#figure out what *you* like to write and what you're naturally drawn to

[pastafossa]

Hi pasta!

Good luck with the storm and also fingers crossed your fiberglass nightmare ends soon <3

I wanted to start writing some matt x reader one shots, but I’m kinda new to writing. Do you have any tips on how to start and actually finish anything?

Ty! I know the room will be worth it in the end because it desperately needed some insulation, but damnnn this is just a nightmare that I'd like to be over LOL.

I can give some tips on starting and finishing, absolutely!

Remember that there's no real pressure with fanfic - it's either for fun or something you can use to hone your skills. This means that either way, it's ok if it's not perfect. You win just by writing, learning something new, or enjoying yourself, so try to remember that if the anxiety monster grabs hold and wants you to give up.

There will be a point while you're writing where you'll likely think what you're writing sucks and should be burned. This happens with every art form, whether it's painting or writing or wood carving. Just shove the screaming voice in a box and tell yourself you can fix it in editing (truth).

Tropes are fun for a reason, so my advice is to start small and pick a beloved trope you can do a fun little drabble on where there's an obvious endpoint. Think Matt having the sniffles and needing care, or him and reader trying to bake Christmas cookies (flirtations and smut optional). These have the benefits of having a clear end which can help when you're worried about finishing. The cookies get baked, or Matt starts feeling better, so there's always this neat little finish line you can direct yourself towards.

You can also grab something from a prompt list! It can be a kiss prompt list, or a hurt/comfort one, smut, fluff, etc. Things with action generally work nicely for one-shots; quotes can be a little harder, but don't be afraid to look at those if you want to try!

If you can't figure out how to start, consider trying this: skip a lot of the initial stuff. If they're baking cookies, you can jump right into, say, Matt coming home to Reader who's already got the ingredients out and ready to mix, and the oven turned on. It'll be made pretty clear in the scene and via dialogue what's happening, so you don't need to include grocery shopping and deciding and finding the recipe, etc etc. This way you can jump right to the fun stuff.

Don't worry about wordcount. When you're new to something, it's alright if it's short, although you might end up going longer!. If you were playing a game and starting at a low level, smacking at a dragon with 50k hitpoints doesn't make a whole lot of sense. You start with rats you can easily shank in 3 hits as you level up. If you have a clear end point (boom, cookies), and a topic you know you can kill, then all you have to focus on is getting there.

When you're writing, just try to write. Let it all flow, get the words out, run with your story idea. I know some people argue about editing as they go, but in my experience, this doesn't work. Editing as you go slows you down, it makes you second guess yourself, and you begin to doubt what you're writing. You're way more likely to stop writing. What you want is word vomit, because absolutely everything can be fixed in editing. This is what I do for TRT and one shots, and it's served me well. Spelling errors? Ignore them. Clumsy sentences? Fix them later. Get your idea out while the muse is hot and save editing for the next day after everything is done.

I hope these tips help! The biggest thing is honestly to just jump. When I first started writing fic as a preteen, my stuff was about the quality level you'd expect, but that's just because I was new to it, and I'd never have gotten to where I am if I'd stopped. Just takes some learning and leveling up. <3

#ask response #writing tips #writing is like leveling in a game #you start at level one and you stab rats 50k times #and eventually you can stab a dragon #but you gotta stab the rats first #so don't be afraid to pull your writing knife out and shank every gd one you see #TRY ALL THE TROPES #try all the genres! #try prompts and short scenes and moods #whatever you think might interest you #figure out what *you* like to write and what you're naturally drawn to #fanfic is the absolute best place to cut your teeth on writing to see if you like doing it #so go for it and word vomit your ideas onto a page #and then read it over a few times for editing and see what happens #maybe it looks like a rat #but that's ok cause i can assure you rats become spiders become bears become lions become ogres become dragons #or you may decide you like sudoku or animal crossing better #and that's ok too

[fuckaperioddrama]

Blaise Zabini Headcanons

Warnings: Mentions of Sex | Mentions of Oral (Fem Receiving) | Fingering | Bondage | Mentions of Drug and Alcohol Consumption | I think that's it?? Let me know if I missed something

Author’s Note: I've grown to love Blaise. I will write one for Draco and maybe Tom, but I have some other stuff I want to write first. My drafts are filling up.

Proofread, but there's ALWAYS mistakes. Ugh.

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Mattheo Riddle Headcanons

Lorenzo Berkshire Headcanons

Tom Riddle Headcanons

Draco Malfoy Headcanons

Masterlist

Minors DNI | 18+

___

Blaise Zabini | Physique

6’2 - 6’3 | Same height as Mattheo

Lean build and naturally athletic. Very toned.

His V line??? No words.

He gives me major jock vibes in terms of how he looks.

I feel like he also looks super clean?

I don't know if that makes sense. Like skin glowing, clothes freshly pressed, very clean and nice hands. He looks like someone who has their life together.

Resting bitch face. Always looks uninterested and unamused.

Besides that, he has a really nice smile. It changes his whole aura.

Really nice teeth. When he smiles, your eyes are immediately drawn to his mouth.

His smile is just so warm and comforting.

He's really pretty?

Intimidatingly pretty, it's like he doesn't have a single bad feature.

Blaise Zabini | Personality

The best one in the group. Genuinely. Still has asshole tendencies, but there's no doubt that he's the nicest one.

He was raised by a strong woman and never had a consistent father figure in his life.

While this left its scars, it made him into someone who really respects women and their opinions.

Unlike his friends, he doesn’t see them as pieces of meat.

He has a lot of different friend groups. He hangs out mostly with the boys, but he’ll make an appearance in the other groups from time to time.

He's not friendly, but he's polite. He won't approach a random person, but if they approach him he won't brush them off.

They never get much out of him. He’s very short, not trying to carry the conversation and uninterested.

The people who don't know him think he's just like that and the people who do know him know he's hinting that he wants them to go away.

Judgemental and stubborn.

He has his way of doing things and if you do it differently then he thinks you're annoying. He doesn't get mad, just agitated.

He won't always say what's on his mind, but he'll show it through his facial expressions.

He's so funny. He has this big tough guy exterior, but he can be so sassy.

Draco will walk out in a new suit he just bought

Cost me quite a lot. I look good don't I?

Blaise will just lightly screw his face up in distaste.

Mm.

He doesnt even have to say anyting to be a bitch.

Don't ever cross him. He will make you regret every life decision you ever made.

He's so observant, he notices everything. He picks up on every mistake, every insecurity, and will point them out just to get back at someone.

Seriously. He will bring you to tears if you piss him off.

But when he's really hurt by someone or something he becomes very stoic. He will never break down in private, but never in public.

Nervous breakdown in the closet, tears, snot, the whole lot. Then he’ll walk out looking completely fine.

He is really good at putting himself together in a pinch.

Will NEVER speak up when he's suffering and he hates it when people know about the things he's going through.

A bit of a loner, but like Theo he makes appearances at parties and big events because he's from a good family. He feels like it’s expected of him.

He's an unintentionally social person. People just start talking to him out of nowhere and he lets them.

Mainly because he likes to know stuff about people.

Blaise wants the tea. He wants to know who did what and why they did it.

He and Draco have a little debrief each week to talk shit. He would never miss it.

A keeper in Quidditch

Once again, all of the boys smoke some weed from time to time. Blaise partakes in both alcohol and weed equally.

Definitely a dark liquor man

Pretty pretentious when it comes to alcohol. He hasn't even tried the cheap stuff. Never will.

He travels to distilleries to handpick his own bottles and barrels. Knows a lot about how to make whiskey, bourbon, etc. It's a little fun fact about him. | I know this is so random, but I feel like this just suits him???

Blaise Zabini | Casanova

Blaise is a pretty straightforward person.

He's not really classified as a manwhore, but he also doesn't believe in celibacy either.

He hooks up every now and then. At least 1-2 girls a month. It's very casual.

There's not a lot of buildup. He doesn't spend days pursuing these women. It's usually 2 hours or 10 minutes.

He decides he wants sex and finds a girl he thinks is attractive.

Has NEVER been turned down. It's crazy. He can talk up anyone. Such a smooth talker.

Blaise doesn’t fuck, he makes love.

He he pays attention to how their body reacts and quickly learns how to please them.

He's slow and passionate. Loves missionary.

But there's not a lot of emotion on his part. Not very vocal either.

He likes to touch and feel, he's not wasting time on words.

Aftercare is average but it’s there which is more than I can say for any of the other boys.

He'll clean them up afterwards and then place a joint in his mouth while he pours himself and them glass of whiskey. Wanna smoke?

If the they reach out to him then he'd be down to have sex again maybe, but he doesn't reach out to anyone after they hook up. He always finds a different person.

He has a three and done rule for the people he does see again. Will never hook up with a single person more than three times because he doesn't want to catch feelings or vice versa.

Doesn't date. That's it. He makes it very clear to everyone around him that he isn't a relationship person. He doesn’t lead anyone on and is very blunt about his intentions.

He says he has no interest in it, but deep down he’s really afraid of intimacy and vulnerability.

He’s got commitment issues

Blaise Zabini | Friend

Closest to Theo and Draco. They’re on the same level.

Second closest to Tom. He and Tom are the ones who sit back and watch the chaos unfold.

More so Tom because Blaise will usually end up putting a stop to it eventually.

Blaise is the glue that holds everyone together. They would genuinely fall apart without him.

He is the only person who can boss them around. No one gets it, but they just listen to Blaise?

Blaise doesn’t talk much, even around the boys. So when he does talk people have to pay attention. His voice is very deep and naturally assertive. He can silence a room with one word.

Blaise really helps the boys grow.

Blaise makes them better people because he has the most empathy.

Instead of taking his pain and turning it into anger, he turned it into understanding. He really tries to see everyone’s perspective and why they do what they do.

Whenever the boys get into arguments and are so wrapped up in their own pride Blaise is the one to remind them to think about how the other person feels.

Devil's Advocate. Usually a middle man. It’s rare he’s involved in confrontations.

The boys don't take care of Blaise in return because he won't give any indication he needs taken care of.

Except Theo. He knows Blaise doesn’t want to talk about what he’s going through, but he notices the difference in his demeanor. It's because they are very similar in how they handle their feelings.

It’s hard for Blaise to let loose and have fun. He’s usually very serious, but the boys are able to coax it out of him.

When Blaise does let loose he goes wild.

The most drunk, the most high, and he is running in every direction causing the most chaos. The boys are shocked each and every time and without fail always bring it up whenever they hang out.

Three months after the incident they’re all sitting in the common room and Lorenzo speaks up.

Hey Blaise? Remember when you got drunk and almost went home with that 70 year ol-

Remember when you knew how to shut the fuck up?

Blaise Zabini | Boyfriend

Gentle

He's so tender and sweet with you.

Blaise never yells at you. Ever.

I feel like Blaise also has this protector/provider mindset. He spent most of his life taking care of his mom and making promises to her that he would never turn out like the men she married. The men she had to get rid of.

It's part of the reason why it took him so long to let himself fall in love. He felt a lot of pressure to get it right and make his mom proud.

Blaise isn't big on PDA. He thinks it’s showy and unnecessary, he'd much rather show his affections in private. Physical Touch

Blaise still likes to keep you close to him despite not being big on PDA. Like Mattheo he finds comfort in knowing you're safe. But Blaise won't reach out to touch you, he’ll just make sure he's in your space.

Letting your legs touch as you sit together, walking so close through the hallways that your hands graze with each sway of your arm, standing directly behind you so much so that your back is pressed flush against his chest.

You always know he's there.

Then there's private touches.

He'll send you a note to meet him in the Room of Requirement after class.

The second your foot steps into the room you're pulled into his embrace. You feel the weight of his shoulders melt away as he slumps into your touch. Pulling back he traces his finger tips up your arm, moving past your shoulder and neck before gently cupping your face in his hands. He doesn't say anything, just staring at you while his eyes scan every feature from the tip of your hairline from the bottom of your chin.

Are you okay?

Yeah, I'm okay. He mutteres pushing his face down and connecting his lips to yours. I just missed you.

When you're standing in the hallway he'll softly squeeze your hip for a couple of seconds to announce his presence.

Sometimes when you're walking with the group he'll grab your wrist and hold you back while the others keep going. Before you can even question it you feel his lips press against yours.

He smiles at you and you two bask in the couple seconds of tenderness hidden from the rest of the group.

Blaise doesn't feel the need to announce his love to everyone, just the one that matters. You.

He mainly shows his love through spending time with you and doing things he believes will make your life easier. Quality Time and Acts of Service

Blaise enjoys his alone time and will never hang out with someone unless he genuinely wants to.

You realize how much Blaise cares about you because he invites you to do the things he usually does by himself.

Sitting at the black lake to think, walking around Hogsmeade when he thinks too much, lounging in his room, savoring his drink and letting his breath calm with each exhale of his joint.

Blaise wants you there. Even when you're both not talking, he finds comfort in your presence.

He likes to take you to out as well. Blaise might take you out to an arcade, amusement park, or something fun every once in a while, but usually it's the more luxurious stuff. Wine tastings, fancy dinners, well hidden speakeasies. He always knows the best spots and he gets so excited to show them to you.

I feel like Blaise is a bit of a food snob and that would go over into your meals together.

He takes time explaining which wines go with which dish and he knows the backstory of the chef and where they got their training. He'll explain how to eat certain things in order to experience the most flavor. He can go on and on about it and you just let him because Blaise doesn't get excited about much. It's nice to hear him go on a rant every once in a while.

And while at these dinners Blaise is the perfect gentleman.

Pulls out your chair, holds the door for you, pays for everything.

Blaise prefers to be the one who pays, but he'd let you if you asked to. He likes to tease you about it if ever you end up paying. He'll wink at you before saying,

Thank you for dinner, my love. Now let me take care of dessert.

Blaise also likes to take care of you by making sure everything is pristine. I feel like he likes to stay clean and organized, so in turn he'll help you stay clean and organized.

Tidying up your room, organizing your desk, and if you have some items that are in disarray he'll replace them with newer versions.

It can start some small arguments if you're someone who prefers things a little messy.

Blaise, I don't need new shoes.

Yes, you do. Look! Theres a little hole right there.

I like the hole! I like how messy they look!

But WHY??

Then one day you come back to find brand new a box under your shoes. Rolling your eyes you put the fresher pair before heading out for the day.

Blaise sees you and instantly breaks out into a smile.

They're just going to get ruined like the last pair.

Then I'll go out again and buy you some more.

Gift Giving

Blaise likes to match.

I hate matching couple stuff, but it makes sense for him.

He buys you guys matching rings, matching shoes, necklaces.

If he goes out to buy himself a suit then he's getting you a dress that goes with it. Double of every shirt, every jacket, sweater.

He'll buy you a set of lacey blue lingerie and surprise you with a pair of briefs the exact same color. So we can be equally sexy.

Blaise is also a flower guy, but he likes to put together his own bouquets. Not himself, but he hand picks everything. He won't go to a florist and buy the bouquets on display. You're too special for that. He hand picks the best flowers, and takes time thinking about which ones will go best together.

He spends months planning out gifts for birthdays, Valentine's Day, anniversaries, etc.

Blaise makes a note of everything you like. I think he actually has a little piece of paper where he writes a whole bunch of potential gift ideas and information about you.

A dress you said you wanted, if you like gold or silver jewelry, favorite foods, flowers, etc. Sometimes when he's stumped he'll reference the list so he's able to put together presents for you.

Blaise also likes to write letters to you. Words of Affirmation.

It's easier for him to put it on a piece of paper rather than say it aloud.

You'll find little notes of encouragement in your bag before a test.

Notes telling you he loves you that he spelled to end up in your pocket.

He also includes letters in the gifts he gives you. Every single one to add his own personal touch to whatever he buys.

"I know I'm not a man of many words. Even though I've grown comfortable in my silence, I've still never found myself unable to articulate my thoughts into words. I've always been the type of person who was quick witted and knew the right things to say. But with you? With you all of my thoughts fade. You've driven me to stupidity. A silent idiot who can think of nothing more than how much I care for you. How much I love you. It may be hard for you to understand why I can't say this aloud very often. I can barely understand it myself. Just know that my love for you is always there. Even when my body falls, my love will live everywhere. The spot where we first kissed, first danced, or had our first date. Each of these places will hold our memories and our love. It'll make us infinite. Then we will live again and again and I get to fall in love with the best part of me over and over for the rest of all of our lives.

Happy anniversary, my love. I look forward to each and every one.

-Blaise"

Blaise Zabini | Committed Lover

Once again, Blaise doesn't fuck. He makes love.

