force someone to like your work and pushing too hard will just make it worse. Some people just won’t like it, end of story.

2. Criticism takes a very long time to take well

Some people are just naturally better at taking constructive criticism, some have a thick skin, some just have a natural confidence that beats back whatever jabs the average reader or professional editor can give. If you’re like me, you might’ve physically struggled at first to actually read the feedback and insisted that your beta readers color-coded the positive from the negative.

It can be a very steep climb up the mountain until you reach a point where you know you’re good enough, and fully appreciate that it is actually “constructive” and anything that isn’t, isn’t worth your time.

The biggest hurdle I had to climb was this: A criticism of my work is not a criticism of me as a person.

Yes, my characters are built with pieces of my personality and worldview and dreams and ideals, but the people giving you feedback should be people who either already know you as a person and are just trying to help, or are people you pay to be unbiased and only focus on what’s on the page.

Some decisions, like a concerning moral of your story, is inadvertently a criticism of your own beliefs—like when I left feedback that anxiety can’t just be loved away and believing so is a flawed philosophy. I did that with intent to help, not because I thought the writer incompetent or that they wrote it in bad faith.

I’m sure it wasn’t a fun experience reading what I had to say, either. It’s not fun when I get told a character I love and lost sleep over getting right isn’t getting the same reception with my betas. But they’re all doing it (or at least they all should be doing it) from a place of just wanting to help, not to insult your writing ability. Even if your writing objectively sucks, you’re still doing a lot more just by putting words on paper than so many people who can’t bring themselves to even try.

As with all mediums subjects to critique, one need not be an author to still give valuable feedback. I’m not a screenwriter, but from an audience’s standpoint, I can tell you what I think works. Non-authors giving you pointers on the writing process? You can probably ignore that. Non-authors giving you pointers on how your character lands? Then, yeah, they might have an opinion worth considering.

3. Parsing out the “constructive” from the criticism isn’t easy

This goes for people giving it as well. Saying things like “this book sucks” is an obviously useless one. Saying “I didn’t like this story because it was confusing and uncompelling” is better. “I think this story was confusing and uncompelling because of X, and I have some suggestions here that I think can make it better.”

Now we’re talking.

Everyone’s writing style is different. Some writers like a lot of fluff and poetic prose to immerse you in the details and the setting, well beyond what you need to understand the scene or the plot. Their goal is to make this world come alive and help you picture the scene exactly the way they see it in their minds.

There’s writers who are very light on the sensory fluff and poetry, trying to give you the impression of what the scene should look and feel like and letting you fill in the missing pieces with your own vision.

Or there’s stories that take a long time to get anywhere, spending many pages on the small otherwise insignificant slice-of-life details as opposed to laser-precision on the plot, and those who trim off all the fat for a fast-paced rollercoaster.

None of these are inherently bad or wrong, but audiences do have their preferences.

The keyword in “constructive criticism” is “construct”. As in, your advice is useless if you can’t explain why you think an element needs work. “It’s just bad” isn’t helpful to anyone.

When trying to decide if feedback has merit, try to look at whatever the critic gives you and explain what they said to yourself in your own words. If you think changing the piece in question will enhance your story or better convey what you’re trying to say, it’s probably solid advice.

Sometimes you just have to throw the whole character out, or the whole scene, whole plot line and side quest. Figuring out what you can salvage just takes time, and practice.

4. Just when you think you’re done, there’s more

There’s a quote out there that may or may not belong to Da Vinci that goes “art is never finished, only abandoned.” Even when you think your book is as good as it can be, you can still sleep on it and second-guess yourself and wonder if something about it could have been done better or differently.

There is such a thing as too much editing.

But it also takes a long time to get there. Only 10-15% of writing is actually penning the story. The rest is editing, agonizing over editing, re-editing, and staring at the same few lines of dialogue that just aren't working to the point that you dream about your characters.

It can get demoralizing fast when you think you’ve fixed a scene, get the stamp of approval from one reader, only for the next one to come back with valid feedback neither of you considered before. So you fix it again. And then there’s another problem you didn’t consider. And then you’re juggling all these scene bits and moments you thought were perfect, only for it to keep collapsing.

