#personally offended by the lack of fics including this

[theshippirate22]

it’s always Head-Over-Heals Steve Harrington this and Like-A-Virgin Steve Harrington that and you’re all valid but where are my American-Pie Steve Harrington truthers? huh? where are they?

[reiding-writing]

Are u willing to do a fic about an unsub!reader with early seasons Spencer? Like, the BAU has to team up with the unsub to catch another criminal with a similar M.O. to them and hijinks ensue (could be angsty hijinks or could be general scooby doo type situations) Idk!! I really like ur works and I've been thinking about this thing for days but my ass sucks at writing lol ;;

copycat—s.reid [1]

Summary:

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn’t work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer’s addiction, sociopathic reader

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 4.5k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: sorry to the person who requested this because tumblr deleted the actual ask but i did have it copied so at least it wasn’t completely lost 😭😭😭

left it here because people tend not to want to read really long fics. if people want a part two i will gladly oblige but otherwise its a decent stand alone to see how spencer would interact with an unsub like this

“James Harden, 23, was found two days ago on the bench of a public park in Los Flores, Orange County,”

The BAU team, barr Hotch, all settled in their seats as JJ arrived in the room.

JJ pressed a button on the small remote in her hand, two photos, one of each wrist of the victim, appearing on the screen behind her. “Both wrists had been slit, and the cause of death was concluded to be blood loss,”

“So, why are we being called in exactly?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee. The team was *tired*. They’d only gotten off a case three days before, and they were all in need of a break.

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish,” JJ shoots Morgan a pointed look to which he promptly raised his hands in surrender.

JJ presses the remote again, images of the victim’s wrists being replaced with images of his face.

There was a mix of reactions from the group, all of which perturbed, but some with more intent than others.

His head was laid limp over the back of the bench, his face pale and his lips white from the lack of blood flow to his head. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

His eyes however, were a different story, covered up by a pair of red roses that had seemingly had their stems forcibly pierced into the victims eyeballs, leaving a trail of oxidised blood down his cheeks.

Morgan and Garcia shared a concerned glance that they simultaneously turned towards JJ, who matched their expression with her own.

“They didn’t-”

JJ shakes her head at the beginning of Morgan’s question, and Emily and Spencer share a confused glance that they turn towards their three teammates who seem to be locked in a silent conversation that only they understood.

“I feel like i’m back in high school again,” Rossi pipes up at the three from his seat, inadvertently calling them out on their exclusion of Emily, Spencer, and Rossi from their conversation.

JJ sighs as she adverts her eyes towards Rossi, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We worked a case in 2004…” She hesitates to elaborate any further about the details, and Spencer takes the opportunity to voice is own curiosity.

“You didn’t solve it?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, eyes glistening slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in JJ’s direction.

It’d been three years since 2004, and the idea that an UnSub could go postal for that long with an FBI target on their back was- something, to say the least.

“No, we did-” Garcia nods her head determinedly, her eyes lingering on the screen as if she was more focused on the images than the conversation.

“So, a copycat then?” Emily adds her part to the conversation, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.

“Most likely,” JJ nods her head sharply, looking back at the screen once more. “There’s only been one recorded victim so far, but we want to stop whoever is responsible before anything else happens,”

“Are you alright Garcia?” Emily’s eyes remain fixated on Garcia’s face, her usually upbeat persona dwindling into something more solemn.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course my love bug, i’m alright,” Garcia shoots Emily a small smile as if to emphasise her point. “It was the first case I ever worked on is all, they just… stick with you ya know?”

Emily nods softly at her explanation. She knew what it felt like to have your first case stick in the back of your mind.

“Alright settle down everyone,” Hotch’s voice echoed through the conference room before he even stepped inside, and the team all diverted their attention towards him.

“I trust they’ve been briefed?” Hotch looks towards JJ, who gives him a nod before stepping aside so that he can take her place at the head of the table.

Hotch walks into the conference room with someone at his side. Someone who makes Morgan’s hand clench into fists and the small hint of optimism that Garcia had managed to keep fizzle from her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” Morgan’s voice was stern and challenging as his eyes narrowed in Hotch’s direction. “Hotch-“

Hotch halts Morgan’s attempt at a rebuttal with his hand, raised in Morgan’s direction as he knits his eyebrows into a line. “They will be a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“You can’t bring a psychopath in here and expect us to just go along with it-” Morgan’s argument was interrupted by your voice from where you stood behind Hotch, hands clasped together behind your back.

“Sociopath.”

Morgan’s expression furrows further if that’s possible, eyes staring daggers at your face. “Close enough.”

“Actually, Psychopaths and Sociopaths are fundamentally different, with the only real similarity between the two being an extreme lack of human empathy,” Your eyes flicker towards Spencer as he corrects Morgan’s assessment, raising an eyebrow in his direction out of intrigue.

“Either way, you cannot expect me to be okay with working alongside a serial killer.” Morgan’s eyes don’t stray from Hotch’s as he speaks, not backing down from his standing.

“I don’t expect you to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that they will be joining us for this investigation.” Hotch’s tone marks the end of the debate, one that Morgan knew he’d lost before it even started.

Hotch gestures for you to take a seat at one of the empty chairs and you oblige, leaning the side of your left foot on top of your right thigh and relaxing back into the swivel chair as Morgan’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

The fact that you were even here was enough to spark the embers of rage in the back of his mind.

The fact that you were walking around freely with no restraints was even worse.

“For those of you who weren’t present, in 2004, the BAU team was called out to Malibu to investigate a series of murders that littered the city.” Hotch’s eyes flicker over to where Emily, Rossi, and Spencer were sitting.

“Eighteen people were killed over the span of ten days, crossing age, gender, and race boundaries typical of a normal M.O, with the only link being two roses in place of the victim’s eyes.”

Hotch’s eyes turn towards the images on the screen, yours following his own as you examine the photos with a small huff. “Are you sure that is person is copying me and that it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Putting roses in peoples’ eyes isn’t something we see in the field every day,” Hotch’s explanation is blunt and straight forward.

“My roses were white.” You tilt your head at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty stark difference to just ignore.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself,” Spencer throws the idea out into the air at your observation, seemingly undeterred by your criminal history now that his head was submerged in the case.

“Then be original.” You face furrows with a roll of your eyes. “Don’t copy somebody else’s idea, it’s not that hard,”

“That’s enough,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss the details on the plane.”

Hotch picks up one of the open files on the table and tucks it under his arm. “Wheels up in thirty, i’ll meet you all there,”

A gesture of his head for you to follow him later, and he’s exiting the conference room with you on his tail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You walk right past Hotch’s seat as you board the jet, opting to take a seat directly opposite the genius doctor that had managed to capture your attention in the conference room.

He looks up awkwardly as you sit down, not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do. Should he start a conversation with you? Should he continue reading his file and pretend he can’t feel your eyes pouring over his features like you were sizing him up.

He doesn’t have to think for too long.

“What’s your name?” Your tone lacks any social grace, but he supposes he can’t blame you. It’s not like it’s your fault you don’t feel or express your emotions in the same way that the majority does.

“It’s- uh- Spe- Spencer,” His awkwardness really shines through his tone, left hand scratching at his right elbow as a self-soothing strategy.

Two seconds into a conversation and he already wants to dig himself a hole and hide in it for the rest of eternity.

“Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid,” He purses his lips into a line once he’s settled on his full title, but it doesn’t stop him from blurting out more in his effort to get all of his thoughts out of his head. “Spencer’s fine though…”

“Doctor? Of what?” You skirt past his awkward introduction in your pursuit to know more, and he’s grateful that his completely lack of social skills doesn’t scare you off like it would most people.

“Well- I have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry,” Spencer tucks his hair behind his ear, his file falling over the side of his lap into the gap between his leg and the arm of the chair. “But i also have bachelor’s degrees in Sociology and Psychology,”

He shuts himself off after his over-winded explanation with a purse of his lips in your direction.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology,” Spencer’s eyes practically light up at your words, completely forgetting that you’re a convicted serial killer and instead hyper-fixating on your academic interests.

“Really? Did you do a Bachelor of Arts or Science?” You can almost feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his body as he leans forward in his chair slightly.

“Science,” You tap the side of your head with your finger and Spencer thinks he understands. It’s the same reason he studied psychology himself.

Because he was different.

Because his brain worked in different ways than other people.

He couldn’t even imagine how much more severe it was for somebody like you.

“How do you know so much?” Your tone isn’t chastising. It’s not questioning his knowledge because he’s ’too young’ or ‘doesn’t look like someone who would be an expert’ in niche academic areas. You genuinely just wanted to know.

“Well- I have a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory,” You’re eyes followed his as he explained his intelligence to you, chasing them to ensure the two of you maintained eye contact. “And I have a reading speed of 20,000 words per minute,”

You hum at his answer, seemingly satisfied as you lean back in the jet seat.

The silence between you doesn’t have time to get awkward before Hotch is calling the team’s attention to go over the details of the case thus far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer spends most of his first night in Los Flores on a laptop.

Garcia almost has an aneurism when he asks her if he could borrow one of hers.

It takes him almost 30 minutes to figure out how to use it, face lit by the harsh white light of the screen and softened slightly by the warm yellow of the lamp on his hotel bed’s side table.

Once he manages to pull up the internet browser he spends the next multiple hours researching. Pouring over every news article and journalist report that he can about the 2004 Malibu case that had you in its centre.

The 2004 ‘Malibu Rose Killer’. One of the most prolific serial killers in California’s history.

Eighteen people dead in just ten days. An extremely rapid escalation that held no victim pattern of any kind.

A spree that only stopped when the police found both of your adoptive parents dead after a welfare check concerning your father not turning up to work. Your two first victims.

You’d told the courts that it was a manic breakdown. A symptom of your previously undiagnosed sociopathy. That you weren’t in your right mind when it happened.

It worked to a degree, swerving you of a death penalty, but the fact that your parents’ crime scene had shown signs of recognition for your actions halted your defence quite a bit.

Instead of slitting their radial artery and leaving them to bleed out, you’d severed their spines from the brain stem whilst they slept.

And instead of piercing their eyeballs with two roses, you’d instead chosen to lay one in between their two bodies instead.

That was enough for the prosecution to say you had at least some knowledge of the severity of your actions, and so instead of being carted off to a psychiatric prison you were left in a regular old high security prison to serve two consecutive life sentences for the murder of your parents with an annual mental assessment.

He assumes that’s why you agreed to be here. To gain a lenience on your sentence.

He didn’t know why he found your story so fascinating, but he knew that he’d only be able to refrain from asking you questions for so long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Spit it out.” Your words snap Spencer out of his thought-filled dazed, blinking at you as he slowly regains his senses.

“Huh?”

“Spit it out. Whatever you have to say to me.” Your tone, as he’s come to expect over the last few days, is very flat and straight to the point, clearly agitated at his eyes lingering on you for what you’d deemed too long.

You walk around the small table at the Orange County’s Los Flores police station with your arms crossed, confined there for the majority of the case as to not possibly initiate any ‘aggressive urges’ that might spawn from seeing a replica of your past crimes.

Spencer’s left hand absentmindedly scratches at his right elbow at your glare, clearing his throat and averting eye contact with you, both out of embarrassment of his unintentional staring and self-preservation towards your proclivity to get angry without real aggravation. “I- It’s nothing really,”

Your head tilts at him, your eyes telling him enough that your patience was waining and that you would get whatever he was thinking about out of him.

“I uh- did some reading… about your case-” Your expression morphs into an emotion that he can’t quite place at his confession, and he feels an overwhelming pressure to keep explaining himself as well as to just sew his mouth shut so he can’t say anything.

“And?”

“And… um- there was a part about it that didn’t really make sense to me,” He’s thrown himself in the deep end now, any hope of changing the topic of conversation long gone as he watches your eyebrow quirk in curiosity.