He takes his time. Kissing you slowly, moaning as tongue slips into your mouth and his hands move to your shirt.

One by one he pops each button, taking his time to let his hands wander once your shirt is fully opened.

He doesn't want to rush, especially with you.

Like Mattheo, Blaise just enjoys the act of pleasing you.

He will spend ages tasting you, feeling you, bringing you to immense pleasure every single time.

He needs to make you cum at least 3-4 times before he even considers himself.

And then he'll lay you down gently, looking into your eyes as he gently brushes the hair out of your face. You're perfect.

He reaches down and grabs ahold of his length, moving it through your folds before positioning himself at your entrance. His eyes stay on you, looking for any signs of discomfort. Is this alright? Are you okay?

Blaise's number one priority is to make sure you enjoy sex the entire time.

Blaise is far from vanilla though. In fact?

...Blaise LOVES to be dominated

A SUB!!!!

When he's on top he doesn't talk a lot, even with you. It’s just a lot of moans and sighs. His main focus is on the feeling of it all and making sure you’re okay.

When he's a bottom???

VOCAL!! SO VOCAL!!

How does it feel pretty boy?

Ahhh! AH! I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Please fuck me! I'll be good! I promise!!

I don't know, Blaise. Only good boys get to fuck me. Do you think you were being a good boy?

Blaise had an attitude with you earlier. He was having a bad day and rolled his eyes at you when you asked him a question. You don't even remember what you asked. You just remember the look on Blaise's face when you raised your eyebrows at him. He knew he shouldn't have done that.

Now he was held down, your tie comfortably around his wrists as his arms were positioned to stay above his head. Your hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly. Too slow.

I'm a good boy! Fuck! I'm your good boy! I'll never do it again! Just plea-Oooooooh fuck.

You had your back turned to him, ass in his face as you pushed yourself down on his long, hard cock. You began to bounce, going to his tip and dropping down, your skin slapping against each other with movement.

Did you forget your manners?

Your head turns slightly to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, mouth pressed together as he struggled to hold himself together. Not like you were making it any easier.

I-I. Mmmmmm...Ugh! Thank you!

You're welcome, baby.

It’s such a contrast. Seeing the once cool demeanor Blaise demonstrated crumble as he turned into a blabbering and whimpering mess for you. Only for you.

#blaise zabini smut #blaise zabini #Blaise zabini headcanons #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys headcanons #slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott #lorenzo berkshire #draco malfoy #tom riddle #enzo berkshire #theo nott #theo nott smut #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys fic #slytherin boys react #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys headcanon #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle

[yrluvjane]

thankyou for writing the req. it was so so so sweet. i have like so many ideas, i love that you wanted more. like we know our dear Jamie is a simp, right? like in the best way of course. how about a reader who could give James a run for his money? like it's well known that she flirts with everyone and never means it. it's kind of her personality. very James coded actually. like she looks like she's a little in love with all her friends. and our boy cannot figure out if she likes him or is just being her usual self.

Send them all! Even if I can't write them, I die just reading them! It's a bit late I'm so sorry darling, i had my exams and i just finished them today.

You've always been popular, always the life of the party, always the center of attention. No matter where you went, people always seem to gravitate towards you, drawn to your charismatic charm and energy. And you can't help but be flattered, of course. It's always nice to have so many friends, and so many admirers.

James was always amazed at how you interacted with others, making everyone feel special in their own way.

It's the way you can make everyone feel like the center of attention, the way you can bring out the best in people, the way you can make everyone in the room laugh. It's like you're the master of all social skills. You could chat up a stranger in an elevator, make them feel like a friend in minutes.

At first, James was reluctant to admit - to himself and others - that there may be a chance he was developing feelings for you. He thought it was just another example of your natural charm, but as time went on, he realized that he was falling hard. He always found himself seeking you out at every party or event, hoping to spend just a few more minutes in your company. He found himself longing for your laughter, your smile, your touch.

But then, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy whenever he saw you smiling at someone else or laughing at their joke. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, who made you laugh.

In the beginning, it was subtle. James would always find ways to touch you - small caresses, quick grazes - to grab your attention, to make you feel special.

He would laugh at your jokes, even the bad ones.

And yet, he could never quite figure out if you felt the same.

And then, one day, he asked you on a date.

James hesitated at first, afraid of what the answer might be, but then he thought of the regret he would feel if he didn't take the chance.

You said yes.

But even then, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. You were always flirtatious, and James didn't know if your yes was genuine or simply a continuation of your open personality.

"What if she doesn't actually like me? What if she thinks i just meant like a friend-date?"

Sirius scoffed, "James, don't be ridiculous. She wouldn't have said yes if she didn't want to go on out with you. And I wouldn't be anywhere near here if I thought all this preparing would be a waste of time. You can't back out now, you've been waiting months for this!"

James wasn't sure if were months but yeah maybe he was counting down the days to this. He had carefully selected his outfit, making sure everything was just right. And he had prepared himself for the date, researching the perfect conversation topics and making sure he had a backup plan in case the conversation ran dry. He's tongue has gone awfully numb from the amount of minty breath spray he'd sprayed and fingers aching from running them through his hair all the time.

He turned and looked himself in the mirror jumping lightly on his heels. "I've got this," James told himself. "I can be confident, charismatic, and charming - just like I am in every other aspect of my life." He rolled back his shoulders.

Sirius stared at his friend in amusement, as James continued his self-motivation. "I'm awesome. I'll show her that."

James faced his friend with a new found confidence, "I'm ready!" He declared as though he would be walking into battle.

"That's the spirt, Prongsie!...Where are you going?"

"To wait for her."

"There's still an hour left."

"What if she arrives early? First impressions are very important. Can't have her think I'm some tardy twat." James smiled and winked at his friend as he walked through the door.

#marauders era #james potter #james potter x reader #harry potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #harry potter #james potter drabble #james potter fluff #james potter blurb

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor General Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, murder, mentions of torture, mentions of Feitan carving his initial into you, mentions of masturbation, stalking, jealousy, threats, Feitan tortures a man in front of you, I stand by the (semi) soft creepy yandere Feitan agenda and I will not be swayed otherwise, this got super long I'm so sorry, I'm also delirious as I'm writing it so hopefully it makes coherent sense/is consistent, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Empathetic

In general, Feitan finds his attention drawn by a darling who is almost the complete opposite of himself.

He wants someone sweet and caring, all soft and squishy and warm. He’s never found this particularly attractive before meeting his darling, but there’s something oddly endearing about the way they’re always trying to help those around them, fruitlessly asking them to vent about their feelings, to use them as a supportive shoulder. 

It makes him scoff, rolling his eyes and wondering at how impossibly naive his darling can be, but even he can’t deny how nice it is to have someone by his side, a human presence that’s steady and calm and understanding. It makes him feel good, a warm sensation bottling up in his chest and threatening to explode out, and although he’ll never really come clean with how he feels for you (at least, he never will verbally), a darling who can kind of read his rather emotionless face would be a very, very big attraction for him. 

He just wants a darling who can understand him, even if his rational brain loathes the idea. An empathetic darling is sure to draw his attention, if only because he’ll be mildly revolted and intrigued by how they can be so selfless and so foolish. 

Submissive 

Feitan doesn’t want a feisty darling. 

He doesn’t enjoy having to tame his lovers, and although he’s never really had a lover, he gravitates towards someone who is more naturally submissive and willing to follow direction. 

He already feels powerless enough in the situation, frustrated that he doesn’t really have any say in how he feels. It scares him, quite honestly, if only because he doesn’t like how easily and quickly he’s jumping to conclusions where his darling is concerned, more than willing to jump through any hoop necessary in order to get what he wants, in order to make sure his darling is safe and isolated from every other man on Earth. 

He likes knowing that his darling will do what he tells them to; it builds a layer of trust that makes Feitan go feral, and for every ounce of trust his darling gives him, he’ll try to return it as full heartedly as he can. He likes that he’s fully in control of his darling, and particularly if they were to be submissive in more… intimate aspects of the relationship, he’d be absolutely smitten.

He just wants his darling to revere him and believe his word as the word of God, and the moment that happens? 

He’s only falling deeper into obsession, his desperation for them growing with every beat of his heart, getting harder and harder to swallow until he gives up, jumping head first into every swirling, dark, lecherous desire he harbors. 

Soft

Of course, Feitan’s darling doesn’t have to have a softer body, but he can’t deny that there’s something enticing about a darling who is physically quite soft. Whether that’s rounder features, a plumper figure, or even a soft, demure voice, it all entrances Feitan. 

His darling is something of a dream to him, because he’s never really believed that someone that stereotypically weak could ever really survive in this world. He likes how his darling feels, the touches he sneaks late at night when they’re sleeping sending sparks up his spine and serving as fuel for when he’s unbearably horny, his hand around his cock not nearly enough. 

He’s prone to fantasizing about his darling, slipping into daydreams of his they’d feel in his lap, how they’d look with their ass up and face pressed into the mattress, how they’d feel so good wrapped around him. He just thinks it’s oddly endearing, and a darling who fits these characteristics would help initially draw his eye - he just thinks they’re pretty, a polar opposite to him, even going so far as to playing into some of his more protective traits. 

Of course, he’d rather die than admit any of it, but he’s interally a bit soft for his darling - they’re just alluring in an almost primal way he can’t describe, but he can’t fight it. He can’t fight anything when it comes to his darling, as it turns out, and soon Feitan will decide that he doesn’t care. 

After all, once his darling steps into his life and stays there, nothing at all matters - how can it, when he’s decided that they’re his, his woman to keep and admire and touch and fuck? 

(It will take him a very, very long time to get comfortable with either of the last two options, but the desire and sentiment is still there, if the frequent raging erections he gets as a result of his darling is any indicator.)

Talkative 

This trait is one of the things Feitan loves and hates most about his darling. 

He enjoys listening to them talk; he himself isn’t particularly fond of conversation, nor is he particularly talkative towards his darling in general. And so, a partner who is capable of filling the silence between them sometimes is something that makes Feitan grateful, if only because hearing the sound of their voice makes his breath hitch. 

And when they talk to him, all their attention aimed solely at him? 

Well, how can Feitan not be flattered, not feel a bit prideful that they’re spending their time directing all their focus and thoughts around whatever small question he prompted them with? He just likes listening to his darling go on and on, even if the topic doesn’t interest him much. However, the downside of this trait is that it creates a rather ugly combination with his tendency to grow jealous. 

If his darling is talkative with everyone, it’s sure to extend towards the men they meet, who just stare at them like they’re a slab of meat waiting to be devoured, all of them eager to get their hands on them and destroy what Feitan has claimed as his own. It’s infuriating, if only because it means that they’re interacting with others, putting themselves into a position where they could develop feelings for another man or be put into harm’s way or overhead something they shouldn’t have or any number of things. 

It becomes a massive liability, and one that Feitan is so, so very aware of. It irritates him, and as much as he loves when his darling is chatting with him, he’s not so approving when they're with others.

And so, it’s really in his darling’s best interest to reign in the conversations with anyone else - unless they want to see their blood splattered all over the walls, hear their cries, feel Feitan’s red soaked fingers grasp onto their arms and force them to see the results of their chattiness. It’s in their best interest, and they’ll learn that soon enough. Hopefully. 

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Distant 

There’s a part of Feitan that genuinely hates you for making him feel the way he does. The constant pounding of his heart when you’re merely mentioned, the throb in his chest when he’s gone too long without seeing you, the nervous twitch of his fingers when he thinks about what you’re doing, what other man you’re thinking about… 

He hates how paranoid you’ve made him, how so much of his time and energy goes into you. It’s your fault that he’s always distracted, that he’s not able to fully focus on his work anymore because he’s only able to think of you you you. It’s frustrating, and honestly it initially wards Feitan off from getting any closer to you - he doesn’t like the way he feels around you (that’s not true, but he needs it to be), so he’ll stay away and ignore you. Maybe that’ll get you to stop smiling at him so kindly, to quit asking him how his day was, to stop looking so pretty while you hum and make yourself dinner. 

As time passes, slowly this hatred diminishes (or at least dulls), instead replaced with a desperate, pathetic need to be around you; he just can’t keep himself away from you, no matter how hard he tries. It’s demoralizing, embarrassing beyond belief that someone like you could get his emotions so twisted, but it’s reality. 

He tries to fight it at first, believing himself to be above such stupid human emotion – he doesn’t need you, he’s a criminal and has never needed love or anything of the sort. And yet, each and every time he tells himself to not trail behind you as you walk to the grocery store, his resolve holds out for roughly five minutes. By then, there’s unwelcome thoughts drifting through his mind about what you’re doing, whether you’re talking to anyone, if you’ve managed to trip like you always do and scrape your knee. 

(There’s even a small, very small part of him that wonders whether you’re buying foods that are nutritious for you, or whether you’re doing your usual junk food spree. A thought pops up in the back of his head: him beside you in the store, scoffing as you place chips into the cart. He’d replace them with fruit, mumbling something about you being so stupid, only to see you smile at him and thank him, telling him how grateful you are to have him watching over you. His cheeks feel hot at that, and he buries his face deeper into his jacket, grumbling under his breath.) 

He’ll try to stop himself from circling back to you, but each and every time he finds some excuse of why he should be watching you, of how you aren’t really capable of taking care of yourself without his watchful gaze. It’s patronizing, more than anything, but eventually he’ll stop trying to fight it, submitting entirely and allowing himself the concealed pleasure of watching your horribly mundane life. 

He’ll need to be around you, constantly, but he’s still not willing to let his emotional guard down. No, you’ve done enough damage just simply existing - you absolutely cannot know how deeply he feels for you, how wrapped around your pinky finger you have him. Not only would it eliminate any semblance of leverage he holds against you (in order to stay above you, that is), it also showcases just how far the extent of his feelings for you run. 

And frankly, the thought terrifies Feitan – he’s never felt so strongly for anyone before, not even in the context of hatred or pleasure at their suffering. He’s in over his head, wading through waters he's always scoffed at and dismissed, and suddenly he’s finding himself nearly drowning, head always buried just under the surface. 

So he steels himself, grabbing onto any shred of control and power he can against you – he grabs on and clutches on, strong fingers frantically staying attached so that he doesn’t get blown away and truly drown. And even in the beginning of your captivity, Feitan won’t change the way he’s so detached. He’s purposefully putting distance between the two of you so that he can remain in control of the situation, in control of you, and – most importantly, and most concerningly – in control of himself. 

Because frankly, Feitan doesn’t trust himself around you. He doesn’t trust the way his body just does things, how any rational thought leaves his brain the moment your eyes meet, how fingers are already lifting up a bit to reach out touch you, to brush away stray pieces of your hair when you’re within a few feet of him. 

The biggest way he maintains this control is by not giving you a whole lot of attention, aside from one stark, grave exception: his dark eyes are constantly watching you. He’s always just sort of staring, his expression blank as he observes you, motionless and still. It’s unnerving, terrifying you initially and only slightly calming down as time passes, but Feitan doesn’t care much. 

He doesn’t necessarily want to interact with you, but just watching you allows him to be in your space, to be beside you, to smell you and listen to your breathing. You’re kept in one large room most of the time, and he’ll often sit in the chair in the corner and just stare. He’s not talking much, not trying to touch you or hurt you, but you almost wish he would sometimes. 

He just doesn’t understand what about you it is that attracts him so deeply, that’s morphed him into this lovesick fool, and while he initially tries to understand, eventually Feitan gives up, because does it really matter? 

Does it really matter how he became obsessed with you when you’re locked up in his spare bedroom, duct tape covering your mouth and an expressionless, frozen Feitan watching you with his heart practically bursting out of his chest? Does it really matter if he pinpoints exactly when he developed his love for you when you’re looking at him with those pretty tears in your eyes, whispering out a thanks as he sets the tray of food down in front of you? 

It really doesn’t, now that his feelings for you are formed and solidified, now that they can’t be changed or reversed. So while he’ll never be the most accessible and sympathetic to your feelings, rest assured that Feitan really does love you in some fucked up way - he’s just unorthodox, incapable of properly expressing himself to you. 

But actions speak louder than words, right? He’s always thought so.

Obsessive 

Because Feitan is relatively quiet and secretive when it comes to his feelings towards you, it’s difficult for you to really pick up on this aspect of him. You’re unlikely to ever truly understand just how much he feels for you, the sheer depth of emotions you cause him. 

He won’t ever tell you what’s going on behind that expressionless facade of his. He doesn’t tell you how oddly adorable you are when you’re sleeping in the early mornings, curled up in the corner of your room with your eyes shut and lips slightly parted, looking so soft and sweet and weak.

