#but i loath to call something like that advice

[shivasdarknight]

[Image ID: A screenshot of user redwinterroses (from Jan 27, 2022) tinted yellow to indicate that it is a screenshot and not a post on the dashboard. The screenshot reads: All I'm saying is, if a fic refers to characters by their physical attributes instead of their names or pronouns ("he smiled at the older" "the blonde laughed") when we know who the character is, and ESPECIALLY if the descriptions include "ravenette" or "cyanette" or other ridiculous words--

I'm clicking out of that fic so fast my Ao3 history won't even register I've been there. /.EndID]

I'm gonna use this as a launching point for something that really bugs me with regards to how people - especially folks on tumblr - talk about fanfiction and if something isn't "up to snuff" or to their tastes. This ranges anywhere from grammar and punctuation, to even judgement towards someone for their skill in writing and how they frame it on tumblr - such as word choice or dialogue tags (said and its variants). Plenty of other things that get torn into (like POV type like first, second, or third (usually its first getting dunked on, second if you're not a Homestuck); or even tropes) but that's a different discussion, and I'm focusing more on how people talk about things that are "subpar". There are many posts like this, but I want to use this one to talk more about it as it's the one I most recently found. We're going to talk about this attitude, critique vs criticism vs what tumblr thinks is good critique with regards to writers (regardless of skill level, but mostly beginner ones), so this will get a bit lengthy.

Let's get definitions out of the way so everyone is clear here. When I say critique, this is in reference to feedback given towards a thing (writing, art, etc.) with the intention of improving upon it. Critique has a narrow scope, but it often addresses subject, form, technical aspects (in writing, form and technicality are grammar/punctuation, style, and prose - the latter of which is what OP is digging into), and execution. Critique includes both negative and positive aspects because it's important for good critique. Critique isn't tearing into someone for the sake of it, because the point of critique is to improve upon these aspects and become more comfortable in your craft. To take critiques is a skill in its own, but so is giving critiques - the best advice is usually a "critique sandwich" in which you say something positive, point out something that can be improved upon (importantly: not saying negatively charged things), and then summarize in a positive tone. Critique is not an excuse to bully, and critique should always be consensual. Critique appears in classes, in the form of beta readers, asking others for advice, and so on and so forth. The person who made the thing must be open to critique for critique to be effective. If they are not looking for critique and you give it anyways, you're just an ass.

On the other hand, criticism - especially in this context - is broader than critique. It tends to have a more negative connotation of it, but to be critical of something isn't inherently to be negative to it. This is where you see your media criticism, dissection of trends, etc. This doesn't usually engage directly with the source of the criticism most often, it's usually supplementary. Again: broader than critique, but its space does not often overlap with the original thing. Important to note that criticism does not inherently mean that the critic hates the thing being criticized. Criticism is just being critical of a thing. To be critical is not inherently negative; it's just talking about something to a finer degree than casual consumption. It's not admonishment, it's often a way to start a discussion.

This is where people tend to balk at the idea of criticizing fan media because they conflate the two, but critique =/= criticism. Critique is more based in the craft itself (art, writing, etc.) while criticism is more about the broader impact of the thing made by the craft. While critiques do exist in criticisms, and critique can draw from criticism, they are not the same thing.

Examples:

Critique:

Your inking wasn't consistent, so the final print is splotchy. You need to improve on inking your block if you want your final image to look the way you intend it to

You added too much ink to the block and caused a lot of spillage, you need to find a balance between the two in order to get what you want

I like the gestural nature of your drawing, but I think that you would get a stronger composition if you pushed it further and focus on line weight

The alliteration is a really nice touch in your prose, but you fall back on it a lot. I think that the alliteration would be more effective in this moment if you limit it to that moment and change up how you write prose leading into it - maybe slowly increasing the repetition until you get to the three-beats?

Your prose is really strong, and I like what you've developed so far. What I think you need to work on is learning how you can control your technical flow with better punctuation usage, such as a better understanding of when to use commas or em-dashes.

You're using periods at the end of your dialogue that is followed by a tag. Unless there's nothing like "he said", then periods in dialogue must be a comma. Not "'Alright.' He responded.", but: "'Alright,' he responded.".

Criticism:

There is a common trend within fandom to take a female love interest from canon and find a way to shove her off to the side for the sake of m/m shipping. It's come in a variety of forms, but the most notable ones include villainizing, killing her off, or the modern lesbian best friend/wingman which overlaps with the other modern form, the mean lesbian adjacent to the m/m ship.

Despite all the advancements that have been made in terms of accessibility within video games, it almost seems like some games are more inaccessible than ever due to developers prioritizing a key experience rather than making sure it's playable for everyone. A good example of this would be the MMO, Final Fantasy XIV, and its late game raiding that features many fights with non-toggleable flashes that have induced seizures in players, or their lack of color contrast options for color blind players - forcing both groups to either suffer through the content, not raid, or seek out illegal mods if they play on pc. Console raiders have no such options, as the in game effects toggle doesn't apply to the worst offenders.

With these examples out of the way, look back at OP and how they've framed their "advice" (which they say is advice further down this thread - as with all others who jump in on the post with "advice") - does this look like critique or criticism?

This style of post - and how everyone jumped on it - are part of a really frustrating trend online, but especially on tumblr, where people make vague complaints about a kind of writer and use their vague posting to tear into them. At this point, most people understand that unwanted critique is bad, so they instead channel that need to critique in stuff like this. From here on, I'm going to call it ""advice"" - quotations and all.

This is not advice. It's not even good critique. This ""advice"" is taking a common mistake or habit of fanfic writers - most of whom are new to writing, are teenagers, or haven't been professionally trained in writing because so few people have that opportunity - and then tearing it to shreds. This is looking at a habit that fanfic authors learning how to write picked up from other authors learning how to write, and then declaring that if a writer uses it you will not engage with them whatsoever.

That's not advice. It's a vague threat through shaming people for doing stuff. The thread goes on to list actual advice, but most of it is the most bare bones writing tips that doesn't account for people experimenting with style. It's shame through nitpicking and expecting everything to be perfection.

Fanfiction is held to a really awful standard in which it must meet every single one of your needs as a reader, otherwise it's not worth your time. Between the lack of support on platforms like AO3 or FFNet, and then these mass shaming posts that tear into writers for having the audacity of making a mistake, is it any surprise a lot of fanfic writers give up? Why so many fanfics you like just go unfinished with no word from the author?

Tumblr is too comfortable with this idea that they get to sit here and tear into authors who may not be using perfect syntax or use goofy words like silverette. You are looking at someone stumbling their way through a hobby that is admittedly very hard and tearing into them behind their back. When people see these posts, their fist reaction isn't go go "oh thank you for the advice," it's to get self conscious about their own writing and if they do fit the bill, they're not likely to take your advice. They may just stop writing altogether.

What gets to me is that this ""advice"" - this shaming framed as tips from people who "Actually Know how to write" - is it's considered a more widely acceptable way of talking about fanfiction and fanfiction authors than actually supporting authors you like. It's more acceptable than passing around resources. It's more acceptable than actual criticism of harmful things in fandom (see: colonizer lan wangji, op of this thread has talked about it a fair amount) that the criticism of would then make spaces safer for the people impacted (in that case, address the anti-indigenous writing of a horrific fic in the MDZS fandom that was trying to romanticize the tactics used in the genocide of indigenous americans).

Tumblr users seem to know to not take unwanted critique to the comments of the author in question, yet they can't seem to keep their mouths shut; instead, they curate hundreds of posts with thousands of notes to shame authors who have committed the grave sin of using goofy words or having awkward prose - which I'm so sure that no of the people making these posts have ever made mistakes like these in their own writing </sarcasm>

This collective shaming of writing characteristic of people learning how to write or who aren't super familiar with English doesn't sit right with me. Especially since so much of it feels like a reflexive cringe for things that the person grew out of. Maybe something isn't your style, but maybe it works for someone else. Everyone complains about the repetition of "said", but there are some hard hitting stories that weaponize the repetition of "said" for effect. Consider OP: a very specific one that I use still is bluenette, in part because I am a brunette who dies his hair blue very frequently - thus, bluenette (brunette+his is not incorrect in usage for myself, check my pinned; brunet+she would also not be incorrect - so do not come nitpicking me). Bluenette sounds so much like brunette that it comes off as a pun, and in this case it is used intentionally for said pun and often as a joke somewhere in my writing or even just conversation. Is OP going to also apply this logic to people who refer to women as brunets or blonds, or men as brunettes or blondes? Sometimes stuff like this is someone trying to work out their style. Sometimes it's a genuine mistake. Sometimes it's someone doing this with the utmost intention of calling a character by their hair color as a sign of disrespect through denying them their name - you do not know why it's used, and to publicly shame people for a common mistake is not how you're going to get them to improve.

The way ""advice"" is delivered feels like reflexive cringe, like I said, but also like a gross misrepresentation of what criticism is. Criticism's goal is discussion and improvement. Posts like these are just a way to shame people who aren't as skilled as you expect them to be. Let me make this clear: you are reading fanfiction. Many people use fanfiction to learn how to write, and may not have the most polished style. You are reading this for free. It's frankly really shitty to nitpick at someone's writing style and skill and then put it on blast for thousands of people on tumblr to jump in on this dogpile. Even when you give advice - such as in this post down beyond this screen - it's still framed negatively and in a "do this or you're bad" kind of critique. This is not framed to actually help people with their writing; this is shaming them into the style that you like and find engaging. And every following post beyond the advice from OP in this example further dogpiles the original point.

If you are shaming someone through a vague post because you don't like the fact that they're not a skilled writer, then it's clear you do not actually care about these people improving. You would rather mass shame writers who don't fit your view of what technically flawless prose looks like - be it because they're a teenager, they learned writing from online spaces and are still learning, or English isn't their first language - than actually teach them in a way that would be conducive to learning. You would rather have people jump in on this mass shaming as a sense of self importance because none of you write that way, thus everyone else who does is bad.

This is not critique. This is not criticism.

This is shaming writers - specifically writers who are still learning - for the fact that they do not match your expectations, and then gloating about how you never want to touch their work ever again.

The example above is shaming a common writing habit of teenagers and new writers who learned independently, and then following that shame with a threat to never engage with their stuff again, and then some tips sprinkled in with more "if you do this, shame on you" language.

You know, the exact stuff that makes people quit writing as a hobby or trying to learn it because they want to join in when it concerns this aspect of fandom.

This kind of ""advice"" is just vague blogging a writer to shame them. They may not ever see it, but Tumblr sure does a good job of keeping people from ever attempting to write because of the unreasonably high standards for a new/inexperienced writer putting stuff on the internet.

#ao3 #fanfiction #writing #fandom critical #writing advice #lbr its more like writing advice critical #but i loath to call something like that advice #original #long post #ive got a lot of feelings about this because of how rocky my start was with writing #most of my improvement was done offline due to the flack i was getting on deviantArt for frankly anything that I made #didn't matter if it was writing or drawing or mmd stuff. people took their opinions directly to you #add on tumblr's brand of ''''advice'''' and you get a nervous wreck who's struggling to post fanfiction #i'm only where i'm at because of how much i wrote away from people which is also why posts like the one above dont get me down about writin #but thats because i'm at where i'm at. i'm not a new writer ive been doing this for over a decade #i also know that my younger sister raced to ''get good'' at writing because of the shit that i'd gotten #i had a rocky phase with my writing that she didn't because she was actively trying to avoid the vulnerable phase that OP is dunking on #yeah when you're still getting on your feet with writing you do pick up stuff like that from other awkward people #they're all looking to each other for examples and it's not helpful to fucking shame people for it #what happened to cringe is dead oh wait. that only applies to what you like. and not what affects you. #when people go ''why do my favorite fics die'' and ''why arent there many writers'' its because of shit like this #shaming people for growing pains is embarrassing behavior #especially when you follow up that shame with a threat to never engage with them #im glad i got batshit about my writing and stopped caring about other people's opinions. new writers can't say the same. #also i hate the gendering of brunet/brunette blond/blonde its so fucking DUMB

[thatbadadvice]

Dear Advisor,

I tend to be a very reserved and shy person so making friends is super hard. Recently I’ve been wanting to socialize more , but I genuinely don’t know how. Is there any advice that you have that can make me look more approachable and not be scared to talk to people. I’m so stressed about being alone and not having any friends, but I just find it so hard to go up to people and make a conversation. I tried once but it became super awkward. I just really need good advice from someone on how to approach a person and continue a conversation.

Dear Awkward Anonymous,

It would be so easy to get into a whole deep let's-skeetshoot-therapy-on-the-internet session and try to help a total stranger unpack all of the GA-FUCKING-ZILLION ways in which social awkwardness shows up in a person's life. It seems easy, and it even seems meaningful and worthwhile, but to do so I would have to presume a bunch about your life, and make a bunch of assumptions about the ways in which my own experiences maybe/probably track with yours, and it would be a whole big wank-fest, and frankly ... it would be awkward. I'd be like you, standing there at the party, hoping that what I'm saying resonates or lands or even vaguely tracks with anything a stranger has ever known or experienced, presuming (probably rightly!) that it doesn't, and then flailing and blaming myself when I didn't emerge from the interaction with all the world's gold stars.

So here's what: stop talking to other people as a primary social occupation. Going up to people and just talking is fucking terrifying. The Bad Advisor says this as a Certified Extrovert™ who rarely shuts the fuck up.

Instead, find a thing to do with other people that involves some sort of task or goal or activity. Talk about the thing you're doing together, when you're doing it. If it feels okay, maybe introduce one or two of your own relatable-to-the-activity experiences in the process. See who picks up on it. Ask the people who pick up on it genuinely interested questions in response. This is what we awkward people call: engineering a conversation. It is the way, I am told, humans make connections with other humans. I have seen it work in my own life.

Depending on where you live and your ability level and skill set, I bet you have some options! You could seek out an open board game night, pub quiz session, knitting/quilting circle, or mutual aid meetup that's looking for volunteers. Especially look for social activities with strangers that involve a dedicated, pre-prescribed activity (such as a hiking or mall-walking group, stuffing envelopes for a political candidate or cause you care about, planting trees at your local park, or tasting tea/wine/beer/etc.). (Somebody is going to say join a ballroom dancing club or suchlike; I am personally terrified of this, but if you have a higher tolerance for strangers touching you and fewer than two left feet: it's literally an option. Line-dancing, on the other hand ... absofuckinglutely.)

Even if what's available in your area isn't your precise and specific interest, it might be worthwhile to check out something you are decidedly meh about -- you might not be the only meh person there. You can bond over shit that's boring or shitty with other people who find it boring or shitty! Some of my best friends, arguably my very best friends, came out of experiences we mutually loathed or found at least moderately and mutually miserable.

Consider especially finding an activity where you yourself are the manager of operations and/or have a designated task to take care of that is unique to your position! This doesn't have to be complicated or skill-dependent; can you become a voter registrar in your area? Well, bam! You've got paperwork people have to fill out and a good reason to jibber-jabber with folks who have to ask you the questions. Other ideas: join your local neighborhood association board, become a notary public, or see if your local pet rescue is looking for intake line volunteers. Do you have a trustworthy, especially outgoing friend who might agree to play "social glue" for you a couple of times at their activity-centric events? Make it explicit! Ask them if they'll play friendly wing-person for you at their D&D game, fantasy sports league, or some such.

Alternately: Do you have a unique and fun and shareable skillset you can share with others? Are you pretty good at drawing, programming? Simply a font of endless Merlin or NFL or Real Housewives knowledge? You might start a local Discord or other online social group to discuss and share your interests, then move it to the real world in a few weeks once folks get comfortable. You get the idea.

Most of all: Look for stuff that has more-than-just-talking opportunities available outside the designated group jam for you to maintain connections. Perhaps a group chat, a Discord, a Slack, what-have-you, where you can take more time to consider and draft your responses and posts? Connections with humans get made a thousand ways, and talking raw-dog with strangers is but one.

It takes a true social unicorn to be simply good at talking and only talking to other people. There are some of these one-horned wonders out there, to be sure — but let me assure you that the vast majority of folks want to be accepted and seen just as much as you do, and they're staring at the ceiling at night thinking just as much (more, probably) about all the weird, wonky shit they themselves threw at you than they are anything you ever said to them.

#good advice #good advice interlude #socializing #awkward #introvert problems #shy #shyness #get out there we're all fucking squares

[marvelwinchester67]

I’m gonna need 5-10 business days to recover from the Hazbin Hotel season 1 finale.

Hazbin Hotel episode 7 and 8 spoilers (because I’m going feral) and my thoughts/unhinged feelings about it because no one else can understand quite like tumblr can

Read at your own risk

What. The. Fuck. Guys.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

IT WAS NIFFTY WHO KILLED ADAM?!

AND SIR PENTIOUS?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IM NOT OKAY BUT IM GLAD HE IS

Lucifer “now I’m gonna fuck you” Morningstar everyone (plz I love him so much)

So Carmilla knew who Vaggie really was and just, didn’t give a shit? Love her for that

I love Rosie. Her design, her personality, she’s amazing. She was so sweet to Charlie when she didn’t have to be and actually listened to her and encouraged her (points for the relationship advice)

So Alastor is on someone’s leash and he’s trying to wiggle his way out of it, the Vees are plotting (of course they are), and LUTE KNOWS LILITH?! THEY MADE SOME KIND OF DEAL?!