“Your parents…” Spencer’s eyes scan your expression intently as he mutters out the words, gauging your reaction to his words before he dares to continue.

“What about them?” You remain indifferent if not mildly compelled by the line of thought running through his head, and he’s internally relieved that he hasn’t pressed any of the wrong buttons in your fragile emotional state.

“Why?” Spencer mirrors the short, straight to the point wording that you seemed to be so fond of, and he can see you blank expression waver slightly at the question, like you weren’t sure how to answer it.

He watches the wrinkle in your brow become more prominent, how your eyes seem to loose focus and flicker around the room, the way you subconsciously shift from one foot to the other.

He’s not entirely surprised by your reaction. Sociopaths were very capable of harbouring emotions like everyone else. Anger, happiness, sadness, love, and even fear. Even if the intensity of them and the way they were expressed was different.

Right now your expression read as confusion mixed with mild apprehension, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to answer his question.

You still didn’t seem angry, which he was grateful for. He might have been a qualified agent, but that was with the exception of him not having to pass a physical examination.

And he really didn’t want to risk having to physically defend himself against someone who managed to kill eighteen people in the span of ten days because he’d accidentally said the wrong thing.

“They didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I was going to do,” You tone is a lot less apathetic as you come to your answer, stopping intravenously to collect your words.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your answer, not quite sure what to make of it.

“My turn,” Your eyes scan Spencer’s facial features, watching how Spencer’s eyebrows raise as you don’t give him time to compute your answer. “Do your higher ups know you’re an addict?”

The question is blunt, clear, and lacks any subtlety whatsoever despite the two of you technically being in a public place, even if you were the only people in the room.

Spencer’s eyes snap towards yours, surprise written all over his face. “You- I- Uh-“ His mouth falls open and closed like a fish as he tries to string a coherent sentence together, blinking at you with wide eyes.

How did you know that?

He falls short of an answer to your question, his eyes questioning you silently.

“Does your team know?”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “If they do no one’s ever mentioned it..” He doesn’t know why he’s exposing himself to you like this, but theirs something in the look your giving him that tells him that he can’t lie to you.

“What great friends.” Your voice is practically dripping in sarcasm, and Spencer can’t help but subconsciously agree with you.

He’d waited and waited for someone to recognise that something was off with him. That he wasn’t all there.

But instead of it being one of his coworkers, some of which he’d known for years, it was a sociopathic serial killer that he’d known for 37 hours and 16 minutes.

Lucky him.

“They have more important things to worry about,” His hand returns to scratching at his elbow through his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by the misfortune riddling his life; Almost as if it was a private viewing of a feature film made solely for your entertainment.

“Stop doing that.”

Spencer raises his eyes towards yours once more at your words, wide and glossy and making him look like a pathetic little puppy who’d been told off for tearing up a couch cushion.

You wonder how deep that patheticness goes.

“Don’t scratch. It’s annoying to watch and it’ll make your withdrawals worse.” You depart from the room before he can give you an answer, shutting the door harshly behind you as you spot Hotch in the main foyer of the station.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m bored.” You swing your legs over the edge of the table you were sat on. You’d spent the last four days confined either to the hotel room you were sharing with Hotch or the small meeting room the OCPD had reserved for the BAU during the case.

You wanted a change of scenery. Desperately. You could only deal with monotony for so long.

At least back in your cell you activities you could engage in.

Instead you were just stuck as a fact checker for the details of each victim.

Five people had died now. Following your victim pattern to a T.

The first a young white man. The second a middle aged white woman. The third a male black college student. The fourth and fifth a young gay couple.

It agitated you. What happened to originality? Get your own random victims.

“You can accompany Morgan and I to the coroner’s office,” Spencer offered you a pursed smile at his suggestion, partly because he knew you’d be able to see more differences between the originals and recreations in person than through photos and partly because he wanted to crack you open.

He wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to know what made you tick. How you rationalised your crimes. How your sociopathy developed.

He was in deep. And his brain wanted answers.

“Absolutely not.” Morgan shot down the idea immediately with a stern shake of his head. “There is no way in hell we are bringing them with us,”

“They might catch something that we won’t be able to,” Spencer’s rationalisation wasn’t exactly wrong. Even in copy cat murders the offender always left a piece of themself behind. Something of their own personality rather than the killer they were trying to replicate.

It could be so tiny that no one would recognise it. Apart from the original offender of course.

“They might catch the bright idea to try and attack somebody.”

“Oh please-“ You roll your eyes at Morgan. “If I was going to have another mental break at seeing a recreation of my past endeavours I would have had it already,”

Morgan narrows your eyes at you calling your murder spree your ‘past endeavours’. You hadn’t published a book or painted some mural. You’d killed eighteen people.

“Reid’s right,”

He doesn’t have time to get angry at you.

“Hotch-“ Morgan looks completely betrayed.

“There’s only so much they can do to help us from here. We want to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.” Hotch’s tone is stern, leaving no room for argument.

“And if they do spiral out of control,” Hotch’s eyes flicker between Morgan and yourself. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of it.”

Morgan mutters something under his breath about ‘stupid hierarchies’ and how much he hated your guts as he left the meeting room with a huff, although more composed than you thought he’d be.

“Are you ready to leave?” Spencer’s question snaps you out of your revelling over Morgan’s distaste for you, although your small smile of satisfaction doesn’t falter as your eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

- part two !!

[cupidspup]

CG!Ticci-Toby x Little!Reader

All art credit above goes to the original artist!!

A/N (PLEASE READ!):

OKAY SO-- It's been a long while since I've done a fic (especially an agere one) SO PLEASE BE NICE (╥ᆺ╥；) I love writing but it takes a lot of courage and energy and when it comes to agere fics it's especially for littles who feel lonely and take comfort in reading a fic! I want my fics to be something that allows littles like me (who have a softer heart and need extra lovins) feel better and more little!! And I've decided to start writing again by being indulgent in what I write! Today's prompt is based off of what I remember from creepypasta when I was young and I'm not very well versed in any of their lore as much as I used to be skdksks if that's not your thing that's okay! I just hope you enjoy my writing! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ anywho! Back to the post!! Below are some trigger warnings if needed :3 I won't be including anything too graphic or anything but there *MAY* be a curse word or two or just more adult things since they're serial killers x) (I'm writing this all before I'm writing it lol)

- ꒰ა♡ Kewpie ♡໒꒱

Trigger Warnings:⤵

Strong language, mentions of blood (past tense/present), implications of death/murder via the presence of blood (past tense and very minimal), mentions of weapons, masc caregiver nicknames (daddy, dada, baba, papa, ect), feminine and gender neutral nicknames (princess, kid/kiddo, tiny)

Summary

Toby comes back to Slendermansion after a long day on the job only to find you asleep in bed! Oh no that won't do! He wants to see his baby!

Not a trigger warning but more so something to keep in mind: I know Toby is/was known for a stutter because of his tics BUT I will NOT write the way he speaks like people used to. I don't have Tourrettes myself but I also know that stuttering doesn't always happen when you have it. I also did do research on him a little and found that his tics are more physical rather than verbal! I would like to avoid doing it until im more knowledgeable about it just so i dont offend anyone on accident ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა If any of you guys feel that I need to change anything or would like to educate me please do in the comments or in private in a polite manner! ^^

It's dark out and you're already snuggled into your bed. Going to sleep alone isn't very uncommon and you've gotten used to it. You and your daddy have put together quite the bedtime routine to make up for your lack of tucking ins! As you're cuddled nice and warm into bed, there's a slight creak in the door.

Not enough to wake you up, it's slow and quiet. You hear footsteps make their way throughout the room, closer to your bed. This is what makes you stir and start to wake up.

The footsteps stop. They know you're awake now.

You groan as you sit up, squinting and looking into the darkness. "Dada?" You wait for an answer. The footsteps resume this time faster.

Finally, the mystery person comes out from the shadows. The gentle light from your nightlight shining on them and it's your one and only caregiver, Toby!

He excitedly makes his way back to your side of your bed, sitting right by you. Before he does anything else he makes sure to put his (now clean) hatchets away before hugging you close. Toby always gives the best hugs, even though his tics are unpredictable it doesn't mean the firm yet gentle squeeze isn't nice to sink into.

"Yes, princess? Did I.. did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did. I was trying to be quiet, but I was just, just so excited to see you! You, you're just so cute when you're snoozin away like that!"

His mind goes a thousand miles a minute, and his mouth can't catch up, especially with his tics. So there's a stutter here and there. Not that it's a very big issue. It's just how your daddy talks! And you love it when he talks.♡

You yawn and lean into him, your eyes closed as you try to wake yourself up more. It's very late, if you were big enough to read the clock you'd probably know but now? Clocks are for big kids and you? You're very small, so the moon shining light through the window is enough for now.

"C'mon, cutie I know you can hug, hug me better than that! You missed your dada, didn't you?" He says in a playful tone, squishing you slightly in his arms. You reach your hands up to him and give him your best sleepy hug. To which he holds you even longer, resting his cheek on the top of your head. When he does you feel this weird wet substance and it makes you fuss a little.

"Mmmm babaaaaa m no like itttt" you whine at him.

He releases you from his hug and takes his goggles off, looking at you confused. "What do you mean, baby? What's going on?" When you look him in the eye you see it, he's got a small cut on his cheek and it's leaking blood. He probably doesn't feel it due to his disorder that prevents him from feeling pain in the first place. You yawn and point sleepily at his cheek. "You gots messy on you face, dada"

He feels around his face before touching his cheek right above his muzzle before looking at his gloved hands. Sure enough there's a spot of blood on the fabric where he touched.

"Oh no that's no good, thank, thank you for telling me kiddo! Daddy wouldn't have known if it wasn't for you! Wanna make it all better and put some...some cute bandaids on it?" He says to you with a smile, cleaning the blood off of his gloves for the most part. You nod with a smile and start doing grabby hands at him, the lack of cuddling and holding already making you feel lonely.

He smiles at you wider than he already is and ruffles your hair a little before going off to the bedside drawer. He always has bandaids handy for you. You two are the perfect pair! A clumsy little with an even clumsier caregiver! What a match!

He carefully opens the box, taking out a few bandaids for you to choose from. Of course these are patterned all cute with your favorite characters on them! You smile at the selection and before Toby can tell you to choose one, you're already opening the packages to each of them.

"Sure we can put all of them on my ouchies! Be super super careful though, sweetheart. I don't want any of your cute pj's getting messy because of me alright?" He says with a cautious but still laid back and nice tone. You nod happily in response before sticking on all of the bandaids. Two actually did the job for what he had, but you also know Toby is never gonna say no to you when you put them all over him. By the end of it, Toby has some on his muzzle, his nose, forehead, even some on his fingers! Everywhere that your daddy has owies on or you know he might have some in the future. Extra love for him can never hurt!

He takes out his phone and looks at himself in the screen. Most people can't tell but because you're not most people you can see the little squint and grin across his face. He seems really happy with your bandaid makeover! He looks over his fingers fondly, chuckling at you trying to think ahead for him.

"How lucky am I to have such a..such a thoughtful lil one?" He says happily before sitting closer to you, his phone still unlocked in his hand. "I wanna remember this moment so how, how about we take a selfie together, cutie? I want to have something to see for when I miss you and you're not with me!" You smile and nod your head quickly at the idea, coming closer to him and cuddling up to his arm, nuzzling your nose into his neck and cheek.

"C'mon tiny, say 'Cheese!'"

"Cheeeee!!"

It takes a few tries to get a photo that isnt blurry from his tics but finally he takes the photo and looks it over. You look it over, too and you feel the swarm of butterflies flutter in your tummy. Being with your daddy always makes you so, so happy. Especially when he's so soft and sweet like this!