 He’ll never make you aware of how his breath hitches ever so slightly when you make eye contact with him, even if it’s shaky and you look away too quickly, his spine tingling because fuck, your attention feels good. 

You’ll never know why his foot is tapping lightly when you’re eating in front of him, the way those annoying nerves eat away at his stomach while he subconsciously wonders if you think he looks attractive today. (He’d trimmed his hair a bit, feeling it was too long and interfering with his work - do you like it? Did you notice? He’d hesitated a bit with the scissors earlier, brows slightly furrowing, dark eyes glancing at your sleeping form.) 

He’s very cryptic, and this tendency to keep you out of the loop of his personal thoughts and feelings can cast a shadow on his more obsessive tendencies. That is, before he’s stolen you away from the world, Feitan did an extensive amount of research into you. He does nothing on a whim - he’s a calculating man, and once he’d finally come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you weren’t going to disappear, he was scouring every resource possible to garner your information. 

He’s got access to all kinds of personal knowledge about you - your search history, for example. It’s a bit unexpected, if Feitan’s being honest - you’re much darker than he’d expected, the things you read about making him quirk a brow, his interest in you only deepening because hmm, seems the little sheep may be a bit of a wolf inside. 

He’s getting Shalnark to hack into the camera of your phone and computer, the stream of footage easy to access as he cleans his tools, blood washing away as you smile and laugh at some comedy you’re watching. 

It’s stupid and at first he pretends to find your laugh annoying. But then he sees the way your cheeks get all full and round as you smile, your eyes crinkling up, even the way you wheeze slightly when it’s really funny. 

(Briefly, he wonders whether you’d find his dry sense of humor entertaining.)

He’s got photographs of you from his time spent trailing you, and though they’re a bit blurry and not as focused as he’d like, they’re still something nice to pin to his wall, keeping his favorites beside his bed. He’s never had trouble sleeping, but something about looking at you as he drifts into slumber makes him rest more soundly, wake up more refreshed. 

Once you’ve been trapped with him for long enough, however, Feitan’s front of careful indifference to you will slowly begin cracking. You’ll never see fully through him, but you’ll catch the way the corners of his lips twitch up ever so slightly when you snuggle into the blanket he gives you one day, noticing how you’ve been shivering incessantly at night. 

(He won’t tell you the blanket was freshly stolen, that he’d made sure to take one with the softest, thickest material he could find, and even in your favorite color. It’s just a coincidence, so don’t read into it.) 

You’ll realize he’s slowly inched closer to you the longer you watch the television program Feitan turned on earlier, your spot on the couch feeling smaller and smaller as Feitan’s hip eventually brushes yours, neither of you acknowledging what’s happening. 

(You’ll never know how badly he wants to reach out and touch you, to freely run his hand up and down your thigh, so trace your collarbones, to feel just how soft your body is.)

It all makes him feel weak, pathetic, disgusting, but Feitan can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about you, and he can’t pull himself away. His pride won’t allow him to fully succumb to the thoughts and desires about you that are constantly swirling through his mind, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, that they aren’t bothering him constantly. He’s secretive, and maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know how many nights he’s spent with his fingers wrapped around his cock, his pale cheeks rosy as he imagines the way you’d like tied up with hickeys he made spanning the insides of your thighs. 

Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know how often he’s (begrudgingly) held the extra pillow on his bed close to his chest, dark eyes staring up at the ceiling as he tightens his arms around it.

(No, he wasn’t imagining it was you – he’s a touch starved man, and everyone has urges, right? It’s just coincidence that the pillow casing is one he stole from you, that he never washes it because it smells like you, that he nearly loses his mind when he almost gets a drop of blood from a victim on it.) 

It makes it much easier to scare you into what he wants when you don’t know - you’re much more complainant this way, malleable, willing, and Feitan likes it that way. Sure, having you fall in love would be ideal, getting your obedience through a genuine desire to please him, but at least this way he can keep a piece of his pride intact. 

This way, you’ll never realize the power you have over him - how he’d be willing to wipe out entire towns for you if you so much as mention it. You’ll never understand just how he needs to have you - to have you for what, you don’t know, but you can sense the odd sort of desperation coming off of him. 

You can feel it in the way his fingers grip you just a bit too tight, the way his eyes linger on you just a tad too long, the way the smallest, most embarrassing little whimper falls from his lips when your hand touches his. 

He’s good at hiding it, but everyone makes mistakes - just don’t pry too hard, because Feitan still needs to be the one in control, and you’ll quickly find yourself learning much, much more about the short man than you’ve ever wanted to know. Namely, that the only thing worse than him staring at you is him ignoring you.

Protective  

Although, it will take you a very long time to see this side of him. Initially, Feitan’s feelings towards you are that of mild interest, mild disgust, and mild indifference. 

Mild interest because he had, of course, noticed that you were pretty, what with your soft lips and doe eyes, your figure and the lilt of your voice. Indifference, because Fietan was sure there were a thousand other people just like you on Earth. And disgust, because you were so visibly weak and unable to fend for yourself, like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.

 And yet, the more time he spends around you (maybe a long job has him centered in the same city for a few weeks, and you work at the little store he gets his meals from, or some other service job that brings you in contact regularly), the more complex these feelings become. His interest becomes peaked because you’re not just pretty, but also entertaining to talk to, handling his dry jabs well and even daring to throw back some jokes of your own. (He never laughed, of course, but a wry smile sat underneath his jacket.) 

He’s still a bit indifferent, but not when you’re helping other customers or smiling down at your phone. (Were you texting someone? Your fingers were moving, implying typing – what were they saying that was making you giggle like that? What could he say that would make you giggle? Why does he care?) 

But the starkest, quickest change of heart that Fietan experiences in how he feels about your strength and abilities. Of course, you are weak. Even if you can use nen, even if you know the basics of self defense – Feitan is sure that he could kill you in the blink of an eye, cleanly, easily. (He’s sure because he’s thought of doing it before – never seriously, just a fleeting thought, something that only briefly passed through his mind when he was still resistant to his attraction towards you – it was promptly expelled after that familiar sinking, uncomfortable feeling started up in his gut, but still.) 

You’re embarrassingly weak, really, and as much as he tries to make himself ignore it or to simply stop caring about it, he can’t get it out of his head. He can’t seem to stop imagining you getting hurt, doing something stupid or careless and tarnishing that pretty skin of yours. 

He can’t seem to stop imagining the way you’d take a corner too fast and slip on your own feet, tumbling to the ground and ending up with a sprained ankle or a scrape across your knee. 

He’ll be sharpening a blade, blood stains caked onto the metal, and suddenly a flash of what your blood would look like staining the material makes him freeze for a moment, black eyes just a tad bit wider, the muscles in his arms and legs taut because there’s something sickening about the thought, something malicious and just carnally wrong. 

He can’t help but imagine how you’d fare against someone like his coworkers, whose strength is difficult to handle even for an experienced nen user. How would someone like you fare against someone like Uvogin? Someone like Shizuku? Hell, even someone like Kortopi? 

(Upon first meeting Hisoka, a very sudden and very intrusive image of the clown slicing a card clean through your throat flashed through his mind, and he’d nearly reached forward and ripped out the taller man’s heart at the thought, a purely instinctual response that left him more shell-shocked than he’d care to admit.) 

He knows you wouldn’t stand a chance, and while he doesn’t want it to bother him, it does. It does, as much as he tries to forget the mental images or assure himself that you deserve getting injured for being so weak and helpless. But he can’t just sit still and let it pass by, if it were to ever happen - and so, Feitan’s protective tendencies begin manifesting. 

They’re small, for the most part; making sure to keep his torture tools as far away from you as possible, just so that there’s no chance of you accidentally tripping or running into one or being stupid and getting any ideas. 

He’s making sure that you’re under his watch as often as possible, becoming your second shadow and stalking you every free moment he can spare, just in case someone unsavory crosses your path. 

He’s making sure that all your locks are working every night, compulsively checking them even though he knows they’re still good. 

He keeps his protective tendencies under wraps, making sure that they’re subtle and just ambiguous enough that you won’t pick up on his intentions. Because while there’s something appealing about you knowing that he wants you to be safe, he would rather you not find out just how extensively he watches you, just how much he cares about your wellbeing, deciding that it’s yet another potential opportunity for you to manipulate him. 

And of course, he’s embarrassed - he briefly considers requesting help watching you from a Troupe member or two, only for when he’s aware for long periods of times on individual jobs, but eventually he chickens out, too scared to have to explain why he wants Pakunoda to keep an eye on you.

 He’s not embarrassed of you, per se, but rather the extent to which you affect him. And even once he’s stolen you away (an action which has roots in his paranoia for your safety), those protective tendencies are still firmly in place. He’s not a good cook, but he still tries to provide you with somewhat healthy foods, even if they’re undercooked and limp, bland and just overall unappealing. 

He’s by no means an interior designer, but he’s getting you a somewhat soft, thick blanket, making sure the one pillow you have isn’t covered in stains or lumpy. It’s all subtle, nearly unnoticeable things that you’d have to be very perceptive to catch onto - but to Feitan it’s all important, because while he may still resent you for turning him into a lovesick fool, he’ll be damned if he lets you starve or be uncomfortable.

It’s stupid and he knows it, grumbling to himself the entire time he’s doing something to prevent hurting you, but it’ll always get done - and if you were to ever notice it, to thank him? Feitan would deny your allegations, telling you to shut up and eat your food, all the while the tips of his ears turn pink and his heart flutters because you noticed. 

You noticed the way he takes extra precautions for you, the way he thinks of you and your wellbeing, even having the gall to thank him for it… 

Don’t bring it up again or he’ll grow angry, but the pride sitting in his chest at your words is enough for him. It’s enough for him to know you see him, that you’re paying attention to him, that you appreciate all he does for you - it’s enough for now, at least. 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Feitan is, unfortunately, a bit prone to jealousy – as someone who is aware that he isn’t the best option out there for you, the acknowledgement that there is a multitude of other men that deserve you more and could likely land you never fails to get past him. 

He’s so, so aware of the fact that you likely don’t like him, that stalking you and planning to kidnap you likely doesn’t earn him any favors. He knows he’s fairly quiet, and while it’s mostly a fear of mildly embarrassing himself that bars him from actually interacting with you, it only pushes Feitan to worry that you only see him as a strange, unfamiliar man. 

It’s likely that you think of him as nothing more than an acquaintance, a man who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. And so, the minute that another person tries to flirt with you, to look at you and think of you and speak with you, the insecurities over how you perceive him are blooming in his chest, growing and blossoming into full blown panic, because what if you fall for another man? 

Of course, Feitan has absolutely no problem eliminating the threat, even enjoying taking the life of such a worthless man, but he can’t help the way fear grips his heart, cold and stabbing and brutal, because while he may be icy and difficult to approach, a stone face that leaves little emotion o be seen, Feitan wants you so fucking badly, to the point that it genuinely hurts. 

And while he isn’t all that soft towards the beginning of his obsession (and really, even once you’ve been ‘living’ with him for a while as well), he does honestly want for you to return the feelings, to love him and care for him, to want to be with him and enjoy your new life by his side. Ideally, he wants you to fall for him, to see him and smile, to have your soft skin pressed against his rougher, more callused skin, your hands cupped in a firm embrace, a soft hug, a kiss against the lips and short, whispered words of trust and acceptance. 

Of course, it’s makes him feel so damn pathetic each time he gets caught in a daydream where you’re smiling and laughing with him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and telling him he’s handsome, but try as he may, he just can’t allow another man to steal the opportunity to make you theirs. 

He wants to be the only one in your life, the only man you see and think of and talk to, and quite honestly Feitan will succeed – his profession is death after all, and he’s a master at stalking his prey, locating their weaknesses, seamlessly killing and annihilating his target before they even have a chance to fight back. 

And so, once his jealousy is triggered, the poor man’s fate has already been decided. Feitan’s never been particularly merciful, and where you’re concerned, this trait only grows - it feels good to kill whoever dared to speak with you, like some sort of cathartic release of all the emotions he’s been bottling up, all the anger and desperation and self-loathing and yearning trapped in his chest. 

It feels good, euphoric in a way he can’t describe, and so he’s quick to jump on any man posing a potential threat to your status as single and ripe for Feitan to claim. He’s a trained killer, after all, and who is he to waste away a perfectly good target? 

When the man in the black dress shirt approaches you in the grocery store, Feitan’s eyes narrow. The shorter man had been trailing you all day, watching you go about your weekly errands, and the tri-annual trip to the grocery store had been your last stop. You’d managed to evade any male attention today, a fact that had Feitan simultaneously sighing in relief and growling in anger. 

And yet, here you are, dressed in a rather provocative set of leggings that have Feitan’s eyes absolutely glued to your supple ass, matched with a slouchy, oversized sweatshirt. You’re cute, he begrudgingly admits, and it seems the stranger agrees. 

Feitan’s standing in the next aisle over, staring through the holes in the shelving to see the way you tap your chin and scan the aisles of bread, searching for the perfect loaf. You don’t seem to have noticed the man slowly walking up to you, his eyes visibly scanning up and down your body. Feitan scowls, black brows drawing tightly together as he debates what to do. 

On the one hand, there’s not much he can do - you’re in a public grocery store, and he doesn’t particularly want you to notice his presence. And yet, he can’t just let this man approach you, speak to you, look at you, now can he? He grits his teeth, steeling himself to just watch for now, and jump in if the time is right, if he feels the man goes too far. The man clears his throat, making you jump and look over at him, the suave smile he sends you making your own smile falter a bit. 

Which bread’s best? He’s asking you, and you answer quickly, naming your favorite brand and which style you like best - Feitan’s scowl only deepens when he realizes you’re telling him the truth. 

The man nods along, before his smirk turns smarmy, one eyebrow cocked up as he asks which rolls are best then? I’m thinking they’re yours. 

You blanch at that, disgust written across your face as you awkwardly laugh and inch away, but Feitan sees none of that - how can he, when he’s already moving, already grabbing the man by the neck and sprinting down the aisle and around the corner, all too fast for you to see with the naked eye? 

You’re confused, unsure of how the man just suddenly disappeared, but his comment left you shellshocked and lost at what to do, so you quickly grab a random loaf and anxiously push your cart away, trying to put distance between you and wherever the man had ended up. 

Meanwhile, Feitan’s got the man held against the back wall of the grocery store, fingers wrapped around his neck and a cold, menacing look in his eye. 

Bastard, he grits out, tightening his grip and feeling the way the man panics and scratches at his fingers, trying to rip them away. 

Disgusting, she is mine, didn’t your mother teach don’t touch what’s not yours? Feitan’s shocked he hasn’t just slaughtered the man yet, but there’s something in his heart telling him to prolong this out, to let the man suffer, to make this as slow and torturous as possible. He wants the man to bleed, to scream and sob and beg for his mercy, for being stupid enough to even try to seduce you. 

Feitan’s angry enough that his breathing is uneven, his muscles occasionally flexing without his permission, the rage simmering in his veins nearly potent. He can’t stop replaying the sight of your disgusted and uncomfortable look, the fact that this scum caused you to feel such an emotion making his skin feel hot, his fingers eager to steal the man’s life. 

He smiles as the man wheezes, the lack of oxygen making his face slowly take on a purple hue. What’s wrong? Can’t breath? 

He squeezes once, harshly, roughly, and the man splutters, spit dribbling down his chin and getting onto Feitan’s wrist. He scoffs. Filthy, disgusting. Die. 

And then the man is being stabbed with his sword, not once, not twice, but again and again and again, until holes and wounds decorate the planes of his chest, blood flowing down in rivers onto the dirty concrete floor. 

The man is dead within a matter of seconds, but it’s not enough for Feitan. He’s quick to throw the body to the ground, kicking and stomping and mutilating the body until its unrecognizable. He’s still breathing hard, his fingers shaking, and he finishes it off with a spit at what was once the man’s face, a scowl thrown his way. 

Pathetic, he says, dark eyes closing for a few moments as he looks to sense your familiar presence, already on your walk back towards your apartment. Feitan gives one last, firm kick, before taking off, the urge to have his eyes on you once more making him rush even quicker than normal. He’ll spend the rest of the evening watching you, like always, but this time he’ll pay more attention to your face. 

You’ve never looked at him the way you looked at that man, all scared and revolted. 

You’ve never tried to get away from Feitan, never ran or panicked or anything of the sort. Pride swells in his chest at the knowledge that you like the dark haired man more than that mangled corpse; you’d choose Fietan over him, he’s sure. 