It will get there. You will have a manuscript you’re proud of, even if it’s not the one you thought you were going to write. My newest book isn’t what I set out to write, but if I stuck to that original idea, I never would have let it become the work that it is.

5. “[Writing advice] is more like guidelines than actual rules.”

Personally, I think there’s very few universal, blanket pieces of writing advice that fit every book, no exceptions, no conditions, no questions asked. Aside from: Don’t sacrifice a clear story for what you think is cool, but horribly confusing.

For example, I’m American, but I like watching foreign films from time to time. The pacing and story structure of European films can break so many American rules it’s astonishing. Pacing? What pacing? It’s ~fancy~. It wants to hang on a shot of a random wall for fifteen seconds with no music and no point because it’s ~artsy~. Or there is no actual plot, or arc, it’s just following these characters around for 90 minutes while they do a thing. The entire movie is basically filler. Or the ending is deeply unsatisfying because the hoity-toity filmmaker believes in suffering for art or… something.

That doesn’t fly with mainstream American audiences. We live, breathe, and die on the Hero’s Journey and expect a three-act-structure with few novel exceptions.

That does not mean your totally unique or subversive plot structure is wrong. So much writing advice I’ve found is solid advice, sure, but it doesn’t often help me with the story I’m writing. I don’t write romance like the typical romance you’d expect (especially when it comes to monster allegories). There’s some character archetypes I just can’t write and refuse to include–like the sad, abusive, angsty, 8-pack abs love interest, or the comedic relief.

Beyond making sure your audience can actually understand what you’re trying to say, both because you want your message to be received, and you don’t want your readers to quit reading, there is an audience for everything, and exceptions to nearly every rule, even when it comes to writing foundations like grammar and syntax.

You don’t even have to put dialogue in quotes. (Be advised, though, that the more ~unique~ your story is, the more likely you are to only find success in a niche audience).

Lots of writing advice is useful. Lots of it is contradictory. Lots of it is outdated because audience expectations are changing constantly. There is a balance between what you *should* do as said by other writers, and what you think is right for your story, regardless of what anyone else says.

Just don’t make it confusing.

—

I just dropped my cover art and summary for my debut novel. Go check it out and let me know what you think!

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I’ve been a lurker for a little bit and I love your stuff, could we pretty please get some Headcanons for Charon or Gob. I’m on my knees over here they have like no fanfic or content 😭

What a coincidence, I literally just posted headcanons for Gob here (NSFW), and our favorite bouncer is next. I also have long-form works for both in the pipe, but the Charon piece already has some serious work done on it.

Charon's writing frustrates me endlessly tbh. He's so intriguing (and fuckable, obviously), but there's so little there in the canon to answer the questions you naturally have about him. So, I may be taking a few liberties here.

Charon (Fallout 3) NSFW Headcanons

I firmly believe he's prewar, and I think he's been enslaved/"under contract" since he became a ghoul. Regardless of how the whole contract thing works, he has the same issue as Gob where he hasn't been allowed to have desires or boundaries, just in a different way (Charon is obviously able to defend himself physically, and even technically has some manner of free will, but he knows that there are often unpleasant consequences for failing to obey his contract holder). The man IS a slave, but a strangely complicated one. If you want meaningless sex, he'll give it to you. Whether or not he actually wants or enjoys it, you'll never know without a real connection or a long, long time of studying his general behavior. He's incredibly hard to read up front, agreeable but not really warm or open.

His contract is supposed to entitle the holder to his labor in combat, so he's not really required to do anything else, as far as I can tell, including have sex with them if they ask, but I think he would use it as a sort of excuse to do so if he was already inclined.

You can't give him the contract or otherwise "free" him from his enslavement in the game, but in my opinion, that's silly. Sure, I think it would take a long time of him getting used to the idea of it, but I also think he'd certainly WANT to no longer be a slave at some point. Eventually, the contract is moreso an excuse. He never takes it from you when you offer it to him; he's following you because he has nowhere else to go, because he wants to. Eventually, he's following you because he's in love with you in his own way. But as long as you physically hold that piece of paper, he has the excuse.