"Hey baby I found some, some filters! Let's take a few more!"

Once again you're snuggled up to your silly caregiver, posing for photos with him while he puts bunny ear filters and funny face filters. He saves each and every one and you can't help that fuzzy lil tingle in your chest when you see his gallery is basically only filled with you two. You smile and give him a lil peck on the side of his muzzle. To that he smiles from under it and puts his hand softly over the spot.

"Awe that was real sweet of you kid, what, what was that for?" He says with a happy tone.

Your face flushes a little as you twiddle your fingers, mumbling softly. Something about cute and loving your baba. He chuckles and pulls his goggles off, now seeing you much easier in the dim lit room.

Toby pulls his muzzle down just enough to lean in for a quick peck. He kisses your forehead softly and smiles at you before putting it back into place. ♡ His kisses always feel extra special when he does that. Toby doesn't like people seeing him without his muzzle, especially because of the gash on the side of his cheek. But with you, he knows that extra but of vulnerability goes a long way. You're his baby after all, if you trust him so much he should trust you just the same.

Once his muzzle is back on your stomach let's out a low growl. At first you're a little embarrassed but Toby isn't phased at all. As a matter of fact, Toby wastes no time picking you up and hoisting you to his hip. He rests you onto the side and carries you with one arm (because he's your daddy, of course he can carry his little one no problem!).

Carrying you is never an issue for Toby. It can only be a little difficult when he's has his tics or they come more than just once. But it never stops him! He just makes sure to hold onto you a little bit tighter and tries to move his head away when he does.

It's hard to predict when his tics will come but even when you're small you're understanding and patient. He's doing his best just like you are.

"Let's go get some midnight snacks for that lil tummy of yours huh? A midnight...midnight snack with my princess sounds delicious." He says as he tickles your tummy a little. He was about to start walking to the door before you started to fuss in his arms, squirming as you continue to whine.

"What is it baby what's wrong? Did Dada do something to make you upset? Are, are you sleepy? Hungry? Sad?" He questions as he bounces you gently. His questions come left and right as he continues trying to find the answer. You fussily point to your forgotten stuffie on the bed and turn back to whine at him. With that he finally gets the hint.

"Ooooh you, you just wanted your plushie! You silly billy you've gotta use your big kid words for stuff, stuff like that okay?" He goes back and retrieves your stuffie, snuggling it right into your arms before heading out the door.

This, of course, sends you even deeper into your little space. Even though he tells you to use big kid words, something about him babying you and talking to you that way just makes you melt. And he's fully aware of that too.

Finally, you're both out of the room and headed down the halls of the mansion to the kitchen. All the residents of Slendermansion are very aware of you and Toby and the different aspects of your guys' dynamics. They don't really care what you both do as long as you aren't making other uncomfortable and being civil they're all pretty on board! That or stick to themselves for the most part.

Once you and Toby are in the kitchen he finds a place to set you down by the counter. Before starting his snack preparations he turns to you. "Can you be a good baby for Daddy and sit, sit here for me? Be reaaally careful so you don't fall okay? I need both of my hands for this so that I can make you...make you the bestest snack ever!" You give him an affirmative nod and snuggle your plushie closer for comfort. You see his eyes squint as he smiles, he pets your hair gently before ruffling it.

"That's a good baby, so we'll behaved" He says affectionately, "I'll be...I'll be done in just a minute okay, tiny?" You nod affirmatively again and flush slightly at his praise and gentle touch.

Toby rummaged through the cabinet, taking out a cute bowl fit for a small child. With some more rummaging he finds some baby puffs along with an adult sized baby bottle. Of course, this one is decorated and themed to your liking. He fills the bowl with the puffs to an amount you both can share. He knows you enjoy sharing your snacks with him and honestly, baby puffs "smack" (according to him) and he'd eat them with you any day.

Once the bowl is filled he heats some milk with honey in the microwave (Toby isn't allowed to use the stove unless there's another person with him - regressed babies do not count). While the milk heats up he brings the bowl to you and offers a puff up to your mouth.

"Here sweetheart, say 'ahh' for me." He says happily.

You do as told and he pops in a puff. You chew on that and offer him one, to thar he quickly pulls down his muzzle and lets you feed him a few at a time. Not too many at once due to his gash. After a few more moments of you feeding each other, Ben walks into the room. He comes in without looking up, busy playing with his games on his phone.

" 'Sup." He says as he makes his way to the fridge.

"Hey dude, whatcha up to? Is, Is it snack time for you too? Whatcha gonna do after that?" Toby starts to bombard him with questions, always one to not only strike up conversation but carry that conversation too.

"Jesus Toby one at a time I can barely answer the first God damn question-" Ben says at first before looking at you. He stops in the middle of his sentence before lowering his voice.

"Didn't notice you had the baby with you." He takes a random snack from the fridge and closes it, leaning against the counter close to you while he eats it. Toby feeds you some more puffs, keeping you occupied as you wave at him politely.

Ben has seen you this way before so you don't mind being little with him that much. He's even babysat you before a couple of times, though most of those times were spent playing games (that he would let you win sometimes). Ben definitely acts like the big brother when he's around you. And because he's like your big brother he waves but sticks his tongue out at you right after. You stick your tongue out back at him before giggling a little.

"Hey you two be nice to each other," Toby says, piping up slightly, "I've still got to put them back to sleep Ben, don't rile them up too much either." Ben waves Toby off and rolls his red pupils.

"Yeah, yeah I know it's fine. We're just messing around." Ben responds, perfectly dismissing Toby's protective nature around you. Just when Toby is about to respond the microwave beeps, signaling that your bottle is ready! "Actually, I need a favor from you." Toby says as he takes it out, handing the bottle like it's nothing at all.

Ben looks at Toby with a curious look, waiting to hear what the favor is. Toby hands him the bottle. "Test that on your arm, I need to know if it's warm but not too hot for the baby."

(Of course Toby and Ben's repeated use of "the baby" makes you feel even more babyish and has you regressing even further. Big kid vocabulary is out the window and it's semi-nonverbal time for you.)

"What?? Why?? I don't wanna do that do it yourself." Ben protests quickly, going back to his phone.

"Dude I can't, I feel numb all of the time how, how would I even know?" Toby rebuttals to Ben just as quick.

Ben huffs and takes the bottle in his hand, turning it over his wrist and letting it drip onto him. "Ugh fine gimme that." He waits a second for it to process and see if it's hot or not. Luckily the bottle was just right so he hands it right back to Toby, licking the milk off of his wrist. "Its fine you can give it to the kid now."

Toby takes it with a smile and batting his eyelashes at Ben while he puts the bottle in his large pockets. "Thank you Bennie~" he says with a sickenly, sweet voice. Ben, of course, rolls his eyes at this and keeps at his game.

"C'mon cutie it's time to put you to sleep. Say 'bye-bye' to big brother Bennie!" He says as he hoists you back onto his hip, walking away. You smile and wave at Ben, "Bai Bai Bennie!!" You say happily to him. He looks up and waves back a little at you, a little smile across his face. "Bye gremlin, sleep well."

Toby makes his way back to the room and sits on your guys' bed. He lets out a long sigh as he sits, now situating you onto his lap as he gets ready to feed you. With you rested into his arms and the bottle at the ready, you both were absolutely ready for bedtime. He takes his muzzle off and smiles, kissing your forehead. "Drink up tiny, it's time that... that daddy puts you sleep! I'll head to bed once you're snoozin away don't worry kiddo."

He brings the bottle up to your lips and before he can even tell you to open wide you already do so, guzzling down the sweet drink he made you. Toby absolutely melts at how cute you are, squishing you a little closer just to relish in you. And of course, you cuddle into him just as much.

He always does such a good job at taking care of you and doing all the little things. Even though his tics can get in the way or startle you awake again, you never get angry with him or fuss. Maybe it was new to navigate at first but you know that it was out of his control and he always does his best to keep them under control when it's necessary.

Finally, you finish your bottle and bury your face into his chest. Curling up and fully starting to fall asleep again. Toby puts your finished bottle on the nightstand and rests his cheek on top of your head for a few seconds. Just to savor this moment. He loves these moments so much. He softly rocks you as you drift to sleep, rubbing your back gently as he does.

"I love you baby. I'll head to bed too." He says before laying down fully with you in his arms as he pulls the covers over you both. With a quick kiss on your cheek the night is once again peaceful and you're together again.

♡

A/N: Waaah! It's finally finished!! It took me so, so long to do everything but its finished and I'm so proud of myself for sticking it out QwQ I really hope you guys liked this story, it's truly just so nostalgic to me and honestly has such a nice place in my heart 🩷 This is my first agere fic with a character and I hope I did well!! I was so anxious about this but I think I did well with balancing everything out hehe ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა I'm going to head back to sleep now but I'll have another fic up soon! ૮( ˃ ꒳ ˂)ა if you have any requests or suggestions please comment or submit them to my account I love it when people do those! :3 (also maybe a sorta part 2 with Big brother Ben drowned? ८,,◐⩊��,,ა ) hehehe okay bye for realsies now, stay safe everyone!૮ ᴖﻌᴖა🩷

[xjoonchildx]

Yeah I totally agree as to how writers are leaving. I agree. Why are they leaving you think?

me figuring out how much trouble i wanna get in tonight

lmaoooooooooo

okay, listen. i have thoughts. i have observations. and i’m going to share some of them with you.

in my experience, most writers have been leaving for one of these three reasons:

1. engagement (rather, the lack thereof)

yeah, yeah i know, writers post about this a lot but here’s why: it’s true. readers on this site, for whatever reason, don’t interact with fics as much as they used to. even some fics that get a lot of likes may only have one or two comments, maybe a couple of reblogs with no feedback.

for what it’s worth, i’ve always felt that for the size of my blog (and how flipping long it takes me to post something) i get wonderful reader feedback and engagement. but i see so many writers struggling out in these tumblr streets, posting really great work that gets very little feedback and it’s discouraging for them. i get it.

i will also be transparent and say that as a writer who biases a “less popular member” it kills me when amazing stories about him (and other “less popular members”) just fall flat.

one of the best hobi stories i ever read had 20 notes when i found it by accident. twenty. it had been posted for some time. in my mind, that was a crime—that story was an absolute masterpiece and it had 20 notes (!). i sent it to every person i knew short of my mama because i was offended that people hadn’t recognized its brilliance. sadly, that writer left tumblr and took her masterpiece with her which brings me to my next point:

2. drama and writer-on-writer crime

phew y’all, there’s just so much of it. i don’t know what it is about tumblr that makes some people lose their absolute minds but they sure damned do. i’ve been here for a minute and i have seen it all.

writers mounting anonymous hate campaigns against one another (this happens a lot). writers mounting anonymous hate campaigns against people they pretended were friends (this one happens a lot a lot). writers sending themselves a boatload of hate anons to get sympathy and attention on the dash (this one happens a lot a lot a lot).

popular writers going out of their way to befriend up-and-coming writers only to then turn around and start nasty whisper campaigns about them when the up-and-coming writer’s blogs and stories eclipse their own in popularity.

insecurity is a hell of a drug.

there are some writers who get on here and they’re cool and they stay cool and they enjoy success and guess what? they’re cool about it.

and then there are the writers who get a few thousand followers and a bunch of notes and delude themselves into thinking they’re real-life celebrities. to those writers i would say: pick the fanciest restaurant in your city, call to make a reservation on a friday night and if they don’t have a slot make sure you let them know you’re really big on tumblr. let me know how that works out for you, okay?

it sounds stupid and it is stupid but this happens on this site all the time. what makes me sad is that it drives people away. they take their personalities and stories and contributions to this insane little space we have here with them, which sucks. the author of that amazing hobi fic? deactivated her account over tumblr drama.

so if you have a blog here and you are so wrapped up in jealousy and insecurity that you feel the need to harass someone off the site (including “friends”), log off and seek help.