I’m so so curious about how Lute and Lilith know each other and why Lute would want her to deal with her daughter

But this implies that Adam had a previous deal with Lilith regarding something we don’t know yet, since Lute said she was in charge now that he was dead and that their deal pertained to her now

ALSO?! You’re telling me that’s what Adam looked like under his mask?! (I still loathe him but lowkey he was hot I’ll be honest right now)

Sir Pentious telling Cherri he loved her was so sweet

I soaked up every single scrap of Huskerdust I could within those last two episodes they own my soul and I’m so excited to see more of them in season 2

So it looks like Vox thinks Alastor is missing again which is why he’s plotting with the other Vees, but Alastor showed back up at the hotel during repairs so that might not last long

Alastor’s fight with Adam was so good holy shit omfg plz give me more of Alastor’s powers that shield was so cool and his verse in that final song gave me chills like, oh my god he was so mad and I’m here for it

And Lucifer showing up and telling Charlie she changed his heart and mind about the sinners? He is so precious plz protect this duck loving man at all costs

Charlie and Vaggie’s More Than Anything Reprise? Please I am sobbing they love each other so much it hurts

To top it all off- Alastor having beef with literally everyone will never not be funny. Fucking Susan? Are you kidding me. I was laughing so hard. Rosie seems like she deals with Susan a lot and Alastor calling her an Ornery Bitch was so fucking funny for no reason.

Everyone has beef with Susan now.

There is so much I have to say about this show and I could literally talk about it for years but for now I will be repeatedly listening to the soundtrack and impatiently waiting for season 2 because I no longer have the will to live after I sobbed on my bedroom floor over this show. VIVIENNE I AM IN YOUR WALLS-

#Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #Hazbin hotel spoilers #vivziepop #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #sir pentious #Cherri bomb #Cherri and sir pentious #husk x angel dust #charlie x vaggie #charlie morningstar

[revehae]

dear hyuckie

pairing ↠ athlete!haechan x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, mc is a terrible person, stalking, unprotected sex, baby trapping

summary ↠ for the longest time, you've been obsessed with haechan and wanted him to yourself, but he hardly notices you. to grab his attention, you start sending him anonymous love letters.

wc ↠ 6.0k

a/n ↠ part 5/5 of the college-capades series!

don’t like it, don’t read.

so fucking annoying, you hissed to yourself, poking around the corner. 

your eyes were fixed on the boy’s locker room door that was, to your chagrin, being guarded by the basketball team captain.

who you never liked. jung jaehyun, you thought irritably. he was undeniably good-looking, you’d give him that, but he was arrogant. haechan would make a much finer captain. where jaehyun was a cocky asshole, haechan was none too prideful but enthusiastic nonetheless.

you’d heard haechan giving pre-game pep talks to his team and motivating them not to feel guilty on the occasions where they lost. he was a natural at lifting other’s spirits. obviously, he was the driving force in the team. 

not jung jaehyun, who leaned on the door, laughing at texts on his phone most likely from a bunch of girls dying to do him. though you most definitely weren’t one of them, there were many. 

and you happened to know one of them.

“thought i’d find you here,” you said, pretending to only now be walking up the path. given that his eyes were locked on his phone screen, jaehyun was none the wiser. 

jaehyun flitted his gaze to you. “how’d you figure that?”

“oh, you know. my hot guy radar was going off,” you flirted, your own words like poison on your tongue. but hopefully worth it.

that had his attention. jaehyun chuckled, pocketing his phone, then said, “i thought you said i wasn’t your type?”

“you’re not,” you replied flatly. “but i know somebody who’s a little more open-minded.”

jaehyun’s brows furrowed. the implications behind that weren’t lost on him. “are you joking?”

“nope,” you chirped, though you were absolutely lying. “rosé wants you to come over. she’s too chicken to tell you herself and i was nearby, so she sent me instead.”

rosé and jaehyun had raging heart eyes (and boners) for each other since the day they locked eyes. though rosé, your dear friend and the only reason you knew jaehyun, was scared that he was too much of a fuckboy. their interactions never amounted to anything more than flirty exchanges after a game, but they definitely wanted each other.

maybe it was a slight fib. rosé had said nothing of the sort, but it was the best lie you could come up with and you desperately needed something impactful enough to get jaehyun away from that door. your best friend would be thanking you later.

“shit, okay. what’s her address?”

maybe it wasn’t the best move to give a boy both of you barely knew your best friend’s address, even if she had the hots for him, but you were in too much of a hurry to give a damn about ethical decision-making. 

“and jaehyun,” you called out after him when he started to leave. 

jaehyun turned his head. “yeah?”

donning the role of a helpful acquaintance, in spite of how much you loathed this guy, you advised sweetly, “maybe stop to the store first. get her some flowers or a box of chocolates. she likes those. i know you probably don’t leave the house without condoms.”

jaehyun’s shoulders shook while he laughed and threw his hands up. “you got me. thanks for looking out.”

your answer was kind, though in reality, the only reason you gave him helpful advice was because you wanted to slow him down just in case rosé wasn’t home. you quickly sent her a vague text and unapologetically mentioned that you would make it up to her later.

jesus, the things i do for you, lee donghyuck, you thought dreamily. if only he knew how much you liked him.

for lack of a better word, of course. to be frank, you were enamored with his whole being. just the thought of haechan had your legs quivering and your heart thumping against your chest. thoughts of him were all-consuming. you couldn’t eat sometimes without wondering if he had ate.

given that you were running out of time, you quickly slipped into the locker room, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear before you invaded. fortunately, with jaehyun set on getting laid, there was nobody else around. 

except for the love of your life.

you heard a shower running, just as you knew it would be. you happened to overhear haechan mentioning to a friend that he would be in the locker rooms for a moment to shower and figured it was your time to spy. your footsteps were quiet, gentle. half of the time, it didn’t bother you so bad that he wasn’t attracted to you. it was better that way.

after tiptoeing around, you reached his locker, shoving a letter inside the slit. although it would have been rational to leave then and there, you couldn’t shake the temptations brewing in your guts where you desperately needed him. he was naked, just in the shower room. and you wanted a sneak peak.

against your better judgment, you crept around the corner, poking your head out to see if he was exposed. there was a long column of showers and just your luck, the curtains of the seventh stall were drawn. guess he wasn’t very shy. you could see a sliver of haechan’s dampened skin, bits of his leg and shoulder.

you licked your lips at the mouth-watering thought you’d had. given the chance, you wouldn’t waste a second to get down on your knees for him and give him the best head of his life. your plans were nothing short of vile, but a part of you liked to assume all would be forgiven when he realized that you were made for each other. 

not if. when.

when the shower came to a dry stop, you snapped out of your thoughts and took it as a sign to get out unnoticed, slipping away like a thief in the night.

but the letter in haechan’s locker didn’t go unnoticed.

well, kind of. he thought it was a joke, but he read it nonetheless. it wasn’t that far-fetched to assume that one of the guys were probably pranking him. granted, none of them called him by the nickname hyuckie, but they sometimes called him hyuck.

naturally, haechan didn’t think much of it until the second letter appeared, and it was somewhat more descriptive.

dear hyuckie, why do you wither in the wind and come to life in the sun, the letter started. i always think it’s unfair that nobody can match your undeniable charm, let it be on a swabbed court or with a bewitched crowd. kidding. others should envy what is yours.

there was more, of course, but haechan didn’t get to read that far before the letter was rudely snatched out of his hands.

“what’s that?” jaemin asked, nosily pulling the letter out haechan’s hand. 

haechan groaned, “dude, give it back.”

jaemin instead backed off, just out of arm’s reach of haechan. “guys, you’ve gotta come read this shit,” he said in amusement. “‘dear hyuckie, why do you wither in the wind and come to life in the sun?’”

jaemin continued to read until the end, blocking haechan’s attempts to steal the letter back while somehow also keeping the high-pitched, mocking tone of a woman. not too much later, haechan gave up on keeping it to himself, accepting defeat. the letter droned on about his performances on the court, how you watched every game with your eyes fixed to only him. how you wanted to be there to kiss him during his triumphs, but hold him during his losses.

haechan was used to fangirls. he was one of the most prominent members of a prominent team at an equally prominent school, backed by deals and endorsements. needless to say, there were more than a lot of girls that felt the same as you.

it was his first time getting a letter addressed directly to his locker, however. uproar was what he was accustomed to. this was quieter, subtle. you didn’t want to blend in with everybody else, and yet, you chose to be unheard.

johnny nudged his side. “shit, hyuck. looks like you’ve got a secret admirer on your hands.”

jaehyun laughed. “wither in the wind, come to life in the sun. what does that even mean?”

“yeah, i’m sure you wouldn’t have the wits to know,” mark quipped.

jaehyun shot him a glare while everybody else laughed at jaehyun’s expense. except for haechan, who was irritated.

“i thought you guys sent this,” haechan mused. “you know, ‘cause of the hyuckie thing.”

jaemin placed a hand on his teammate’s shoulder and jeered, “hate to break it to you, man, but nobody in this room wants to suck your dick.”

“fuck off, man,” haechan said, shoving him off. “i meant i thought it was a prank the first time.”

johnny lifted a brow. “the first time? you mean you got one before this?”

plopping down on a bench, haechan bobbed his head. “yeah, the exact same way. same delivery, same salutation, same handwriting, different content,” he explained.

“you scared?” jaehyun asked, teasing. 

“i’m not scared, i’m just a little worried. i mean, nobody should be able to get inside the locker room,” haechan ranted. 

“thing’s old,” johnny retorted. “might fall apart if they don’t renovate this summer. relax, man. it’s just some chick that wants to bone you. you should be happy bitches are lining up for you.”

haechan heaved a breath and gave in, letting the guys convince him that he was being overdramatic. it wasn’t that haechan didn’t enjoy feeling wanted, that couldn’t have been any further from the truth, but there was something in his gut that told him that you weren’t like the others.

you were far more dangerous than he would ever know, until the moment when it was too late for him to be saved.

but days of letters became weeks and haechan was becoming increasingly more alarmed. the letters multiplied, the content intensifying. though he wanted to tell someone, maybe get somebody to check some security camera footage, he didn’t want to be called a wimp.

so he thugged it out.

you, on the other hand, were over the moon that he was finally paying attention to you - kind of. you were sick of just being another girl in the arena. the letters differentiated you from the others. and at one point, they weren’t just letters anymore. they were bralettes and panties sticky with your arousal, attached with letters of you describing intricately how you got yourself off to him.

never once did you touch yourself without thinking of haechan, of how badly you wanted to break him and ruin him for the next woman (not that there would be one. ultimately, you were going to make sure that there wouldn’t be). wincing your eyes closed, hands buried between your own legs, you pictured his moist, dampened face, sticky with sweat that chased down his backside.

you wanted to tire him, to test his limits. you stalked him more or less everyday, peeking behind the bleachers to watch him practice. you knew what he could take, how far he could be pushed and shoved before the force became entirely too brutal and knocked the wind out of him.

sometimes the thoughts of him became overbearing. you couldn’t sleep because of him, falling behind in your classes because you couldn’t think of any that didn’t concern him. too much time was invested on keeping an eye on him during practice and following him on his way home. just to make sure he was safe, of course.

not that he had anything to worry about, though that wasn’t your definition of keeping him safe. any girls that dared deter him, even breathe in his general direction, you perceived as threats that needed to be eliminated.

you just had to fall for a popular guy. he was well-liked for a reason, and it went beyond his undeniably good looks. the charisma he wielded in the palm of his hands, how he dominated the whole court. the golden player, you thought with whimsical hope, pining. it was the title he’d been dubbed for obvious reasons.

nevertheless, he would always be your hyuckie. more often than not, it didn’t always register within you quickly when those around you referred to him as haechan, because he was so much more than that to you. nobody would ever understand the life you’d already crafted together in your brain, revolving utterly around him. where he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

nobody could tell you that he wasn’t reading your letters, even if you never saw it in real time to be certain. because when his eyes flitted around during practice as you discreetly kept yours fixed to his frame, when he glanced over his shoulder while he took the journey home, you knew it was because he was uneasy. almost as if he could feel you watching. 

haechan could feel you watching.

he couldn’t see you, he couldn’t be sure who exactly you were, but he knew you were there somewhere. it was a gut feeling that sickened him almost too frequently.

it started during practice, the final preparations for the night’s game. during said game that night, the wrenching in his gut only intensified. you were there, obviously, like you never failed to be. antsy, haechan struggled to keep himself together during the match, but nobody would’ve ever guessed from simply looking.

nobody except you. you’d learned to recognize him in the distraught that was natural around you, as if it was his body’s self-preservation instincts.

still, he talked to you for the first time that night. rosé evidently knew of your more than little crush on haechan, though she was none the wiser to how desperately you needed a fix. she thought it was an innocent fondness. your impromptu trick (unfortunately) thrusted rosé and jaehyun into a relationship, and when it became known to him that you had the hots for his teammate, he didn’t wait a second to introduce you to each other.

to your shock, it was a pleasantly good first encounter. haechan still felt the nerves, but reduced them to post-game jitters, something he made up solely to feel comfortable again.

it wasn’t like you were the secret admirer or stalker, or whatever weirdo that was obsessed with him. for lack of a better word, you were just so normal-looking.

you didn’t at all seem like how he imagined a debatably batshit stalker to be. haechan thought you were pretty and amusing, matched his personality like you’d met in a past life. haechan had seen you before, you were besties with one of the most popular girls on campus and his captain’s crush, but he never thought he would enjoy your company.

that was how it all began. you talked for weeks, not leaving without each other’s numbers. when he wasn’t looking, you pinched yourself over and over, wondering if you were dreaming. you knew that you would click. you knew that you were fated to be together. 

as annoying as it was to admit, you actually owed jaehyun. he’d done you a massive favor. though, when you remembered that you were the sole reason he was even dating rosé in the first place, you considered yourself even. nevermind that it was an inadvertent mistake.

you spent many nights on the phone with haechan. given that you’d commited yourself to learning everything there was to know about him already, you came prepared with more than a handful of facts, though you pretended not to know so that you could impress him. chess, not checkers, you thought smugly to yourself, noticing the envious glares of multiple girls when you walked hand in hand with haechan.

you were winning. and you couldn’t believe it. but just when you were starting to have a taste of sweet, sweet victory, your self-restraint crumbled.

you’d been waiting too long. something needed to be done to satiate all the carnal energies running rampant through your veins, and it was no secret what the cure was.

haechan could feel that borderline debilitating sensation stirring in his gut again. it was like a shiver chilling its way down his spine, an itch that he just couldn’t shake.

to make matters even stranger, he was alone in his apartment.

or so he thought. midnight loomed over the night sky, thick clouds draped over probably bright stars. they stared back at him, just outside his bedroom window that he’d forgotten to draw the curtains of.

haechan had that habit, you noticed. men typically didn’t have to worry about the same things that women did, locking their car doors at gas stations and looking over their shoulders when they walked alone at night. it was so naive of him to believe he would ever truly be safe.

then again, you were only as dangerous as he allowed you to be.

checking his phone, haechan noted that he missed a call from you, having fallen asleep nearly the second he stepped out of the shower. practice was long and rough; his muscles were sore. he had wanted nothing more than to collapse on the nearest flat surface.

for whatever reason, he dialed you back. he remembered you mentioning that you would be up all night, catching up on some classwork you never explained why you were behind on and he never asked, but he also felt safer when he heard your voice. the letters stopped shortly after he started talking to you and that idiotically wasn’t suspicious to him. he was making this all too easy.

your voice sounded a little surprised. “hello?”

“hey,” haechan said, voice raspy from drowsiness. “bad time?”

“no, never,” was what you said, because you were always down to talk, though needless to say, the call took you by surprise.

haechan thought nothing of it. he assumed you were working and didn’t expect a call this late. “sorry for missing your call. i passed out after i came back from practice.”

“it’s fine, hyuckie. i promise. i understand,” you crooned sweetly. you saw how hard he worked and you respected it.

“okay, cool,” haechan replied, heaving a breath of relief. then it hit him - that nickname and where he’d heard it before, and his heart stopped. “wait, what did you just call me?”

you swore under your breath, realizing that you’d officially blown your cover. you could have played it off, could have played dumb and innocently pretended not to know, but that shipped sailed the second haechan heard your cursing from his hallway.

haechan sat up, speaking your name. “why are you in my apartment?”

the call disconnected. haechan’s stomach was beset with unease, knots taut. somewhere entangled in the attraction to you was the inescapable feeling that you weren’t safe.

all haechan could hear for a moment was his own ragged breathing. there was no sign of you. no footsteps, no breathing. it would’ve been in his best interest to stand to his feet, or maybe just call the police, given that you’d somehow broken in. but maybe he underestimated just how threatening you were.

because when the doors suddenly burst open, there you stood, holding a gun in your hand.

“sit down,” you commanded when you noticed him abruptly stand. aiming the gun a little higher, you persisted, “i said, sit down!”

“okay, okay. i’m sitting,” haechan replied, dropping back against his sheets.

you took long, quick strides towards his bed, holding the weapon squarely at his brain while you emptied your pockets and cuffed him down. it was a graceless, clumsy exploit. for whatever reason, haechan watched you struggle, when it would’ve been his greatest opportunity to escape.

after a moment of struggling to cuff him with one hand to spare, the other too occupied with the gun directed towards his head, you leaned back to admire your handiwork. haechan didn’t even notice that you’d straddled him until you rocked a little, swallowing his apprehension with one gulp.

haechan released a shaky breath, calling out your name again. “what are you doing?”

“the obvious,” was all you said.

“it’s you.” haechan’s mind was ablaze with thought, remembering how you’d tortured him for all these weeks endlessly. “you’re the stalker.”

“i’m not just any old fucking stalker, hyuckie,” you hissed, bristling at that word. it distanced you from him. it belittled the connection sparked to life between the two of you. “i’m your lover. don’t you see?”

his lover of a long time. he never noticed you before, how you’d prance behind him in high school during your free time, surrendering your lunch time to watch him play around with his friends. how you always made sure there was a spare pencil on his desk in middle school, because he frequently got scolded for never remembering to bring one. 

you’d watched him turn into a beautiful young man over the years, but haechan never spared you a glance, not until you were forced to be slightly relevant in his life. you were sick and tired of being ignored. you were at the end of your tether, a lifetime of pining culminating in destruction. 

haechan’s head hung low, like he wasn’t even paying attention to you. it made your blood boil, rage and loathing seeping throbbing in your chest. “look at me!” you screamed. “why won’t you look at me?”

haechan, heart thumping violently, lifted his head to make eye contact with you. tears stung your eyes, reddening them. “you aren’t who i thought you were,” he whispered.

the audacity on this boy. “don’t you dare treat yourself like a fucking victim,” you snarled, seething. “this wasn’t a secret. not for us. i can tell from how you looked at me that deep down inside, you knew. our brains know the truth.”

haechan shook his head. “what are you talking about?”