If he does care about you, he will resist your physical advances, at least at first. He believes he's protecting you, as he always does, by sparing you from the social consequences of choosing to be with a ghoul. However, at the end of the day, he wants you, too, and eventually he won't be able to deny himself, especially if he knows you won't deny him. Even then, he'll kind of hate himself for being too weak to not fall in love with you, and he'll feel insanely guilty and selfish for not letting you go like he should. He's a fairly morose man overall, and I think he'd spend a lot of time pondering what the consequences of you two choosing one another this way will inevitably be.

Even with that under consideration, he'd still be happy with you. Keeping you safe and happy is pleasing to him (even if he likes to feign annoyance at your little peculiarities and your choices sometimes), and you'd get to slowly, painstakingly slowly begin to see him sort of begin to become his own man again. Over time, he'll talk more, but it's still almost always to ask about you, to remark about something that isn't himself.

Speaking of which, once he begins to "wake up", so to speak, become more aware of his newly-granted autonomy and his desires, as well as your own, he's gonna be rearing to go all the time. Slowly, he's gonna become fully cognizant of the fact that you really do want him as much as he wants you, so...why shouldn't you be fucking right this second, again? Doesn't really matter where you are. Who's gonna stop him from fucking you? Who's gonna succeed if they try? What I'm saying is this: I hope you're ready to basically be a free-use pocket pussy for this big-ass ghoul.

Some ghouls, like Cooper Howard, were once pretty serious ladies' men who've developed some hard edges over their long lives; despite this, that charisma often remains buried somewhere deep inside them, waiting to jump out at the right person. Charon is not that. This man had zero game before the war and he has less than none now. If you want traditional romantic gestures from him, you are going to have to specifically explain and request them, as unromantic as that may sound on its face. He wants to see you happy, but he's never really had to think romantically, so it doesn't come naturally to him at all. He knows about foreplay as a concept, but lacks patience and finesse when it comes to getting things started. Lots of shoving his hand up your shirt, down your pants sort of awkwardly in the beginning. Roughly groping you to signal he's in the mood to the point where it sort of hurts.

You know what they say about men? The dense ones fuck the hardest. Charon IS that; he's not unintelligent, just a very straightforward thinker. But he's obviously great at following directions, including when you beg him to fuck you until you can't stand.

He's just as quiet during sex as he is normally, save for a few grunts and growls and occasionally asking if you're okay, but you may notice over time that he's more physically affectionate. Likes to stroke your face, pet your hair, pepper you with kisses in a way he usually doesn't. I think he would see you being distracted by him rearranging your guts as an opportunity to be slightly more vulnerable.

Big fan of cockwarming. Already likes to just hold you in his arms while you both do something quiet, but he likes it even more when you're doing whatever you're doing slid down on his cock. His favorite is when you climb up into his lap, naked from the waist down, sink down on him, and immediately take a nap on his chest.

[vamp4kaulitz]

Bill k. X Reader w/ Thunder thighs? HC pls,or imagine whatever you want really (DO NOT FEEL PRESSURED,YOU NEED SLEEP,YOU NEED TO EAT,AND MAKE SURE YOU READ ENOUGH FANFIC)

BILL KAULITZ X GN! READER W THUNDER THIGHS HCS

pairing: bill kaulitz x gn! reader

hika🕷️:: TYSMM FOR THE REQUEST MLLL!! I will make sure I’m taking care of myself, I love you smm💞!! sorry i haven’t been posting- i lowk dont know what to write😢. lol it’s 2am rn. psa 6/21; yes i am black and im aware i wrote this on Juneteenth.