3. life (adulting, sigh)

this is the boring one, but it still tracks. this community blew up when covid hit and we all had a lot more time to muse about what kim namjoon would look like in his underwear. but so many people had to get back to the grind after a while, and that meant less time for tumblr and for writing in general (wait is this entire one about me oops)

when i started tumblr i wasn’t working full time. then covid hit. so i had a long stretch where i could dedicate a lot of time to writing and posting. and YES i was still slow, so go ahead and throw that tomato lmao but STILL. it really does impact the number of stories going up and some people who joined during the pandemic just don’t have the time to go back to this like they had before.

so yeah, that’s what i’ve personally seen and experienced on this site. the good news is that for every nasty, insecure writer on this site there are dozens of great people telling great stories. i’m going to stick around for them and i hope you do, too 💕

[bewitchedsouls]

I know you mean good but fat girls can also break easily. I also don’t mean to sound rude or offend you but it’s rare for fat girls to be 6 foot, I know you might be fat and 6 foot but it’s pretty rare. I think most people stick to petite girls in cod stories because it would be scary and horrifying if they gave reader their sweater and all the sudden reader fits or barely fits in it and it only works as a crop top on them. And please try to remember just because their fat doesn’t mean they aren’t clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they aren’t slobs. Fat girls can break when they get laid and yes I believe they also will jiggle around in the process so please try to be mindful when bringing up cod guys with a fat girl

i’m extremely confused but this might just be me not having enough sleep, what are you questioning here? i try (i’m pretty sure i haven’t either) to not mention body types, sizes, descriptions etc, i want everyone to feel like they can read a fanfic i have written because they can imagine themselves as the person, i know in one i said simon could practically engulf the reader but that is because i see simon as this big military man who’s built like a brick wall so that just how i tackle it in writing, as a person who has always struggled with my weight it’s nice to be able to read about a love interest who (not matter your size) can pick you up or put you on his lap, i don’t like writing for body types because it can discourage others and make them feel as if they aren’t good enough or have something wrong with their body when infact i think all body types and sizes are beautiful and think that no matter your size you should feel included in a fanfiction because as it says in the name, it’s fiction, something where you can imagine yourself in that position, if someone struggles to do so i understand that it wouldn’t feel good to be excluded especially when i have been victim to writing that is catered towards a specific body or feature, now if someone wanted a plus sized reader fanfic i would be more than happy to write that, my requests are open as stated and i would do everything to make sure it is up to their standards and their body description if i am given one.

I am also confused at your point of saying ‘just because they’re fat doesn’t mean they aren’t clean’ ???? this is extremely baffling and you mentioned eyebrows, once again ??? i’m seriously hoping this was meant for another post because you may not want to offend but what you have written to me i find extremely disrespectful and rude, just because you say don’t mean to offend/no offence doesn’t mean anything you don’t have the right to talk to people who go out of their way to write fanfiction for people to read when they’re bored, lonely, seeking comfort (as i have myself many times) i have a full time job that i don’t get home form till 10pm (hence the lack posts) you do not get to slander people who don’t have to write fanfiction but choose to in order to make others happy. My last point to add on is that you said ‘yes I believe they will jiggle around in the process’ this is going to sound rude but whatever, are you even a plus size person yourself? as you sound unsure as to what happens when someone is plus size and has sex? i think it’s extremely rude that you think you can make those kind of comments and come on my page and try to tell me what my body is and what i can and cannot write about.

IF YOU FEEL MY WORK IS NOT FOR YOU EITHER POLITELY PRIVATELY MESSAGE ME AND TELL ME SO I CAN EITHER FIX IT TO BE MORE INCLUSIVE OR CAN WRITE YOU YOUR OWN COMPLETELY NEW FIC!!! OTHERWISE GET OF MY PAGE AND DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME OR MY WORK!!! I DO NOT NEED TO PUT UP WITH HATE AND NEGATIVITY WHEN ALL IM TRYING TO DO IS BE CREATIVE AND MAKE PEOPLE HAPPY!!!!

[autistichalsin]

I'm really fucking tired.

All I wanted was a space to obsess over a fictional man, who brought me a ton of healing, in peace.

This group has made it their mission to chase not only me away, but anyone associated with me. They called me a rape fetishizer for writing CNC fic. They called me a pedophile for making an omega Halsin headcanon. They called me a self-hating lesbian/lesbophobic for saying it's TERFy to demonize queer male sexuality. They mocked my abuse by my mom, and when called on it, laughed that I deserved it for saying how Mint's actions remind me of her sometimes. They accused me of retraumatizing myself because of the fic I wrote, when THEY were the ones who retraumatized me by causing me to have a flashback to my mom abusing me. They accused me of absolutely vile things, and today they questioned if I even was "really" abused because of the fic I wrote. They repeatedly mocked my special interests and then got offended and played victim when I said this was ableist. They've sent suicide bait to me and my friends.

They've harassed others: they harassed a bi SH fan for asking them to stop saying it was icky to ship her with men until she left the fandom, they harassed someone who made a mod to turn Scratch into Astarion so they could see the animations (even calling this person as bad as Cazador), they harassed someone for making a headcanon about Astarion dancing with Tav, they harassed a lesbian who herself headcanons Karlach as a lesbian and doesn't like Karlach/Dammon but explained why others do, they harassed my friend Mish for saying she was okay with me writing CNC, they sent suicide bait to another friend of mine and said she deserved to get raped so she would sympathize with Mint, causing her to have a mental breakdown and have to go to the hospital for 24 hours, and every time someone pushes back against them, this group weaponizes their identity by saying that person is bigoted against their identity- while ignoring (at best) the marginalized identities that person has, or at worst, furthering oppression against them (I.E. their repeated ableist comments, including one of them snarling at another user about "enjoying your grippy sock vacation")

And despite all these vile things this group of people have done, people are still believing them and sending more harassment to myself and my friends in their defense.

I'm fucking tired.

I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of losing people I considered friends to their lies. I'm tired of having my inbox invaded by these vile people.

They are wearing at my mental health and this already made me relapse on one of my addictive behaviors and I am fighting really hard not to do the other one. I'm tired. I loved this fandom and I loved contributing my ideas. I get so many messages from people saying I made them feel seen or made them connect to Halsin's character, and getting a message from a survivor that my posts gave them the words they were lacking for what happened to them and they were able to work through it in counseling was honestly one of the best things to ever happen to me. I really don't want to lose that. Ever. But I can't keep doing this.

I'm not bigoted to my own identity. I don't hurt people. I don't fetishize rape. I'm tired of being a broken record and not being believed because that group is so good at fragilizing themselves. I can't do it anymore.

I just wanted to share my thoughts about a fictional bear man because it made me happy and so many parts of him gave me courage. I wanted to give up cynicism like he did. I wanted to find his strength to take care of people.

But I am honestly very close to regretting ever joining this fandom. I have gained so much from it, it helped my mental health immensely, but this shit has put me in an even WORSE place mentally than i was before I joined.

I don't know what to do. I'm just tired of the way, no matter how much I epitomize "living your best life" I get treatment from these people that I honestly wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I have a lot of painful feelings right now and I don't know what to do anymore. It just hurts and I think everyone would be better off if I'd never made this blog to begin with.

[definitely-mothman]

Assurance of Quality

Another one shot for JeiazuJune! Prompt: Obsession.

Summary: As Vice Housewarden, Jade’s routine each morning is simple and to-the-dot. On a particular morning, an unforeseen variable interrupts this routine.

Full Fic Beneath Read More~

As Vice Housewarden, Jade’s wake-up period was scheduled at 4:30, an hour before anyone else would be awake, Housewarden included. The routine was well established, and served to benefit all parties involved. This hour empty period allowed time to get dressed (mostly in the hall bathroom, lest Floyd be roused) and begin putting together Azul’s morning tea.

As assistant manager, this hour empty period allowed for the opening procedures of the Mostro Lounge; taking chairs off of the tables and arranging them properly, ensuring the drink counter was stocked adequately, flipping on the lights and air conditioner. Any remaining time prior to 5:30 following these procedures would be spent rearranging the desk in the VIP Lounge. This was nothing extreme- moving things around too much would ruin whatever bizarre organization system Azul had set up beforehand. But generally, he’d just attempt to make the paper stacks more neat and presentable prior to the Lounge’s opening in the afternoon, and he only really had the quiet to attempt this in the early morning.

He was going about this typical routine, finishing earlier than usual- it was only about 5am, so he had much more time to do this than normal. But, as he unlocked the VIP Lounge, his foot caught on a texture wholly different from the tile. Looking down, it seemed to be a piece of paper. He took it up off of on the floor, carrying it into the lounge with him. Upon bending down to pick it up, it was clear it was an envelope, with which an attempt had been made to slip it under the door into the VIP Lounge.

On the blank side, Azul’s name was written in full with what seemed to be a felt pen (calligraphy pen? It was pretty amateur if so). Flipping it over, the envelope’s flap was help shut with a little heart sticker. The glitter on it wore off a little bit on Jade’s gloves.

Ugh…disgusting.

He took up the envelope in both hands, prepared to rip it, when the idea struck him. It surely couldn’t hurt to open it- although the contents might hurt to read. But that would be dealt with in time. Slipping a letter opened from Azul’s desk, he slit open the envelope, gently setting the blade back and pushing it straight with his fingertips.

Surely enough, the envelope contained a letter, written with that same ugly felt pen. The contents were…expected, but still nauseating to glance over. These flowery declarations of affection, the rambling language used, messing handwriting, not to mention the choice of paper and pen…

It was not addressed to him, but he felt offended all the same. Such clumsy wording, the lack of confidence to deliver this upfront- the lack of prior research done was downright insulting. The thought of sending such a formal letter to Azul, with such sensitive content, and to both not write in black for legibility, nor use a wax seal as a symbol of formality…it was clear this person was worse than a fool. They were fully ignorant of who it was they supposedly loved.

In the second left drawer of the desk, schedules were typically kept for the lounge, sorted by day. Of course, Azul didn’t typically lock this drawer, given it didn’t hold anything particularly sensitive. He flipped through the schedules, eventually finding that name which matched the one written at the letter’s bottom.

Hah- Another Octanivelle student. And how fortunate. They would be under his management in the following days. It always made him smile to see how luck frowned upon the stupid.

He quickly made a note of the student’s name, saving it for reference later. Azul had plenty of personal records for those who worked in the lounge, and especially for Octanivelle’s own students…and Jade himself had done much legwork in the acquisition of this information. But what to do with all of it..? Of course, he would pull everything there was to find and begin setting up…something. But what something would that be? What kind of punishment was warranted by this pathetic attempt at a confession?

Of course, he’d have to debate that with himself. As lovely as it would be to discuss the specifics with Azul and have a second pair of hands in everything, it would be better for him to never know the letter existed in the first place. Considering the difference in status as well…such a confession was completely worthless to him. Worthless people who approach the powerful like this can only serve to steal from them and abandon them to die.

Yes, Jade reasoned this with himself. To have the letter never exist would be an assurance of safety. Just as his parents had assured his safety in a similar way. If he wasn’t able to do it back then with Savannaclaw, he could at least do it now within his own dorm.

Taking his magic pen from his jacket, he knelt over the small bin beside the desk. A small flame lit at the edge of the letter, slowly growing to envelop it. The letters which curled into blackened ash held the same meaning to him. Dirt.

Even when the whole letter had curled into a blacked ball of soot, he hadn’t let go of the top corner, blowing out the flame. Such a thing as this should not remain in the VIP lounge where Azul could see it. This letter, after all, never existed in the first place.