“you could have easily snatched the gun out my hands and pushed me off. i’m not superwoman. but you didn’t, you didn’t do anything, because you knew what you wanted,” you responded, frantic, almost like you were deluding yourself.

but you weren’t - not this time. haechan sensed that something was off about you and still continued to talk to you. he watched you struggle, when it would’ve taken nothing for an athlete like him to throw you off, to overpower you and render you defenseless.

“i don’t…,” haechan trailed. 

“you do,” you sneered, vicious. “and you aren’t going to ruin our moment together just because you don’t want to admit it, hyuckie. you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this. how long i’ve worked to this.”

you threw the gun aside, because it was never loaded in the first place, and you couldn’t fathom ever hurting him. it was strictly to keep him pliant, to make sure that he didn’t ruin the moment. you’d been planning this for ages. you’d be damned if you let it deviate in any way from the plan etched into your brain.

shifting your attention to what you were really after, you allowed your hands to wander up his thighs, pulling at his boxers. haechan’s eyes widened with panic. “stop,” he told you, fretful.

what made the moment even more bizarre to haechan was that you merely giggled. “relax, hyuckie,” you crooned, at least in your head reassuring. “i’ll go slow, i promise. i really want to savor our first time forever. make it something we’ll never forget.”

haechan’s alarm only strengthened. 

when you grew tired of his frequent protests, you blew out an irritated breath and grabbed the ducktape that had fallen from your jacket pockets, dangling it in his face as you threatened, “keep bitching and i’ll have to shut you up. i don’t want that and i know you don’t want it either.”

haechan quieted, pinching his lips together. he was in no place to deny you.

you removed his underwear, revealing his soft cock, although that was an easy fix. gently gripping his cock in your palm, you began to fist him to life, a sensitive little sigh breaking out of him at the first touch of your supple hand.

the whiplash haechan was getting was jarring and he felt nothing short of conflicted. on the one hand, you were his daring stalker, the one sending him dubious letters alongside the inappropriate clothing and used sex items. he should’ve darted the second he had a chance. but on the other, he found himself genuinely starting to grow attached to you, and you seemingly knew what to do with your hands.

in a matter of moments, haechan was very much hard, and it was much simpler than you would’ve thought to get him up, all things considered. all it took was squeezing his balls a little.

you were eyeing him like a predator and it made haechan feel justifiably uncomfortable. many nights were spent with a thick toy stuffed between your legs in lieu of his stiff cock, your eyes fluttering closed, with you moaning his name as you imagined you were riding the soul out of him. the same toys you would send to him, showing him just how badly he’d ruined you.

none of it was in vain. you finally had the real deal right in front of you, cock as thick and delicious as you imagined it to be, and the sight was mouth-watering.

you grabbed haechan’s jaw, correcting his gaze, and said assertively, “eyes on me.”

it was very pleasing when he obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed to your frame as you undressed. underneath the thick jacket you’d worn to stuff all of your supplies, you were sporting nothing but a racy set of lingerie.

haechan visibly gulped and you giggled, never bothering to cloak yourself amusement. just like he couldn’t cloak his desire, no matter how much he balked. “do you like it, hyuckie?” you asked, cocking your head. “i wore it just for you.”

as of right now, it would’ve been in his best interest to tell you what you wanted to hear. that was what this was all about. you were claiming this moment as a rendezvous between lovers, even if haechan didn’t quite reciprocate your feelings, and you wanted him to feed into your delusions.

but it helped that you were stunning, and if you’d done this the normal way, haechan probably would’ve voluntarily slept with you. he mustered the courage to speak, “you’re gorgeous.”

“don’t flatter me,” you joked, glancing to the mattress as you giggled, playing coy. “well, if you like it so much, then i guess i’ll keep it on.”

like he was shy or something, haechan just nodded his head to show that he understood.

though it was you that had terrified him out of speaking in the first place, you prodded him on, asking, “do you want to touch me, hyuckie?”

“touch you how?” haechan knew the answer, it was obvious at this point, but he was reluctant. 

again, you giggled, twinkling with mischief. you freed one of his hands and grabbed it, slipping it right under your panties, and made a noise when you felt his warmth against your aroused, aching core. “see, i’m so wet for you,” you whispered, sticking his hand back out and bringing his fingers to his lip. “taste.”

it did haechan no good to refuse you of what you wanted, so he opened his mouth, sucking your arousal off of his own fingers. 

you watched him attentively. “do i taste good?”

when he nodded, the brightest smile slipped onto your lips. for the longest time, you’d imagined riding his face into oblivion, but that would have to be scheduled for another time. right now, you wanted to ride his cock.

without a second thought, you grabbed haechan’s cock in your hand, slipping your panties to the side just enough so that you could sink down on his size. you moaned immediately, and so did haechan, his lips parted.

something about his cock just scratched something in your brain. he was much warmer than the dildos you played make-believe with, and a little thicker, too. you took your sweet, precious time to sink down on him completely, going slow and steady because you wanted to linger in the heat of him.

haechan was wallowing in the kneading warmth of your tight pussy way too much to realize that you hadn’t even thought of a condom. all of the little things you brought for this sexcapade, from the duct tape to the gun, and not a single condom was in sight.

“you know, i’ve been saving myself for you,” you confessed, staring haechan plain in the eye. 

knowing just how committed you were to making a life with him through haechan for a loop. “you did?” he asked.

“why are you surprised? haven’t you been reading my letters?” you questioned, grinning. your heart was warm and there was nothing that could be done to undo your ecstasy. “i’ll never want anyone as much as i want you, hyuckie. there’s no point in other guys. i only see you.”

if this situation had unfolded any differently, your feelings and devotion would be something haechan was lucky enough to have, but he knew your true, reckless nature. it wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t beautiful, not like you thought it was inside of your head. it was creepy and it was off-putting, and you were a threat.

but you had been blind to reality for so long that you didn’t realize how unlawful your behavior really was, and if you did realize, you didn’t care. you were numbed by love, driven by fear of losing the love of your life to an undeserving whore.

leaning to grab the tiny little key perched on his nightstand, you decided haechan had earned to have his other hand uncuffed, though it was really because you wanted him to touch you. you grabbed his wrists, guiding his hands flat against your hips, and told him to keep them there.

even though haechan wanted to be terrified, and part of him was exactly that, he couldn’t deny that he was enamored with how your pussy squeezed him for dear life. you heard the little noises of his that filled the air, the desperate, shaky moans, and knew what he wanted.

all you ever wanted was for the longing to be mutual and at least, how it occurred to you in your mind, you were finally starting to get what you always wanted. it drove you crazy, hearing those pitched whines of your name from his own mouth.

he’s going to be mine forever. i’ll make sure of it, came your raging thoughts, and though they warred endlessly over him, your whole being agreed on one thing.

lee donghyuck belonged to you, and anyone who dared try to steal what was rightfully yours would be eradicated by any means necessary.

“i love you so much,” you admitted, even though it wasn’t a secret. you had poured out your heart to him through your letters, but the heat and passion of the sex made you even more vulnerable. “it’s okay you don’t feel the same way right now, because you will. one day, you’ll love me so much, you won’t even think of another girl.”

haechan said nothing, maybe blocking out your crazy rambles, maybe it was all white noise to him. what you did know, though, was that he couldn’t escape the undiscriminating reins of temptation. you felt how he tried to match your thrusts, grinding his cock into your pussy from below. he might’ve hated how crazy you were, but he loved how you gushed around his cock.

through the misty haze of pleasure, everything else failed to matter. he could only think with his dick, about how you were pulsing around him, the sweet sounds your pussy made as it wrapped around him with all the desire a human could possess.

you could feel his quick, hot breaths, practically hear his heart begging for a break. his face was flushed, warm and red all over, his hair sticking to his face. sweaty moisture was inescapable, cooling down his back and up his face. your attention was fixed to his plush lips, though, wanting to kiss them desperately.

and that was exactly what you did. you anchored yourself on his shoulders, pressing your lips to haechan’s mouth as you continued to bounce on his perfect, thick cock, wanting to suck the very last breath out of him. haechan didn’t fight it, because in the heat of the moment, when tangled in the highs of sex, the windows of judgment were far too cloudy.

you hated that you could feel that fever in your gut already, though from the looks of it, you weren’t alone in your need for climax. haechan’s hips moved quicker, ravenous. he needed to cum like he needed air to breathe, and that was exactly what you wanted. if he depended on you, he would never need anybody else ever again.

whatever haechan wanted, you were willing to give to him, even if it meant going to the ends of the earth and back. because you needed him too, and you would never truly be happy until you had him right where you wanted him, wrapped around your finger.

his face tensed with pleasure, his hold on your hips getting increasingly tighter as he chased orgasm. he was practically doing all of the heavy-lifting for you, a slave to his temptations, just like every other man you’d ever met. i know all of your strengths, hyuckie, you crooned in your head. but i know all of your shortcomings, too. they’re what make you so human.

“fuck,” haechan whined, defeat heavy on his face. “i’m so close, fuck. i’m gonna cum.”

i know you are. you reached for his hand, begging, “cum with me, hyuckie. please. please, please, please.”

haechan slipped his fingers through yours, overcome by the warmth stretching through his body and tensing his muscles. he couldn’t think properly, not through the blinding mist of satisfaction.

and the two of you came just like that, hand in hand, moving your hips in a true, desperate sync that only lovers would ever know. you whined that name while haechan cried out yours, neither of you stopping in your tracks until the fog passed. haechan’s warm, plentiful cum filled your cunt, your spasming pussy milking him for every bit.

you couldn’t think of a time where you’d been more thrilled. you’d just lost your virginity to the only man you’d ever loved, and the only man you would ever love, and it was like heaven. you were in love with that gone fucking stare in his eyes, no thought or soul behind them.

you grinned with contentment. you did that. you broke that out of him. 

even after the high started to fade, you didn’t want to move off of his softening cock, keeping all of his cum buried there for a minute. you gazed to haechan, a pleading gleam in your stare as you whispered, “i don’t want you to leave me.”

haechan blinked, starting to sober. all his apprehensions came back the second he realized what he’d done. he said your name and all, attempting to let you down gently, “listen, you’re, uh… great and all. this was great. but...”

you faked a pout, because you weren’t completely an idiot. you saw this coming. even giving haechan the best sex of his life wouldn’t make him fall in love for you. you cut him off, “are you really going to abandon your own baby, hyuckie? even if you do, it’s okay, because i’ll always carry a piece of you… inside me.”

there was a smug, sly smile on your lips. not even the pleasure of the sex couldn’t rival the satisfaction of watching the realization dawn on his face.

oh, hyuckie, you sighed to yourself. you’re a fool if you thought you were getting rid of me that easily.

#lee haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct smut #haechan scenarios #haechan x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: stalking #tw: forced breeding #revehae fics

[nonsensefromtheabyss]

Alastor Analysis

(Throwing my hat into the ring because the smiley fucker has me in a headlock. Warning; long and potentially insane. God I hope the cut works.)

I think something significant is gonna go down with Alastor in the next few episodes. I think the man is slipping.

Something that sticks out to me on rewatch is that Husk isn’t worried by the lights flickering or Alastor’s voice changing (the usual signs of him getting vicious.) He doesn’t look scared when the collar appears; his initial order of reactions actually goes ‘surprised’, ‘bitch please’, and then he starts doing damage control. It takes Alastor pulling on the chain to make him stop and actually look at how angry the overlord actually is. It says a lot to me that Husk’s first reaction is to be pissed off. He looks like he’s recognising that his bitchy demon master isn’t going to take any advice and he’s gonna be made to back off—and he’s angry about that. 

To detail, the fact that he approaches Alastor directly with his concerns and not Charlie (you know; the all-powerful, hotel owning, hell princess whose daddy’s in town), and puts the focus on him possibly getting into trouble means that Husk did all this out of a sense of concern or compassion. Husk isn’t acting purely in the interests of the hotel here, he’s trying to protect Alastor. This is a genuine offer of advice being thrown in Husk’s face for no apparent reason beyond arrogance; he has every right to be pissed off, and he is. He’s angry with Alastor and he shows that even as he’s shutting up. Angry, not scared.

Husk bitching about Alastor isn’t unusual. He cares enough to try and help the bastard out. The way he interacts with the conversation initially indicates to me that means he normally feels safe enough to do things like this. He’s comfortable calling his master out. He’s doing his best to stop Alastor making some kind of mistake. He is trusted with the information that Alastor isn’t a free man himself. When the chain appears, he’s frustrated, he cedes ground… but he isn’t scared. 

I don’t think Alastor manifesting Husk’s chains is unheard of in their relationship—Alastor’s a mean bitch who only tolerates a little bit of poking before he snaps—but I do think that the pulling of that chain is usually as bad as it gets. That’s the point where Husk stops talking but hasn’t started looking worried yet. Husk was probably fully expecting that being knocked to the floor would be the end of the matter. 

He’s scared—the most scared we’ve ever seen him—only after Alastor goes Radio Demon on him, and that’s why I think it’s something he’s never had happen before. Husk wasn’t expecting that degree of reaction at all. And I think it’s a sign that Alastor is starting to lose it.

We know the smile is fake. We know it’s a form of self-imposed self-discipline that’s as rigid as it is insane. And we now have it confirmed that Alastor has some pretty aggressive insecurities that are eating away at him behind the facade. Last time he was seen as ‘less than’ he slaughtered hide way to the top of the Pride Ring

Going episode by episode, there’s a subtle pattern of Alastor getting progressively more snubbed, which isn’t really what you expect when you’re introduced to the character in the Pilot. Vaggie describes him as someone of almost mythic power and, even with Angel’s levity and irreverence, that’s the impression that sticks, cemented by the way he takes out Sir Pentious. You get an immediate impression of what Alastor was like at the very top of his game.

You know: before the Seven Year Absence.

In the first episode, there’s the advert. The video advert. It’s all played for jokes (as it should be) but if you look at it as a first domino it makes sense. It’s our reintroduction to Alastor as a character: he’s made a terrible, unhelpful tv commercial and the ‘good’ one (we never get to see) was made with significant help. He clearly loathes having to do it, and he’s clearly got no real skill in it (if he did, he’d be showing off because he’s unbearably vain, you all know this is true.) He’s out of his element and he’s not adjusting quickly enough; people don’t know him from the radio anymore because Vox has the monopoly in entertainment.

Speaking of, in the Second Episode, we get Vox, aka the first and only person who gives a damn where deer boy went. Vox gives this shit by playing dress up and writing a diss track which Alastor immediately co-opts to make him rage quit. The song slaps—Alastor’s part in the song slaps… but it’s worth pointing out that Vox is the only person shown caring that The Radio Demon is back; the other two V’s are mildly entertained because they have renewed lease to absolutely dunk on Vox, and, while the crowds are drawn to the radio, they don’t look… bothered. There’s no big reaction of ‘dear god, it’s him (the deer god)’. Granted, we don’t see their response to the threat, but tbh if any radio threatens you with a return to The Bad Old Days the only honest reaction is to be a little scared, you don’t need to be in Hell for that.

In any case, regardless of how much he sucked at it, Vox still felt confident enough to make his little coping track public in the first place. He felt certain enough about Alastor’s lack of standing to make his own insecurities into a musical. The cultural idea of Alastor and his mythos has degraded enough for people to take potshots and then broadcast those potshots for funnsies. It’s pretty far from where we started in the Pilot with Vaggie not even wanting him past the door.

Third Episode… people of the conference room, please raise your right hand if you care why this staticky twink has been gone for seven years. *cue the deafening silence of no hands being raised*

Alastor is shut down and dismissed entirely in front of every other overlord at once, and it happens without consequence. He can’t do dick. He can’t play up the mystery, or draw them in to his narrative, or do anything to take control of the room. No one asked, no one cares. The meeting (which, if Carmine’s surprise at seeing him there is any indicator, he might not have even been directly invited to) moves on. I’m almost certain that the only reason he played coy with Zestial was because he thought he could have that Moment with everyone there and listening. He wants so desperately to be listened to.

We know that the hierarchies in Hell are less about who could actually make you eat concrete and more a popularity contest. That’s made explicitly clear in the first episode with low level sinners tearing strips off of Charlie, and clearer still in Helluva Boss where Stolas gets disrespected by the whole club for his messy personal business—in song form. And what I’ve not actually seen anyone else talking much about is how Alastor may be a very physically powerful demon but he’s getting no respect from any of his old peers. Sure, maybe the masses are spooked, but it’s not to the point where it’s making anyone else lose their chokehold. The people huddled around his radio still flick their eyes back to Vox’s screens when he talks. The egg boys ask him inane personal questions the same way they would anyone else. His own peers neither respect him nor care that he’s come back. Nobody has shown (positive) interest in the hotel now that it’s his personal enterprise.

We’re told the time skip was five months. We have no idea if things have changed in those five months, but Alastor starts Episode 5 palpably agitated. I’m guessing things didn’t go up for him. I’m guessing that it’s setting in for him that this is the vibe now, and the only person who actually thinks him untouchable is, well, him.

Add Lucifer. Suddenly, his business partner might not actually need him at all, either as help or an emotional connection, because she can replace them with her father, the actual king of Hell, who doesn’t like him; there’s an infinitely more powerful and capable demon in what is functionally Alastor’s home; said powerful demon has no fucking clue who Alastor even is, the role he plays, or the effort he’s invested (regardless of reason) into Charlie’s project, and there is no Alastor Approved way of making any respect happen on that front. As far as he’s concerned, he’s looking at a brick wall with FUCK YOU PERSONALLY graffitied on it.