SFW

i feel like bill is a thigh guy and he would LOVE your thighs sm. i mean he would always have this hands on your thighs, he would just be the touchy lil guy he is.

he’d definitely help rub coconut oil on them<3 this man loves helping you out, especially because he loves feeling your soft skin.

if you feel insecure about them, he would reassure you and kiss all over them. bill would kiss and nip at your thighs, whispering praises.

if you ever decided to get rid of them by working out, he’d be a bit but he would always be there to support you(such a good boyfriend)

would DEFINITELY use your legs as pillows. bill would stuff his face between your things 24/7. if not, he would rub and kiss them without a care in the world.

if someone points out your thighs in a negative way, best believe this man is THROWING HANDS!! how could someone talk about his precious baby like that? especially in front of him? hes not letting any insult go unheard.

“the fuck did you just say? why don’t you mind your own fucking business and leave them alone!” he shouted at them loudly, not caring who looks.

“say one more fucking thing and i will knock your teeth out.” he spat and grabbed your hand and walked away<33

if you ever ranted on how you hate your thighs, he’d be right by your side, listening to you. he would comfort you no matter what.

“i just hate my things, they are so annoying..!” you sobbed out and bill hugged you tightly.

“im sorry you feel that way baby. your unique, always remember that okay?”

NSFW (skip if uncomfortable)

oh gosh where can I even start? he would leave all types of hickeys all over them.

while eating you out, he would push them apart and squeeze them while he worked his way with you, demanding you to not close your legs.

“keep these beautiful legs spread for me, liebe.”

oh my gosh SIT ON HIS FACE PLSS. he downright begs for it, not caring if he seems desperate, that’s because he is.

“please please please schatz i want you to sit on my face!!” he whined as he begged and begged.

“but my thighs bill- what if they squish you or run out of breath?” you pouted. he didn’t care if he couldn’t breath after.

after some convincing you’d give in. he was like a happy kid who’s parent got them what they wanted from the store.

“fine fine fine! ill sit on your face, you happy?” you groaned and he smiled so widely. “i promsieee it’ll feel so good!” he said excitedly.

you didn’t put your full weight on him because you were scared of squishing him with your thighs. you lowered yourself on him, but not fully.

“i said, put your full weight on me.” he said and gripped your thighs and pushed you down on his face. you moaned loudly as his tongue skillfully moved against you, his tongue piercing feeling so so good.

You came so hard that you could’ve sworn you saw stars. You pulled off his face and he wiped his mouth and smirked.

“told ya you’d like it.” he teased and you rolled your eyes playfully.

hika🕷️:: i wrote this in one sitting goodbye..also requests are finally open sooo send me your horny stuff you lil goobers!! remember NOT to cross my rules!!

[nyxshadowhawk]

A Retrospective on Harry Potter

Why did I like it in the first place? What about it worked? Where do I go from here?

I have decided to give up Harry Potter.

J.K. Rowling’s reputation now stinks to high heaven. At this point, she is quite indefensible. And even if that weren’t the case, she is not someone that I would want to associate with anyway. Meanwhile, the internet has not only turned against her, but against Harry Potter itself. An innocent question on Reddit, about which Hogwarts Houses the ATLA characters would be in, got downvoted to oblivion. Innumerable Tumblr threads insist that fantasy fans should get into literally anything else (suggestions include Discworld, Earthsea, The Wheel of Time, and Percy Jackson). And now that Harry Potter is no longer a sacred cow, there has been a recent slew of video essays that rip it to shreds, attacking it for its poor worldbuilding, unoriginality, and the problematic ideas baked into the original books (like the whole SPEW thing), etc. Those criticisms always existed, but now they’re getting thrown into the limelight.

It pains me to see such an ignoble downfall of Harry Potter’s reputation. If Rowling had just kept her damn mouth shut, Harry Potter would have aged gracefully, becoming a beloved children’s classic. I'd still plan to introduce it to my own kids one day (after Rowling dies and the dust settles). It’s not surprising that not all aspects of it have aged well, since it’s been more than twenty years since its original publishing date, and everything starts to show its age after that long. I acknowledge that most of the criticisms of the series that I’ve seen lately are valid, and I’ve read plenty of better books. And yet, when I return to the books themselves, even with the knowledge of who JKR really is inside my head, I still really enjoy reading them! There’s still a lot about them that I think works!