An idea struck him, and a smile began to creep on his face as he returned to stand. He began moving back towards his own dorm- the blackened paper in his clenched hand. He had a small cardboard compost box about the size of a ring container. The ugly wad should fit in it, along with something else.

Perhaps a letter of his own? Or would that lessen the impact of the gift? He would have to draft that out and consider it. Wrapped nicely with paper, and tied with a delicate red ribbon. A far more beautiful presentation than the burnt disappointment he held in his fist. The sort of perfect exterior that one should consider when approaching the Housewarden.

But he would have plenty of time to consider this plan of action. As for now, it was approximately 5:15 in the morning. Besides hiding the disgrace, there was a lavender blend he needed to start heating. After pouring, it would need to cool for about 4-5 minutes for a warm but not scalding temperature. He’d have to retrieve the cups from the back of the cupboard, and the small tray kept in the lower side of the pantry- along with arranging everything.

By the time he would be done with it, it’d be just about 5:27. Azul’s alarm was typically set slightly before 5:30 as to allow a few minutes to rouse from sleep (and recover from the startling effect of his alarm).

And then, on the dot, he would be there to wake his Housewarden, as he always had.

What of the letter? The student? They were not so devoted as this- absolutely worthless. But that hardly mattered now.

The student would be just as the letter was; if not burnt past recognizability, it would be crushed to dust beneath his hand, it’s remnants swallowed whole.

• • •

Hope you guys enjoyed-! Reblogs and comments always appreciated!

[lamemaster]

The Silmarillion Elves Finding My Mutual's Blog

AN: why am I doing this? Lack of brain cells, I tell you. But here we go (lmk if you would like to be removed...I don't intend to offend anyone). A small gift for mutuals and feel free to add more blogs if needed.

Summary: How would characters from the Silmarillion react to finding my mutual's blogs. Purely based on my interpretation which may or may not be messed up.

@asianbutnotjapanese: the loremaster with all the records. Elrond and Finrod. Do I need to say more? This trio would sit together to appreciate all the writings together. A group that thrives together as they compare their findings.

Finrod's appreciation might originate in the form of odes complimented by the notes of his harp.

Kings and queens of reblogging stuff for easier access.

@doodle-pops: There's going to be a crowd here. But the chief guest of this gathering can be none other than Fingon. Accompanied by Glorfindel and Fingolfin (because I see you with that sugar daddy fic Mina).

I completely expect Fingon to encounter the blog, binge-read everything and then create his own the very next day (and yes, he will write the most cursed ships). This elf will create multiple other accounts to comment on the Fingon fics...Will jokingly compare the note count of his fic with that of Maedhros'.

Glorfindel is just another golden retriever. He will meticulously thank you and the rebloggers (celebrates humbly at his popularity). And he will be the one to send super sweet 'you're amazing' kind of asks to the writer.

Fingofin will become an established annon on the blog. No one knows it's him. His online personality is 180 from his real life. (He's got some ships and opinions and mans won't stop from stating them *aggressively*.

@a-world-of-whimsy-5: The Ainur. Sauron, Namo, and Irmo (Manwe and Eonwe are lurking) are here and they will read everything. Don't be surprised if you get a bunch of passionate Sauron requests by an 'annon' the next day. Very specific requests.

Irmo on the other hand reads even the spiciest fics with a poker face late at night. I can just imagine him laying with his phone in his hand as he scrolls through the blog. A quiet existence but don't be surprised when you wake up with 50 notes and a new followers.

Namo will start by restraining himself to the sfw fics but somehow ends up reading nsfw and goes down the rabbit hole. Next day the he can't look anyone in the eye (especially Manwe). Decides never to do that again only to come back for more (don't even bring him close to hurt no comfort, this Ainur cried for Luthien. He can't handle angst).

@wandererindreams: Ulmo, Manwe, Eru, and The Void. Just a merry group having existential conversations. You all would be sitting there with your copy of texts and believe me Eru will pull out receipts to prove shit.

The sight of the Void being hyped by all the extensive headcanons...chef's kiss. Literal black hole feels included in the fandom for the first time.

Manwe and Ulmo would be there with wisdom and appreciation for your deep contemplation. Both commenting their piece and views about the subject in lengthy comments.

Eru will be taking notes. I can envision Iluvatar, playing devil's advocate (ironic) and arguing against anything and everything. Eru likes hooman who challenge him (ask Numenorians).

@animatorweirdo: Maglor and Sauron. The second eldest Feanorian will be found blushing as he reads your works and he will revisit the blog in bouts of day-dreaming of his true love. Leaves adorable emojis in the comments.

Believe me, Sauron would get some pretty interesting ideas from all your sci-fi fics. Now he really really really needs a vampire plus werewolf SO so bad. This maia will flourish under all the attention given to him. Follows fervently but will like sparingly (he's got an image to maintain).

I would also spy a lingering Maedhros but he's got the tired mom energy so he'll be a flickering presence who remembers Tumblr once every 3 months.

Lamemaster: dead. Feanor or Finwe will smite me the second they see my blog.

[demigodpolls]

May I ask how fics are being evaluated? Like in order to be included in the collection, what are they being "graded" on? Thank you for hosting the project I think it's great!!!

that's a great question! click here if you don't know what this ask is talking about. my answer is pretty lengthy, but I hope that you'll find something useful in its contents!

grammar is definitely going to be a big thing. certainly, grammar isn't everything. I've read many excellent works from non-native english speakers who occasionally struggle with grammar conventions, but still succeed in expressing ideas and emotions in an engaging way; however, the collection isn't being made solely with the intention of promoting fanfic writers - it's also to recommend quality works to readers! so if the story has noticeably poor grammar, then unfortunately, it probably won't end up in the collection.

sentence flow and structure is also going to be a big consideration. have you guys ever read a fanfic where it's written like, "Leo walked to the park. He had always loved going to the park. His mom would bring him to the park on Sundays. He was really excited to be going there again." there's nothing grammatically incorrect within a sentence like this, but it lacks rhythm and creates a dull reading experience. again, this is not the sole criteria being considered, but fanfics that excel in the nitty-gritty sentence/paragraph construction will definitely have a leg up on those that don't.

to help convey what I mean, I'll show you this famous piece of writing advice from gary provost:

character writing is definitely a big consideration. now, here's my thing: I actually have more disdain for people who operate with an attitude of, "I perfectly understand this character. my way of conceptualizing them is best. all of you are so wrong, stop writing them like that and start doing it like this," than I have disdain for people who gleefully enjoy their own configurations of the characters in their own way. I think it's really lame to tell people what to do with their own headcanons and interpretations, and that doing so makes fandom much less fun.

at the same time, we have to acknowledge how fanon (or canon) transforms characters into oversimplified versions of themselves. I think all of us have witnessed percy being written by others into some big dumb himbo guy (when he's actually very clever and solves problems with his brain all the time), but this stylization of his character does gets criticized a lot on tumblr. what about other characters, though? what about hazel being written as a soft, ultra-shy cinnamon roll, when she quite possibly has the most egregious pottymouth on the argo ii? what about her short temper and barely-held-back aggression towards people who offend her and her friends? or what about piper, so often portrayed as a flirty, fashionable party girl, when in canon, she hates attention, avoids it like the plague, goes out of her way to make herself "less" attractive, and never really had any friends growing up?

I am definitely not the end-all-be-all judge of "correct" portrayals of PJO characters - but when I say that character writing is going to be considered, I'm saying that I'm looking for nuanced portrayals of characters that don't reduce them to exaggerated representations of their "core" traits. I'm not really going to care if a person has small conflicts with canon in their writing (i.e., saying that frank has ADHD, when all he's got is lactose-intolerance), because the broader portrayal of who they are is what I'll be looking at.

I will also be looking for good plot progression. let me tell you guys the story of the worst fanfic I've ever read in my life: it's a slice-of-life modern day AU. two characters who don't know each other well had a one night stand, resulting in one of them getting pregnant. they decided to keep the baby, and the father decided to work hard, turn their life around, and become a better person for their upcoming child. while all of this was happening, they began to feel real affection for each other and started to fall in love. and then, after twenty-ish chapters of cute slow burn--you're not ready for this--the baby was born, and then the mother was assassinated. apparently, the father had an evil stalker all along, who was extremely jealous of the mother and wanted to be the baby's parent instead. the assassin was an OC. none of this was set up prior, just no hint whatsoever over the course of a 100k word low-stakes story. this was a normal world AU where assassins don't even belong in average, everyday life. the story ended a few chapters later, and the father went on to raise the child alone.

fanfiction is a medium where people usually don't have a firmly-structured plan for lengthy stories. a lot of the time, writers have a handful of story beats in their head to start with, and then they make up the rest as they go along. generally, I don't think this is a big deal - but sometimes, the lack of planning really shows, and it's of severe detriment to the overall story. the core issue of the above fanfic wasn't even the assassination itself (although it was tonally dissonant), it was the fact that it didn't make any sense for the story to escalate to that extreme level when nothing had been done to set it up first. you might think that the aforementioned fanfic is a rarity, but I'm actually very biased towards long, 80k+ word fanfictions. I read them a lot, and I see stuff like this more often than you'd think.

I really don't need anyone to reinvent the wheel with their story plots! a simple, predictable flower shop au is genuinely fine with me, because as long as it progresses in a sensible way, it can be a fun time! but if you're selling me a cutesy flower shop au and then, completely out of nowhere, a love interest gets assassinated by an evil stalker that's been obsessed with one of the characters for years, I will have NO choice but to launch a petition to have AO3 delete your account /j

lastly, I'd say that I'm looking for the emotions within the work. why do people go out of their way to read angst, even though it can be so depressing? it's because emotions are powerful, and so often, we crave stories that make us feel something. this applies to fluffy romance, angst, comedies, stories about friendship/platonic love, action/adventure, character studies, and so on. at the same, there's definitely a distinction to be made between properly emotional works and stories that """try too hard""" (I don't know how else to phrase this) to be emotional. for the most part, it's a setup and payoff thing!

all of this probably sounds like really harsh grading - to be clear, I don't think that fanfiction needs to be anything other than fiction created by fans. I know that everyone has to start somewhere, some people are just doing it for fun, and not everyone is confident in their writing skills - but they try, anyway, and that is always admirable. I swear I'm not some literary elitist - however, with this collection, I want to give acclaim to exceptional fanfic writers, as well as make it easier for readers who have trouble finding works that fit the above specifications.

I'm thinking that the collection will probably have a top 3 or top 5 of 2024 overall (not ranked, just a general categorization), and then everything else will be sorted by ships/lack thereof. I really appreciate your interest in the project, so thank you for asking!

- demigodpolls

[avalons-minecraft-imagines]

Intro (Read before requesting!)

Hellooo!! My name is Avalon! @avalon-in-the-sky

I have noticed the huuuge lack of fics in general for vanilla Minecraft, especially for the hostile mobs, and that deeply upsets me LMAO

So here I'll be writing various Minecraft 'x Reader' scenarios/imagines, usually focused around the hostile mobs but can also include other mobs. I will also take requests! Read below for requesting rules

Also this is incredibly important I fucking LOVE the warden. One of the reasons I made this blog was because there were no warden fics

For Requesting:

◈ Current Requests Page

◈ Most of my scenarios will be platonic, if not platonic then otherwise light fluff/romance if requested! I do not write smut unfortunately, if that's what you're here for- (LMAO sorry for the inconvenience!!)

◈ I prioritize writing for hostile mobs, but I will also accept requests for other mobs (Scenarios with friendly mobs like golems/villagers/etc.)

◈ I also accept requests for Steve, Alex, and Herobrine

◈ I write in 2nd person when writing X Readers so if that isn't your thing, sorry!