Regarding the songs with Alastor in them, both of them are serving two purposes; the first is to piss off someone who slighted him, but I think the second is to reassert to everyone present his importance specifically after an instance of them forgetting. With Vox the primary objective is roasting the other overlord into shut down and the secondary is warning everyone listening that he’s still a viable threat despite what they just heard. With Lucifer, the first goal is to piss harder than the devil, but the second is reminding Charlie that he’s important and he has a place with them. Little as he’d like to admit it, it’s two cases of Alastor demanding a return to the way things usedto be. He wants to be the most terrifying thing on the wavelengths by default, and is willing to short out the power supply to all Hell to get that; he wants to be valued so much by the people around him that the most important man in Hell can’t just supplant him by being there. Obviously it doesn’t work out like that, but a self-absorbed nightmare man can dream.

And then Husk brings up the idea that he might be vulnerable on top of All That. It’s the final straw. He has spent the last few episodes very subtly scrabbling for a shred of acknowledgement and his bitch ass is getting none. 

Mimzy, if I’m allowed to speculate a little, is deliberately thrown into the mix at this juncture because of how she relates to Alastor in juxtaposition to the damage his seven year absence and unspecified deal has done to his reputation; she wants to hide behind his coattails because he’s the big, scary Radio Demon who can protect her from anything, because who in their right mind would cross him? She’s literally a part of his old life. She’s reacting to him the way everyone did seven years ago—with complete and total faith in his ability to be an unholy monster at a moment’s notice.

Being told ‘hey, maybe she’s in deeper shit than you can shovel because someone’s tying your hands’ is, to Alastor, just another snub in a long, illustrious line, and this time it’s personal because it’s coming from Husk. It’s not just a newly popular medium he’s no good with, or Vox with his haterection, or a meeting he can’t derail with his personal life, or a boardroom full of equals he newly means nothing to—it’s his own people thinking he’s not capable anymore. And Husk is happy to say that with literally the most powerful man in Hell right there for comparisons in inadequacy. Going full dial eyes on him isn’t just an over-vicious retaliation, it’s a demonstration and reminder of what Alastor is capable of… and it’s probably done for himself as much as it’s about putting Husk back in his place. 

Because that’s what Alastor used to be able to do; make all the other overlords cower on their knees at his feet while he regaled them with all the ways in which they could fuck off. 

Seven years of possibly not entirely voluntary absence… and this is the closest to that he can get. A guy whose soul he owns, who will be back to snarking in a few days time, having to be dragged into prostrating himself on the carpet. One of the few people who inexplicably give a shit about him promising to shut up only on pain of death.

And at the end of the episode everything he’s done means nothing and he has to tell Mimzy to leave anyway… and he’s subdued and uncomfortable about it. She’s his friend, one of the few people willing to tolerate him, and apparently one of the last people to share the perception he has of himself… and he has to tell her to go because the reality is that he, for whatever reason, is not making choices which are entirely his own. The reality is that Husk may be right; Alastor’s grip on everything and everyone around him is, for a variety of reasons, not as strong as it used to be. The guy is unravelling behind the mask; he’s insufferably proud and it’s starting to strangle him.

The point of all this is, there’s a pattern of escalation here. I think Alastor is out of his depth and it’s going to start showing. I think he’s going to make some sort of desperate bid for control to get his standing back. I think he’s going to have to reckon with his own disappearance. And… I don’t think it’s gonna be pretty.

TLDR: My Beloved is a time bomb and him dominating Husk was just the alarm going off. I believe this with my whole heart because of Reasons.

(Side note: I think it’s been sidelined and/or cut due to season constraints and the show being rushed to shit by production, but I do believe Charlie and Al must have some kind of bond. It’s been five months of living together and she doesn’t turn around and refute his claims or even look surprised by them, which implies to me that the events are true if not the presentation. Obviously the girl’s got daddy issues and Al doesn’t actually see her as a daughter, but I really don’t think that equals ‘there’s no fond feelings here at all.’ Plus everyone else is there watching their nonsense; while Alastor has 0% shame, I’m pretty sure someone else (Vaggie) would have something to say if him claiming affection for Charlie was as left field for them as it was for us. Really wish we had more time for relaxed character interactions to let dynamics breathe, there was such potential in HH’s concepts but I feel like we’re skipping whole chunks. I want the dumb beach episode, you know?) 

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin hotel alastor #This man has been stuck in my skull for days #Scraping behind my eyes with a teaspoon to get rid of him #I just feel like he’s gonna snap at some point #He looks like he’s going to break his fucking teeth smiling like that and it’s going to happen soon #Everyone so worried about the extermination #Bitches should be worried about this idiot cracking under massive internal pressure and wasting all Hell to make himself feel special again

[unboundprompts]

How do you make a villain unlikable? Not “badly written” unlikable, but more “I’m terrified of this guy, and I would not want to be caught alone in a room with him” unlikable. His main motivation for being a villain in the story is that he was the Elv king’s Hearthsman, which is basically the court mage of the Elv kingdom, but he became mad with pride, and began abusing his given power. He was to be put on trial by the court, but he slipped away in the night, taking a forbidden book of spells with him. I thought about calling him “The Butcher” since he goes around slaughtering people without being caught, like Jack the Ripper, but I was wondering what other names would work. I just want to know how to make him terrifying, and since he’s not in the story most of the time, I want the readers to be scared of when he’s going to pop up next.

How to Make Readers Fear Your Villain

-> 10 Ways to Make Readers Loathe Your Antagonist: helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com

-> How Do I Make My Audience Fear My Villain?: Reddit

Show Your Audience How High the Stakes Are

Show what the consequences of crossing this villain are. Show how powerful they are and what they are capable of. Why is this villain such a threat? Why are your characters so afraid of them?

Having your characters talk about how afraid they are of your villain will not have the same effect as having readers experience why your characters are afraid.

Include scenes of your villain demonstrating what they are capable of. Have scenes of your characters being afraid of the villain.

Give Your Villain a Clear Goal

What does your villain want most? What are they willing to do to get it? How far will they go to get what they want?

Do they believe that what they are doing is justified?

Make Your Villain Cruel

Villains that are cruel just for the sake of being cruel. Show your villain acting heartless and doing cruel things without remorse.

Give them a history of evil. This gives them credibility and makes the readers believe they could truly do something horrible.

How Your Other Characters Act Around the Villain

When the villain is mentioned in conversation, how do your other characters react? Does their demeanor change at all? What if the villain was in the room?

Flesh out your other characters' fear of the villain. Why are they so afraid of them? Did they do something to them personally? Are they afraid because of the stories they've heard?

Examples: An outgoing character who is usually happy-go-lucky going dead silent when the villain is mentioned. A character who is never afraid having nightmares about the villain.

Villain Name Ideas:

-> here are some name generators!

Killer Names - fantasynamegenerators.com (this one will give you more names similar to the vibes of "The Butcher")

Killer Name Generator - name-generator.io

Villain Name Generator - namegenerator.og

Villain Character Name Generator - blog.reedsy.com

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #ask box prompts #how to write #villain prompts #how to write a scary villain #how to make readers fear your villain #villain writing tips #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #writing characters

[thebearer]

when teddys like two or three months you and carl are in a patch of him not being around and he comes home one day and she gives him no reaction or loves, and someone she sees frequently she is gummy smiling at them

oh this would wreck him. like the freezer scene has nothing on what this would do to him.

so the bear is doing really well. like really, really well, but they've got some competition. this new restaurant is moving closer and a little too close. they already tried to take marcus and syd, and carmen is stressed, falling back into his old ways. he feels like in a way he got himself here bc he had a baby and got lazy in a way- distracted, is more like it. as awful as that sounds, that's how he felt.

teddy's about six months and carmen's been at work non-stop. comes home late, if you go to the restaurant he barely has time for you, he's tightly wound and hateful- loses his temper quickly. richie tried to talk to him, tina, too; and he told them the same thing- to mind their own business.

you miss carmen, you do. but when you tell him that, he tells you he's here now- now being when he's practically collapsed in bed beside you.

it's the roughest patch the two of you had ever been through, and carmen doesn't even seem to realize it. until one day. the other restaurant got moved to the other side of the city- something about the building being mysteriously shut down for shoddy wiring (uncle jimmy had nothing to do with it!!)

carmen's feeling good. feeling like he can breathe again.

comes home early and you're surprised. he's happy and excited, but when he goes to teddy, she cries.

that tiny baby cry for you, just a little whine of sorts that she does when a stranger tries to hold her.

a stranger.

"teddy," carmen coos, trying again. "it's daddy, teddy bear."

teddy just turns into your shirt, whimpering and clinging to you. you watch carmen's heart break- the fall of his face, eyes widening into horrified realization.

"i think she's cranky, carm. it's her nap time-"

"she doesn't even know who i am." carmen's tone is hard- hurt.

"no, she's just a little sleepy, carmen. look, teddy, look," you coo, bouncing her lightly to coax her out of your chest. "look, baby, it's daddy."

teddy seemed to recognize the word, eyes lighting but she didn't relate carmen to that. blinking and looking around like she was looking for her dad. carmen's face crumbled, running his hands over his face to keep himself from sobbing in front of you.

you didn't know what to do, how to make it better. "i'm going to smoke." carmen rasped, voice tight with emotion, snatching his cigarettes off the table and going outside.

he called the only person he knew to. richie. breaking down, raw and emotional, begging him for any sort of advice on how to make it better.

"cousin, she's a baby. you got time to fix this. she won't even remember this-"

"-she doesn't even remember me." carmen sniffed hard, knee bouncing as his chest bubbled over with that familiar painful panic. "my own kid doesn't know who the fuck i am. what the fuck richie? what's fuckin' wrong with me. all i ever do is fuck everything up-"

"-hey, cousin, i'm stoppin' you right there, ok? let me be honest with you. this ain't about you, ok?" richie huffed. it was mean and cutting but it was true. "this isn't the time to be feelin' all sorry for yourself and shit, ok? you left your wife alone with that baby and you've been a real jagoff- like i said."

carmen hated it, hated that he was right, hated how he felt.

richie continued. "instead of sittin' in there like an asshole, why don't you go inside, take a few fuckin' days off, and get your shit together."

"cosuin, i-i can't do that-"

"- holy fuck, carmen. ok, let's try it again, alright? go inside. quit being a self loathing jagoff piece of shit, and take a few days off to be with your wife and kid, ok? i got the place for a few days." richie snapped.

"richie, we're booked for the next-"

"-look, do you trust me or not?" richie snapped.

"yeah, yeah, i trust you, c'mon." carmen muttered.

"then i got it, alright? if i need you, i'll call you, but for right now- your family needs you. if this was tiff or eva, i wouldn't even think twice about it. go be with your family, and fix this shit, you dumbass." richie huffed.

carmen took richie's advice. finding you in the bedroom, folding teddy's teeny tiny baby clothes. it made carmen sob. heavy heaving cries and mumbled apologies while he clung to you.

the next four days, carmen wouldn't leave the house. wouldn't leave your side or teddy's. he'd gotten her hesitantly out of the crib, eyes red rimmed when he cooed at her and changed her. she didn't cry this time, even giving him a tiny gummy smile that had him emotional all over again.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto x mom!reader #dad!carmen berzatto #dorothea “teddy” berzatto #dilf!carmen berzatto #richie jerimovich #bearblahs #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto angst

[dduane]

I always see advice about first drafts being okay to have rough sequences and character decisions, but one thing that keeps sticking me is it always feels like I need to have character voice figured out when I start writing. Do you have any advice to offer in developing character voice? Or at least, how not to worry so much about that when writing the first draft?

Hmm.

First of all (for those who may not be sure what this is about), let me add a link here to the Masterclass page on character voice, which is a useful basic resource.

Actually developing characters' voices is such an idiosyncratic process! So describing my approach to this may or may not be useful to you. But I'll give it a shot.

(Adding a cut here, because this runs long.)

When a character's about to first come on stage I spend some time just thinking about who they are: their upbringing, their life situation (pre-action and during-), their general emotional makeup... their pre-existing internal stresses, and how those are likely to interact with the ones I'm about to inflict on them. I take a look at where their particular position in their culture would normally place their speech and the way they're expected to think and act. Then I'll examine whether or not those expectations are ones they'd normally fall in with, or adopt unquestioningly... or secretly (or openly) dislike. As usual, drama is about conflict. A character who likes or loathes something about a situation, or about somebody else (or themselves), is going to find ways to routinely express that—not just in dialogue, but in affect, attitude, and reaction: all the aspects of voice.

I may make notes on these issues along the way if the choices I'm making for the character(s) are complex enough that I'm afraid I'll lose track of detail. But after that I've found it's usually best to just get on with it and start writing, as it's in producing the first draft that it seems to me the characters' voices develop best. It's like the difference between thinking about what you'd do if someone pulled a gun on you, and actually finding out in realtime what you'll do. The two situations are likely to differ profoundly; and not only other characters, but you, may be surprised by what you "see" and "hear".

That said— Sometimes as the first draft progresses, or when it's done, I'll go over a character's interactions with the plot and other characters and get a sense of something ringing just slightly hollow—of the character feeling less than fully present in their scenes: or of them (and their reactions) somehow just not being enough for the situations into which you've thrown them. Normally a realization like this suggests to me that there's something missing in my conception of them... and hence, something missing for them too: something that's not coming through properly in their voice, or not coming through at all.

If this happens, it can be a sign that either I got lazy in the character's design, or missed something larger that was going on, due to being too close to the situation they're in. So what I normally do at such a time is find a quiet few minutes to interview them.

...And let's be clear here that I'm not one of those writers who honestly believes (in the psychological, psychiatric, or developmental senses) that their character has some kind of existence outside their head.* My position is absolutely that every part of this process is make-believe, sourced in my own brain. And, yes, it's important to treat the whole creative process, and everyone/everything inhabiting it, with the dignity one normally accords to everyday reality in a physical universe. But sometimes—even to engage correctly with what we laughably call Real Life—some distance is required: space in which to stand back and see the forest in which the "tree" you're examining stands.

The interviewing state is one way you can get a little distance. You find an empty chair (in the room, in your head, doesn't matter) and sit your character down in it, and ask them what's going on. And you keep asking about it—sometimes in multiple sessions—until you get answers that ring true enough for you to grasp and solve their problem, and yours.

Nor do the questions have to be particularly event- or other-character-focused. Generalities may be more useful. I've had good results with two questions in particular: "What do you know about yourself that I don't know?", and "What do you not know about yourself that you need to?" Sometimes this will seriously open the floodgates... so, like good interviewers everywhere, it's smart to have a notepad handy. :)

I had this situation crop up with one of my oldest characters, who'd begun the series in which he appears as...well, frankly, kind of a dick. And yes, I knew this was going to shift as his character arc went where it was going (poor guy!). But at the same time, his voice in the second book of the series—then in its first draft—wasn't correctly reflecting either who he was, or why it was eventually going to be right for him to be going where he was going. He was too flip sometimes, too facile other times, too flat and matter-of-fact at other times still; and his rawness-around-the-edges was offputting. And I liked him! ...so the thought of what other people were likely to make of him, made me nervous.

This problem plainly had to be sorted out, pronto. So I paused work on that book for a day or three, and sat him down in the chair, and eventually got around to asking question two. And wow.... did that ever yield results! All I'd needed was the distance afforded by this technique to allow him to tell me what the problem was—and what I plainly already knew without being conscious of it—and what to do about it as I went forward (and backward, in revision). And I'm still mining the results.

...So you may like to try out that approach, if you run into problems, and see how it serves you. Hope you find it useful!

Meanwhile, as for how to worry less about where voice issues are going as you draft? ...It's been long enough since I had any similar concern that I'm not sure how to advise you. But it seems possible that, if you can cozy up enough to the concept that draft is where at least some people think the development of character voice belongs, over time you can overwrite the concern.

Anyway: hope all of this helps!

*After a book's out, of course, this situation shifts. Once other people get hold of your characters and start making them real, all bets are off. :)

ETA: if you found this useful, maybe you'd like to stop by Ebooks.Direct and take a look around to see if there's something you'd like to pick up? Please & thank you! :)

#writing #writing advice #character voice

[prettyboykatsuki]

calls home | k. bakugou

★ tags ;; gn!reader, pure fluff, established relationships, reader is a support items enginerr.

★ wc ;; 1.3k.

★ synopsis ;; katsuki hates nosy interviews, but maybe coming clean about his love life will get these people off his back.

★ a/n ;; not a very novel concept but i wanted to give it a go lmao

"We're rolling!"

Katsuki as the director behind the camera gives him a thumbs up. The camera light flashes red. He really loathes the entire filming process. All forms of public promotion, actually. But he promised his manager he would turn up and do his best for this interview.

He sighs, looking into the camera with a bored expression.

"Uh. Hi. I'm Bakugou Katsuki. Pro-Hero: Dynamight. I'm here with Heroe's Weekly to do a QnA."

He can hear in his voice how much he doesn't want to be there but doesn't bother to change his face. Off-camera, the crew are snickering. He knows a handful of them, friends of friends. He shoots a glare their way. The director gives him a pleasant look.

"Aw, don't be like that. Your fans have been asking for this forever."

Katsuki snorts, arms pulled over his chest.

"You think I don't know that? Fuckin' everyday on my twitter. You shitheads are so nosy."

"Calling your fans shitheads...your brand is one of a kind."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't get why they all care but whatever. Made a promise so I'm here."

The director laughs.

"Right. So, are you ready for the questions?"

"As I'll ever be."

The interview questions start off as he expects. He really does hate doing them, quick and formulaic responses for most of the basic ones. He's gotten them so many times in his life they don't even really feel like real questions. It's all information that's found easily through some google searching.

Age? 20 something. Star-sign? Who the fuck knows, but he thinks aries. Favorite food? Whatever's spiciest. Why'd you become a hero? Because he wanted to be the best. Who's your favorite hero? Still Allmight.