None of the other things I’ve read have had as collossal of an impact upon my identity, my values, and my own writing as Harry Potter. It’s hard to move on from it, not just because it’s something I enjoy, but because I have to literally extract my identity from it. I don’t know who I’d be without Harry Potter. I don’t know what my work would look like without Harry Potter. I don’t know how to carry it with me as just another piece of media that I like, as opposed to a filter for who I am as a person. So, with all that in mind, I have to ask myself why I liked Harry Potter so much in the first place. If I’m going to move on from it, then I have to be able to define and isolate the things about it that I want to keep with me. Something about it obviously worked, on a massive scale. So what was it?

It’s not the worldbuilding. The worldbuilding is objectively quite terrible, especially in comparison to that of other fantasy writers who knew what they were doing. At best, it’s inconsistent and poorly thought-out, and at worst it’s insensitive or even racist. Is it the characters? The characters are, in my opinion, one of the stronger parts of the story. But I felt very called-out by one of the many online commentators, who said that anyone who identifies with Harry is too cowardly to write self-insert fic. (I do not remember who said it or even which site it was on, but I distinctly remember the phrase, “Reject Harry Potter, embrace Y/N.”) The reason why people get so invested in Harry Potter’s characters is because they’re easy to project upon, and it’s possible that my love of Harry comes more from over a decade’s worth of projection than anything else. The incessant arguments over characters like Snape, Dumbledore, and James Potter ultimately stem from the fact that these characters do not always come across the way Rowling wanted them to. As for the writing itself, it’s decent, but not spectacular. Harry Potter is something of a sandbox world, with less substance than it appears to have and a crapton of missed opportunities, making it ripe for fanfic. For more than ten years, I’ve been doing precisely that — using Harry Potter as a jumping-off point to fill in the gaps and develop my own ideas, some of which became my original projects.

So what does Harry Potter actually have that sets it apart? Why are people so desperate to be part of Harry Potter’s world if the worldbuilding is bad? What, specifically, is so compelling about it? I think that there’s one answer, one thing that is at the center of Potter-mania, and that has been the underlying drive of my love of it for the past decade and a half: the vibe.

Harry Potter’s vibe is immaculate.

You know what I mean, right? It’s not actually a product of any specific trope, but rather a series of aesthetic elements: The wizarding school in a grand castle, with its pointed windows and torches and suits of armor, ghosts and talking portraits and moving staircases, its Great Hall with floating candles and a ceiling that looks like the night sky, its hundreds of magically-concealed secret doorways. Dumbledore’s Office, behind the gryphon statue, with armillary spheres in every single shot. Deliberate archaisms that evoke the Middle Ages without going as far as a Ren Faire: characters wearing heavy robes, writing with quills and ink on parchment instead of paper, drinking from goblets, decorating with tapestries. Owls, cats, toads. Cauldrons simmering in a dungeon laboratory. Shelves piled with dusty tomes, scrolls, glass vials, crystal balls, hourglasses. Magical candy shaped like insects and amphibians. A library with a restricted section. A forbidden forest full of unicorns and werewolves. That is the Vibe.

There are five armillary spheres just in this shot. They are unequivocally the most Wizard of tabletop decor.

There’s more to it than just the aesthetic, though. The vibe is present in something that writers call soft worldbuilding.

There’s a phrase that writers use to describe magic systems, coined by Brandon Sanderson: hard magic and soft magic. Sanderson’s first law of magic is, “An author’s ability to solve problems with magic is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.” A hard magic system has clearly-defined rules — you know where magic comes from, how it works and under which conditions, how the characters can use it, and what its limitations are. Examples of really good hard magic systems include Avatar: The Last Airbender and Fullmetal Alchemist. If the audience doesn’t understand the conditions under which magic can work, then using magic to get out of any kind of scrape risks feeling like the writer pulled something out of their ass. It begs the question, “Well, if they could do that, then why didn’t they do that before?”