And as you slip under your covers, a soft look on your face as you drift to sleep, Feitan can’t help but slide open the window, slipping into the bedroom and coming up to stand beside your unconscious form. 

Would you choose him over other men? 

If given the choice, would you want him? 

He’d always choose you, his heart always coming back to you no matter what he does or how he hates it - and one day, he’s hopeful you’ll feel the same. One day, you’ll be just as stupidly, pathetically, frantically in love as he is. 

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Someday, you’ll be all his. 

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

It takes Feitan a long time to resort to kidnapping you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but rather that it’s never been a priority for him. He’s reclusive, and because it takes him so long to sort out his feelings for you, stealing you away was certainly not at the forefront of his mind. 

It takes him so long to even admit to himself that he cares for you, and that process alone takes anywhere from a month to three months, and only then does the stalking begin. Only then is he allowing the feelings for really grow, to fester and brew in his chest until he’s insatiable, desperate to see you and be in your presence. It takes him so long to warm up to you that he just simply doesn’t have the time or forethought to consider taking you for himself - that is, until his protective tendencies begin coming into play. Once he starts actively caring about your safety and wellbeing, little thoughts begin springing up in the back of his mind. He’s chastising you mentally for staying up late, the hands on the clock moving past hours he’s comfortable with. 

He doesn’t like when you lay in your bed scrolling through that damn phone of yours, the bright light bad for your eyes and making you delay sleeping for as long as possible. It makes him angry (if not hypocritical, seeing as he himself only gets roughly four hours of sleep per night), and before he can even stop himself he’s thinking of how he’d make you fall asleep if he was with you, prying that phone out of your hands and telling you to sleep now. 

He doesn’t like when you walk home alone at night, as if you’re practically asking to be mugged or assaulted or killed, which is why he has to follow you, begrudgingly hiding in the shadows and trailing you as you meander back to your apartment. 

You’re stupid, is what you are, and as time passes, Feitan becomes more and more shocked at how lightly you take your own life - how can one single person be so careless? How can you be willing to eat food so close to the expiration date, or look both ways at the sidewalk just once? You’re helpless, truly, and it pisses Feitan off. 

It makes him mad, if only because he’s trying so much harder than you are to keep you safe, and isn’t it unfair to him? Isn’t it awfully inconsiderate of you to make him spend so much time looking after you, doing everything for you because you’re so damn incapable? It’s a negative view and Feitan doesn’t really blame you, only convincing himself he does in order to make him feel better. It’s an excuse to help him feel like he isn’t as attached as he really is, a way to help alleviate some of the embarrassment he has regarding his feelings for you. 

It’s pathetic, he thinks, but then something happens - something bad, something Fietan had hoped never would. Somehow, an enemy of the Troupe had discovered you. Maybe he was too preoccupied by keeping his eyes on you that he missed the stranger’s presence, unknowingly leading them directly to you. 

Sweet, weak, defenseless you. 

Time is frozen for Feitan as he returns from Troupe work, slinking to your apartment and letting himself in the front door, knowing that although it’s horribly late, you’re surely freshly asleep - except, the door is already ajar, and Feitan feels his blood run cold. There’s someone here. It doesn’t matter if they’re a friend or enemy to you - why the fuck is there another person in your home at such an ungodly hour? 

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and for a moment Feitan feels pure, absolute panic - you’re incapable of warding someone off, especially if you’re asleep, and although he feel sense your presence, there’s a distinct aura coming from your bedroom that isn’t yours. He’s quick to rush in, dark eyes narrowing when he sees the figure over your bed, a man hunched over and about to touch you - 

His sword is slicing through the man’s neck before he can even blink, head dropping to the ground with a dull thud and blood pooling where it lands. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, brows pinched together and his grip on the sword hilt tight. 

His gaze flicks to where you’re still sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware of the man standing beside your bed and the lifeless corpse bleeding out onto your floor. He’s got no choice, really - there’s something ugly stirring in his chest, something big and bad and painful, and he’s reaching out and scooping you into his arms all too quickly. 

The man surely was after Feitan - he’d looked at him with recognition, and Feitan can only swallow and tighten his grip on you ever so tightly, hopping out your window and taking off into the night, the makeshift home he’d been residing in lately eventually coming upon the horizon. 

The whole event spurs Feitan to believe that relocation is really the best option - his enemies are aware of you now, and who’s to say more won’t come knocking? How does he know you won’t be targeted again, those with vendettas against the Troupe knowing that someone weak and such an Achilles Heel like you would be the perfect revenge? 

He doesn’t, and so although he’s grimacing and slightly worried to have you under the same roof, he sets you down on the hard mattress, giving you a few glances before closing the door, sighing to himself and hoping you wake up soon. 

Feitan, once you’ve been stolen away, is mostly just an enigma to you. 

He’s so painfully unexpressive, so difficult to interact with that you’ll be left to wonder just why he stole you away, why he even bothered to take you when he seems so utterly disinterested in you. He doesn’t talk to you - outside of a few clipped, short commands, he’ll hardly ever let you hear his voice. 

Particularly in the beginning of your captivity, he would listen to your crying and begging to be released silently, his eyes slightly narrowed before a small, curt stop filled the room. 

He’s never given you any sort of an explanation for why you woke up in his home one day, even when you ask him over and over again. He’ll only look at you, dark eyes fixed on your face, before telling you to go to sleep, you need sleep and promptly shutting and locking the bedroom door. He’s entirely unwilling to really interact with you in any meaningful way - except, it’s not because he hates you, or because he’s simply biding his time to kill you. 

You may think that, fear swimming through your veins every time you see him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth - he’s not interacting with you much because there’s a part of Feitan that’s honestly afraid to. It makes him feel stupid and pitiful, but every time he tries to ask you a question or tell you something, the words just sort of die in his throat, his tongue frozen in his mouth even as he tries to move, tries to interact and get you to just look at him, dammit. 

Honestly, he’s embarrassed to speak to you - he’s been watching you for so long, acting as your shadow and seeing you so natural and perfect and raw, and he’s grown used to having a front row seat without having to do anything. He’s not used to you being able to see him or hear him or even know he’s there at all. It’s scary to have you be aware of him, placing him in an uncomfortable position where he can no longer simply watch you or long for you from afar - no, now, as much as he hates to admit it, he cares about your opinion. 

He cares about how you view him, how you perceive him, what you think about him. He wants you to think he’s funny when he tells cutting jokes, and generous when he gives you bowls of semi-cold soup. He wants you to find him attractive, catching your eyes settling on his body or your fingers running through his ebony locks. 

He wants your opinion to be favorable, but despite how strong this desire is, the fear that you’ll find him weird outweighs it. He knows it’s stupid, but he’s terrified that you’ll think he’s strange, a freak, some sort of monster if he talks with you. He’s scared he’ll say something wrong, something to scare you or offend you, and while he may be a mass murderer and an atrocious man, there’s something about the way your eyes would get all glassy and teary, face contorting into disgust as you physically recoil from him that makes his gut wrench, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. 

He’s too awkward and nervous to speak with you - and so, he resorts instead to the staring, to the watching, to the observing. It’s what he knows best, after all, considering that was how most of his time was spent before kidnapping you. This is better; he has control in this situation, and he won’t accidentally slip and say something that bears too much truth, that lets you in on too much of what’s going on in his head. 

There’s less room for error if he relegates himself to minimal verbal and physical interaction, and while he aches to reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your cheeks or the texture of your hair, he’s restraining himself. Just the mere thought of your skin against his gets him shivering, but it’s quite easy to overwhelm him; he’s not used to being the recipient of your attention, and while it feels good to have you looking at him and attempting to start conversations, it can get to be too much for him very quickly. 

It’s easy enough to answer trivial questions; things like what the food is that he placed in front of you (doesn’t matter, it’s good is all he’ll answer with) or inquiries into why he wears that same massive coat all the time (warm and my favorite color). 

Those are easy enough, not breaching too close to anything personal or anything that you could use against him. But the more complex questions, or - once the Stockholm Syndrome eventually kicks in and you’re so lonely you’ll happily converse with your kidnapper - compliments? 

As soon as the words slip from your lips, a simple your eyes are pretty or a I hope you sleep well makes him stiffen up a bit, lips parting ever so slightly under that cowl of his, before he’s quickly darting out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He has to take a few moments to collect himself, his ears and cheeks feeling hot because god, you were looking right at him, and you’d even said his name. 

(He spends the rest of the night in the basement, compulsively cleaning and recleaning his torture tools over and over, trying to distract himself from replaying your compliments over and over in his head, ingraining the sound of your voice and the tingling warmth he felt into his brain. Everything is sparkling clean by the time he’s done, a few hours having passed, and yet he’s spent the whole time thinking of you, letting you plague his thoughts like you always do.) 

He just can’t handle having all of your attention on him like that, and although he gets better at it and more used to it as time goes on, he’ll still be very skittish. He’s like a feral cat; he’ll stalk and watch, staring at you with beady eyes from the corner of the room while you try and act natural, only to scamper away when you try to reach out and pet. 

You’ll be starved for human contact as his captee, but aside from the lack of any sort of touch, you’ll find that being stuck with him is actually not too bad - he feeds you a decent diet, and lets you live in the spare bedroom of his home. He’d even cleaned everything up before you arrived, a preemptive measure he underwent one night when he couldn’t sleep, both his dreams and thoughts revolving around you. 

(There’s still bits of dust and a spider or two in the corner of the ceiling, but everything smells not terribly musty, and you don’t notice any mysterious stains on the sheets, so it could be worse, right?) 

He leaves you to your own devices more often than not, just on the condition that he can be present, whether you’re reading a book or sleeping or doodling with some art supplies he stole for you a while back. He’s not too demanding, but eventually the Stockholm Syndrome will get to you - you will eventually start wishing he’d do more than just look, even when he comes home with blood speckling his jacket.

You’ll grow to wish he would sit just a bit closer to you, so that you could feel his body warmth or a brush of his skin against your own. You’ll hate yourself for endearing your captor, but you don’t have much of a choice - Feitan, while terrifying and absolutely capable of killing you in more ways than you can count, is strangely sweet in his own way, even if it takes you a while to notice it. 

He’s not buying you flowers or declaring his undying love to you, but he is leaving small, insignificant gifts on your nightstand, maybe a small pastry that you love, or even a small, pretty little jewel he managed to snatch away from the goods Chrollo said were communal among the Troupe from the latest heist. He won’t ever say anything about them, and if you bring it up to him he’ll either ignore you or deny their existence, but he likes leaving them there as a token, as some way of quelling the intense desire to please you that wells in his chest.

It’s the only route he can allow himself to take, because that way he doesn’t have to confront you, only looking at your sleeping face. You always look so peaceful and pretty this way, all the lines of stress and worry smoothing away - you look how you used to, before he stole you away, back when his infatuation first started. 

And as he gently, carefully, hesitantly sits down beside your sleeping form on the mattress, he can’t help but gulp harshly and slowly, ever so slowly, reach out and rest his palm on your leg, the sheets separating your skin. He’ll keep his hand there for a while, dark eyes appraising your form under the covers, before exhaling shakily and standing back up, making sure the jade he’d brought back for you was securely on the bedside table, right in your view when you wake up. He’s not a bad captor by any means; he just has trouble expressing himself, walls built up too highly and too thickly to ever really knock them down. 

And you’ll get close - as close as you can, at least, as time passes. Feitan will eventually warm up to you, but he’ll never be particularly loving, particularly obvious with his feelings for you - he’ll always be a lovesick fool, but he’ll be damned if he lets another soul know that. 

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Feitan doesn’t particularly like hurting you. Of course, his career rides on his ability to harm, torture, mutilate and extract information out of even the worst criminals and agents, and for the most part he enjoys it. 

There’s something about the way he can elicit screams and tears out of others that gets him giddy, the smile stretching across the part of his face covered by his jacket as wide as can be. And yet, for all the enjoyment he derives out of hurting others, seeing you harmed, bruised, crying and begging isn’t nearly as fun as Feitan had expected. 

He’s not really sure why, but for some reason seeing you looking at him with so much fear dancing in your pretty eyes makes his gut wrench, an uncomfortable feeling sitting at the base of his throat while he mutters something demanding you to stop looking at him like that. It makes him feel weak, frankly, that you have this effect on him, but he can’t help it – early on into your captivity with him, he tried to settle your disobedience by physically harming you, but he got as far as leaving a rather large carved ‘F’ right over your heart before your crying got to him. 

He couldn’t lift his hand as you sobbed below him that day, your wrists bound by leather cording stained with his previous victims’ blood. Your eyes were puffy and glassy, snot dripping from your nose and pathetic little cries and begs for him to stop tumbling past your quivering lips. 

Frankly, Feitan was embarrassed for you. But more than anything, he was pissed – his hands were trembling, the switch knife grasped between his fingers frozen, his dark eyes wide as they stared down at you, guilt flashing through them the longer you sniffled and shook, the sight of you in pain with your pretty red blood dribbling down your collarbone simply too much. 

That day, he cleaned your wound, packed up his torture gear and locked you into your designated bedroom, all without a single word, mostly because his tongue didn’t seem to be working. But the shaky gasps stumbling from his lips as he stared at his own two hands later that night were enough to make him realize he hates to see you in pain, particularly when he’s the cause.

It’s confusing, irritating, scary, even, that you have this effect on him, but try as he might, any thought of physically harming you from that point on makes his stomach twist, bile rising up his throat and nausea hitting him square in the chest. 

But trouble, of course, arises; he refuses to physically harm you in most cases, but he still will only tolerate absolute obedience from you. You can’t simply walk all over him, he won’t let you – you need to listen to his instructions, follow his rules, eat the food he gives you, smile at him all pretty and warm, and let him sneak into your room and hold you when you’re fast asleep in the middle of the night, just as he starts craving. 

Feitan needs you to be obedient and submissive to him, and so how can he mold you into the perfect, obedient partner without laying harm to you?

The solution, as it turns out, lies in making you absolutely believe that he will hurt you, despite it not being true. 

You don’t need to know that the thought of making you wince or scrunch up your face in pain makes him physically hurl; no, you’re much better off thinking that he’s simply playing nice, waiting for the right moment to strike and leave you broken and bleeding. He’ll allow you to believe that he’s constantly ready to punish you, because then you’ll have some incentive to follow his words and rules, and to do what he believes you should do. 

And why wouldn’t you believe it? 

You know what Feitan does – he makes no effort to hide the torture tools scattered across his basement, and while you’ve only been down there once (the initial carving of the F), your imagination can conjure up plenty of scenarios of what goes on in that damp, dark basement. 

The fact that he has hurt you leads to you staying mostly in line – you’re more than aware of what he’s capable of, and although it slightly pains Feitan that you think of him as a monster, it’s for the best. It’s better for everyone when you’re well behaved – when you simply follow his orders and do what he wants you to, no matter how strange it makes you feel. 

You probably aren’t particularly fond of eating in front of him, but he’ll be sitting at the other end of the table as you carefully, hesitantly, twist the strands of pasta around your fork, your gaze flickering from the slightly undercooked noodles to your captor and back again. 

You probably don’t really like sleeping while he sits in the corner of the room, that stupid jacket pulled up over his mouth, making the only part of him visible to your drowsy self those damn eyes – and his hands, of course, with just the slightest touch of dried blood under his nails. You’re probably not particularly a fan of any aspect of being his captive – and Feitan carefully controls this. 

However, on the off chance that you do act up, that liquid courage flows through your veins and you cross him, you’ll quickly grow to regret it. Feitan still won’t hurt you – not physically, at least. 

But others? 

Well, it’s not hard to get Chrollo to give him someone who needs to give up some information, to set up the basement and make sure you get a front row seat as he makes the knots tight around the man’s wrist. It hurts him, really, to see the way your face contorts into horror as you watch him break bone after bone in the man’s body, but Feitan can’t stop looking at you. He needs you to be watching – you have to see what he’s capable of, even if he doesn’t really want you to know. 

You have to know that he’s serious when he tells you that you can’t leave, that there’s nowhere in the world you can run to where he won’t find you. He rips the man’s nails off, a finger at a time, just to make sure you understand that his touch can hurt – but maybe, some part of him hopes, you’ll realize that when he touches you, his touch is only ever gentle. Or at least as gentle as he can be. 

It’s all to make sure you understand that he’s utterly, absolutely in charge – his word is law, and while he craves for you to love him, he’s willing to compromise with just your respect and undivided attention. 

It’s not ideal, but as he watches the way tears stream down your cheeks and your body heaves and shudders with your sobs, he can’t help but slice the knife into the man’s thigh deeper, send the punch to his jaw harder. 