◈ The reader will be gender neutral for as much inclusivity as possible

◈ I will not be writing anything about DSMP, or MCYT in general

◈ I also do not do those weird gijinka humanizations of the monsters lol I always found that weird

◈ I will only accept romantic imagines for the more human-like mobs (Zombies, skeletons, illagers/villagers, piglins, etc.)

◈ Important: When requesting, please give some details about what you want to happen in the fic!! It makes it much easier for me to write lmao (You can specify things such as the Reader or mob's personality, plot, certain things that happen, etc.)

◈ And of course I will decline any requests that break these rules, generally make me uncomfortable, or includes something that I just cannot write about (characters with certain mental disorders are an example of what I can't write, as I don't want to misrepresent people or offend anyone)

[spliffymae]

what’s up! this is my two cents since we all writing essays regarding this “n****!eren” topic. :)

1)the ppl pressed about him using nicknames like “ma” and all variations of it don’t know how to read (i’m not sorry).

from what i have seen, NO ONE is saying eren should be using aave and should be completely swapped for a black character(i.e taking on stereotypes of black men, adopting the demeanor of black men, etc). what is being said however, is that because he is a non black person in a relationship with the black reader, he is going to adopt some of her lingo or going to refer to her as the names best suited for her. same way she would him. names that the reader and eren like. most of the time it’s gonna be a variation of ma. and if you don’t like it—click out the story and find one that aligns w what you want.

2) yes, it is easy for lines to be blurred and for non-black characters to be written as if they were black, but again understand you’re reading a fic from a BLACK WRITER

writers write from experience. each fic you read will differ depending on the writer. a black writer is going to write through the lens of their experience/their culture.

here’s what i don’t really get w this whole issue. if you as a reader are not happy with what you are reading, instead of clicking off ana’s finding something else, why do you make it your mission to harass, hate, and get on the writers for THEIR decisions in regard to THEIR fics?

OR OR OR

if you are not seeing any fics that represent you, start writing your own. this is not in a rude way rather in a way to encourage ppl to not just use this app for reading and liking, but to create your own stories so that your preferences and your interests can be shown. bc you never know who might feel the same way about being left out.

3) y’all are not really pressed about this, you’re really just pissed black writers are feeling welcome/included in a space where our representation is limited.

all i say to this is a hit dog will holler. if you feel a way about this (whether it be offended or ‘called out’) ask yourself why. this whole discourse has just been an open door for A LOT of microagressions against black writers (and black ppl in general) to be shown. and it’s disgusting :)

sidenote: if black writers are saying your critiques are coming off anti black (which if you look at it through an objective lens, THEY ARE) why is your response to continue instead of stopping?

4) THESE ARE LINESSSSSS! THEY ARE COLOUR SCHEMES! THEY ARE NOT REAL!!!

before you come on here to twiddle your thumbs and type out long ass essays w 0 substance and 0 evidence of critical thinking while simultaneously flexing you lack reading comprehension, ask yourself: why the hell am i doing this?

because i can assure you, it’s not for the reasons you think.

5) for the love of everything good, find a new name instead of “niggacore” or “nigga!eren”

you lot are weird for using the n-word in association with this (idc! y’all sliding into asks w anon on saying it are not all black)

that’s my opinion. no one asked but idc, this is aggravating bc the simple solution to this problem is just exiting out the fic. ppl are gonna write for who they want, how they want, and if you don’t like it just get off their page and find something else.

y’all stay blessed and safe out here! 🫶🏼☺️

[prince-of-elsinore]

happy wincest wednesday!! asking folks similar questions on a central theme: what elements of sam and Dean's relationship, or things about themselves as characters, do you think are often done REALLY well in fic? any examples??

(or, salty edition: which elements are often done poorly, in your opinion?)

Happy Wincest Wednesday! What a good but tricky question. It's difficult--impossible, really--to generalize wrt fanfiction, when you consider the sheer breadth of works in Wincest fandom, from early fic to new and every niche of taste besides; and then there are my reading habits, which are hardly representative of fanfic at large.

All of which makes it much easier for me to think of elements often done poorly, imo 😅 (I do get to positives below the cut as well!) The biggest offenders that come to mind are:

for Dean, his lack of boundaries, possessiveness/entitlement wrt Sam, and overriding of Sam's--forgive me for the overused word--autonomy. These are all, to some extent, present in his canon character and important themes of the show, but I find they are often grossly exaggerated in fic. Of course a lot of this comes down to how one interprets canon; if you see Sam as brainwashed/Stockholm Syndromed by his brother from Carver era on, then I guess it seems natural to write a Dean who deviously manipulates Sam and rides roughshod over his sense of self, who rules the bunker with an iron fist. If, however, like me, you see Carver-era+ Sam as coming to terms with his relationship with Dean and how much he not only needs but wants to be with him, and if you view him as the primary agent in his own life decisions, and if you recognize how much (often tacit) power he holds in his relationship with Dean, that characterization becomes nonsensical. Dean does in some ways harden over the years, particularly with his anger, but he still carries an innate emotional vulnerability that is his need for Sam and fear that Sam can and will leave him (he's the only one who's ever walked away from family!). Simultaneously, in later years he has more trust in his partnership with Sam than ever, which includes, I think, trust that Sam will stand his own and be a counterbalance to Dean when need be. Anyway, all that is a roundabout way of saying that I don't think it's in character for Dean, especially a late seasons one, to seriously violate or disrespect Sam, and on the whole "possessive Dean" is a fandom invention.

for Sam, relatedly, it's writing him as too yielding and needy. While I appreciate a rare and earned moment of vulnerability, Sam, even at his most victimized, isn't innately as emotionally vulnerable as Dean for reasons mentioned above. He has a firmer sense of self, even if at his lowest he has serious doubts about his abilities and worth. Except in very rare moments, I don't see him as someone who willingly gives up control. When he seems to "go along" with Dean I see that as an intentional choice, not a weakness. He chooses his battles, and God help (hm, poor choice of words but you get it 😅) the person who tries to cross Sam Winchester when he's drawn a line in the sand, even--actually especially--if it's his brother.

But I don't want this post to be nothing but salt! Here are some things that generally, at least in the fic I read and like, people nail on the head:

Sam and Dean love each other! They mean everything to each other! Even when they're on the outs over something. They are ride or die. Their love is a love that can destroy and save the world <3

They belong together. Especially in later seasons, they are truly domestically committed (whether it's Established Relationship or not). There's no one else who gets them like they do, no one else they could ever feel so comfortable with. "It's always been you"--you know the rest!

They're brothers. First and foremost. Teasing, bickering, one-upping, gross-outing, sniping brothers.

I'm always pleased to see a version of this done well, and many of my favorite fics nail it: how scary and new everything is when crossing that line the first time. Whether you spin it towards fluff or angst, I love those moments of discovery--of each other's bodies, of their own pleasure--unease, awkwardness, giddiness or terror, when a sexual element is added to their chemistry. They know each other so well, but not like this. Everything is so familiar and foreign at once, and how much does it change things? Too much? Practically nothing? I love them figuring those things out together, and I'll never tire of reading it. Luckily there is a feast of such moments in Wincest fic 🍿

Okay examples of diverse fics that I think get all of the above right!

This Next Town by @nigeltde-fic (gentle, domestic late seasons, with a wonderful description of the stunning newness of their intimacy)

The Elko County Adventure by candle_beck (the brothers of it all! The underlying tension and fear and care and love!)

Carry Me Over the Sky by killabeez (for an angstier take--the pure need for each other and the horror of changing things irrevocably)

Baby Blue by edwardina (for a kinky take that may not be everyone's cuppa, but I was surprised by how well it sold it to me--this Dean is right on the edge of over-the-line possessive for me, but works I think because of how surprised he is by his own feelings, and how sturdy Sam remains despite his outlandish and dependent circumstances)

side two, track one by @zmediaoutlet (they're brothers, they're committed to each other already, and then all of a sudden something shifts and they're both in terrifying, thrilling new territory)

Thank you for the ask! Hope you enjoy the longer-than-expected answer and recs :)

[yuesya]

Uhm, I don’t know if you wrote gender juetral ocs or not, but if you did do any new WIPS it would be really cool if they could be non-binary or gender-fluid or anything that isn’t just like, cis I guess lol

Sorry is that too presumptuous to ask? I just really love your writing and think it would be cool to see people with my identity reflected there too!!

Hello Anon! Apologies, but at the present I do not see myself writing gender neutral OCs. Mostly because I hesitate to think I would be able to do it justice, and I do not want to potentially offend or upset anyone with any misrepresentation, and/or other problematic elements that may or may not be included in the fic.

A little more background:

The one fic I've written that does not feature a cisgender MC would be and all the lovely angels sing, which is an incomplete KHR fic written a few years back, featuring a female-turned-male MC. Also probably the darkest fic I've written to date, as it includes many problematic themes and elements.

To be perfectly honest, back when I was writing the fic, it was more storyline and character development that I had on my mind than the details of MC's gender identity. However, I also remember receiving a comment from one of my readers that mentioned they were incredibly excited to read a story with an MC's whose gender they related with, but the MC's struggles were quite upsetting, and it was... distressing, to see a non-cis character with these experiences. They were very nice about it, but it still gave me pause.

Personally, I see character suffering (/development) as something largely separate from gender identity, unless it ties directly into the plot. Which it didn't, in this particular case, but the comment made me realize that what I wrote could come across as very insensitive for certain readers, even if it was completely unintentional on my end. I guess you could say it's made me very, very uncertain of writing similar things going forward.

TLDR: I do not want to offend or cause distress to anyone with unintentional and/or inaccurate portrayals of non-cis characters due to my own lack of understanding. There may be mentions of, or inclusions of side characters who identify as non-cis, but at the moment I do not see myself writing such fics from a primary perspective. My apologies.

Thank you kindly for your understanding!

[ravenheartxvi]

So I've had this Tumbler for a while now, long time lurker and rarely posting. Just thought I'd give a little better introduction of myself than what my bio says.

I mostly prefer to keep to myself so excuse my sparse social interactions, haha. You can call me Charlie and I am definitely female. I was born the year Dr. Robert Ballard discovered the remains of the Titanic and for some inexplicable reason, I feel a connection to the “unsinkable” ocean liner. I had a minor obsession with the ship as a teen, and tend to enjoy reading about it, or watching documentaries or youtube videos of it. I am also a lover of Tudor history. 

My main interest here on Tumbler surrounds the Sims and fanfiction. I’ve been an avid simmer since the original Sims came out. I don’t know about anyone else, but for some reason I can get a kind of god complex when I play the sims, lol. I discovered mods during the Sims 3 and have been hooked ever since. My two favorite mods are MC command center and Wicked Whims. I’ve also used the extreme violence mod before and some of the sims storylines I created with these mods are rather, ahem, interesting. I would be willing to share if anyone is interested, just fair warning, these interesting sims stories are NSFW. 

My other love includes fanfiction. I first got involved in 2001 and was introduced in a now defunct Harry Potter site. My earliest fics are now lost. I later became prolific on fanfiction.net and you can still see my works there through the link in my profile. In 2005 I switched from Harry Potter over to Star Wars. For a brief time I had drifted into Gilmore Girls before drifting back to Harry Potter and back to Star Wars where I am currently firmly based. I have grown annoyed with fanfiction.net and decided to switch over to Archive of Our Own where all my current fics are being posted. 

My favorite fic trope is time travel/ time travel fix-its. 

I enjoy a variety of AU’s Such as: Anakin doesn’t fall, Darth Vader/Padme Amidala fics where Anakin was raised as a Sith, Character X doesn’t die, Luke and Leia were raised by at least one of their parents, and a multitude of variations of these tropes. In recent months I’ve gotten into modern au anidala fics, a trope that I’ve avoided for a while. 