After the initial round of questions comes the deeper ones. He has to admit they're more well-thought-out than he's used to. With time, he finds ease in talking about the prompts.

What sets you apart from other heroes? Field experience, he thinks. Knowing the position of the victim and the victor young, all thanks to his fucked up teen years. What was your childhood like? Better than most, but god he was such a dick. Is there any advice that you think young heroes should hear, even if they typically don't? Valuing your life is valuing the lives of others, no matter what anyone says.

After the serious questions die down, the director gives him a smug expression. All softened up by the obvious thought that went behind it, her grin is amused.

"...Your viewers wanted to ask some more.. personal question

Katsuki raises an eyebrow.

"Gave me all the good questions upfront to curb my mood, huh? Cheeky fuckers."

"Permission to ask?"

He barks a laugh.

"You can ask whatever the hell you want but I don't know if I'll answer."

"Well, everyone is most curious about your love life."

Katsuki scoffs.

"Not this bullshit again."

"Oh, c'mon! You got voted sexiest hero of the year, of course the people want to know." The director insists, probing him "You can't give even a hint?"

He sighs.

"Give me a second."

Pulling out his phone from his pants, he unlocks it and opens up his text messages. He can practically hear everyone holding their breath but chooses to ignore it.

(sent 2:46pm) they're asking about you. fucking annoying

from baby 💌 (sent 2:46) you already know i don't mind. it might get them to leave u alone.

(sent 2:47) yeah i guess. love you. rest up and ill see you later

from baby 💌 (sent 2:47) love u too kat. see u at home. pick up some food on the way pls i dont wanna make lunch.

He grins at his phone a little, completely lost to the fact he's still with a bunch of annoying people. All of a sudden he wants to go home, clicking his phone.

"Who's got you smiling at your phone like that?"

"My fiancée."

Immediately the studio erupts into chatter. He gives them an unimpressed look, clicking his teeth. Is it really such a huge deal?

"You'd think I just dropped a fucking bomb in here."

"Fiancée?! Is this the first time you're talking about it?"

He nods once.

"Yeah."

"Can you spare us some details?"

"Like what?"

"How you met, what they're like, how you fell in love! The more the better."

He clicks his teeth. This is tiresome, but he relents. Crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes flick up to the ceiling.

"I don't know how to fucking answer any of that. We met on the job, though."

"But we're dying to know!"

"Isn't it fuckin' enough that I said something? What else do you need to know?"

"Are they pretty?" Someone on the crew shouts. Katsuki smirks.

"Better looking than every person in here, yeah."

A bunch of oohs and aahs chorus from around him. He wants this to be over and done with more than anything, but it feels like he can't back out now.

"Well if you can't answer them, maybe it's worth having them answer."

"Are you fucking serious? You want me to call them right now? No fucking way."

"A journalist is never above begging Dynamight. Plus now the whole set wants to know of this mystery person.

"God you people are so persistent." He spits, agitated. He looks directly in the camera "Let me make it very clear. Put this in your final cut. After this, I'm never talking about this shit again. If you ask, I'm kicking your ass."

Katsuki reaches into his pocket for his phone again, fingers hesitating to open it. He does with a deep sigh, tapping your contact in his call list. It rings twice before you answer. He puts you on speaker.

"Hi baby," Your voice is melodic and sweet. Katsuki can't help his smile "Is your interview over?"

The director mouths the word baby in shock and Katsuki gives her a glare.

"No, we're in the middle of it right now. They were asking me annoying questions and I didn't feel like answering them so they told me to call you."

"Oh? So they wanted me to answer, instead?"

"Yeah. Just about how we met and shit. That okay?"

"If it's okay with you I don't mind. What are the questions?"

Katsuki feels a flush crawl up his face.

"Uh. How we fell in love or whatever."

"Oh, how romantic." Your voice is pleasant. Katuski holds the speaker closer to his mic. "Well. Hi everyone. I'm Y/N and I'm Katsuki's fiancée. We met on the job, I'm a support items engineer and I worked on the major mechanisms for his suit."

Katsuki smiles a little at his phone, pleased. The crew greets you and you giggle on the other side of the line.

"We met in a business context first and became friends later. I used to think he was a scary guy but he's really not at all," You pause between sentences. Katsuki feels his stomach flip, smile widening "Mm... falling in love? It wasn't very grand. I think some time in-between I thought that he was a person I'd like to be with. Kinda boring right?"

"It's not boring." He insists. You giggle.

"I'm glad you don't think so. Anyway, it's not a very romantic story. I think if anyone got to know him like I did, they'd also fall in love."

A bunch of aww's sound. Katsuki flushes.

"You're an idiot." He spits. You laugh.

"He's prickly but he's a good person. I hope people are willing to look past him a little and see that."

Katsuki feels his heart give in, emotions rampant.

"You're too sappy for your own good." He says, no malice in his voice.

"Uh-huh. I love you too. Was that good enough?"

"You did good. I'll see you at home."

"See you at home, Kat. Bye everyone!"

Everyone sounds off on a bye and Katsuki hesitates as he clicks the phone off. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward.

"That good enough for you?"

The director shoots him a grin.

"Perfect."

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #writing tag #i am thinking of him a lot lately

[usetheeauthor]

I Still Get Jealous (MDNI +18)

• Possessive!Boyfriend!Arisu Ryohei x Sub!Reader

Summary: Arisu doesn’t like the idea of you spending time with mentor and friend, Chishiya, who’s assisting you on your PhD dissertation. He develops a possessive attitude which prompts you to prove your loyalty to him.

A/N: Thank you again, @amortentiaz for the request! I’m so glad Arisu’s getting some love! This is a spicy one with a fluffy, happy ending. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 3.2k+

Warnings: jealous!Arisu, angst, fluff, smut, sub/dom dynamics, daddy kink, graphic language, slight!tipsy/drunk Arisu, traffic light bdsm system, spanking, hair pulling, biting, markings/hickies, finger sucking, light degradation kink, brief nipple play, creampie, breeding kink, dacryphilia, orgasm denial/delay, p in v (unprotected), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, sex positions (full nelson, doggystyle, reverse cowgirl), lots of pet names (sugar, prince, baby and so on), fluffy aftercare/happy ending

They say there is no greater glory than love, nor any greater punishment than jealousy. Arisu’s love for you results in the consequence that he loathes seeing you with any other man aside from him.

It’s not like he’s unreasonable. He’s fine if you have guys friends…just not guys like Chishiya. It just wasn’t a fair fight. Chishiya’s really smart, a doctor, AND—the kicker— he was handsome.

And, sure, Arisu felt as if he had ‘2 out of 3’ of those things listed but what he felt really set himself apart from Chishiya was how cool Chishiya was. He didn’t have to try. Women and even men are naturally drawn to him just based on first impressions alone. Meanwhile, Arisu was an unsociable loser who would rather play video games for hours on end than strike up a conversation with a stranger.

Why did you have to choose Chishiya of all people to help you with your dissertation? And now you’re in a residency program working in close quarters with him, too?!

Arisu could see it now. He paces back and forth in the apartment the two of you shared creating hypothetical scenarios.

What if….One day, you and Chishiya are working in a room together when the two of you ‘accidentally’ touch hands. Next thing you know, the two of you are making out and ripping each other’s clothes off in a room meant for a patient needing heart surgery!

He shakes off that silly imagination. No! You wouldn’t possibly do something like that to him. You love him. You wouldn’t just cheat on him but what if….you broke up with him instead?! That way you wouldn’t feel guilty for being with Chishiya instead.

Arisu bangs his head against the island table in the kitchen when he decides to call his friends over for some drinks and very much needed advice.

“You should just tell her how you feel,” Chota begins. “You’d be surprised to recognize what you discover about yourself when you speak about your feelings with her. Shibuki and I are going strong because she taught me how to be more open.”

“No offense, Chota, but that’s pussy advice,” Karube remarks. “Whenever my girl does something I don’t like, I lay down the law. I put my foot down,” He slams his beer on the table for dramatic effect. “Works every time.”

“Is that so? Because last time I checked, she made you cry that one time she threatened to leave you. Didn’t see any laws being laid down.” Chota chuckles.

“Up yours, man.” Karube bites.

“You guys aren’t helping me feel any better,” Arisu groans. “The girl of my dreams is slipping away as we speak. For all we know, Chishiya’s already asking for her hand in marriage.”

“You could always try rebounding if she does dump you. What about Usagi?”

“No way! She’s only a friend. Y/n’s all I ever wanted. I’ve imagined my future and she’s always in it. I won’t let her go.” Arisu says, determinedly.

Chota pats his back. “Then you’ve gotta fight for that future, brother.”

Arisu nods, a lot more confident in his decision. With another shot of hard liquor, he plans out exactly how he’ll approach the situation with you soon as you step through the door.

—————

You turn the key in the door of your apartment and the first thing you’re met with is empty bottles of liquor. Arisu is sprawled out on the couch, asleep.

You smile, shaking your head, knowing that he probably was hanging out with his best friends. Removing your heels, you tiptoe over to him. Crouching down on your knees beside him, you place kisses all over his face until his eyes flutter open.

You soothe his hair, whispering a greeting. “Hello, my sleeping prince.”

Instead of being met with a smile, you were given a blank expression. “Hey.” He says, dryly, speech slurred.

“I’m sorry? Did I do something wrong?”

He sits up. “Where have you been? It’s late.”

“It’s 6:00 noon,” You giggle. “And you know I’m getting some help from Chishiya with my paper. It’s like 300 pages. I’m dying.”

“Chishiya, Chishiya. Seems like he’s all you ever talk about now,” Arisu chides. “Does he even know we’re together?”

“Where is this coming from, love?” You say, rubbing his arms with your soft, patient hands.

“You’re mine! Okay? You belong to me. We’re supposed to be happy and in love. I know I’m not this lady killer like Chishiya but I know that I can love you better.”

“Ryohei…baby,” You say, shaking your head in disappointment. “I am yours. You don’t have to compare yourself in any way to Chishiya. I don’t see him at all in the way I see you. You tilt my world off its axis whenever I’m near you. Even after two years together, I still get butterflies.”

“So you won’t leave me for him?”

“Never! You’re my sweet prince,” Still on your knees before him, you pry his legs apart to place yourself in between them. Leaning over his clothed cock, you lick a long stripe on the crotch area of his pants. “I love and serve you and you alone.”

He strokes your hair. “I wanna mark all over your body. That way when he sees them, he’ll know I’m the one responsible.”

“Please do, my prince.” You moan out.

He leans forward, capturing your lips and slips his tongue down your throat. Your fingers entangle in his dark locs, tugging him down to you when you felt like he was trying to pull away.

His hand collects your hair in a ponytail, pulling your lips away from his. “You don’t think I’ll let you off that easily, do you? I’ve been planning a punishment for you.”

“But I’ve been good.” You pout.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t liking the attention from him? Like you weren’t trying to make me jealous,” He yanks at your hair again causing you to whine. “You like when I get like this, don’t you?”

You whine out again, squeezing your thighs together to suppress the throbbing between them.

He yanks your hair once more, growling. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes, I fucking love it when you punish me. Please fuck me.” You sounded absolutely wrecked and he hadn’t even begun yet.

“It’s gonna take a lot more begging than that to get what you want, sugar,” He lets go of your hair, patting his thighs. “Lay yourself across my thigh.”

You comply, lifting off your feet to crawl into his lap. Your plump ass perched up high enough for his hands to indulge.

“You remember your colors in case we need to stop, do you?” He asks while kneading your plush globes in his hands, marveling at its perfection.

You nod. “Green is a ‘yes’, yellow for ‘slow down’, and red is ‘stop’.”

“Good girl.” He purrs. Then, he pulls your panties to the side just enough to dip his longest finger into your sopping pussy.

You moan, clutching the couch cushion. “Fuck! That’s so good.”

“I don’t want to hear you.” He pulls out the glistening finger, shoving it into your mouth for you to suck on. With his other free hand, he slips two longer fingers into your core and pumps away.

You swirl your tongue around his finger, tasting yourself on it. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as his fingers deliciously flicked against a soft trigger within you. Your muffled moans get louder.

“You’re so loud. Quiet!” Pulling the finger from your mouth, he slaps the hand over your mouth. It’s clamped tight enough to assure your sounds aren’t heard. Of course, the action would also affect your breathing but somehow the lack of oxygen heightened pleasure to the point of euphoria.

You could hear your wet pussy squelch around his fingers, juices trickling down your inner thighs, onto the couch, and his khaki pants.

His erection pokes against your belly and, with you fucking back against his fingers, it begins to increase in its size. He licks his lips, lust splayed on his features while he watches you rut desperately against his fingers.

“You look like you want to cum, sugar?” He asks, mockingly.

You nod frantically, bouncing back against his fingers with rigorous intent. He’d long removed his hand from your mouth, you could’ve spoken up but with his skillful fingers buried so deep into you that was too much a challenge.

“That’s it, love. Use my fingers to get yourself off. So pathetic and desperate for it. Bet, you’re wishing it was my cock instead.”

His fingers do the famous ‘come hither’ motion within you and your legs begin to shake. You were on the edge, a stream of drool pouring from your tongue as you pant out like a dog. Your eyes cross and just as you’re within reach of the big one, he slips out of you.

You sob and scream your frustrations into the couch cushion, biting down on the fabric to keep from hurting yourself or him.

He sucks your arousal off his fingers, looking at you from the corner of his eyes while you glare at him. When he finishes them clean off, he smirks at you. “Sorry. But that was punishment #1.”

“#1? As in…there’s more?” Your voice trembling in fear.

“Uh-huh. And we’re going straight into your next punishment,” He strikes your asscheeks hard enough for you to feel it ripple. You hiss at the sting. “You’ve got 4 more of that to go, sugar. Count for me, please.”

Smack after smack, you’d count and your hungry cunt would throb in need in anticipation of his assault. You needed to be fucked badly. You’ll remain obedient. Anything to get him to finally give in.

He lands the final smack, the hardest of bunch. Your ass is as red as he hoped for. He soothes it, massaging each globe carefully.

“For your last punishment, I want you to suck me off. If you’re good for it, I’ll make you cum on my cock right after.”

You love how filthy Arisu’s mouth gets whenever he’s in the act with you. It’s a complete parallel to his usual shy and reserved demeanor. You slide off his lap enough so that you’re laying on your stomach over the couch seat, your hands in his lap. You fondled with the buckle of his belt then his zipper.

With your hand down his pants, you carefully pull him free. The thick two-toned length was hard to wrap your whole hand around the base. You flick a tongue against the pink head, collecting the salty precum on your tongue.

He moans, moving your hair out of the way so he can watch you take himself in your eager mouth. You lower your mouth over him, swallowing around him while he hits the back of your throat. Whatever your mouth couldn’t get to, your free hand would make up for it.

His head is thrown back against the couch overhead, enjoying the warmth of your mouth. You slurp up the excess saliva from his cock, spitting it back onto the base again and jerking him off.

“Ohh, babygirl,” Arisu groans. “Your mouth feels like heaven. I almost feel bad for the bastard never getting the chance to have you.”

You moan, sending the vibrations straight to his cock. You could suck his dick all day and never get tired. You’ve actually done that before while he played his video games.

“Shiiit! I’m gonna cum down your little throat.” He whines, thrusting forcefully with his hand cupping the back of your head. Then, he stills, cock rested deep enough to cut off your air supply as his warm essence shoots down your throat. You play with his heavy balls in the process, prolonging his orgasm.

“Fuckk yess.” He groans, feeling the way the muscles in your throat flex around him, swallowing every drop.

When you remove your mouth from his twitching member, he immediately places his lips on yours not caring to taste himself on your tongue as he sucked at it. You straddle him and sit directly over his stirring cock, drenched clothed core rubbing against the hardness.

He stands on his feet and carries you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. It surprises you every day the strength he possesses in such a slender body.

“We’re taking this to the bedroom so I can fuck what’s mine properly.” He says.

“Please, daddy.” You plead, head rolling back when he sucks at your neck as he leads you to the bedroom.

He throws you onto the mattress. “Take those clothes off. Then, stay on your hands and knees.”

You follow his orders, pulling off your clothes so fast you nearly tore at them in impatience. You are on your hands and knees, back facing away from the headboard.

His clothes are off and you’re given a moment to admire his physique. He does the same, circling around you as if to decide what else he planned on doing to you.

Arisu disappears from your vision and you feel the mattress dip behind you. You feel the back of his knees resting against your calves, prompting you to glance over your shoulder. Arisu was laid on his back, your ass just inches from his jutting hard cock.

“I want you to fuck back into me like this. Show me how badly you want me.” He said it in a way that he’d hoped to sound authoritative but instead it came out sounding like a whine. He couldn’t help his desperation for you, especially when you were this dripping wet for him.

Shimmying back so that your glistening pussy rested over his cock, you rubbed yourself back and forth on it. You reach a hand down beneath you, grabbing his cock to tease your entrance before you let it slip in.

The two of you groan simultaneously at the feeling of you stretching around him. “Oh, fuck! Ryohei…daddy please.”

“Go on,” He smacks your ass. “Ride me.”

You mewl, taking him in all the way so that your ass rests on his pelvic area. You start off rocking slowly against him. You can hear the familiar squish of his cock penetrating you deeper and deeper with each in and out.

Gripping the sheets beneath you, you use the leverage to slam down harder against him. He lets out a strangled cry that cuts abruptly and you look over your shoulder to see that he’s biting his lips.

“Please let me hear you, daddy. I want to know that I’m doing good for you.” You moan, sounding already so fucked out.

“You’re doing amazing, sugar. Love seeing your ass from this view. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” He praises.

“Only yours.” You added, going fucking back into his even harder and the sounds of your plump ass colliding into him is thunderous.

“Shit, I can’t take it anymore.” He says. You barely register what he said until he sits up and brings your back to his chest, ass in his lap in reverse cowgirl.

Arisu takes your ankles in his hands, spreading your legs wide open. He plants both his feet against the mattress, jackhammering into your greedy wet hole.