He has to keep you in line – this complicated, doomed relationship he’s forced you into is the only thing that makes him feel that strange, fluttering feeling in his chest, and he’ll be damned if he lets it go. He’ll be damned if he lets you go – even if you think of him as a monstrous, sadistic freak. 

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t; it doesn’t matter, because you’re never getting away.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

The danger that lies with being Feitan’s darling is much more mental than physical. By all means, he’s not the ideal captor – he’s a criminal and mass murderer, torturing people for a living and liking it. And yet, there’s something about you that tones down the more deranged, violent aspects of his personality - he’s by no means soft, but he’s rounder at the edges, less rough and bitter and cold. 

He hates himself for falling in love with you, for having allowed you to worm your way into his heart and settle there, plaguing his every thought and dream with your face, your voice and laugh and smile and god, your body - 

He blames you, initially, but as time goes on and his feelings only grow stronger, harder to suppress, he finds that it doesn’t matter. You’ve already staked your claim on his heart, and there’s simply nothing he can do to stop what’s inevitable. 

Kidnapping is imminent with him, but it really does take him a long while to actually go through with it; you’ll have a long period of freedom from his clutches where you’re living your own life, with him only controlling it from the shadows rather than blatantly, like when he’s stolen you away. He’s not particularly needy, only demanding that you stay in his line of sight, but there’s something more terrifying about the way he’s always watching you like a hawk watches its prey than simple touching would be. 

You’re thankful he hasn’t forced himself on you or even forced any kind of affection, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that you miss human touch, that you almost wish he would reach out and hold your hand, press a kiss to your lips, slip the ratty old t-shirt he’d given you over your chest.

You’ll find yourself growing stir crazy under Feitan’s rule, growing desperate but still too scared to confront him, because his intentions with you will remain ambiguous at best - he hasn’t killed you yet, so you must be important to him somehow. You’re not sure, but the longer you spend with him, the less you’ll care until eventually you’re actively dreaming of the day when he finally, finally touches you with those cold fingers and lets you out of that bedroom you’re locked up in. 

Feitan loves you, in his own sick, twisted way, and the sooner you realize that the better - maybe you never will, but Feitan will always, always be there waiting, his gaze never faltering once from your figure. 

You’re just too mesmerizing, after all - and Feitan’s never been particularly good at denying himself what’s his. 

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh x reader #_hxh #_lee's profiles #_feitan portor

[periprose]

Ps5 Peter Parker x reader inspired by this?

It's one of my favorite MerDer moments on Grey's anatomy 🙈😭

Peter explains something about physics or an idea for a gagdet...

🤣 this image really cracked me up lol thanks for the ask!! I've set the fic to take place in the first game, Peter and Reader are Otto's assistants at Octavius Industries. Please ignore the science mumbo jumbo in this fic.

/

Otto's lab was really cold this time of year. He barely had the funds to make rent in Manhattan, let alone provide optimal heating and other luxuries.

Still, you shiver, searching through your locker for your comfy, oversized jumper. You're just pulling it on when Peter pops up from behind you.

"Hey."

"Jesus!" You flinch and then rub your eyes. "Hey, Peter. How do you get behind me so fast? That's the third time this month I didn't even see you come in."

"Uh... I just have good reflexes, I think." Peter's mouth twists a little, as he tries not to laugh at your jumper. "Are you sure that's up to lab standards? Where's your lab coat?"

"Ah, Otto doesn't mind. He knows I'm cold." You explain, and Peter sighs.

"Well, he never gives me special treatment."

"Probably because you're not as cute as I am." You joke, but Peter nods and you feel a callous level of attraction towards him for being so nonchalant in terms of flirting.

You never really know where you stand with the guy. He's a naturally witty person and you refuse to read into anything any deeper, just for self preservation.

"Hey, I can't disagree with that." Peter laughs that quiet, soft laugh that makes you smile on your own. "Here, I got you a cup of coffee. That should help warm you up."

You look down and see, sure enough, Peter's holding a coffee cup tray, loaded with three cups, surely your usual orders- for you, extra black espresso to stay awake, for Peter, usually some kind of healthy tea hybrid, and for Otto, a large, creamy Italian coffee blend that's particularly expensive (Peter always jokes that Otto wastes funding on things like this).

"Oh, I'll pay you back." You reach back into your locker for your wallet, but Peter stops you with a raise of his hand.

"It's free of charge. No worries." He hands you the cup gently, and your hand skirts across his. You think for a moment.

"Nothing is ever really 'free of charge', Peter." You give him a side glance. In the last couple of months you've known this guy, you've figured out when he has an ulterior motive.

"... Alright, alright. You got me." Peter starts pulling you along by the hand, towards one of Otto's offices filled with white-boards and desks and equipment. You take a sip of your coffee and notice that it's still quite hot- Peter must've been really fast to make it so.

Not that you're complaining, and now that you're warmer you do feel more inclined to listen to him.

"Okay. You know how Otto's neural interface for the experimental arms have been glitching out?" Peter's got a firm look on his face, as you sit and listen.

"Yeah. It's a poor prototype, I think he asked us to leave it alone? He said he'd deal with it." You shrug. "I've moved on to his requests for a tighter, stronger arm. You know I deal with hardware."

"Yes, but even so, the neural interface problem still persists. Otto's lying." Peter looks at the whiteboard, and sees that half of it is covered all over with erratically drawn diagrams and equations. It's fine, he knows he can write what he needs in that space.

"Okay, look." Peter begins drawing a diagram of the neural interface's circuitry. "See how the voltage is really high?"

"Yeah- but isn't that what Doc wanted?" You grimace. "Last time I brought up the voltage issue, he told me to mind my business and continue with soldering. He wants so much power for some reason."

"Right, that's what I'm talking about. Notice how Otto keeps having those outbursts?" Peter sighs, a deeply upsetting look overtaking him. "He's getting a bit aggressive as of late, and I think it's because he can't figure this out."

"You're telling me. Just yesterday he chewed me out for clocking in a bit late." You sniff. "Okay, I was fifteen minutes late, but still."

"I've been there, you don't even have to justify it." Peter laughs, and begins drawing squiggly lines. You can't help but notice how his strangely muscular arms are tense and visible through his lab coat as he scrawls, and you take a sip of your coffee, savoring the view. Looking isn't illegal, you try to rationalize, but you quickly banish these thoughts as Peter looks back with a sly glance, to make sure you're paying attention.

"This is the electricity flow... and it should be heading this way, but the neural interface is made incorrectly and the flow of energy is heading back this way... towards the-"

"The battery of the arms, not the interface." You suddenly realize, and take a scrap piece of paper off the desk, scribbling down notes. "Hmm... maybe the wiring used for the arms is absorbing too much energy? Or the batteries are too big?"

"Maybe, but neural interfaces are tricky business." Peter winces as Otto yells at something in the background of the lab. "I told Otto not to get too involved with it- it's far too easy to accidentally mess with your brain, and then suddenly you've got anger issues or worse-"

"Dementia." You finish his sentence with an equally grim expression. "Okay. I hear you, but how are we supposed to fix it, exactly? I can only think of using different, smaller wires, or a less cost heavy battery- but then it won't move at the speed Otto wants it to."

"Yeah." Peter's shoulders slump a little, and you feel bad. He's always just one dude trying to take on the entire world's problems.

"Peter, it's not your problem, really. You can only do so much- the man has made up his mind, he's going to have to take the brunt of the problem." You try to console him, but Peter has that determined Parker Pride you've seen far too often, and you know he's not going to let it go.

"Wait, wait. Okay..." Peter starts frantically drawing on the board, and seeing that he's running out of space, without missing a beat, begins to draw on the wall.

"Peter! You're drawing on the wall!" You admonish him, and to your shock and utter horror, but not to your surprise, he keeps going. "Now you've completely lost it- it'll take two seconds to erase the board-"

But Peter isn't listening, in that overly stubborn, inventor way that you know you've done before. He's too lost in his own thoughts, and you know that spark will disappear if he takes a moment to stop drawing.

"I'll clean it. It's fine. We got to get a move on." Peter points to the new diagram on the wall. "Look at this."

Peter's drawn a rudimentary depiction of the robotic arm prototypes you've built for Otto, but the battery pack has been split up into several, smaller batteries that extend over the course of the arms. Something about the way the arms move in Peter's drawings look a lot more... smooth, silky, like a cephalopod.

An octopus.

But you are amazed at Peter's capabilities, either way. "Using multiple different batteries, so the energy isn't drawn away from the neural interface in a great capacity?" You blink, a bit amused at Peter's eager expression. "It would work, I think, but only if Otto is willing for a slight decrease in power."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. We don't need to sacrifice power at all." Peter draws a set of gears, interlocking through the squiddy looking arm, and you clap your hands, clambering up out of your seat, finally enthused by his idea.

"Peter Parker, you genius!" You shake his arm excitedly, and he turns a bit pinker as he watches you, grinning. "Otto wanted the arm to be almost entirely synthetic material- but if it has rotating gears, the less it will jerk around. It'll be faster, smoother-"

"Thus requiring less power anyways, and less power will be redirected into his neural interface. And, hypothetically, no more angry Otto." Peter grins, and you smile up at him. "I mean, it'll still take some tinkering to figure out, but incremental improvements are still improvements, right?"

"Definitely. Plus we can always try to convince him about solar power again." You joke as Peter snickers.

Peter opens his mouth, about to say something to you, but he stares for a moment too long and hesitates, especially because in the nerdy excitement, he had gotten so close to you, and he was a liar if he said he had never checked out his cute co-worker. Any second now, you should be teasing as you usually do- but your eyes are wide and Peter gets the sense you've been swept up in this too.

He's never been so... close. He can make out individual eyelashes, tiny scars, imperceptible to normal people, but not to him.

And his phone buzzes with some kind of alert. He looks it over with bright, concerned eyes, while you take a moment to step back, much to Peter's mild irritation.

"Ah... must be MJ?" You ask, trying so very hard not to sound like a jealous girlfriend, just a curious colleague. You have nothing against MJ- you just feel that she and Peter are so meant for each other, and this is exactly why you've been trying to protect yourself.

Who are you kidding? You and Peter are both so busy- you'd never have time to be his doting, adoring girlfriend. You just have to remember him as a friend.

Already you feel the walls coming into place, your expression turning neutral, your heart becoming steely, when Peter looks at you again, surprised.

He can tell you're holding yourself back- and he doesn't like that. He wants you to come back to him, to be close with him again, and it drives him nuts that it has to be your choice, but he respects that.

"Not MJ. We broke up a while ago." Peter swallows, hoping he's saying the right things. "Uh... I don't think we're going to get back together. She's dating someone else now."

"Oh." You squeeze Peter's shoulder as comfortingly as you can. "Peter, I'm sorry. I would've been less of an ass if I'd known."

"No, don't be." Peter fixes a firm, kindhearted glance at you, taking your hands, the warmth of his own making you feel especially treasured. "You're great."

There's a teeny bit of hope working it's way into you, into your silly, girly heart despite all the steel around it, and Peter has a soft smile reserved just for you- you know that smile, you've seen it before when he comforts you when an experiment goes poorly, or when you've had a Eureka moment.

He rubs your hands. "Jeez, you're cold! I know women are usually freezing in the workplace- different body temperatures on average and all that- but I'm going to have to talk to Otto about making it warmer in here."

"Lest I die of hypothermia, right." You snort, and Peter snickers, but he still stays close, as if he's using this as an excuse. "Well, at least I have your hands."

Peter's phone buzzes again, another alert, which he apologetically takes a moment to read after letting go of you. Something about Fisk's thugs making their way through Grand Central Station- he shouldn't leave right now, but he can see your curiosity is piqued.

"Just a news alert. Nothing big." Peter lies, and you don't quite buy it, but you don't want to pry at this moment after he's complimented you and been so nice to warm up your hands.

Otto bursts through the entrance of the room, sighing.

"Will you two lovebirds stop canoodling with each other and test out the circuitry? You know, like I'm paying you to do so with very limited funds?" He barks, and then inhales. "Sorry. Just... try to stay on task. And I know you're young and all... but stop drawing on the walls!"

He leaves, grumbling about youth being too romantic and wishing they would understand sensibility.

You're about to refute whatever Otto said, so Peter doesn't feel uncomfortable, when he speaks first.

"I take it he isn't a romantic." Peter jokes as he grabs some paper towels, and you laugh, feeling that Peter's flirting was more genuine than you thought.

#peter parker x reader #ps4 peter parker x reader #ps5 peter parker x reader #ps5 peter parker #ps4 spiderman #spiderman ps4 #spider man #spider man x reader #peter parker x you #ps5 peter parker x you #ps4 spider man x reader #ps4 spider man x you #ps4 spiderman x reader #ps5 spider man x reader #ps5 spider man #otto octavius #ps5 peter parker fluff #ps5 #ps4 #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #spiderman #ask #requests #insomniac games #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker x reader

[itsmealaiah]

natural

TW: kisses, affection, bill being a lil' stalker, sweet talk, just a fluffy fic bc i love those

pairing: bill x m! reader

request:

Can you write bill with an m!reader with tons of freckles who’s also in the band? So like they’re sharing a hotel room on tour and he’s had a crush on reader for a while but never said anything, and he’s not so sneakily watching him change and just in awe of reader and how many freckles he has. And then reader calls him out and it just ends with fluff.

I originally sent this somewhere else but they don’t write for m!readers, if you’ll still write it💕

do not steal my work.

The dim light of the hotel room barely managed to illuminate the space, casting shadows across the bed and the dresser, as if trying to hide from the two figures that occupied it. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and exhaustion, mingling with the lingering traces of alcohol and cigarettes that clung to both your clothes. The lead singer, Bill, lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. His eyes flickered over to you, the one who he had been sharing this space with for the past month.

You, with your abundance of freckles. He had always been fascinated by them, by the way they seemed to dance across your cheeks and nose, painting a canvas of red and brown hues on your face. Even now, as you slept peacefully, your back turned towards him, Bill couldn't help but study your features. The way your eyebrows were etched with a light dusting of freckles, how they curved delicately over your eyes, framing them perfectly.

It was like a dream, this whole tour. He had been so caught up in the music, in the adoration of the fans, that he hadn't noticed how much he had been drawn to you. You were in the band too, but not in the same way as him. You were the bass player, the one who played backup and sang harmonies, but you were also the one who held his gaze when they were on stage, the one who made him feel like he could fly.

And now, here you were, in this tiny hotel room, and he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man alive. He reached out a hand, slowly tracing the outline of your shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. You didn't stir, not even when his hand drifted lower, following the path of your spine down to your waist. His heart raced, but he felt calm, almost peaceful.

Bill leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot where your neck met your shoulder. You shifted in your sleep, nuzzling further into the pillow, and he felt his chest ache with longing. It was then that he knew he had to say something, to tell you how he felt. But what if it ruined everything? What if you didn't feel the same way?

Carefully, he moved closer, tilting your head back with his hand so that you were facing him. Your eyes fluttered open, bleary from sleep, and he felt his heart skip a beat as they locked onto his. There was a moment of stillness between them, and then you smiled, and he knew that everything was going to be alright.

"Hey," you murmured, your voice rough with sleep. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to say," he began, searching for the right words, "that I've been watching you for a while now, and I just wanted you to know…" He trailed off, his throat feeling tight as he fought to find the courage to continue.

You smiled again, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "You've got a thing for my freckles, huh?" you teased, and Bill felt a blush creep up his neck. "They're kinda hard to miss."

He nodded, still unable to look away from your face. "They're…they're beautiful," he stammered. "And you, you're beautiful too. I've been in love with you for so long, and I just…I couldn't say anything."

You smiled, and it felt like the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. "I've had a crush on you too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you never noticed."

Bill felt a rush of relief wash over him. "I've always noticed you," he confessed. "You're the reason I get up in the morning. You're the one who makes me feel like I can do this."

You blushed again, ducking your head shyly. "Really?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Really," he assured you, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

There was a moment of silence as you both took in the weight of those words. The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity, and Bill couldn't help but lean in closer. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel the heat of your body radiating off of you. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to feel your lips against his.

Finally, you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. But all he saw was love and desire mirrored back at him. And so, with a shaky breath, he closed the distance between them. His lips met yours gently at first, but then with a passion that nearly took his breath away.

The kiss deepened as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands found their way to your waist, holding you tight against him. He could feel the thud of your heartbeat as it matched his own, and it was intoxicating. The air in the room seemed to spin around you, as if you were the only two people in the world that mattered.