My ships include:

Harry Potter/Hermione Granger

Rory Gilmore/Logan Huntzberger

Anakin Skywalker(Darth Vader)/Padme Amidala

Luke Skywalker/Mara Jade

Leia Organa/Han Solo

Ships that give me the willies but I wont judge those who enjoy them:

Anakin Skywalker/Obi-Wan Kenobi * Because they literally equate each other as brothers/family and have both said so more than once. 

Anakin Skywalker/Ahsoka Tano * These two have a big brother/little sister dynamic and nothing anyone says can dissuade me. 

Hermione Granger/ anyone who is a Death Eater. * Because, WTF? You know what I’m talking about, don’t lie.

Psychology is an interest of mine and I enjoy incorporating it into my works in recent years. If I could pass math and had the finances, I would pursue a degree in the subject. Mental Illness is a subject that is very important to me and I like to consider myself an advocate for the support of mental illness and fully believe in the benefits of therapy. So I do not, under any circumstances, tolerate the use of words like crazy and all its synonyms as a form of insult. Everyone struggles with something so a little kindness and understanding, compassion, is something we should extend to everyone around us, including those who have wronged us. I am very open with talking about my own struggles, in the hopes that I can help someone else struggling in whatever way I can. Sometimes, it helps to know that you are not alone in your struggles. 

I am not perfect, in any way, but I try to be a decent person with integrity. I make mistakes and often struggle in how to fix those mistakes. Often, I need people to come to me and tell me if I have hurt or offended them due to my own lack of a filter and impulsivity. I am very open to listening to grievances and to finding a way to work through those grievances. However, what I will never do is blast those grievances or work through them in a public forum. I prefer not to stir drama on the internet. It is preferable, IMHO, to work through any issues privately rather than air it all publicly. I have seen a lot of examples when grievances are aired online and it only ever invites people outside the situation to insert themselves into the situation and stir the drama even further. I have no interest in participating in such situations, it is way too stressful. This is why I have distanced myself from facebook. I would much rather save this account for stress relief fun. 

And here, I feel that I should reiterate another point I made in my profile. I very rarely, if ever, check my messages here on tumbler. When I first joined and for quite a while, the only messages I would receive was porn spam. So I found myself avoiding my messages here. I have zero interest in accepting porn spam. No, I will not check out your webcam. No, I am not interested in watching hot women or connecting with hot women. While I appreciate the female form and have had some celebrity girl crushes, I am very interested in men. And no, I am also not interested in unsolicited penis pictures either. Why do I appear to be interested in this shit? 

Back to a fun topic. My love for history, sims, fanfiction and geeky stuff is also accompanied by my love for music. My two favorite genres of music are Rock and Classical. I have a wide variety of music tastes but I can’t stand country music and disco. Ick…lol! I was exposed to a wide variety growing up so of course I love music. I listen to music during a majority of everyday tasks and while I read and write. My music library is absolutely huge! 

If Interested, I have compiled a personal playlist that expresses my life through song. You can check it out here:

[dreadheadmadi]

There is just so much more stuff to unpack here oh my Lord.

Edit: The fact OP got some hate about it is wild. Imagine being upset that she stuck up for herself. The nerve of certain people. PLEASE come into my inbox bc my anons are closed, be bold and stand on that shit.

1) Taking the blatant racism aside for a moment. So you blocked a tag and the algorithm decided to give it to you anyways? Sounds like the Lord tryna tell you to shut your mouth and open up your mind. The author didn’t hack into your account and make her work be recommended to you. So, how the hell is this the author’s problem in any capacity? What did you think you would actually achieve here? I assume the missing tag in question would be in the title/description, because the story itself was tagged x black reader. The author shouldn’t have to add a title tag, let alone do anything because of a simple algorithm glitch on your device. If you were that bothered by it, take it up with Tumblr HQ not the author. Hell, the author’s a victim too since because of the bypass, she was introduced to you and your nonsense.

2) The lack of shame is just… mind boggling. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and such but to openly express your disdain for a fic with attributes towards a particular race aside from your own in 2024 nonetheless? Then to double down and admit to going through such lengths to block the x black reader tag to a BLACK AUTHOR! Like, we didn’t need to know that. No one needed to know that. Did you think that would make the author more sympathetic to your request? “Oh, I’m upset that my efforts to block out your race didn’t work, please fix it so I can feel better in my decision of blocking out anything that doesn’t apply to me and my world!!!!”, sweetheart. Just, listen to yourself. How did you confidently comment this with no second thought? Are you that oblivious, ignorant, dumb, or all the above?

3) Okay, let’s add the blatant racism. So you liked the fic, and you read three whole chapters before the curly hair line. (So you mean to tell me that for a black reader fic not one description of the reader was said until the third chapter? Really? Anyways…) Are you aware that curly hair isn’t just a black people thing? Shocking, I know! All races can have curly hair of any kind, including your own. And instead of embracing this fact, your ugly ignorant mind immediately went I don’t have curly hair, I’m not black… oh! Obviously this is a fic for a black person and I don’t like those fics! You didn’t even know it was a black reader fic until you yourself checked the tags. And even if you did, you were eating that shit up. Like the only reason you stopped reading was because of the implication of a black reader. If that curly hair line wasn’t written, you probably would have just continued reading it… which is a statement in and of itself. I swear, they love our creativity but hate that it came from us, and then wanna raise hell if we ever use our creativity for ourselves. You insulted and offended the author’s work and then try to mask it with a sense of politeness and shyness, the embodiment of “please? 🥺👉👈”. Like girl… no. You aren’t gonna get shit from anyone but the damn block button, the fuck we look like?

4) You know what we had to do if we came across a fic that didn’t align with our race?? We read it. 😐 We sat there and read it because if the fic is good then god damn, it’s good. And if we didn’t want to read it for whatever reason it may be (let’s say bc of race since you brought it up)? We kept scrolling, and moved on in silence. We didn’t comment on their work raising hell about it. We kept it pushing gracefully. We showed couth and decorum, and the least you could do is return the favor.

4.5) We couldn’t block y’all out even if we truly wanted to, I personally never had the so called luxury of blocking a “x white reader” tag. And on top of that, why would we want to? Why would anyone want to block out any fics simply because of the description, especially if the implied race isn’t the main focus of the story but simply an added element. Like I mentioned above, if the fic is good, then read it, it doesn’t matter. Are you truly that wrapped up in your own delusions in your head that you just cannot fathom anything slightly different from what you want? Like on some Wandavison shit, does it make you tweak out? Does a little bit of melanin make you wanna crash out? Did the curly hair line cause a mental breakdown? Jesus, grow the fuck up.

5) Final note. No one be like this. You cannot just to go onto someone else’s blog and ask them to change anything about it just to you could further avoid it. That is so disrespectful and wrong in so many ways. Then to make it a race thing was just a thorn covered bow on top. The only thing you are entitled to is a block button. Shame on you and everyone who is like you. God bless. 😒

please do not comment shit like this on my page. it is not a compliment that you like my stuff but have the black reader tag blocked. if you haven’t noticed MY WHOLE BLOG IS FOR BLACK PEOPLE. Every! Single! Story!!! go read something else if curly hair makes you upset

[somnambulants]

omg i think it’s considered a little bit of a pride mont hate crime that you don’t have MORE nat fics 🥺 so hehehe how about i request some pouty jealous!nat?

Notes: omg thank u! happy pride 💛 this went super off topic BUT i hope you still like it! jealous!nat is my new favorite thing. 

Summary: Natasha may have a little bit of jealous streak. You discover you don’t mind. Word count: 3.8K

You are not a jealous person.

That’s not to say that you aren’t prone to bouts of insecurity, you definitely are, and especially at the beginning of your relationship with Natasha. For the first few months after you’d begun dating, you’d been on edge the entire time; in a constant state of wondering, agonising, for the day she’d finally realise you weren’t good enough for her and up and leave.

Through all of that, you’d never given a lot of thought to whether your girlfriend is the jealous type. Mostly because Natasha is the most beautiful person you’d ever seen but also because it’s not like she would ever have a reason to be jealous; the minute you’d met, you had never so much as wanted to look at another person.

The thought never crossed your mind. It was laughable to you.

As unbelievable of an idea as it is, you’ve been together for just a few months when it slowly begins to dawn on you that you may not be the jealous type, but Natasha most definitely is.

--

In all – although admittedly, there weren’t a lot – of her relationships, Natasha has never cared enough to worry about being jealous over a significant other. 

This is why the visceral reaction she has to watching people flirt with you comes as such a surprise to her.

The first time it happens, you’d only just begun dating and were at one of the many events the avengers were required to attend. Still wanting to stay as low-key as possible, you’d both privately agreed to not spend the night attached to one another. 

Something Natasha is now beginning to regret. Immensely.

Currently, you’re across the room, talking to a woman Natasha vaguely recognises as a reporter and all she can focus on is the way the woman is looking at you. 

It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up because Natasha knows that look; has given you that look many times over the course of your relationship – a hungry, I want you right now, kind of look.

“Nat!”

Steve suddenly materialises beside her and the fact that she didn’t see him coming is evidence of how distracted she is. It makes her scowl even harder. Taking in her expression, he all of a sudden looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he follows her gaze to where you were standing. “You feeling okay? You’re looking a little…green.”

She resists the urge to kick him in the stomach. “Bite me, Rogers.”

He snickers and starts to say something else, but whatever it is, it’s lost on her as the sound of your voice across the room acts as a honing beacon and regains her attention immediately.

She watches, grip tightening around her drink, as you throw your head back, laughing at some joke the woman must’ve made. Seeing this as a green light, the woman leans in, brushing a lone piece of hair over your shoulder. 

It doesn’t matter that Natasha can see how your spine immediately straightens up, or how you step back to widen the gap between you and your admirer.It doesn’t matter that you very clearly don’t return the attention being given to you. 

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters because all Natasha can see and feel is red. If she had the ability to burn people with her eyes, that woman would have been incinerated on the spot. There wouldn’t even be tiny little dust particles left behind.

In the midst of her rage, she doesn’t even register the glass in her hand shattering until she’s covered in glass and red wine and there’s blood running down her wrist.

The sound of the glass breaking makes a good portion of the room’s occupants turn around to stare, you included. Instantly, you’re at her side, cradling her hand between your own.

“What happened?”

In its current state, Natasha’s brain seems to be lacking its usual quick thinking, and she just stares at you dumbly for a second until she spots the reporter you’d been talking to skulking in the background, watching with a petulant look on her face, evidently irritated by the interruption and the white-hot rage comes flooding back even more ferocious than before.

God, that insipid woman is lucky this event was specified no weapons allowed because if Natasha had a gun right now, she --

“--Natasha?”

You’re looking at her with worry in your eyes and as much as she’d love to go ‘accidentally’ push that woman off the edge of this very tall building’s balcony to a very certain death, she feels her insides soften into mush as they often do when you’re around.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Accident.”

It’s a flimsy excuse and one that wouldn’t fly on a normal day, especially not with you. She watches you purse your lips, giving her a doubtful look but you seem to make the decision to let it go as you lead her out of the room with the intent to find something to clean her up with.

--

You may not be a trained spy or even the most perceptive person on your best day, but you can still sense it when something is up – especially with Natasha. After the party, you’d had an inkling that maybe your girlfriend wasn’t telling you the whole truth and that something else was actually going on but after seeing the look in her eye, you hadn’t pushed her.

In spite of her unwillingness to share, a few weeks later your inkling is confirmed.

“I’ll order this time,” you yell over the loud music at the bar you were currently at. It was not your scene at all – or Natasha’s but Carol had recommended it on her last trip back to this earth and after a long, long week, you’d both agreed you deserved a night out, away from avengers’ duties and this is where you’d ended up.