“Oh, god!” You squeak, bringing your hand back to cup the back of his neck.

He takes this as a sign to litter your neck with hickies and you scream and writhe against him. He was too good. Expert level as if it were an actual game and the objective was to make you dumb on his cock.

Letting one ankle go, he tweaks a hardened nipple between his fingers as he fucks up into you. You begin to feel the familiar pressure build within you again and he senses this with how hard you clenched around him.

He drops his hand down between your legs rubbing your sensitive nub back and forth. “You’re getting so tight,” He whispers in your ear, teasingly. “You gonna cum?”

You felt a sense of panic rush through you. The mocking tone in his voice can’t be good. Was he really thinking of pulling away again? You began to cry real tears, nodding your head. “I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum, daddy. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll be yours forever. Don’t punish me!”

“Aww, sugar, I wasn’t going to take this away from you,” He pounds harder and rubs tight circles on your clit. “You… deserve it.”

Arisu punctuates the end of the sentence with two hard thrusts that hit against your g-spot. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes widening as you squirt your juices all over.

This surprises him as well, a guttural groan escaping his lips. He throws you onto your stomach and pummels away from above you. “Gonna fill up your tight little pussy. I’m gonna get you pregnant and full so everyone knows I did that to you.”

You both knew you were on birth control because neither of you could afford to have a child at the moment. Nonetheless, you begged him to fill you with his seed and scream out to the top of your lungs how you’ll carry his babies.

A few dizzying thrusts has you biting into the sheets and without you even expecting it, you cum for the second time that night. Arisu cums a split second after you, moaning shakily as if he’s on the verge of sobbing. He trembles from above you, jerky thrusts into your core to give you all of his cum. He stills then collapses, weight on top of you and cock still buried deep as you shook against each other.

“Ryohei?” You pant softly.

“Mhm.” He says, unable to form a sentence.

“How are you this good?” You giggle in a euphoric state.

“I’d say it’s the liquid courage. I am still a little tipsy.” He admits with a chuckle.

“No, baby…that was all you. I fucking love you.”

“I love you more.” He retorts, breathlessly.

“Not as much as me.”

“Not possible,” He laughs, kissing your shoulder before pulling off and out of you. You whine at the loss, feeling cold without his warmth. You try reaching for him. “I’ll be back, love. Just gotta get a washcloth to clean you up…and some fresh sheets.” He says looking down at the wet puddle.

Arisu returns with a washcloth and fresh sheets as promised. He carefully cleans the sticky mess between your legs, planting a kiss on your thigh when he’s complete. While he lays down the new sheet, you find one of his hoodies to dress yourself in taking in his scent around you.

Curling into his naked body as the big spoon, you littered kisses on his shoulders. Then, a realization hit you to address your feelings, too. “I get kind of jealous, too, ya know.”

“You do? He asks, dumbfounded, turning on his side to look you in your eyes

“Yeah. I mean, whenever I see you with any other girl like Usagi, Heiya, or Kuina…I feel so petty. They’re my friends, too, and I know they wouldn’t hurt me that way. But they’re all so beautiful and—“

He cuts you off, kissing you passionately. “I belong to you just as much as the other way around. Remember that. No one gets me like you.”

You rest your foreheads against one another, cradling each other’s hands. You stare into each other’s eyes and listen to the sound of the rainfall pitter-patter against your window in time with the beating of your hearts.

Arisu has his friends to thank for giving such great advice.

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[in-my-feels-probably]

Hii can u write something with Daemon Targaryen x reader. She’s friends with Rhaenyra and she knows about Cole’s proposal to run and get married. On the wedding, daemon says he have a gift for the princess and the gift are Oranges . Reader is like “ I gonna kill you” but she laughs too. ( I totally would to something like this ) 🤣🤣

Jester

Hi! This request is so cute, thank you for sending it in. I haven't written for Daemon in a while, so excuse me if this is a little stiff. Sorry it’s a little short, also. I hope you like it, let me know what you think!

(Warnings: swearing, let me know if i missed any)

—

Rhaenyra was your best friend, and you valued her friendship more than most any of your relationships in the kingdom. You loved that she confided in you, and asked for your advice. You loved it even more when she told you secrets. 

Unfortunately, although Rhaenyra was quite aware, you were unable to keep her confidence completely. While under normal circumstances you wouldn't tell a soul the things Rhaenyra would confide in you, you just couldn’t help but to tell Daemon every once in a while when a secret was particularly scandalous. You never meant it in a malicious way, but you felt like you would just die if you didn’t tell someone, and Daemon always seemed like the best option. 

Rhaenyra knew this, and understood that anything she told you would probably be relayed later to Daemon. He was your partner, after all. On rare occasions, Rhaenyra would swear you to complete and total secrecy. 

It was hardly ever the case, and so you assumed when Rhaenyra told you Ser Criston Cole had proposed to her, she knew the information would eventually make it back to Daemon. 

The Crown was headed to Driftmark, where the King intended to propose his daughter's hand to Ser Laenor Velaryon, in an attempt to join the houses. Rhaenyra had brought you along to accompany her, as a guest of the family. 

When everyone had gotten off the ships and settled in their chambers, Rhaenyra called you to hers to tell you the news. 

Daemon had arrived shortly in the days after, not alerting anyone of his whereabouts. You knew he was coming, as word had gotten to him that Ser Laenor was indeed engaged to Rhaenyra, and what kind of Uncle would he be to miss his own niece’s wedding festivities? 

You were instructed to keep quiet about it, however, as it was intended to be a surprise. He said he would have a handmaiden come fetch you when it was time, and the time had finally come.

You rushed back to your chambers where you knew Daemon would be, flinging open the door. He turned to you with a surprised look on his face, raising a brow at your disheveled appearance. 

“That excited to see me? I know I’ve been away for a while, but you didn’t seem overeager in your letters, are you that bored without me?”

He had cut his hair, wearing it pushed back. He looked quite handsome, but you didn’t have the patience to pay too much attention to it. You hugged him briefly, before stepping back. There was time for that later, when you weren’t about to burst at the seams.

“Hush!” You said, directing for him to sit. “I’ve been dying waiting for you to arrive, it’s been agony. Rhaenyra told me something.”

Daemon smirked at you, taking one of your hands and squeezing it in his. “Ah, that makes much more sense. Go on, then. What has she done now?”

“Not her,” you shook your head. “Ser Criston Cole. He heard of the Princess’s potential betrothal to Ser Laenor, and he proposed to her himself!”

Daemon’s grin grew. “You’re joking.”

“No! He told her that he knows how much she loathes her position and her expectation from the King to be married off to some Lord or other. How he understands her plight of not being able to choose for herself.”

“Oh, Gods,” Daemon groaned. “Keep going.”

“He asked her to come with him! To Essos, where he knows the land. Went on about how he wanted to show her the ships that carry cinnamon and oranges–”

“Oranges,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “Surely he wasn’t daft enough to think the heir to the Iron Throne would give up the crown to see some fucking oranges.”

“I pity the man. His intentions seemed true, he wanted to whisk her away from all her apparent troubles, take her to travel. But he wanted her to leave and renounce their titles together, apparently ‘freeing’ them from the burdens of their circumstance. A marriage for love, not for the Crown.”

“He’s an imbecile. What did the Princess say?”

“Just that she couldn’t possibly abandon her position, as chafing as it may be, for something as insignificant as a bushel of oranges or a ship to Asshai. She has her duties, and would do her duty to Ser Laenor, be the wife she is supposed to be. That she and Laenor have an understanding, but a marriage between them is inevitable.”

“Do I even want to know what Ser Criston had to say about that? I’m picturing a tantrum.”

You smirked, grinning down at him. “He said he wouldn’t be her whore.”

Daemon outright laughed at that, leaning back on the bed. You joined him, laughing as well.

You continued. “It really is a shame I wasn’t there to see it, he apparently went into great detail about how he has soiled his white cloak for her. And that marriage was all that could restore it. From the way Rhaenyra retold it, it sounds like he was a rambling child, throwing a fit when she said no.”

“He really is more dim-witted than I originally thought.”

“Don’t be mean,” you laughed, playfully smacking his shoulder. “He’s her shield, she has to live out her days with him by her side. Can you imagine how awkward it’ll be for her?”

“Cole will get over it, just leave him to lick his wounds. He can’t really think she would have accepted his proposal, I suspect he will come to understand why it can never be. He’ll wise up.”

“I certainly hope so. The feast joining the betrothed is tonight, and I cannot bear being the buffer between the two of them.”

Daemon smiled, standing. “Well, we’ll just have to do something to ease the tension, won’t we? I have yet to get my niece an engagement gift, but I think I now have more than enough idea of what to present her with.”

You raised a brow. “Well? Are you going to enlighten me?”

“You shall see tonight, darling.”

He headed for the door, chuckling at your annoyed face. You stood to stop him.

“Daemon, do not embarrass me! I will not have you doing something idiotic during the–”

“Lighten up, dearest,” he said, halfway out the door. “Have I ever done anything to embarrass you?” Knowing the answer, he slipped out the door, not giving you a moment to protest. You rolled your eyes, gathering your things to go help Rhaenyra prepare for the evening ahead. You willed Daemon in your head to not do anything particularly stupid, making your way for her chambers.

—

By the evening, the festivities were in full swing, Lords being welcomed as they came in. You sat off the edge of the table the King and Rhaenyra were at, listening to Lords drone on about their congratulations, and their excitement for the wedding. 

If Rhaenyra was even a tenth as bored as you were, you were all doomed. 

After some time, the Velaryon’s finally arrived, livening up the room. Ser Laenor asked Rhaenyra to dance, finally relieving you from your spot at her side. You always enjoyed the Princess’s company, but if you had to listen to another boring minute of small talk, you’d combust. 

You watched the pair dance, occasionally sparing a glance at Ser Criston, who had a sour pout on his face. You had to fight yourself to keep from snickering. Suddenly, Daemon appeared at your side, startling you. 

“Gods! Why are you so quiet?”

He grinned at you, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Maybe you would have heard me coming if you weren’t so focused on Ser Criston’s displeasure.”

“Speaking of that,” you turned to him, raising an accusing brow. “What did you do? Am I to believe that you turned up empty handed?”

“Of course not, my love. I am simply just waiting for the right time to present my gift.”

You narrowed your eyes, making sure to keep him close throughout the night. If there's one thing Daemon loved, it’s causing mischief. He often did so at the expense of other people, including you. 

He’d much rather beg your forgiveness than ask your permission. 

When everyone had settled to eat and talk amongst themselves, a few choosing to dance, he finally called a servant over. He whispered to them, and they nodded, retreating down the steps. Daemon smirked at you, and then followed.

You chose to pull Rhaenyra aside, excusing yourself as you cut in between her and Ser Laenor. 

“Your Uncle has a gift for you. I don’t know what he’s managed to bring, so please, do me the favor of accepting it in less company.”

“How bad could it be?” She asked, grinning at your unease.

“It’s Daemon. I’m sure my imagination isn’t enough to conjure up even the slightest possibility.”

“Relax, love, I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything too rash in such company. I’ll humor him.”

You headed over to where Daemon had returned, a decorated chest now by his side. 

“Ser Laenor!” He called, motioning him over. Your eyes widened in horror.

“Daemon, no–” You rushed, but he waved his hand, cutting you off.

“I have a gift for you and my niece,” he said once Laenor excused himself and made his way over.

Laenor stood by Rhaenyra’s side. “How generous of you, my Prince.”

You exchanged nervous glances with Rhaenyra, who had linked her arm in Laenor’s. Daemon nodded, removing the lock from the chest.

“Of course. It is a special occasion, my niece’s engagement, no less. It would be rude of me to show up empty handed.”

He cracked open the chest, stepping back as Ser Laenor and Rhaenyra stepped closer to look inside. You peeked over Daemon’s shoulder, looking inside as well.

You nearly died of embarrassment when you found piles and piles of fresh oranges inside, filling the chest to the brim. 

Your eyes snapped to Daemon’s, who’s smirk had exponentially grown. You brought a hand to your mouth, stifling your surprise as you looked up to meet Rhaenyra’s gaze, who’s cheeks had flushed. She didn’t seem upset, it was more the opposite, actually. She was rather amused with your reaction.

Laenor, unfamiliar to the connotation, smiled. “Oranges! Where did you get them? They aren’t in season.”

“They’re from Essos,” Daemon said. “I picked some up on my latest travels. My wife has spoken highly of them, I figured she’d want me to bring a few back for her. I know the Princess shares her sentiment, and it was the least I can do for her to start off the festivities.”

“Thank you, my Prince, my Lady. They surely will brighten up the wedding. How thoughtful of you.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Yes, thank you, Uncle. I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble getting them.”

“Nonsense, it was my pleasure. I apologize for keeping you, go, enjoy your evening.” Laenor smiled and nodded, directing Rhaenyra back to the dance floor. You held your breath as they retreated, and the second they were out of ear shot, you turned and slapped Daemon’s arm. 

“I am going to kill you! Have you lost your mind?” You screamed in a hushed whisper.

Daemon laughed, shielding his arm from your advances. “I’m sorry, darling, I couldn’t help myself.” 

“It wasn’t funny!”

“The look on your face was.”

Daemon had to shield himself even more from your attacks, finally catching your wrists in his hands. “Alright, alright, truce!”

“Always the jester, aren’t you? Gods, that was so embarrassing. Rhaenyra will never let me live that down, thanks to you.”

“Admit it, darling,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “That was priceless. It was funny and you know it.”

“It wasn't,” you tried to deny, but you couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling the more you thought about it.

You gave him an exasperated sigh, wrapping your arm around his waist and leaning into his side. You hid your face behind his arm, trying your best to stifle a giggle, but you were failing miserably. 

“Don’t let Ser Criston see me, I won’t be able to contain myself. Honestly, how did you even manage to get the oranges?”

“One of the Lord’s ships brought the oranges for the feast. I couldn’t pass them up.”

You groaned, your face flushed and your cheeks hurting from smiling. “I could strangle you right now. You are so lucky Rhaenyra has a sense of humor.”

“Even more so that you have one,” he said, placing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

You stood comfortably in silence for a while, letting Daemon keep you in his hold. Your eyes soon fell to Ser Criston, who had turned and looked your way. Daemon bent his lips down to your ear, his voice laced with amusement.

“I dare you to peel one of those and go eat it in front of Cole.”

Your eyes widened in shock, your grip on his arm tightening. “Daemon, no!”

Your protests were drowned out by his laughter, laughter that you couldn’t help but to join in on.

—

A/N - Hi! Hope you enjoyed this, let me know what you think!

Taglist: @hc-geralt-23 @solacestyles

#hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine

[that-ari-blogger]

Conflict!

It is often said that "conflict drives a story" and while that is mostly true, it isn't helpful writing advice. It's just an observation. A story is about a character wanting to do something, and their struggles to do that are the conflict, that's where the conflict stops. You don't need antagonists or villains or fights or even arguments in a story, you just need stuff, and conflict will arise.

Essentially, conflict brings about character by putting individuals in unusual situations and showing off facets of them that aren't usually on display.

But what happens when two characters are in conflict with each other? Then (if the writing is decent) you get an emotionally dense few moments, and in a musical, you get a song like Old Wounds.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

This isn't a long song, and there aren't that many branching paths (you get two choices in the entire song). But there is a lot going on here, emotionally speaking.

I noted in another post that Persephone is heavily associated purple. And that remains here, although it has softened slightly as you have got to know her to a more maroon-ish palate.

Appollo is also associated with a colour, that being blue. As in, he's the sun and the blue that surrounds him is the sky. Hence why this shot is so cool:

It's Grace literally having to choose between her two allies. Also notice what is happening. The blue light is shining over a plant, helping it to grow, while the pink shows an image of Calliope. It could be a photograph, it could be a painting, I'm not sure. The blue represents the future, while the purple the past.

Also, Persephone has an image of somebody she knows looking regal in her office. Why does she have this? What is the history between these two? (Historians will say they were good friends)

Anyway, what are these two characters arguing about? I mentioned conflict, and there is definitely some here, but what is it? The two of them just start bickering out of nowhere. And that's exactly it. Apollo picks fault with Persephone's wording, then they call each other blind, then the real wounds come out.

What's interesting here, is that Persephone has been established to have an old wound, Hades, and this song explores it. But Persephone doesn't engage this, Apollo does. Apollo is the one who starts the fight. Why?

Guilt. In my reading of this song, Apollo is playing incredibly defensive here. He has accepted his guilt and his need to change earlier in the story, at least verbally. But when push comes to shove and the consequences of his actions come into play, he immediately lashes out verbally.

And it's what he takes issue with that piques my interest. Persephone has rationalised that people deserve what they get, actions have consequences. Apollo doesn't agree with that.

Then there is this shot. As the two of them bicker and talk over each other, the camera swirls and the colours that represent them become intermingled, a neat little metaphor for the difficulty of this situation. And above Grace's head, forgotten by both of them in this moment, the reason they are both here, and the consequences for both of their actions.

"You abandoned me to a terrible fate." "You replay your injuries till it's too late." "This is not about you"

Here, the theses of both characters. One is stuck in the past; one is avoiding it. One is trying to grow away from the past without truly reconciling with it, the other has rationalised in a way that is self-destructive. Neither can move forwards without the other, there is a balance that needs to be struck.

What strikes me, however, is how similar these two characters are. They use the same insults for each other, they believe extremely similar things. When we met Apollo, Phantom Pains was almost exactly Persephone's current viewpoint. That's why they are so irreconcilable. These are two characters with some deep self-loathing issues who see themselves in their opponent. Specifically, they see the worst parts of themselves. Guilt, loss, anger.

That's what this conflict is about, looking to the past or looking to the future. Grace needs to take a middle road, but she can't because these two can't get over themselves. That's why this final choice is so difficult, because they are both so right, and both so very wrong.