When you finally broke away from the kiss, you both gasped for air, your chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes were wide and glassy, your cheeks flushed with color. Bill's heart felt as if it might explode from his chest, it was beating so hard, and he could feel the blood rushing through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you again, to lose himself in the feel of your lips against his.

hope you enjoyed!

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x you #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz fanfic #tokiohotel #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel x male reader #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz x male reader #bill kaulitz x reader smut #bill kaulitz x you

[giamee]

𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🎐 )

even though you don't talk, they'll still find a way to listen

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | mute reader, jus some fluff really, bit on the short side

requested by @/anon

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ ok i should nawtttt have used this colour scheme im squinting like a rat at my screen tryna see what i'm saying. the title is 'cigarettes out the window' (shoutout tv girl) if u couldnt read it which i do not hold against u

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

it's simply in his nature to look out for others, to ensure that everyone is alright. and when he meets you, he's thrown for a loop a little. because you are fine.

the first time he sees you is in serval's workshop- you're just leaving, and something compels him to make sure that he speaks to you, even if it's for a few fleeting moments before you leave and he most likely never sees you again.

it's a simple question of how your day is, but you simply offer him a small smile before ducking past him, scurrying out of the door that he held open.

he's puzzled at first- maybe it's something to do with him? did you not want to talk to him? but then his sister explains that you're mute, and now he feels like a fool.

and thus begins his attempts to talk to you.

he writes you little notes to begin with. luckily for him, you're a regular at serval's shop, always seemingly having some device or another broken and in need of repairing. serval rolls her eyes at the pair of you- at gepard for being an idiot (you can still hear, you don't need notes), and at you for your attempts to run into her brother as often as possible (those machines weren't really broken).

despite this, it was somewhat amusing to watch the pair of you attempt to flirt with each other. and somewhat cute when your attempts worked.

you kept each and every one of gepard's notes to you, as redundant as they were. his handwriting was a little scruffy, and if you looked at them hard enough you could spot the little tremors where he tried to make the lettering neat.

a special treat was when he decided to add little doodles to them. it was anyone's guess as to what they were supposed to be- you were pretty sure that one of them was supposed to be you- and your heart warmed amidst the chicken scratch and stick figures.

you decide to write your own note back to him. in the top right corner is a little sketch of him, on a similar level to his own creations, that you hope he'll appreciate alongside the note.

you give it to him along with your best smile, mentally capturing the look of joy on gepard's fave at your little gift to him. you were gone by then, shyness overtaking your urge to stay, so you could only imagined his face when he realised that what you had written to him was a formal request to take him out on a date.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DAN HENG.

for dan heng to open up to someone new, several criteria have to be met.

for starters, he had to be at least a little bit comfortable around you. receptive, but not too probing or overbearing. rational, but not judgmental. open, but not too much.

in many ways, he was like a cat. you had to let him come to you.

and luckily for you, you seemed to fulfil those criteria.

as one of the newest additions to the astral express, you were in some sort of in-between phase of being one of them and a stranger. you communicated in your own ways, but you found yourself withdrawing to your room. it was overwhelming, this new environment.

it was only natural that you felt more drawn to dan heng more than anyone else. he had similar qualities to you- more introverted, tended to keep to himself. and, as you later found out, you both had a tendency to burn the midnight oil.

it became almost routine to run into him when you're both up late, wandering the astral express for some peace of mind. brief encounters with little nods sent your direction gradually evolved into longer moments spent basking in each other's presence, mostly in silence. but not always.

you both had your reasons to be up late- on the nights where dan heng looked more frazzled, a certain look in his eye, is when you began to piece him together.

he'd lend you some information of his own volition occasionally, telling you about the nightmare he had, recurring or not. there was just this certain quality to you, a look in your eye that made him feel like you truly did listen to him.

and he wouldn't trade your late-night rendevous for the world.

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist

#୨୧ gia.txt :: gepard #୨୧ gia.txt :: dan heng #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail x reader #hsr gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #gepard fluff #gepard landau fluff #hsr gepard fluff #hsr dan heng x reader #dan heng fluff #dan heng x reader #dan heng x reader fluff

[damagedintellect]

You can't just talk about that Atsushi x reader in discord and then not have it posted anywhere please feed the hungry readers, me I'm the hungry reader!....I'm sure you've figured out who I am but I don't need anyone else knowing I'm a furry

💌 pfffft I mean you're right no one else needs to know you're a furry but bad news, your blorbos are not helping the furry allegations 😔 but I like omegaverse sooooo we're practically in the same boat if you will.

💌 I can drop a teaser since I decided to split it into two parts because writing 🍋 means I need to be in that headspace and oh boi am I too stressed lately!

Summary: Imagine if Atsushi had tiger tendencies that bleed into his everyday life as a result of accepting his ability. Now imagine it's say *checks notes* November-April.

Notes: Atsushi X reader, ADA reader, mutual pinning, heat/rut/mating cycles

Word count: 1,980 Part 1/2 [part 2 will be 🍋]

It was strange. You and Atsushi had been friends for a while, but as the winter months were coming to an end, you noticed he started being more protective of you. He had started unconsciously hovering over you in the office and would often offer to walk with you back to the dorms. You found it to be very sweet and endearing since you liked spending time with him, but a few days later, he accidentally growled at Dazai when the brunette put his hand on your shoulder. Atsushi looked mortified and fled the area with such haste he actually had a puff of dust follow him out. You've never seen him do that before. Turning to Dazai, he only laughed, humming to himself as if he knew why, but you were still baffled at what just happened to make him leave in such a hurry. The rest of the room brushed it off, so maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. If Atsushi wanted to talk about it, he'd bring it up on his own time, but he never did.

A few days later, you were pretty roughed up after returning from a mission. The moment Atsushi saw you, he pushed Kunikida out of the way and held you tight. He gingerly assessed your wounds, refusing to let anyone near you until Yosano cleared her throat, snapping him back to his senses. Once again, he bolted out of the room with a look of despair, leaving you mystified about what was going on. It seemed to click for everyone else, but you didn't have a clue what was going on. To be fair, you were still relatively new to the agency. You've only been with them for a handful of months, but they've already accepted you as family.

As Yosano was patching you up, she gave you a stern expression. "If he's making you uncomfortable, I can tell him to cut it out." You could feel your cheeks slightly heat up thinking about everything Atsushi’s done over the past few weeks. That has to be what she was referring to, right? You stuttered, trying to figure out what to say. "N-no, it's not that he's making me uncomfortable, i-it's just that I," you paused briefly. The moment you joined the agency, you knew you were doomed once you were formally introduced to Atsushi. He was just so friendly and caring it felt natural that you were drawn to the tiger boy. Over the past few months, you realized that you started developing a crush on him. Inside you were eating up all of this new seemingly possessive behavior, but the way he was running away immediately afterwards was concerning. You sighed almost defeated.

Yosano chuckled darkly "Oh I get it you like-" You immediately put your hands over her mouth. "Shhhh don't say it out loud! I'll never hear the end of it if Dazai were to hear."

As if on cue Dazai had burst through the door smugly "Never hear the end of it if I heard what?" You rolled your eyes at him. Yosano ignored the nosey idiot and delicately grabbed your hands "All I'm saying is you should tell him before April hits. It'd actually be easier on all of us."

Dazai gave you a smirk that already says he put together your secret. You frowned as you pulled him out of the infirmary. He was amused by your irritation but didn't say anything directly. You glanced back to Atsushi’s empty desk before setting your head down on yours. Confessing was going to be easier said than done.

Over the next week you would fail to confess your feelings for him. Part of it was because the words had a hard time leaving your mouth, to which Dazai would playfully mock "What cat got your tongue?" Other times Atsushi would scamper away after "overstepping" and he was too fast for you to get a word out edgewise. Sometimes multiple inconveniences would occur causing a series of unfortunate events. Needless to say you tried but didn't end up confessing. You were fine staying friends even if his random exits were starting to get to you. Was he scared of you? Were you making him uncomfortable?

You were walking past his desk to put a stack of paper on Dazai’s when he pulled you into his chair and shoved his face into the crook of your neck. You’re glad most people were out on a case today because the noise you involuntarily made was embarrassing. Kunikida was unbothered, too enthralled with his work to glance in your direction. Atsushi hummed, smiling against your neck as he took in a deep breath. The sensation caused you to shudder as he loosened his grip slightly pressing primarily his forehead to your skin. He felt hot.

"Hey, Atsushi? Are you feeling okay?" You asked shifting in his lap to look him in the eyes. His pupils were blown wide and he seemed kind of out of it. "Now that you mention it, it's a little warm in here." He seemed pretty dazed.

You brushed the bangs off of his forehead to press yours to his. "You should go see Yosano, I think you're running a fever." You stood up but he was still stunned by how you invaded his personal space a moment ago. You swear you could hear a soft purr come from him. After a beat he slowly made his way to the infirmary. Kunikida watched him almost stumble out of the room raising his eyebrow at you causing you to shrug in response. What was there to say, he wasn’t feeling well.

In the doctor's office Yosano sighed "It's that time of year again Atsushi, it's going to happen whether you like it or not." She looked at the thermometer and sure enough he was running a fever which means he's about to start his "mating cycle"

"It still doesn't make sense to me. Why am I the only one who has weird side effects of my ability!" Atsushi rolled his eyes slouching in his chair. You've been driving him crazy for weeks now. He can sense when you're near just by your scent and he keeps itching to be as close to you as possible. He knows he had a crush on you but recently it's been getting worse and the tiger has been acting on it without his permission.

"I wouldn't say that exactly, I mean just look at Dazai. The only difference is none of us have animalistic tendencies." Yosano pulled out some pills to help Atsushi for the week he's about to endure. She made them specifically after last year's cycle when the tiger went berserk. Which reminded her "Did you ever have that talk with (Y/N)?"

Atsushi hid his face in his hands. "No…I couldn't do it."

"Of course you didn’t," she huffed knowing it was a lost cause at this point. "You both are helpless."

Atsushi perked up suspiciously at her words "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She handed him the pills "It doesn't matter. Just go home, keep your door locked and take these. Dazai will come check on you in a few hours once he gets back." Yosano shooed him away to make another set of medications. Atsushi wasn't convinced she wasn't up to something.

The door opened while your back was turned so you didn't see Atsushi leave but you definitely felt a pair of eyes linger on your frame as he left. You sighed as you handed Kunikida your reports. He cleared his throat seeing you slump "It's not my place to say but if you're worried about him why don't you make him some of that famous soup you're always talking about. I'm sure that will help him make a swift recovery." Kunikida would rather stay out of it but after witnessing just how dense you and Atsushi really are, he figured a small nudge in the right direction couldn’t hurt. Otherwise he might have to deal with another of his colleagues moping at work and it's bad enough Dazai pesters him to no end.

You smiled wide "You're right! Thank you Mr. Kunikida, that's a great idea!" You hastily gathered your things and rushed out before you could hear the rest of Kunikida's suggestion. He was going to say don’t deliver it alone but he's sure someone will manage to stop you before you can do anything too reckless. He simply pushed up his glasses and continued his work. It wasn’t his fault the two of you couldn’t talk about your feelings like normal adults.

You on the other hand hit the market before going back to your dorm to make the famous soup. Kenji was always talking about how in his village they had a cure all soup and he showed you how to make it. Although not everyone was around to try it at the time. Atsushi was one of those people, but now was the perfect opportunity for it! You wasted no time at all packaging it up in a nice thermos, heading over to his room.

You stood in front of his door with your hand ready to knock when you were pulled inside and pinned against the door. Atsushi was visibly panting as his eyes focused on yours. It was strange since when were his eyes blue? You thought they were a mix of purple and yellow.

"I smelled you coming up the stairs." He rested his head on your shoulder "You shouldn't be here. Not when I'm like this." He was already in his sleepwear and his hair was disheveled more than normal. It looked like he just woke up from a nap or something.

You swallowed hard. It was now or never. "I don't mind, you know. I came here to help make you feel better anyhow." You lifted up the soup you made. Hopefully he likes it. This would be the first time Atsushi would be eating your cooking. The thought made you feel warm inside.

Atsushi's mind was flustered as he misunderstood what you came here for. "I can't ask that of you-" Sure he’s had fantasies about this situation but he never thought they'd come true. Recently you've been the center of all his "mating" daydreams. You always looked so cute under him and the prospect of you wanting to be intimate with him was crashing his train of thought.

Meanwhile you still thought he was feeling under the weather. "Good thing you didn't ask then." You cut him off leaning forward to pull him in your embrace. You know he's never truly had anyone to lean on in the past. You want to be that person for him. "I don't think you understand how much you mean to me. I've always seen you as more than a friend, Atsushi."

His eyes widened as he nuzzled into you. If this was a dream he hoped he never woke up. "I like you as more than a friend too." He sighed contently into your neck. You smelled so good to him it was making him dizzy. "Do you mind if we cuddle?" He was nervous, you could tell but you both already admitted to liking each other and you've never turned down an excuse to hug your favorite tiger boy before. You giggled at his hesitancy. He was being clingy and cute. How could you say no to him?

"I'd love to."

You put the soup down on the counter before Atsushi pulled you into his little pile of blankets. It was extremely comfortable and warm. You slotted so perfectly together like a puzzle. It was the absolute perfect setting for both of you to fall asleep in each other's arms, completely unaware of the misunderstanding that was waiting for you when you woke up.

[Part 2 ...coming soon]

#bsd imagines #bsd x reader #atsushi x reader #xreader #x reader #atsushi nakajima x reader #my bsd brainrot is showing #my inbox

[umbrvx]

i like ur art. its great and interesting!! i really like your artstyle and i really like the way u draw hsy, yjh, and kdj. you captured them so well in terms of vibes/character. also i was wondering do u have any advice to improve on drawing anatomy/poses/faces?

wahh thank you so much...!! i feel like im still trying to figure them out in a lot of ways but i do really like ironing out my visual interpretations of them so im really happy to hear if people like what im coming up with

also anon you super activated the part of my brain that cant help but yap about art theory... i spent some time writing as many tips as i could think of. unfortunately i dont think i have the time currently to do a fully illustrated guide, but ill still try to include some visual examples:

[incoming wall of text lol]

ANATOMY:

to preface i think that like 100% of the time you should reference a real life photo for anatomy rather than other artwork or drawn references. the best way to learn the body is by… well, actually looking at the body! but also artwork is informed by a person's own artistic ability/stylization choices/sense of idealism, so while looking at art can help give you an idea on how to break down forms, i think you would be best served observing real life references. i labor on this point because i do think that having over relied on drawn reference material and avoiding photographic references on the basis of not being interested on realism hindered me as a largely self-taught artist as a kid, so i want to encourage live or photographic reference since anatomy is one of the foundations from which everything else is built on. that being the case, all of my doodles i'm doing for this are going to be for the sake of example rather than to strictly say how you should or should not be drawing something

-> when you are doing a study of a photo, just try copying it as best as you can. pay close attention to the natural lines and shapes of the body -- the S-curve shape of the leg, the triangular shape of the forearm, the trapezoid shape of hips/thighs when they sit, and so on. note where the body folds or squishes or pulls; how mass will shift to accommodate a certain position. if a form is hard to visualize, focus on the negative space and carve that out, rather than strictly drawing the positive space.

don't expect to get it perfect the first time. in fact, iterate on it multiple times to build understanding. try doing it to a timer of 15, then 10, then 5 minutes. doing this will force you to have to prioritize the most important shapes. you can help reinforce this by using a thicker brush or a brush with no pen pressure (no joke ms paint works great for this) to force you to be loose and not become preoccupied with details.

-> pinterest is a great resource for finding and compiling photo reference material

-> organic shapes are curved, so embracing/emphasizing that (particularly for the extremities) can help make your drawings look more natural or fluid

POSES: -> it all begins & ends with contrapposto… you've probably heard of the line of action, which is related. if you're offsetting the shoulders & hips, it: makes poses more natural, more dynamic, and helps the pose sort of "draw itself" -- the legs will follow the direction of the hips, and you can use the arms to reinforce the angles

-> context is key. don't ask: what pose should i draw? instead ask: what do i want this character to convey? what does happiness, anger, sadness, and so forth look on this particular character? how do they express that? consider these drawings: these are both ostensibly the same pose, but look at how changing just the shape of the spine recontextualizes it.

for more on pose design i recommend watching Tracer & Pose Design 101 - The Animation of Overwatch by New Frame Plus (i promise this is a genuinely super informative video).

to expand on this, in general, all of the components of a piece (background, composition, pose, etc.) are best considered in conjunction rather than separately. it is difficult to choose a pose and then choose a background because they are missing the context that would make a piece cohesive. when you are planning a drawing, try to begin with your general concept/idea/prompt and then do several thumbnails -- small and quick doodles that should take no longer than 5 minutes each -- developing it: you may find that the pose and bg will naturally fall into place.