You may come away from that thinking that having clearly-defined rules is always better worldbuilding than not having them, but this isn’t the case. Soft magic isn’t fully explained to the audience, but that doesn’t matter, because it isn’t trying to solve problems — its purpose is to be evocative. Soft magic enhances the atmosphere of a world by creating a sense of wonder. If your everyman protagonist is constantly running into cool magical shit that they don’t understand, then the world feels like it teems with magic, magic that is greater and more powerful than they know, leaving lots of secrets to uncover. Harry Potter, at least in the early books, excels at this. The soft magic in Harry Potter is what got me hooked, and I think it’s what a lot of other people liked about it, too.

The essence of soft magic is best summed up by this scene in the fourth film, in which Harry enters the Weasleys’ tiny tent at the Quidditch World Cup, only to find that it’s much bigger on the inside. His reaction is to smile and say, “I love magic.”

That’s it. That’s the essence of it. You don’t need to know the exact spell that makes the tent bigger on the inside. You don’t need to know how Dumbledore can make the food appear on the table with a flick of a wand, or how he can make a bunch of poofy sleeping bags appear with another flick. You don’t need to know how and why the portraits or wizard cards move. You don’t need to know how wizards can appear and disappear on a whim, or what the Deluminator is, or where the Sword of Gryffindor came from. You don’t need to know how the Room of Requirement works. Knowing these things defeats the purpose. It kills the vibe, that vibe being that there is a large and wondrous magical world around you that will always have more to discover.

One of the best “soft magic” moments in the books comes early in Philosopher’s Stone, when Harry is trying to navigate Hogwarts for the first time:

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk. —Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 8

Many of these details don’t come back later in the series, which is a shame, because this one paragraph is super evocative! It establishes Hogwarts as an inherently magical place, in which the very architecture doesn’t conform to normal rules. Hogwarts seems like it would be exciting to explore (assuming you weren’t late for class), and it gets even better when you learn about all the secret rooms and passages. The games capitalized on this by building all the secret rooms behind bookcases, mirrors, illusory walls, etc. into the game world, and rewarding you for finding them. The utter fascination that produces is hard to overstate.

Another one of the most evocative moments in the first book is when Harry sees Diagon Alley for the first time, after passing through the magically sealed brick wall (the mechanics of which, again, are never explained). This is your first proper glimpse at the wizarding world and what it has to offer:

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, “Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad....” A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.... —Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 5

What works so well here is the magical weirdness of wizardishness juxtaposed against normalcy. Eeylops Owl Emporium is just a pet shop to wizards. A woman makes a very mundane complaint about the price of goods, but the goods happen to be dragon liver. Broomsticks are treated like cars. All of these small moments contribute to the feeling of the wizarding world being alive, inhabited, and also magical. It gets you to ask the question of what your life would be like if you were a wizard. What do wizards wear? What do they eat? What do they haggle over and complain about? What do they do for fun?

In Book 3, Harry enjoys Diagon Alley for a few weeks when he suddenly has free time, and we get to experience the wizarding world in a state of “normalcy,” when he isn’t trying to save the world. He gets free ice creams from Florean Fortescue, gazes longingly at the Firebolt, and engages with delightfully weird people. He’s a wizard, living a (briefly) normal wizard life among other wizards in wizard-land. And that is fun. It’s so fun, that people want that experience for themselves, enough for there to be several theme parks and other immersive experiences dedicated to recreating the world of Harry Potter.

One of the greatest things about Universal was its phenomenal attention to detail. You can hear Moaning Myrtle’s voice in the women’s bathroom, and only the women’s bathroom. The walls of the Three Broomsticks have shadows of a broom sweeping by itself and an owl flying projected against the wall, so convincingly that you’ll do a double take when you see it. Knockturn Alley is down a little secret tunnel off of the main street, and that’s where you have to go to buy Dark Arts-themed stuff. It’s really well done.