Previous - Next

#rants #literary analysis #character analysis #literature analysis #what's so special about...? #greek mythology #stray gods #stray gods persephone #stray gods the roleplaying musical #stray gods the musical #stray gods spoilers #stray gods game #stray gods apollo

[the-s1lly-corner]

hiii could i get J, P, Q an U for Slender? thanks! and i hope your day is going really well >_<

More Fluff Alphabet /w Slenderman but these letters!

my days been pretty okay! slow, but not terrible :O gonna be slow from tomorrow until next saturday so i might promote requests being open ponders not proof read!! though to be fair i dont. think i proof read any of my stuff

J (JEALOUSY)-

he can get rather possessive in general when it comes to you or his proxies so uh

don't like, try to make him jealous on purpose, it doesn't end well for anyone involved. actually don't try to tick off forest demons in general

i know i keep saying stuff like "oh god forbid someone make you uncomfortable" in these but like. slenderman is still this huge powerful creature, i know my interpretation on him is a bit silly n different but he still has roots in the 2010s fandom interpretation, you know?

there will be... a mess... is what im saying

in the case that someone is being weird with you, he's less jealous and more angry, though, of course not angry at you

though there will be hard boundaries set in place if you try to rile him up on purpose, he doesnt want to waste his time on someone whos going to toy with him like that. both in a "hey thats not really cool or healthy of you to do to me or our relationship" and also "im fucking slenderman im a old ass powerful demon, who do you think you are?"

P (PETNAMES)-

he calls you; love, darling, my dear

he likes being called; really anything under the sun, because as long as its something coming from your mouth hes pleased, because it ultimately means hes yours and youre his

q (QUESTION)-

for more context see this post! dives into lore stuff for my au/hcs but it'll help add context to this segment!:

here!

hope the link copied well enough </3 if not you can find it on my blog, titled "all entwined in one web" or something along those lines

anyways

some variant of "why do you stay"

you could have decided to be with literally anyone else, but you chose a solitary self loathing demon who eats people in order to survive, created for the sole purpose to cause issues and harm to humanity

on one hand he wants you to stick around and keep him company; but on the other hand he wants you as far away from him as possible so you can go out and live your own life without being in danger or having to put up with his whole deal

please give him lots of reassurance, its going to take a lot for him to stop asking those kinds of questions; assuming he stops asking at all

U (UPSET)-

i feel like him being upset is similar to the jealousy part of this post, but just more. broad. like hes not going to take shit if youre going to try to upset him on purpose

hes more patient if its accidental, though. diving into a previous fluff alphabet, if its an accident and something that can be helped in terms of future instances hes likely to work through it with you. he knows his time with you is short, if his partner is a mortal, and he doesnt want to waste that time

soft slenderman my beloved, let this man have complex emotions and desires and whatnot

kinda just. vanishes when he gets real upset, though, since he cant control his anger that well and generally just doesnt want you to see him like that- best way to help him like that is to just give him time

if youre the one upset hes going to listen to you, if you need someone to talk to. man of few words, advice can go fifty fifty

either gives good advice or not good advice; and thats on him being around for a long time but not really spending a lot of that time you know... interacting with others in a meaningful way

bonus if you still live at your place he's going to do a bunch of your chores for you. in. varying degrees of success, similar reasoning as above since he doesnt really have a home of his own to do like. dishes or laundry at. still bouncing between if im going to have the mansion be a part of this au of mine or not, and if so, how its going to tie in to everything

shrugs

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagines #slenderman x reader #slenderman headcanons #slenderman imagine #slenderman x you

[bestworstcase]

What are your thoughts on the concept of destiny in rwby? With choice and knowledge being so important and Cinder believing in destiny. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it is what comes to mind, but I still feel like I'm missing something.

WHERES THAT POST

ahem.

“do you believe in destiny?”

look at that. the utter loathing, the absolute disgusted fury that contorts cinder’s face when pyrrha asks her this question. yes, cinder fall believes in destiny; she believes in it the way pyrrha nikos believes in monsters.

without you, i am nothing—but because of you, i am everything.

“i won’t have to run now.” / “that’s all you’ll ever do.”

this is what destiny means to her. a collar around her throat. a world where she’s meant to bow her head and endure years upon years of torture, abuse, slavery; her destiny is to be hurt and exploited and brutally punished when she fights back. that’s all you’ll ever do.

she takes that to heart.

destiny, in rwby, is a coercive idea, a mechanism of control. it’s very real—it’s the divine plan for the world, the day of judgment ozma has been asked to prepare for. “i will do what i must to maintain order,” says the god of light as he burns ozma alive. “yes,” answers cinder as she strikes pyrrha down. fate is the name of the tyrant condemning the world to annihilation for the sake of order.

what gets lost, i think, in many fan discussions of cinder is that her absolute belief in destiny is matched only by her absolute hatred of it; where pyrrha (like ozma) is guided by faith in destiny, cinder (like salem) is screaming bloody defiance of destiny all the way down.

fundamentally rwby is a story about choices—why do people do the things they do? what does it mean to do the right thing? why does evil exist? what drives us? how do we define ourselves? how do we define others?—and destiny, fatalism, what this idea represents in the narrative is rejection of choice. ozpin appeals to the notion of fate to explain his way of doing things:

“Make no mistake, there is a higher power guiding our actions. Call it Fate. Call it Destiny. Call it the gods. Or maybe it’s simply the randomness of existence. Whatever it is, I have to trust that we are here for a reason, and while my methods might be unorthodox, they haven’t failed me yet.”

and while there is a kernel of wisdom in this—his broader point is that life is uncontrollably chaotic and that one must therefore be able to improvise when things inevitably go awry—like the dreadful advice he gives ruby in V1, it’s distorted by his submission to The Way Things Are. why does he reject salem in the lost fable? “this isn’t what he asked of me.” not “this is wrong.” not “i don’t want this.”

“look how you’ve diminished. how you’ve lessened yourself.”—salem isn’t talking about his magic. she remembers the ozma who struck down her tyrannical, abusive father to rescue her simply because it was the right thing to do and she’s looking at him now—a man who has wasted lifetime after lifetime after lifetime trying in abject futility to enact the will of a tyrannical monster instead of doing what he wants or what he feels is right—and asking what happened to you?

rwby’s stance on destiny is this: it is a grave mistake to put your faith in destiny, to follow it blindly, to accept that it is the way things must be and will always be. everyone has a choice. choices matter. choice is everything. ozpin is more terrified of choice than any other quality, and it is the relic salem is most desperately fighting to claim. choice is everything and fate is its meaningless, inhuman and inhumane antithesis.

[yellowkitkieran]

To Have and To Heal (Part 9)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

"Those yellow heels don't work," your best friend says, her voice scratchy through your phone speaker. You set the device on your vanity and throw your hands up, noting Jen's upturned nose. She's the closest thing you have to a fashion expert, so naturally you called her an hour ago for some final advice on what to wear on tonight's date after sorting through your closet for an hour on your own.

"Well then I have no idea what to do," you whine, at your wits end as you toss the uncomfortable heels onto your bed. They land on top of the pile of discarded outfits you've tried on, none of them flattering enough for you to feel confident meeting Martin in. "This is ridiculous- I should just put on jeans and a hoodie and call it good."

Jen snorts, "Absolutely not-" 

"It's probably what he's gonna wear! It could be cute if we wind up matching-"

"Babe, listen to me." You stop rummaging through your closet at the sound of Jen's teacher voice, listening instinctively to what she says. "You're not wearing something that simple. Martin has probably, like, rented an entire restaurant for you. I'm not letting you show up dressed for a date at your local pub!"

You decide against snapping back with a retort along the lines of 'actually, I don't know where my date is because Martin hasn't told me,' and opt for biting your tongue instead. It seems the better option when you've already gotten a light verbal lashing from Jen and you're loath to set her off on a tangent while you're already frazzled. 

"Okay, fine. How about this?" You dig through your discard pile and pull out a red dress you tried on towards the beginning. It's simple, nothing more than a form fitting sheath of rich red fabric with three quarter length sleeves and no embellishments, but it feels like the right balance of classy and sexy. Jen hums, tapping her chin as she leans closer to her own phone until her face fills your screen. 

"I like it, that could work if you pair it with that charcoal blazer you wore last week, and then those matching heels? The low ones, just in case you wind up doing a lot of walking."

After a minute of struggling you finally get into the dress and come back into the frame of your camera to show Jen. She wolf whistles, which is a sign of her approval. "Ooohhh girl that's the ticket! Do a spin- yeahhhh! That's hot, Martin is gonna lose his head when he sees you!"

"I mean I hope so, it took us literal years to pick out!" You both laugh, yours a touch awkward as your nerves begin to shine through. The ball in your stomach has gained momentum and now feels like a boulder in your gut. It weighs you down and keeps your feet rooted firmly to the carpet. You should be ending your FaceTime call and heading downstairs to call an Uber, not contemplating your outfit again to distract yourself. 

Tonight's date is the highlight of your week. You've been looking forward to it since the second Martin asked you, and you hope he's felt the same way.

Maybe he's nervous too, you think. I can't be the only one. Then again… footballers probably don't get nervous. He's probably been on dozens of dates. This is probably routine for him. 

Sighing to yourself, you realize belatedly that Jen has taken it upon herself to hang up on her own. "Love you too," you mumble to your phone, stuffing it in your bag and slowly making your way towards your front door. You tap through your apps and order an Uber to the address Martin gave you, fiddling with your keys while you wait for its arrival. 

The ride is quiet, the young woman driving not bothering to try and make conversation due to your obviously negative mood. Being nervous isn't something you're particularly used to; normally you're quite confident and outgoing, which is why you're such an excellent teacher. Kids don't do well with shy adults. 

When it comes to Martin however, he turns you on your head. Everything about him makes you feel backwards, out of your comfort zone, though not in a bad way. If given the time, you feel like you might grow with him. Like he might bring out a side of you that you don't realize exists. 

Twenty minutes into your mysterious drive, the driver pulls over along the river and parks. "You sure this is the place?" The blonde looks as skeptical as you are as she meets your eyes in the mirror. You double check the street sign outside your window and match it to the one in Martin's text before you nod. 

You don't see much other than a few traditional brick houses lining the quiet lane, each with matching floating flower beds hanging from the window sills. The wrought iron street lights cast a yellow glow over the uneven pavement. A few people mill about, either coming from work or out on their evening run before cosying up inside for the night. 

"This is it, thank you." You give the woman a genuine smile as you place your sweaty palm on the door handle. 

"Do you know this person you're meeting? I can hang around a minute and make sure everything is as it should be."

Your heart swells thanks to this stranger. Women looking after women, recognizing something suspicious and not being afraid to speak up about it. The smile that graces your lips now is brimming with confidence, as is the nod you offer her. 

"I know him very well, he's a friend that's just finally offered to take me on a date, so I'm a bit nervous is all." 

"You look wonderful," the woman offers. "He's a lucky man, that's for sure. I'll be crossing my fingers that it goes well for you then, but be confident! It'll be fine!"

"I appreciate that, I guess I better go find my date before he thinks I've stood him up." 

You don't see Martin as you cross the street, which only makes you more concerned that maybe he's gotten cold feet. But you push on, following the low voices catching your attention and surveying the water in the canal on your right- which is when you finally see him. 

The boat Martin stands on is slender, barely six feet wide. The Maiden is painted in flowing black script on the rear deck. Years of feet have worn down the white paint surrounding it, leaving bare wood in their wake though the name itself remains in perfect condition, like the vessel's superstitious captain avoided stepping on it at all costs.

The man Martin speaks with is dressed handsomely in a full black suit and silk tie. Martin, unaware of your approach, continues talking quietly and you get the sense that the two know each other well.  Martin's companion flicks his eyes up when you shift your weight, finally drawing Martin's attention to you.

As Martin turns, his smile is the first thing you notice. He's already grinning, lips tilted in that devilishly handsome way that has you feeling like you're free falling, wind whizzing through your hair, and Martin is the only one that can save you from certain disaster. You're so caught up in him that you don't realize how dressed up he's gotten for the occasion until he calls your name, his voice breaking your stare so you can sweep your eyes over him.

It is clear Martin has placed as much weight on tonight's events as you have. He's dressed as if he were attending a red carpet, minus the suit coat, which is a plus because you prefer the rolled up sleeves of his white button down. Martin's strong shoulders fill out the shirt perfectly. You swear the row of buttons down his chest are set to burst open at the slightest movement, not that you'd mind that happening. His black wingtip shoes shine, either brand new or just simply very well kept like the man wearing them. 

"Come join me solskin," Martin says, "I swear Antony doesn't bite." 

You lean on the chain railing in front of you to peer over the edge of the canal, not noticing any steps. The water is higher than normal, which means you should be able to step onto the boat without issue, but you don't trust your clumsy self to do so without tumbling over the side and into the drink. Tonight of all nights, you'd rather not embarrass yourself. 

"How am I meant to get down there?" You ask, biting your lip when Martin's musical laugh sings over your skin. His laugh sounds like a snowy winter's day, curled up at the hearth with a hot cup of cocoa and a fuzzy blanket. In your daydream, you suppose there's room for a handsome Norwegian footballer at your side, too.

"I'll help," Martin says, offering his hand as he comes to your side. Without a second thought, you bend your knees one at a time to slip off your heels and hand them over. "That's not exactly what I meant solskin, but-"

"Could I have your coat? I'm sure you've brought one." 

Martin blinks, clearly contemplating what you're up to before he nods and disappears into the small cabin. He's in and out quickly, careful not to allow you more than a brief glance inside which reveals very little about what your date may entail. The mystery only serves to have you more excited, like a child waiting patiently to open the pile of gifts under the tree at Christmas.

"Thanks Mar," you murmur, unsurprised when he predicts your intentions and lays his jacket on the bricks at your feet. Polite as always, Martin averts his eyes as you maneuver to sit on the canal, feet dangling over the edge as you take the two foot leap onto the barge. The vessel sways with your sudden weight, forcing you to grip Martin's arms for balance until it rights itself.

"Careful," Martin murmurs, his warm hands finding your hips to steady you. When you look up, you're met by Martin's ridiculously perfect smile and those mischievous blue eyes. Until you met Martin, you never understood why everyone lost their heads over blue eyes. Now the hype is obvious; in the sun, Martin's eyes sparkle and shine like white-capped ocean waves. In the moonlight, they're deeper, like the depths of a lake that you yearn to explore and discover what secrets they hide. 

"Thank you for meeting me here," Martin says. "I'm glad you didn't mind me keeping it all a bit of a mystery. It's a good thing I did though, because I almost had to figure something out last minute because my original reservation got canceled- but Antony was kind enough to help me out so I could still bring you here."

Martin's little ramble is adorable. You note how he fidgets with the cuffs of his shirt, like one of your students when they're paired with their crush on an assignment. The childlike innocence in the action only has you falling harder, like you've tripped over your own two feet destined to hit the pavement, only to find Martin is there to catch you.

"I don't mind at all. I'm just happy I didn't have to do any of the planning because that sounds like it was a bit of a pain." Despite the warmth of Martin's hands, you shiver when a chilled breeze sweeps over the water. Martin realizes the temperature change and reaches for his jacket, placing it on your shoulders over your own. 

"Hopefully that will warm you up." Martin's tone is rich like warm caramel, brimming with a sweetness that makes your teeth ache nearly as much as your heart. 

"It definitely will, thank you." 

"Take her inside," Antony stage whispers behind his hand. The brunette winks when you glance over at him, then rolls his eyes as if Martin's mannerisms are nothing new to him. Perhaps they're old friends. It doesn't matter now- as Martin leads you inside, you find yourself smiling at how perfectly his hand fits in yours, like the puzzle piece you thought you'd never find finally snapping into place. 

"Watch your step. And your head," Martin adds, his free hand flying up to cover the square edge of the door frame as you stoop down to enter. The gesture is instinctual but sweet, intended to prevent you from hurting yourself. 

You aren't sure what you expected, but the candle lit dinner that awaits inside certainly exceeds your wildest dreams. A round, worn wooden table laden with snacks is situated in the middle of a U shaped bench. Latched oak cabinets with peeling white paint line the wall on your left with a niche for a small sink dotted with rust from years of use. A basket with a few wool blankets sit to the right of the door, which leads you to believe that one could sleep in this tiny space if they desired to. The whole thing is like something out of an old sailing catalog and feels somewhat like a time capsule to an age where the world was a freer, more enriching place. 

Martin's cologne washes over you when he reaches to flick a switch above your head to dim the lights until only the candles remain. You crane your neck to watch his deft work. Another switch and a dial adjusts the soft, instrumental music to his liking, and when he finally steps back you're dizzy from the soft sandalwood scent of him that lingers in your nose. 

"I hope this is alright. I didn't want to take you out to some fancy restaurant and risk being recognized or interrupted." 

"This is perfect," you assure him and take a seat on the yellow padded bench. Plates of finger sandwiches and bowls overflowing with fresh cut fruits align with Martin's easygoing personality more than the romantic vibe of your surroundings. You like it better this way however, especially when Martin pulls a bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the seat next to him and pours you a short glass. 

"I'll fill it when you're low, it's just better to not have a full glass incase we hit a little wave," Martin explains. "And I think this is your favorite, right?"

"Let me see." Martin is already in the process of spinning the bottle to show you the label when you speak. You grin at him, a hand on your chest when you note the vintage handwritten on the sticker. "It is- how did you even know that?"

"I asked Jen," Martin admits. Candlelight dances in his proud eyes, his smile shining brighter than anything in that moment. "She pointed me in the right direction. Like I said, I wanted tonight to be perfect."

"You've done plenty to make this perfect Mar. I'll admit I would've been happy with a home cooked meal or a trip to an arcade but this? Martin, this…" You shake your head, gesturing to the walls and windows to indicate the entire evening. "No one has ever gone through so much effort to make me feel appreciated like this. I know we've only just sat down, but this is already the best date I've ever had by far."