-> silhouette: the degree to which you need to push this varies by style but generally speaking the pose needs to be readable; i.e. instantly recognizable. try to keep important elements of the gesture outside of the silhouette. for example, if the character is pointing, keep that arm out of the interior of the body. the same pose can be more or less readable or dynamic depending on where the character is pointed in relation to the viewer

-> exaggeration!! goes along with the previous point. push the pose as much as you can (and what makes sense for your style) to communicate your pose as clearly and as intensely as possible.

FACES: -> i highly recommend the app Handy Art Reference Tool by Belief Engine for all things related to drawing hands/heads/feet. its on both android and ios. it isn't free -- it costs around $3 -- but that is seriously such a small price to pay for the amount of utility you get out of it: the hands models are fully poseable (there's also pose presets), you can rotate the head models however you want, and there is 3-point customizable lighting. it is really helpful for getting those super tricky and hyperspecific head angles that you just can't find a real life reference for. that being said given that there's only a few different head model variants, bear in mind how differences in features can affect what exactly a face will look like in those angles.

-> i still recommend doing studies of real people. as with anything else, learning generalized proportions is important, even if you are going to later on bend or break this depending on style

-> as for my own approach... it kind of depends on the style i'm doing at that particular time. for my paintings (what id consider my main style) i approach a character with a few real-world features in mind and then apply them to the best of my ability. it usually will take a few iterations to land on an interpretation i really like as i try out different things. a lot of the face also gets developed during rendering rather than through my initial sketch too, as i adjust for lighting and correct proportions on the fly

(look how much this image changes between sketch and render lol)

if i were to recommend anything, i think it would be to nail down your most distinct features first -- the ones that will make your character's face recognizable, and could apply regardless of art style. in my case with kim dokja, i knew when i first started drawing him that i wanted to give him a longer face and down-turned eyes. when i decided to do the disco elysium inspired set, in which i was breaking out of my comfort zone by letting go of any idealizations focusing on conveying characterization/making them feel "real", i landed on some more specific traits (defined lower lids/perpetually tired eyes/eyebags(?) the crease there idk how to describe it) which i continue to try to evoke even if im drawing something much more cartoony

(pictured are my first kdj -> disco elysium style -> my post de-style kdj)

as a side note, this very same process changed yjh much more dramatically

(^ that first guy is mad someone else)

those handful of key features will be the thing that you can then take into a simpler style and simplify or exaggerate to whatever degree suits you. you can also play with shape theory (square = sturdy/solid, circle = natural/smooth/welcoming, triangle = energetic/dangerous). shape theory doesn't necessarily need to be so rigid -- you can combine shapes as you please to convey whatever vibe you're going for -- so please think of it as a tool that may help rather than a rigid law you must abide by.

-> expressions: exaggerate them. thats kind of it!! make it big!!! you wanna be able to really feel those emotions. the principles of squash & stretch help here: think of how the muscles move when you, say, open the eyes or mouth really big. as one side of the face stretches open, the other side squashes to accommodate it

even without changing the position of the jaw here, moving the nose and scrunching the eyes will sell the expression

you can also play with squash/stretch to break proportions to sell a feeling more

since expressions are just, well, poses for the face, everything else for poses applies here (and facial expressions & pose should also be considered in tandem). while the term contrapposto itself just refers to the offset of the shoulders & hips, the similar principle of asymmetry also carries here as that will help make the expression a bit more dynamic.

and i think... that's it!! all i can think of at least. i hope it helps anon!!!

#umbrvx.ask #sorry the reply took a minute i have been writing this post since i got the ask im so serious #i tried to determine what advice i could give that would be the most immediately actionable #also sorry its a huge wall of text im a little crazy about learning and discussing art theory . oops (the yapper)

[literally-noone83]

Breathe Easy

Draken x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Draken comes by your place at night only to find out you've been stuck in a household full of screaming and yelling.

A/n: Another short oneeee. Writing juice on low. But I hope you like this comfort fic. Also of you have any requests or ideas for fics please send them in, I'd happy to look at it. Might spark a new writing piece or if I like it enough, I'll write what you suggest :)) Ok enjoy! ALSO, can't reply to comments yet. But to the love given for my Loki fic THANK YOUUUU.

He saunters down dampened roads and over the faint, flickering spots of light from streetlights that buzzed softly. Slanted and with the lingering smell of rust and rain, it marked the neglect of these metropolitan roads. He breezes through the long alleyways and the small spaces between brick walls where every ounce of light is evaporated under the high moon. Only the rare silouhette passes by in his distance or the echoe of reving cars.

His hands rest comfortably in his pockets as he wandered through the blocks of apartments, and dingey homes sat on the outskirts of the city. He knew them like the back of his hand. Needn't stop once or look over his shoulder. He can hear the crisp air whistle in his ear and every mile away car. Even if he was to be attacked it wasn't an issue to Toman's vice-leader.

His nerves rest easy. All that's on his mind is getting to where he needed to be.

Nearing the apartment complexes that sit almost side by side, he made his way over to one of the windows just above the ground. Lined on the floor, there were the partial basement housings. His eyes glided over the dirtied cement, the way the barred widows glisten with droplets that run down its faces. Many of them had its curtains drawn. It was midnight after all. Everyone should be asleep but amidst the lot, his eyes flickered with familiarity at the one that was never fully drawn at this hour. A warm glow from a lamp he knew kissed the edges of the lower window as he drew near.

Naturally the end of his lip curve up softly at the sight. He stops at the foot of it before crouching down, beside your window into your room. He tilts his head to see you at your desk beside that small lamp as expected. However... his eyes peered over your slouched figure upon not textbooks upon textbooks but rather a comic. Strange, he thought.

Casually, he leans forward and knocks on your window. He watched your head snap towards him in somewhat of a shock. He noticed the way your eyes don't light up or the way you don't instantly smile. Instead, you're quick to move over to him and pull the window open before sitting back down.

"I thought you had patrol." You go back to the comic you left open. His smile has long disappeared.

"Finished... thought you'd be studying." He hums lowly. On cue a loud thud ricochet off the wall followed by barking voice of anger that overlapped one another.

Furrowed brows etch his complexion with worry as his eyes instantly dart over to your unflinching self. You continued to stare at your comic. With the way your eyes were distilled upon the animated drawings, he wondered how long you've been re-reading that same page.

"Couldn't think..." You finally murmur.

He let's out a silent sigh. "Should I-"

"They're fine... just angry as usual. And stupid."

His eyes danced over your expression carefully, but it doesn't move.

"Have they been at it all day?"

There's a momentary hesitation in your eyes and he watches shame wash over you like it's your fault. You hum softly not once looking at him.

Draken has seen that face before. Distant and quietly fuming, so unlike the unceasing smiles, bubbling and maniacle laughter, and that endless sarcasm that makes your eyes glimmer. At times, Draken truly wondered how two emotionally unstable and temperamental people could produce someone like you and let their shitty relationship weigh on their child this much.

Over the years knowing you, Draken never saw anything affect your mood as your parents' big blowout fights did. Draken never had parents, and despite growing up under the roof of a brothel that had its own varying imperfections, he could only imagine how hefty it was to be an only child isolated between walls that shook with the yells and screaming of parents love that's meant to warm them.

An unadulterated scream echoes, like a child throwing a tantrum before more barking follows; empty threats of money loss, divorce, cheating and who knows what more. The dull look in your eyes that stares blankly, he could see the hurt you never like showing. But he can see it.

His jaw ticks. He hated you being there alone. He quickly looks around, down both the empty wet streets.

"Hey." He said suddenly.

"You should go." You still don't look at him.

"Hey."

"They'll stop soon."

"I said hey."

"What?" You snap your head towards him, a hint of irritation.

Your gaze met his through the bars where he crouches. He taps on the metal.

"Let's go." It's not a question. It's a soft demand.

The crease between your brows smooths at the mere of idea of escaping. Your lips part, eyes unsure.

"I- draken I can't."

"You can. Come with me." He says again. "C'mon you've done it before."

You sigh at his persistence. "It's midnight."

"And this is a fucking shit hole." He deadpan. "Let's get out of here."

He coxed a brow at you in challenge as you looked at him sternly. Immediately his gaze softens into something assuring and pleading. "Cmon, Y/n... let them have it out. You don't have to listen to their shit."

You take a deep breath before shutting your comic and reaching into your draw for a key. You climb up and unlock the window gate. Draken stands back, swinging the gate open and reaching down to help you up through the window.

"God, they're gonna kill me." You grunt as you find your footing. Draken takes the key and shuts up your window and locks the gate.

"No they won't." He says it so self-assured. Not because he's sure you won't get caught sneaking out but because he'd never let anyone harm you, not even your damned parents.

"You're right, they'd come after you." You poke at him, a smile threatening your lips.

His ears perk up at the tingue of your familiar words. He straightens, looking down at you with a smirk.

"Good. Can't wait to actually meet them." His voice is unsuspecting, but his comment is playful. His dry sarcasm makes you roll your eyes and shake your head to hide the humoured grin that breaks out on your lips. You couldn't help yourself. If anything, everything in you chanted you shouldn't be smiling. Shouldn't even remotely feel like smiling after such a shitty day contained in a cage of torment. But with Draken, you let slip a rather quiet and sarcastic comment, and all of a sudden the end of your lips twitch, and you felt like laughing.

A satisfied smile blooms on his lips as he catches your small smile. There it was. That Sass. That impeccable humour that cracks at the smallest of things. That smile.

There's my girl, he thought.

He takes your hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Let's have fun, yea?"

You sober up and a genuine smile takes its place on your lips. Even in darkness, he could see the stars dance in your eyes. You held a softening gaze, and your shoulds deflated as if all stresses were slowly leaving you willingly and happily. With an expression that said through unspoken words he didn't need you to ever say aloud, 'I'm glad you're here.' That 'I feel safe with you.'

"To the park?" You asked, a twinge of childish hope in your voice.

That knowing look in his eyes said yes, and that was all you needed before you were tugging him forward then letting go in a spontaneous race to get there first.

At home you felt like you couldn't breathe. Those walls felt so close together. Outside knowing Draken was a few spaces behind or beside you, you could breathe. Puffing out white smokes of cold air from your lungs after running down the street, giggling and hushing one another in empty pathways and swinging on swings under the streetlight hazy glow.

With you, the dark alleyways and wet tar roads weren't so mundane. Cold rainy nights like that one, sauntering down cramped homes and dingey parks weren't so uninviting. Long nights didn't feel so long, and lonely walks didn't feel so lonely. With you, the moon wasn't the most beautiful sight in the night anymore...

Without having to say it or proclaim it, you both wordlessly save each other from your own endeavours. With one another, you could breathe easy. With one another, you were a little less alone. With one another, you felt safe and, most importantly, alive.

#tokyo revengers #anime fic #fanfic #tokyo revengers fanfic #tokyo revengers fanfiction #draken #draken ryuguji #draken x reader #draken x you #draken x femreader #draken x y/n #draken x fem!reader #mikey #draken tokyo revengers #mikey tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers takemichi #fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #comfort #comfort fic #comfort fanfic #tokyo revengers comfort fluff #tokyo revengers comfort fic #hanagaki takemichi #ken ryuguji #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken ryuuguji x you #ken ryuuguji fluff #ken ryuuguji comfort fic #ken ryuuguji

[cinnamonest]

I love your writing so much! I saw you mention that you played and enjoyed Hello Charlotte, would you ever consider writing anything for it? I think Vincent would make a great yandere. Thoughts?

VINCENT MY BELOVED

Let me first say that Hello Charlotte is not a game, it is a spiritual experience. Hello Charlotte watered my crops, nourished my skin, and extended my lifespan.

Every guy in that game had me swooning but Vincent was just so precious. Ugh I love them, and the best part is that yandere really feels natural/not far off from canon (probably even perfectly canonical for Aiden). I would love making more in the future as well but I have brief thoughts

(Also the third game + Heaven’s Gate kinda… complicates Vincent’s identity, and the third game gets so metafiction-esque [which is also good, but I like regular Vincent as he's originally portrayed too], so for this part I’m putting that aside in favor of HC 2 alone, also mentions of the “ascension”)

--

Vincent would be one of the most devastating to be targeted by though — he's so pleasant and genial and thus so easily misleads you. You don't expect anything bad from him. Behaviors that would normally set off alarm bells in your head, if it were anyone else, don't even register with you when it's him, and even if you recognize it, you tell yourself you're being ridiculous.

…But then there’s also this whole “I’m a god” thing. This faint delusion of grandeur, even if he himself doesn’t really believe it, per se. Presenting himself in such a way that inspires inherent awe (if you actually believe it), a bold sort of existence that’s firm in his claims and presence, but in such an amiable way that it doesn’t feel very arrogant, even if it really is, and may even circle around to seeming more realistically god-like. A demeanor that’s somehow both strong and firmly assertive, yet presented gently, without aggression or loudness.

He has this sort of odd degree of persuasiveness. Despite his gentleness, it feels like he can compel you to do anything. To follow him, both figuratively and literally, letting his words guide your actions, letting him take your hand and pull you forward to wherever he would have you go. To not challenge his assertions -- why would you? He says it with such confidence, surely you would never believe he's lying or misled.

His touches are so gentle, the way he cups your face in his hand, runs his fingers over your waist, rests his head in the crook of your neck. His lips are so soft when he kisses your forehead.

He’s patient, too. He pushes your boundaries further and further, little by little, day by day, week by week. The kisses move from your forehead to your cheek to your lips, the touches migrate from grasping your shoulders to your waist, gradually working their way under your clothes. How he starts off walking you home each day, stopping first in front of your home to hug you farewell for the day, then walks you all the way to your door, then one day the door doesn’t shut because he’s got his foot stuck to hold it open, that same soft smile on his face. And who are you to say no, when he’s been kind to you?

Even after you start letting him in, he stays longer and longer each day. Migrates from sitting on your couch to your bed, moves closer until your thighs touch, then to where he’s holding you... and soon enough, what do you know, you’re lying here panting and sweating, bare skin on bare skin, his arms wrapped around you and his cum drooling out of your body as he murmurs about how good you are.

Only natural, really, that a god would be drawn to such a perfect being. He waxes poetic about how maybe you were made just for him, that fate bestowed you onto him like some kind of disciple, something he can have all for himself, something he inherently deserves for being such a benevolent god.

In the end, eventually, he can convince you to do anything, even running away with him from the demented, false world, by any means necessary, to ensure you can stay only his forever...

#but seriously hes my baby #I love literally every boy in this game #felix has the tsun appeal vincent has the softboy appeal bennett has the crazy appeal #and aiden has the... eerie yet ominously sweet eldritch horror appeal #and then umbr*lla m*n has the 'oh you bastard' appeal 😤😤

[mazeinthemiroh]

could you write something comforting for yeonjun? or the whole of txt in general? maybe where they see the reader cry for the 1st time. kinda in need of it ☹️ yeonjun the type of guy to comfort before demanding “who made you cry? >:(“ ☹️☹️ thank you op

txt reactions to seeing you cry for the first time

genre: fluff, comfort, angst?

word count: 0.7k

warnings: none

author's notes: thank you for your request! this is my first ot5 post for txt so i really hope this is to your liking!! feel free to request again anon <3

soobin

seeing you cry for the first time is something soobin can never prepare himself for. it's kind of traumatic for him, mainly because he puts himself under so much pressure. he wants to be the best, most perfect boyfriend in the world for you and wants to just know how to be super comforting. but in reality, he realises he doesn't know how to go about it.

or so he thinks. little does he know that he is a natural comforter. his whole presence makes you calm instantly. it's one of the reason why you are drawn to him. to comfort you, he will go over and wrap his long arms around you, pulling you in for a deep hug while you cry into his chest. he won't say anything, he will just be there for you, hoping that the physical comfort is doing you some good.

yeonjun

yeonjun would immediately dote on you. he would wipe tears away and give you a pouty face, clearly concerned about how you're feeling. he would pull you into a tight hug, perching his head atop yours as he rocks you in his arms comfortingly. once you have settled down a bit, your whimpers becoming less frequent, he will pull away.