Another thing that contributes to the vibe, in my opinion, is that the wizarding world is slightly macabre. They eat candy shaped like frogs, flies, mice, and so forth, and they have gross-tasting jellybeans. In the film’s version of the Diagon Alley sequence above, there’s a random shot of a pet bat available for purchase. In the third film, when Harry is practicing the Patronus Charm with Lupin, the candles are shaped like human spines. In the first book, this is Petunia’s description of Lily’s behavior after she became a witch:

Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school, and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! —Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 4

I remember reading this for the first time, and it just kind of made intuitive sense to me. I suppose it fits into the “eye of newt and toe of frog” association between magical people and gross things, but somehow it works. Unfortunately, this is retconned later with the knowledge that wizards can’t use magic outside school, but before that limitation gets imposed, the idea of Lily amusing herself by turning teacups into rats seems like an inherently witchy thing to do.

That association between magic and the macabre shows up elsewhere, as well. In The Owl House, Luz’s interest in gross things is one of the things that marks her as a “weirdo” in the real world. When she goes to the magical world of the Boiling Isles, weird and gross stuff is absolutely everywhere. That world’s vibe leans more towards the macabre than the whimsical, but it works because you sort of expect the gross stuff to exist alongside the concept of witches, and that they would be an intrinsic part of the world they inhabit. You don’t question it, because it’s part of the vibe.

(The Owl House is one of the few things I’ve encountered that has a similar vibe to Harry Potter, but it’s still not the same vibe. In fact, The Owl House outright mocks the expectation that magical worlds be whimsical, and directly mocks Harry Potter more than once. The overall vibe is much closer to Gravity Falls.)

The Harry Potter films utilize a lot of similar soft worldbuilding with the background details, especially in the early films that were still brightly-colored and whimsical. For example, the scene in Flourish and Blotts in the second film has impossibly-stacked piles of books and old-timey looking signs describing their subjects, which include things like “Celestial Studies” and “Unicorns.” When Harry arrives in the Burrow in the same film, one of the first things he sees is dishes washing themselves and knitting needles working by themselves, taking completely mundane things and instantly establishing them as magical. In that Patronus scene with Harry and Lupin, the spine-candles and a bunch of random orbs (and the obligatory giant armillary sphere) float around in the background. One small detail that I personally appreciate is the designs on the walls above the teacher’s table in the Great Hall, which are from an alchemical manuscript called the Ripley Scroll:

It’s all these little things that add up to produce The Vibe.

Obviously, much of the vibe is expressed very well in John Williams’ score for the first three Harry Potter films. The mystical minor key of the main theme, the tinkly glockenspiel, the strings, the rising and falling notes that mimic the fluttering of an owl, the flight of a broomstick, or the waving of a wand. That initial shot of the castle across the lake as the orchestra swells, as the children arrive at their wizarding school:

If you grew up with Harry Potter, just looking at this image gives you The Vibe. The nostalgia hit is definitely part of it, but The Vibe was already there, back when you were a child and you didn’t have nostalgia yet.

In my opinion, only Williams’ score captures this vibe — the later films, though their scores are very good, do not. But the soundtrack of the first two video games, by Jeremy Soule (the same person who did Skyrim) absolutely nails it. This, right here, is Harry Potter’s vibe, condensed and distilled:

This is why I feel invalidated by the common advice “just read another book.” I have read other books. I’ve read plenty of other books, many of which are wonderfully written and have left an impact on me. But there’s still only one Harry Potter. To date, there’s only other book that has filled me with a similarly intense longing for a fictional place, and that is The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. That book deliberately prioritized atmosphere over everything else in the story, and actually lampshades this in-universe. The Night Circus has a plot and it has characters, but it’s not about its plot or characters. It’s about the setting and its atmosphere. It swallows you up and transports you to a fictional place that is so evocative and so magical that you just have to be part of it or you’ll die. And even then, The Night Circus has a different kind of vibe from Harry Potter. In this particular capacity, there’s nothing else like Harry Potter.