Hearing that seems to set Martin's mind at ease. His strong shoulders lose some of their strained rigidity. His face softens and his smile has butterflies stirring in your gut. 

How can Martin bring out your soft side so easily? You're not one to let your guard down quickly. Normally you keep your heart in a cage to shield it from hurt because you aren't sure how many more cracks it can handle. Something about Martin has you throwing your self-inflicted rules out the window. You aren't terrified of being used because somehow you know his intentions are genuine. 

"Atla was very upset when she found out that I was seeing you tonight and she wasn't allowed to come with me." Martin spoons some fruit onto his plate and spears a piece of pineapple with his fork. "She said I betrayed her trust, which seems like an awfully big phrase for a little girl to be using."

"Ah, then she's learning. Good to know that she's been paying attention to our books."

Martin quirks a brow, "Oh? I guess that's a positive. What exactly are you reading her? I hope it's appropriate," Martin teases.

"Oh, I'm reading her Shakespeare," you say nonchalantly, ignoring the surprised look Martin throws your way as you throw his teasing energy right back at him. "She loves it! It makes sense that she's picking up some bigger, sophisticated words with how quickly we're flying through Romeo and Juliette. You should see her when we're reading a tense scene, she likes to act out the fights and the drama."

"Really?" Martin, for as intelligent as he is, can be a bit too trusting at times. You struggle to keep a straight face, covering up the beginnings of a smile by sipping from your glass. 

"Mhm, she picked it out all on her own. We started with Macbeth, and next we're probably going to move on to A Tale of Two Cities or something. She likes the old settings, you know?"

Martin hums, lips pursed as he tries to imagine Atla reading literature that most high schoolers would struggle through. "Wow, I didn't think Attie would be interested in anything like that, not when she's so young at least. I wouldn't have dreamed-"

You cut Martin off with a laugh that bubbles out of you in the most unflattering, unattractive way. It continues past the hand you have clamped over your mouth, catching Martin off guard until he laughs along with you. You'd be embarrassed if you weren't unafraid of being yourself with Martin. He embraces your quirks, especially the bits that make you, you.

"Mar I'm kidding," you wheeze when you're able to catch your breath. "I wouldn't read that to a student! Gosh, she's far too young for something like that!"

"Good because I was gonna start questioning your teaching ability! I was thinking whether or not I'd need to report you… I'm glad I don't have to make that decision!" Martin laughs, running a hand through his blonde hair. The few strands that stick straight up only add to his natural charm, somehow making him more attractive. You find yourself wondering if his locks are as soft as they look. If you ran your own hand through them, would they fall flat again or would they leave the same endearing spikes behind?

When the laughter fades, a comfortable silence falls as you both snack on the array of snacks provided. Silences normally feel stagnant and bloated with words left unsaid, which is why you avoid them as often as possible. But it isn't that way with Martin. The quiet is comfortable and for once you don't feel the need to fill it with a random story from your childhood or an out of pocket fact about architecture. With Martin, you embrace the lack of speech and instead focus on the soft music playing from a hidden speaker. 

At one point you peel back the curtain to peek outside and are greeted with a stunning view of the Tower Bridge. The lights of the city create rippling constellations on the Thames. When you've had your fill of drinking in the city, Martin asks about your hometown, your family, your friends, anything and everything to keep you chatting. You ask him questions of your own when he leaves you space to interject, but overall he seems more interested in getting to know the real you than letting you past his walls. 

That's fine, you can work with that. This is only one singular date, the first of many if you're hopeful. Seeing as you've not embarrassed yourself yet, there's every reason to believe Martin will ask you on a second, and at that time you can turn the tables on him and learn what makes him tick. 

Martin checks his watch and smiles to himself. "If you peek outside again, you should see the parliament building, I always forget the name. But I know you said one day that you wanted to see it from the water, so I thought why not do that tonight?"

"No way!" Throwing all manners out the window, you grip the windowsill with your fingertips and haul yourself around to confirm what he's said. "How did you remember that? I mentioned it ages ago!"

"I remember most of what you say, all of the important things at least."

Luck is a fickle thing. Is it finding a four leaf clover in a field of threes, or is it finding a penny on heads? Luck can be waking up on time when an alarm isn't set, or it can be this: landing a date with the man of your dreams, who goes out of his way to ensure you're aware that he values you as much as you value him. 

*********

An hour later, Martin's rented boat has docked where your journey began. Martin helps you climb to street level, where the two of you now walk aimlessly at a leisurely pace. 

Martin's expectations for tonight hadn't been high. He's surprised by how easy it is to talk to you. You take turns asking baseless, silly questions, like how impossible it is that some people find pineapple to be a suitable pizza topping. Neither of you are willing to let the night end, but when you begin to shiver, Martin knows he cannot be selfish any longer.

"Can I drive you home?" Martin asks finally. "You're on my way anyway, so you can't say it would be an inconvenience to me. And by the way, I would still offer if you lived across the city."

"Yes, I think you can. I'd appreciate that, Mar, thank you." 

Martin's eyes are stuck on your smile. It consumed his thoughts for days, made his own lips tingle with the need to feel them pressed to yours, to discover whether you taste as sweet as you smell. Martin wonders, not for the first time, if you think of him at night the way he does of you. He needs to know, sooner rather than later. All it would take is him leaning forward a few inches and he would know.

But Martin can't shake the intuition that moving too fast with you might be a mistake. And it's not just the fact that he hasn't kissed anyone in three years. It's that he doesn't want you to write him off as just another man who wants nothing more than to take you home and undress you. Martin wants more than that. He wants to know what lies beneath the surface. He has too many unanswered questions to let you slip away from him because he can't think of anything but how you might feel pressed against him. 

Plus, he has a daughter at home. Martin can't just bring you over whenever he pleases, and he knows that as soon as he gets a taste of you, he'll be addicted. Once won't be enough; he'll need you every second of every day. 

"That Audi is yours, isn't it? It's very nice. I love the color." 

"It's just gray," Martin notes, thankful that you don't call him out for staring. "Nothing special. It's not even a premium color, it's just one off the showroom floor."

You shrug those elegant, slender shoulders. "Still, I think it's pretty. I don't know much about cars, but- oh!" You hold your hands over your head as the skies suddenly open up, the beginnings of a downpour rumbling in the clouds. Martin immediately slings his jacket off and holds it over you, shielding you from the rain as you both walk towards the car as quickly as your heels allow. 

Rain. Martin hates rain. It's slippery and dangerous and nothing good ever comes of it. Your foot slips as you step off the curb and Martin lurches for you, catching you in time to keep you upright.

"Please be careful," Martin says, more than a hint of panic in his voice. That familiar, unwelcome fear begins crawling its way up his throat. He hates this, he hates all of it. He should have insisted on getting you home earlier, when he could've been positive you'd be safe. Now it had to go and bloody rain, ruining a perfect night. 

"I'm okay Martin, really! I'm alright." You smile when he opens the passenger door for you. He takes your hand not to be polite but because his soul demands he ensures you're alright. When did his chest get so tight? Why are his fingers tingling? God, Martin can’t form a single coherent thought. 

Martin closes your door and stands in the rain for a few seconds, letting it pelt his skin. It's frigid. His shirt is stuck to his skin, probably semi transparent by now. He doesn't care. He lets the chill ground him until you knock on the inside of his window and break him out of his head. Martin hurries around to the driver's seat and starts the engine, messing with the climate controls and the lights until he's got them perfect. His mind is running faster than an Olympic sprinter and he can't hold onto a single thought longer than a second, except for one. 

Keep my solskin safe. 

Martin knows he holds no ownership over you. Certainly not after one date, and probably not ever. Not if he continues to act like a skittish cat who can't keep his head together. 

"Mar, are you alright?"

The soft melody of your voice breaks through his internal panic. Your fingers graze the back of his hand, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled. For once, Martin is thankful he's had the foresight to drown himself in cologne or else he’d probably stink to the heavens. 

"I'm fine," comes Martin's strained reply. He's not fine. He's anything but fine, actually. He'd rather knee slide on asphalt than drive in this sort of weather. And now he's meant to get you home safely? Martin isn't sure he trusts himself to do so.

"Do you not like driving in the rain?” There you go again, reading him like an open book. Just this once, Martin wishes he could be an enigma, that you couldn’t see into the depths of his mind with a single glance. “We could call an Uber, it would be fine-"

"No," Martin snaps. Regret washes over him in an instant when you blink, taken aback. You hide it well, but Martin still notices because it's you and he notices everything when it comes to you. He hates himself for it but he can’t help it, you distract him any time you’re close enough for him to smell your floral shampoo. 

"Okay, then we can sit here until it lets up a bit." You try to pry Martin's fingers off the wheel with a gentleness he does not deserve. He’s upset you and yet your instinct is still to try comforting him. 

"No," Martin repeats, softer this time. "I can do it." Martin pulls away from the curb using no more than a toe on the accelerator, his left foot hovering over the brake just in case. His eyes dart across the road and between all of his mirrors, on high alert for anything or anyone out of place. He doesn't realize you've turned the radio off until you clear your throat and it startles him. 

Martin is wound tighter than a two dollar watch, near his breaking point. His fingers ache thanks to his death grip on the wheel, his eyes fatigued from working overtime. Though he takes great, gasping gulps of air, his lungs feel starved of oxygen. He swears he smells perfume, which wouldn't be concerning, except for the fact that it isn't your perfume he smells, but that of someone else who used to occupy his passenger seat. 

"Mar? Just turn here, it's a touch longer but there's less traffic." 

Martin operates on autopilot to follow your directions, joints protesting due to the tension held in his muscles as he turns the wheel. Martin swears under his breath when the car behind gets a touch too close for comfort. He's well aware that to the average person it was an acceptable distance, but in all honesty, Martin would rather be the one and only vehicle on the road at this moment in time. 

Martin counts his lucky stars when your house comes into view. Nothing tragic has happened on this trip, and he can finally relax knowing you're home safe. Getting himself back in one piece, on the other hand…

"I have a guest room." Martin swears you can read his thoughts. "You could spend the night, I think there's some sweatpants in one of my drawers that my brother left behind at some point… you don't have to drive home in this awful weather, Mar."

There is little Martin detests more than pity. Of all the emotions that compose the human experience, pity is one of the few Martin wishes to eradicate. Since Maria died, Martin has received an endless stream of 'poor Martin, being a single parent is a struggle, you must be struggling all on your own' or sentiments along those lines. He hates knowing other people think that he becomes small when faced with a challenge. It's just rain- Martin won't let a spout of nasty weather defeat him. 

"I'll be fine," Martin says, mindful of his tone. Over the years he's found it easier to mask his true feelings by ensuring his voice remains level and even. On the pitch, letting your opponent know you're afraid can be the first domino that falls in defeat. In life, it's much the same. Martin refuses to let you see the side of him that he has fought so hard to protect. 

"If you say so." You fiddle with the straps on your bag, searching outside the car for a distraction. Martin forcibly drags himself into the present, pushes any thoughts of the past from his mind. 

"I'll walk you to your door. Wait there?" When you nod, Martin grabs his jacket and comes around the passenger side, doing his best to shield you from the lingering storm that insists on ruining the perfect night. You climb the handful of steps slowly, like someone reluctant to come home because they know they're in for a scolding. Except in this case it should be Martin that is reluctant, because he doesn't want to leave you with a sour impression. 

You crowd closer to Martin under the safety of the awning. This close, he can see the tiny hairs plastered to your forehead but he doesn't care, he still thinks you're as gorgeous now as you were when you peered at him over the canal railing. He'll take you dressed up, dressed down, or looking like you went for a dip in the ocean; he doesn't care, as long as he's with you and you're safe. 

"Be careful on your drive home, will you? Don't go crashing and ruining that pretty face of yours." 

Why does the universe insist on constantly reminding Martin what he's lost? 

"I'll let you know when I've made it home," is Martin's tense reply. It's not your fault that your joke hit his fears squarely on the head. He hates that he can't forget and move on. 

"Well… goodnight Mar." 

In romance novels, this is the part where the love interest initiates a passionate kiss. The main character will act surprised but really she saw it coming; she's planned for it after all. If Martin were living in one of those novels, he'd brush the hair off your cheek and cup your jaw, tilting you towards him for the mind-blowing, earth-shattering kiss that he's dreamed of for weeks.

But Martin is a rational man, as most Scandinavians are. He is not in the headspace to facilitate such romantic gestures, nor does he want his first kiss with you to be overshadowed with thoughts of Maria. 

God, Maria. Martin misses her. For half a second, Martin swears the light tints your eyes the same shade of vibrant blue that he called home for so long, there and gone in a flash. Guilt hits him like a freight train, knocking him right back to square one. 

"Goodnight, solskin." 

You catch Martin's wrist when he turns to leave. Before he can open his mouth to ask why, you rise up on your tiptoes and press your plush, soft lips to his cheek. Immediately, Martin's soul rights itself. His vision clears, his mind quirks, and he finds his center. You replace the fear in his bones with a calm that he only ever experiences with a ball at his feet or with Atla in his arms. 

Perhaps home, too, is a fickle thing. Sometimes it's rings on fingers accompanied by promises of forever. A family can feel like home too, with children running and laughing, creating messes and memories. Other times it's rain-soaked cheek kisses that speak greater volumes than a thousand words. Home can be as simple as this: feeling one's semblance of self return, thanks to no more than a smile on the lips of a woman one admires. 

#oof this is a long one #martin odegaard #martin Ødegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard fantasy #arsenal fc #jac writes #alt timeline lover

[stardusted-bookworm]

Wednesday was…puzzled to say the least. The object of her confusion was not one of her expertise. But… it was one of her— Wednesday shuddered. To ask that woman for help…the idea itself was torture, and not the good kind.

If there was one thing that Wednesday loathed more than asking for advice, it was not knowing. So she swallowed her pride and did the one thing she'd never done since she came to Nevermore: she called her mother.

Of course, her mother wasn't alone. No, as expected, the crystal ball revealed her mother to be devouring her father's face.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Mother, stop trying to consume Father. I have matters to discuss with you."

Morticia Addams glanced sideways, mouth still connected to Gomez. When she saw Wednesday, however, that changed.

"Oh, Gomez, look! Our little rain cloud has phoned home." Her mother sounded thrilled to see her, if not a little surprised. It was vomit-inducing.

"Mother, I do not wish to engage in pleasantries. I have concerns most pressing, and unfortunately, you seem to be the only one who might have the answers." She raised an eyebrow. "Was your statement that I would be able to ask you for advice simply a lie?"

Morticia's eyes seemed to sparkle. "No, dear, of course not! What would you like to ask?"

Wednesday's eyes darted to her father. "Father, I would like to discuss this with Mother privately."

Gomez appeared shocked. What a useless emotion. "Of course, Wednesday. Whatever you desire." He kissed his wife for longer than Wednesday would have liked but eventually faded out of the view of the ball.

Wednesday focused on her mother with serious intent. "I know you will just tell him later, but I did not wish to talk about this in front of him. It's embarrassing."

Morticia cocked an eyebrow, surprised at her admission of embarrassment no doubt. "What exactly are we discussing, my little viper?"

Wednesday looked around, making sure no one else was listening. Enid was having a girls' night with Yoko and wasn't in the room. This caused something to stab at what Wednesday assumed was her heart. She didn't know what it was, and it bothered her.

She turned back to Morticia. "Mother, I have a question…for research purposes."

"Okay?"

"How do you know if someone likes you? In a more-than-a-friend way?" Wednesday full body cringed after she finished her sentence.

If it was possible, Morticia's eyebrow shot up even higher. "Oh? What could possibly cause you to research this?"

Heat shot up her neck. She hoped it was a symptom of a fatal disease.

"Someone I know has a roommate who enjoys physical touch, like hugs. This person I know does not like physical touch, but recently, they haven't minded touch from this person specifically. In fact, one could even say—" Wednesday shuddered— "that they were beginning to enjoy this affection."

Morticia looked at her with a knowing smile. "Does…this person you know…feel their heart begin to speed up as if suffering from a cardiac condition?"

"Why, yes. How did you know?"

"Mother's intuition. Does this person you know feel like they want to be around this person more and more, constantly longing for that person's attention and company?"

For the first time in a very long while, Wednesday found herself squirming under her mother's gaze. "Yes…" she said hesitantly.

Morticia smiled. "Then, I would say you like Enid as more than a friend, but that truly is up to you to decide, darling."

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to." Her mother's eyes sparkled with barely hidden amusement. "A mother always knows."

Wednesday was forced into silence. She couldn't deny her mother's claim.

"For the record," Morticia continued, "I think Enid is a lovely girl and would make a wonderful partner if that's what you decided you wanted."

"Thank you, Mother, for that valuable insight, but it seems our connection is growing turbulent. Goodbye," and she abruptly severed the call.

Wednesday placed her hands flat on the desk, breathing harshly through her nose. That was not the result she had wanted but somehow knew it was the one she was going to get.

She sat up straight and without turning around said, "Are you going to stay outside the door all night, Enid."

There was a moment of silence before the door to their room slowly opened, revealing a sheepish looking Enid.

"How much of that did you hear?" Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she stood.

"None of it!" her roommate replied quickly. Too quickly.

Wednesday fixed her with a deadpan look.

The werewolf looked down. "All of it…"

There it was. Wednesday's worst fear confirmed. But she did not deflect like she normally did.

"And? What is your opinion on the matter?"

Enid looked up again, eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. "Oh, Wednesday!"

She crossed the room in a few strides until she had Wednesday's hands in her own. "I like you as more than a friend, too!"

Wednesday found she didn't want to immediately pull away from Enid's warmth. How peculiar.

"Then it's settled. We are more than friends."

Enid rolled her eyes. "Emotions aren't a transaction, silly."

She kissed Wednesday's cheek. The goth's eyes went wide in shock. She pulled away from Enid.

"Don't push your luck."

But the pastel girl's eyes just sparkled in amusement. "Don't worry. You'll warm up to it."

And against all odds…Wednesday found she didn't much mind that idea.

#wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wednesday