Natasha gives you a nod and you stand, only having to wait at the bar for a few seconds before the bartender makes a b-line for you, ignoring the grumbles from the patrons that had been clearly waiting a lot longer than you.

“What can I get you?”

You recite Natasha’s drink, then your own and the bartender makes them with record speed. When you try to hand her the bill to pay, she waves her hand dismissively and gives you a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t –“

The bartender, who you now realise is quite pretty, runs a finger along the back of your hand and gives you a wink that is definitely more flirty than friendly. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”

You sigh in defeat, giving her a smile in thanks and turn back around, making your way back to your table in the corner of the room where your girlfriend is still sitting but now with a face like thunder. 

To anyone else, Natasha would probably look neutral but to you – well, you can see the irritated look in her eye and the slight crease between her brows and you know she’s pissed.

In the future, you’d look back and want to slap yourself for not seeing it straight away but in the present it just makes you a little worried.

“Everything okay?” you ask, setting the drinks down on the table. You think about all the possibilities of what could’ve happened in the short time you’d been gone and try not to panic. “Did something –"

“No,” Natasha says and then seems to realise the sharpness in her voice because her face softens in apology. She leans over to give you a quick kiss and it makes you relax slightly. “Everything’s fine.”

Comprehension starts to trickle in when she scoots over so she can wrap an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, and when you follow her line of sight, you realise she’s glaring over your head at the bartender, who pales immediately and doesn’t so much as look in your direction again.

Oh, you feel your eyes widen as it finally hits you: oH.

You look down into your drink and try to hide your disbelieving smile as you finally understand: she’s jealous. 

If it were anyone else, you think you probably wouldn’t feel like this – would likely be outright irritated and a little offended at the behaviour -- but with Natasha you can’t help but find it kind of … cute.

A little giddily, you lean over to press a kiss to her jaw and feel her relax a little against you. “Wanna go after this one?”

Natasha’s face doesn’t change but you see a little shift in her eyes as she nods and pulls you in for another kiss, this one a little more heated – for your benefit or the bartenders, you don’t know, and don’t particularly mind either way as you let yourself get lost in it.

--

After that night, it becomes so apparent to you and you don’t know how you’d missed it all this time. It happens all the time. All. The. Time.

On the street, if someone so much as glances your way, she’s already staring back at them with an expression that would be terrifying even to you if she directed it your way.

At work one day one of the new recruits, a kid, really, comes up to you and asks you, voice trembling if you’d let him take you out someday and the next day Natasha knocks him on his ass so hard and so many times that you’re kind of surprised – and a little impressed—that the poor kid doesn’t quit right on the spot.

Even in your apartment building, one of your maybe-slightly too friendly neighbours gets similar treatment in the elevator one night when you and Natasha are returning to the building at the same time as her. 

Just as you enter the elevator, you hear the voice of your neighbour calling out.

“Hold the door!”

Panting, your neighbour enters the small space. “Thank you so much, I have had the worst, oh –” her eyes land on Natasha beside you and she looks at her with something you can’t quite place in her eyes. “Who’s your …friend?”

“Oh!” you exclaim and you know you must sound surprised. Was it not obvious from how Natasha was always here that you were dating? “This is Natasha. My girlfriend. Nat, this is Charlotte, my neighbour.”

You can see Natasha in the reflection of the elevator walls, so you see the smug self-satisfied look she gives your neighbour as she wraps an arm around you possessively.

So, yes while you notice it all now, you still don’t say anything because a small – and by small, you mean large, massive actually – part of you kind of likes it; likes the fact that the Natasha Romanoff, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life is somehow yours and even more unbelievably, somehow she thinks you’re worth getting worked up like that over.

--

At this point, you’ve been dating for over a year and somehow it must’ve slipped the memo to let all of the avengers know because somehow every time you’re at the office, it seems like a new person is finding out about your relationship. 

It’s really hard to keep up with everyone and their individual missions, which is how you find yourself in your current predicament.

“--ah, well-well,” a familiar voice calls out and you look up from the report you’d been studying. “If it isn’t the most attractive and coincidentally my favourite honorary avenger.”

In the doorway of your office, Sam is grinning at you in that playful, flirty but also joking kind of way that’s distinctly Sam Wilson. You grin back and stand to let him pull you into a hug.

“Did you just get back?” you ask, vaguely remembering him telling you he was going on a mission at least six months ago. You think it was in Istanbul, but you can’t quite remember the specifics. 

Sam pulls back and goes to open his mouth but doesn’t get the chance to speak as Natasha appears in the doorway.

“Samuel,” she drawls his name, eyeing his arm around you. She visibly brightens up when she looks at you, though. “Y/N”

You can’t see yourself, but you know your face must light up as your eyes land on her by the sudden realisation that crosses Sam’s face. The casual kiss she drops on your cheek comes as confirmation.

His mouth drops open as he looks between you both. “Oh damn, you two?” he asks, smiling genuinely. “Damn!”

To the naked eye, Natasha doesn’t seem amused by his revelation, but you know her well enough by now to be able to spot the glimmer of humour in her eyes. 

Sam, however, doesn’t seem to be adept at reading her as you are and so when she advances a little closer, his eyes widen and he immediately backs away.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” he exclaims, hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry!”

The expression on Natasha’s face turns sinister in nature. You watch and try not to laugh at her theatrics, attempting to adopt a sympathetic expression when he desperately looks to you for help.

“Well,” Natasha says, faux-friendly. As she passes by him, she gives him what looks like a bone-shatteringly hard arm squeeze – if the pained expression on Sam’s face is any indication -- and comes to stand beside your desk. “Now you know, buddy.”

“That I do,” he says, backing up until he reaches the door. “Anyways, I gotta, uh –"

Not even finishing his sentence, he high-tails it out of the room so fast you barely see him leave. You turn to Natasha with a frown. She looks back at you innocently, but you catch the way her lip twitches a little bit before she breaks into a full blown smirk.

“You’re going to give someone have a heart attack one day, you know,” you say, half-serious. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t already.”

Unbothered, Natasha shrugs and reaches out to tug you closer to her in order to kiss you, a little more intensely than you would normally allow at work. You melt into it with a sigh, smiling a little. 

Eventually, you have to pull away when you start to struggle to breathe and your head starts spinning. Natasha makes an unhappy sound, trying to follow, but you stand firm.

“Nope, you’ve got to go before I’m the one that has the heart attack.”

With a pout, she gives you one more kiss before she gives into your request.

--

You’ve never seen Natasha drunk before – hadn’t even thought she could get drunk but tonight she’s definitely wasted -- all thanks to Thor and whatever is in the mead he’d bought with him.

One thing you quickly realise about drunk Natasha is drunk Natasha also means confrontational Natasha.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about –”

Her and Tony are almost nose to nose at this point, about ten minutes into what was now a heated conversation, and you’re kind of wondering if either of them even knows what they’re arguing about. You don’t think so and by the looks on the other avengers faces, they seem to have as much of an idea as you do.

As Natasha and Tony continue to argue, you look to your left and the young waiter who’d been hovering by your table a little too attentively all night is immediately by your side. 

So Natasha can’t see you, you quickly mouth the word water to him and thankfully he seems to understand because he gives you a quick nod and then disappears, reappearing just as swiftly with a glass in his hand.

“Here, Miss –"

“No!” Ending her argument with Tony as abruptly as it began, Natasha jabs a finger at the waiter, who looks to you for help while she glares up at him balefully. 

The poor guy looks terrified, so you quickly intervene, touching Natasha’s knee to bring her attention back to you. It does the trick, but she seems to underestimate how close in proximity you already are and she ends up half in your lap to the delight of the other avengers in attendance, who all let out various different whistles.

“Mine,” she says childishly into the crook of your arm. You only just manage to pick it up so you know you must be the only person who heard her. With your help, she sits up a little and makes eye contact with you as she repeats herself, more seriously, as if you hadn’t understood the first time: “mine.”

“I – oh --okay,” you say, grabbing her hand as it starts to creep a little too low to be polite in your current company. “How about we get you home?”

After hurriedly saying your goodbyes, twenty minutes later you park in your driveway and begin the not-so-small feat of getting her inside.

“Damn,” you grunt a little under her weight as you help her up the stairs to your apartment. “What do they put into that Asgardian mead?”

You make a mental note to ask Thor about it and then promptly forget as you reach your front door and fumble around, looking for your keys. 

Even in her inebriated state, Natasha somehow pulls herself together enough to reach into your bag and pull them put for you so you can unlock the door.

Which she promptly falls through. You just manage to catch her before she hits the floor, and she leans against you, burying her face into your neck.

“Come on,” you order gently, softening as she groans into your skin. “Bed.”

“No.”

As if to emphasise the word, Natasha shakes her head, but to your surprise, she starts to make her way to your bedroom anyway. She’s still a little unsteady on her feet but nothing like you’d be if you’d drank as much as she had. If it were you, you would definitely have been comatose about seven shots and multiple hours ago.

“Alright, you get into bed,” you say. “And I’ll get you some water, okay?”

Natasha scowls. “No,” she says. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh at the petulance you hear in her voice, shadowing her to the bed, where she immediately sits down and attempts multiple times to take off her heels with little success.

“No?”

Finally having enough of watching her struggle, you lean down and undo the straps of her heels, gently pulling them off her feet. You watch as she flops back on the bed and then covers her face dramatically with a groan. “You don’t get it,” she says unsteadily.

“I don’t get what?”

“You’re mine,” she repeats her earlier words, uncovering her eyes to look at you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Am I now?”

You thought you’d managed to cover your amusement pretty well until you see the glare she shoots you that says she can see it loud and clear. After a beat of silence it becomes clear she’s not going to say anything else.

With difficulty, you slowly manage to get her into a sitting position and help her out of her dress, pulling the covers up around her and retrieving a glass of water that you place on her nightstand so she can drink it in the morning.

You then change yourself and go the bathroom to remove what makeup you’d had on. To your surprise, she’s still awake when you emerge, half-propped up against the headboard and looking at you with bleary, unfocused eyes. It makes your heart turn to mush immediately and you get into bed beside her as quickly as your feet allow.

She immediately curls up into you and you wrap an arm around her, pulling her as close to you as humanly possible. 

“I am yours, just so you know.”

There’s a second of silence where you start to think that maybe she’s fallen asleep, until she shifts against you to meet your gaze, looking a little more alert and coherent but still out of it.

“Good,” she says softly.

The next morning, you wake before Natasha and slip out of bed to make her coffee and to find some pain killers, having a gut feeling she’ll probably need them. Your feeling turns out to be right. When you re-enter the bedroom, she’s laying face-down but clearly awake by the muffled groaning you can hear coming from her.

“Whys’it so bright,” she mumbles into the mattress as you approach the bed, turning her head ever so slightly so she can meet your eyes. You grin down at her.

“Ah, it awakens.”

She scowls up at you and you laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek as you slide back into bed, careful not to jostle her too much. She leans her head against your leg, slowly sipping the glass of water you’d left for her last night before reaching for the coffee on the nightstand.

You fall into a comfortable silence; you running your hand through her hair as she drinks her coffee, humming contentedly.

“How are you feeling –"

“I don’t like it when people look at you,” she interrupts suddenly, staring down into her coffee mug and sounding uncharacteristically nervous. You freeze but since she’s not looking at you, she doesn’t seem to notice. “But it’s not because of anything you do. I just don’t … like it.”

“Okay?” you hedge cautiously, not really understanding.

“I’m sorry if it bothers you,” she says. “Me. Being like that. I didn’t know I was even the type to –"

“It doesn’t bother me.”

At your quick interjection, she looks at you for the first time and whatever she sees on your face makes her smile faintly. “It doesn’t?”

You bite your lip. “Not at all.”

She mirrors you, now smirking. “Oh.”

After this, it starts to become a game: one you feel like you win every time.