The thing is, I don’t think Rowling was being as deliberate as Erin Morgenstern. (In fact, given many of Rowling’s recent statements, I question how many of her creative choices were deliberated at all.) She was throwing random magical stuff into the background without thinking too hard about it, which works when you’re writing a kids’ story, but stops working when you try to age it up. Actually, scratch that — soft worldbuilding is definitely not just for kids! The Lord of the Rings has a soft magic system, for crying out loud, and Tolkien is the original archmage of worldbuilding. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you that prioritizing atmosphere over meticulousness is bad worldbuilding. That is a valid way to worldbuild! Not everything needs to be clearly explained, not everything needs to make sense. The problem is that Harry Potter doesn’t balance it well. Certain things do have to be explained in order for the magic to play an active role in the story (and the setting of a magic school lends itself to that kind of explanation), but no rules are ever established for the kinds of magic that need rules. When you begin thinking about the rules, you’re no longer just enjoying the magic for what it is. At worst, you begin running up against the Willing Suspension of Disbelief.

It wasn’t actually the “aging up” of the story that did it in, per se, but rather, the introduction of realism. The early books were heavily stylized, and the later books were less so. A heavily stylized story can more easily maintain the Willing Suspension of Disbelief. That’s why, for example, you don’t ask why the characters are singing in a musical — you just sort of accept the story’s outlandish internal logic, and the inherent melodrama of it doesn’t take you out of the story. Stylized stories are more concerned with being emotionally consistent over being logically consistent. The later Harry Potter books changed their emotional tone, but without changing the worldbuilding style to compensate.

In addition to the more mature themes and darker tone, Harry Potter introduced more realism as it went, but Rowling did not have the worldbuilding chops to pull this off. There’s the basic magic system stuff: When you begin thinking about it too hard, something like a Time-Turner stops being a fun magical device, and starts threatening to break the entire story. Then there’s the characters: Dumbledore leaving Harry on the Dursleys’ doorstep in the first book is an age-old fairy tale trope that goes unquestioned, but with the introduction of realism in the later books, it suddenly becomes abandonment of a child to an abusive family. The exaggerated stereotypes of characters like the Dursleys become tone-deaf. The fun school rivalry of the House system is suddenly lacking in nuance. And then there’s the shift in tone: The wizarding world that we were introduced to as a marvellous place is revealed to be dystopian. You start thinking about how impractical things like owl messengers are, you start wondering if Slytherin is being unjustly punished, the bad history appears glaringly obvious, the quaint archaisms become dangerously regressive. Oh, and the grand feasts are made through slave labor! The wizarding world suddenly feels small and backward instead of grand and marvellous. J.K. Rowling’s bigotry throws it all into an even harsher light.

This is why I’ve always preferred the early books and films to the later ones. There’s a lot of things I like about the later ones, but they’re not as stylized — they don’t have The Vibe. Thinking about things too hard is just a necessary condition of adulthood, but it’s still possible to tell a dark, mature story that is highly stylized. I really think JKR could have better pulled off that shift if she was a more competent worldbuilder. But it is painfully obvious that she did not think things through, and probably didn’t understand why she had to. In her defense, she did not know that her story would end up being one of the most scrutinized of all time. As it stands, her strength in worldbuilding was in the softer, smaller, deliberately unexplained moments of magic that were there just to provide atmosphere. And there were less and less of those as the books went along.

Pretty much all the Harry Potter-related content released since the last film — including Cursed Child, Fantastic Beasts, Hogwarts Mystery, Hogwarts Legacy, Magic Awakened, and that short-lived Pokemon Go thing — have been unsuccessful attempts at recreating The Vibe. In fact, the only piece of supplemental Potter content that I think had that Vibe down pat was the original Pottermore, back when it was more of an interactive game. And of course that got axed. That was right around the time things started going downhill.

Some of the art from Pottermore’s original Sorting quiz.

So what now? Well, that’s the question.

I think I can safely say that The Vibe was the reason I liked Harry Potter. It’s the thing I still like the most about it. I’ve spent years chasing it, like an elusive Patronus through a dark wood. If I can capture and distill that Vibe, and use drops of it in my own work, then perhaps I won’t need Harry Potter anymore.

I'm gonna write the story that I wish Harry Potter was, and when I'm a famous author, I won't become a bigot. I'll see you on the other side.