"what happened baby," he would look at you with sincere eyes and an angry pout, "did someone hurt you? who made you cry? was it beomgyu? i'll hit him for you if it was," yeonjun's concerned questions and rambling would make you giggle softly in between cries, which would make a smile spread across his face. his mission is done.

beomgyu

beomgyu's mood would immediately drop as he sees you crying for the first time. his heart breaks for you, especially how deeply and violently you sob into your pillow. he goes over and throws himself on you for a desperate cuddle, wanting to feel you in his arms and comfort you softly. "what's wrong baby, what's wrong," he would whisper in the softest voice, but he only gets more cries in reply.

to both of your surprise, he starts crying too. he is overcome with emotion, his empathy going haywire. so as he watches you crying, he can't help but let his own tears flow down too. "why are *sniff* you cry, gyu," you look up at him with watery eyes. "i don't know," beomgyu says with a silent chuckle, "i just love you too much, it hurts to see you like this."

taehyun

he's quite hesitant on how to approach you. he's the type of person who wants to get straight to the route of the problem and try and find a solution striaght away. so when he sees you crying, all he wants to do is ask what's wrong so you guys can figure out together how to. make you feel better. but he knows that emotions aren't like that. they are more complex, more raw and complicated.

so he tries the silent approach. scooping you up in his arms, a hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly as he hushes your whimpers and cries. he'll trace tender kisses along your arms and up your neck as well, hoping you find them soothing. once you have relax in his arms and completely settled down, he'll ask if you want to talk about it.

hueningkai

it hurts so much to see you like this. he would do anything to. make you feel happier. to see you smile again. but he knows you need to go through what you need to go through. so he is determined to be your shoulder to cry on and a listener ear for you when you need to vent and cry about your problems to him.

after you settled from crying, he will get his favourite plushie and give it to you to cuddle with protect it with your life istg and well even make you a hot chocolate :( he wants to give you the ultimate comfort, especially since this is the first time he's seen you cry, he will do what he can. "i hope you feel better sweetie," hueningkai says softly, brushing a few messy hair from out of your face before cupping your wet cheek with his hand lovingly.

#txt #txt reactions #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together scenarios #tomorrow x together #choi soobin #soobin #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #beomgyu #kang taehyun #taehyun #hueningkai #huening kai #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #txt fluff #requested

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel thoughts bonus

"Reacting to a drawing of them"

Hazbin Hotel thoughts (Hell cast + babysitting kids) here

Hazbin Hotel Bonus 2 (Heaven cast + kids and drawings) here

Masterpost here.

(Because sleeping on it after writing the main thing gives me more ideas apparently. Funny how that works.)

So yeah, my two braincells rubbed together during my bout of nightly unconsciousness (one of the times it can happen without any danger) and coughed up this bit : how would the cast react to a kid giving them a drawing of themselves ? (Quality notwithstanding)

Starting with the obvious, Charlie would be overjoyed. Tears in her shiny puppy-dog eyes, thousand-watts smile, might start hyperventilating in happiness, squeezing the drawing to her chest and fanning herself, and the second she has her breath back it's all VAGGIE !! Look at that ! Look at that everyone !!! running a marathon all over the Hotel. This one is going with the portraits on the walls, so that everyone can see, or on the fridge, whatever, as long as the masterpiece is in everyone's sights at almost all times. Bear-hugs the child at least once, shower of kisses optional. Before you know it she breaks out the crayons and paper and engages in co-drawing activity, oversharing and just being happy - and maybe dragging everyone into it, whether they're willing or not. At the end of the day, no-one knows if those are kiddie drawings or actual Hotel Activities Plans, there might be a script about how to counter bullying with rainbows lost somewhere in the middle.

Vaggie wouldn't really know what to do, but still be touched, even if skeptical about the actual product ("Oh, oh, that's... me ? Uh... why is a triangle planted into my head ?" "It's your hairbow !" "Ah... and that hook in the middle of my face ?" "It's your nose !" "...Yyyyeah... and that stick going through Alastor ?" "Your spear, because you're always mad at him !" "Y'know what, that's the least objectionable part of this whole thing.") but will decide to keep it, and softly smile at it once she gets used to the stick-figure that's supposed to represent her, keeping it in her common room with Charlie (who will squeal with happiness seeing it, and insist it should be on their bedroom wall, them's the rules). Might deliver her thanks later (either skeptically or heartfelt), but knows the intention isn't malicious.

Angel is just plain happy : he loves it. He knows it's bad quality, the way his legs bend is questionable at best, that gold tooth takes half of his face and the eyes are looking in opposite directions, but it's a gift and even Fat Nuggets is drawn on it and he loves it. Might crack a light innuendo or two that he knows will go over the kid's head (How come I'm not on a bed ? It's my natural element, ya know) until someone (probably Husk, more often than not Vaggie) bops him on the head to make him stop. He'll keep it in his room, either around his mirror or on his door like the other photos, so anytime he goes in there or at his desk to prep up he'll see it. Helps his bad days become more bearable, and makes his good days even better.

Husk is very much used to an explanation of why a bunch of two potatoes with spiky claw-ended sticks poking out of 'em, two triangles on his head and flappery estimations of wings sticking out of his back is supposed to be him, so he won't comment on it at all : when an ankle-biter tells you that those two potatoes, sticks for limbs and hay for hair is supposed to be you, you become immune after a while why yes I have siblings, why do you ask. Kid also didn't forgot his perpetual frown, though those eyebrows fill half the page on their own alone. But he'll thank them, and pack the drawing away under his counter. Everyone wants to see it (Alastor mainly to rib on him), searching where Husk could have pinned it, but it mysteriously disappeared. What nobody knows is that he actually put it in the (perpetually empty and useless) cash drawer, will open it from time to time and smile at it.

Alastor, ever the gentleman, will politely accept the offering, making a whole show out of it - and backhandedly praising it with subtle mockery that he knows will fly over the kid's head (A fan submitted your host quite the original interpretation of his likeness ! Why, I've never seen something this adventurously abstract since Cubism* ! Good thing we all know how THAT one ended, ha ha !), but keep it nonetheless, because it's about him. And as we all know, modesty is the mark of great gentlemen like him. He'll pin it somewhere he doesn't go often, but that will still fall into his sight from time to time, pat the artistic fellow on the head for good measure and be on his way. If offered many pics, he'd jokingly make a rating out of it, entertaining himself with seeing the efforts put into it and the kid always coming back to show their latest production. Curiously, the primitive art-style reminds him of something similar he saw once, on TV, when some nobody tried to assess himself and ended up failing spectacularly. Hm. Must've been déjà vu. (*Cubism is from the 1910-1920s at its beginning by the way - more precisely 1907 - so Alastor might have caught wind of it and decided someone made a huge mistake, before he died in the 30s)

Niffty would take it, smile, blink, look, blink some more, then offer critique that her head is not that big, the arms too short, her hair doesn't stick out that way, prattle off everything about it that she finds could be better without point or comma, then conclude with a chirpy but thanks anyway ! and goes to frame it and hang it in the main hall, zips back, gives a pat on the head, and is off chasing bugs or cleaning. She isn't particularly moved or touched by the picture but will make sure no spec of dust can be found on the frame.

Sir Pentious would absolutely treasure it. In secret. Nobody can know how moved and teary-eyed this makes him (everyone already knows anyway). It looks more like a multi-eyed slug with a top hat and a strange case of bed hair, but even the Egg Bois are drawn on it (and more accurately - can't exactly fail that part, right ?) and it's just the sweetest thing to him. Even better if he's drawn activating what approximately looks like machinery and with complete explanation that he's a general with an awesome blimp (nevermind kids being easily impressed anyway). That one goes into the secret HQ room right away. Kid might be promoted second-in-command the next hour.

The Vees :

Vox would have a second or two of mental what am I supposed to do with this, before clocking in that it's him (the square TV head gives it away. The blitzing electricity around his hands too. At least it gives the whole thing a sense of up and down). And the fact that the scrawly handwronging reads "mR. B0x" all over the page. He would give an incredulous chuckling thanks, smile keeping in place in frozen confusion, before setting it aside and give an uncertain pat on the head by automatism. This might encourage the kid to explain their drawings, identifying the blue rakes at the end of his arms as your super sharp claws, the circled red splotch on his face as your super power-eye, the even more ridiculously small top hat and out-of-control antennas as well, what they are, the striped suit (with the stripes outside the suit), the unpractically pointy shoes, and you can do lightning and it's super-cool, and Vox tries to not internally cringe at how close it is to his popsicle design overall (he'll need to redo that one), but the second he hears the word 'cool', here comes the dopamine. The kid finds him cool. After an inner jubilation of take that Alastor ! he decides to keep it, but not in public. More like in his personal appartment, sticking it somewhere on the fridge or in a corner of the room that's not too visible, but he knows it's there. Can't let anyone know about it and point out that his own drawing skills are even lower than that : one time he grabbed one of the kid's drawing by accident and people thought he actually improved. But one of his first orders of business after deciding the ego-boost felt good is correcting the spelling, making the kid practice it (Vox. Vvvvox. Like Voom, Vloops, Vrive, Vatch, Voxtek -) to the voint ov instauving a vpeech imvediment.

For Velvette, well, that kid might as well have a double-death wish. The pic hurts her eyes. That's supposed to be her ?! This ?! This mishappened creature - not even a homunculi - that crawled out of whatever wretched womb after it had already be pushed back once ? Even the man-apes from the dawns of time scribbling on cave walls were better. She's about to launch into a more virulent tirade when she notices the tears starting, and two ideas cross her mind, strutting in and linked by the hand : one, she doesn't want to deal with kiddie tears, you can't fire the brat you're babysitting. Two, this is prime shaming material for her employees - check that out : see what that kid can do ? Your cloth design is even worse, stupid, and you don't even have the excuse of not knowing how to color inside the lines yet ! So she'll plaster a smile on and ask for more, keeping them around and pulling a spot the differences - right, there's none between her employees' work and the pics. Funnily enough, this indirectly helps the kid improve (in realistic measure) and Velvette will find herself accidentally inspired by a detail or two, doing a double-take on the pic, before discreetly incorporating it into her work. She'll never admit it. That, and actually taking the 'design' as-is to knit the ugliest pair of sweaters she can and offer them to Vox and Valentino as a joke on a day they particularly aggravated her. Alongside a "hat of shame" for her worst worker, like a substitude donkey cap. Mocking the whole thing on social media becomes her outlet, and she looks forward to the next crayon abomination the oblivious kid will produce.

Valentino would faux-praise anything to high heavens, then forget it on a table and not miss it if the cleaners threw it away in the meantime. Oh, where did your drawing go ? Ah, don't worry cutie, uncle Val keeps it in a special place ! (the trashbin). However, anything that's about him, he'll keep, more or less, for some moments (before again forgetting about it), but the extra-cool ones deserve some mention : that one when his majestic wings are outspanned in all their glory, even if his body is a weird asymetrical patchwork with his head too small for his hat, yeah, that one he'll at least put in a drawer. Then forget about it and be surprised next time he opens that drawer and finds it again, remember, smile, and close it once more. When enough drawings have disappeared by mysterious circumstances, he'll avoid making the kid upset and instead go hey, I have an idea, cariño/cariña, why don't you keep them for me, hm ? Y'see, uncle Val is incredibly busy, and can't think for everyone, so how about you do that for me ? and the kid will mostly agree, but still wants to show them to him. So he gets the idea of signing them, as a stamp of approval. Then it turns into a game of him signing every drawing, because he loves putting his name on it, and encourages doing more pics of him, and did I mention how he likes when it's about him ? I thought it was too subtle.

The other Overlords :

Rosie will kindly sit next to the child while they draw, chitchatting with them and playing along (Oh ? So is that my hat ? I see you pay attention to detail, sweetie. The color you chose for my dress is lovely, but have you considered that shade of red ? I think it'll fit better), though mainly trying to instaure a better sense of colors than the clashing red/green disaster that's currently happening. She'll like everything that's presented to her, gently guide through and nitpick a bit on the details (Draw inside the lines, darling, you're an artist after all !) for improvement. While she might not hang them around her house (least of all her workplace) because crayon is forever divorced from her general aesthetic, she'll keep an album of them.

Zestial would be quite surprised : a kid offering him a drawing ? Hasn't happened since last century. And it's him to boot ? Well, the gesture is nice. He'll keep it, or ask Carmilla to keep it for him. Might provide commentary and be needed to remember that five to eight years old don't have the same fine motor control and sense of perspective as Renaissance artists.

Carmilla would be perfectly normal about it, she's used to that, just like Husk. A drawing of her is met with a smile, she looks proud of it, and she'll probably keep it on her private desk at home (not at work, she's a weapons dealer and that might distract a bit from the seriousness of trade), in a frame, or like Rosie in an album. She might give points and tips to improve, otherwise she's just content letting the kid do whatever they want on that front.

The one I forgot :

LUCIFER, for hell's sake ! The guy's a dad. As a babysitter, he'll be the goofiest around, hyper and joyful and sometimes maybe a bit too much in wanting to constantly awe them, expect a rollercoaster ride of doing awesome things and napping like there's no tomorrow from all the exhaustion. He'll play with the kid nonstop, always being around, and when not agreeing to something will find a way to break out the "no" in a non confrontative and absolutely silly way ("Nnnnuhuhuhuuuu !" - top quote of 2024 for me, people). Really acts out the stories he's telling, he's a theater dad, dangit - to the point that anyone entering in the room can't tell who's the child and who's the adult. Will often talk about oh, you know, when Charlie was younger she did that just like you ! It was adorable. Best for bedtime stories, and general roleplaying - he'll 'faint' for 6 minutes and a half straight, and blame gravity afterwards. Great at distracting from dangerous stuff, to the point the kid doesn't know there even was danger. He'll just forget which rubber duck can spit fire and which doesn't, but once he realizes his mistake, whopee ! it's gone. Dealing with tantrums ? He'll just let the kid tire themselves out, until he can get his point across and make sure they'll listen. Might even add lalalaaa, can't hear you, talk to me once you're done~ and just be around doing his own things while keeping an eye on them. He'll always be around, but will let the kiddo have time for themselves and play on their own if they wish to.

A drawing of him ? The guy smiles so bright it lights up the whole room. He'll praise it to sky highs, even overpraising, like it's the second coming of Leonardo Da Vinci. Being someone creative himself, he'll be fully on board with drawings - sometimes accidentally one upping the kid in his enthusiasm and unwillingly creating an inferiority complex in the process. This is quickly resolved by offering to work together, and he likes nothing better than the patchwork of ideas and raw imagination. He'll keep whole albums, plural, of the stuff the kid does, and indefinitely gush about it (but a bit less than with Charlie - she's his daughter afterall).

Dunno if I'll do the heavenly side (Sera, Lute, Adam, Emily - boy, Adam's gonna be a disaster. Lute even worse, maybe), but if you're interested (or if, again, my brain says yeah let's do it), why not.

Welp, I seem physically incapable of writing a short post.

Again, Masterpost here.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel thoughts #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel carmilla #hazbin hotel zestial #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin hotel overlords #hazbin velvette #hazbin valentino

[supersoakerfullofblood]

A Note on Style and Truisms

I see a lot of posts here discussing the merits of genres, tropes, and general writing advice: "advice for high fantasy magic system worldbuilding," "how to write enemies to lovers," "words to use instead of 'said,'" "how to write foreshadowing," "how to show and not tell," "why telling is okay, actually," "how to write a killer plot twist," etc.

Most of this advice is bullshit, which isn't to say it's wrong, just that it doesn't matter. (Any advice about avoiding "said" though is wrong. The word is fine, and you can use it pretty laissez-faire.) If you want to write genre fiction, which most of these posts are aimed towards, that's totally fine, but if you follow the advice found in these posts religiously, your prose and your story will suffer. Why is that?

A distinction should be drawn between prescriptivist and descriptivist uses of genre. The latter is genre applied to a writer's work. The writer likely isn't actively thinking too strictly about the genre they're writing in as they're drafting, and when they're done writing, it's up to the audience to define it with a genre. These stories are fluid, real, and are a genuine creative expression of the author's lived experience. We love descriptivist genre use.

But a lot of writing advice on here, and a lot of writing in general nowadays, uses genre as a prescription. Before you even start drafting, you read a thousand posts about low fantasy magic systems, worldbuilding tips on which color paint your fantasy race prefers to eat, how many drones should be in your science fiction epic, how long is too long for slow burn romance, etc. Don't get me wrong, these are fun questions to ask and think about, but their merit doesn't go much farther than that. This isn't writing advice as much as a conversation starter, and if taken as genuine advice, your prose and story will turn into fairly generic slop in the genre you read about.

You aren't the only one writing a high fantasy strict magic system epic. You aren't the only one writing your specific combination of fanfic keywords. You aren't the only writer who thought to combine fantasy and sci-fi. Every other writer is reading the same posts you're reading, and since we've all been raised on pretty much the same media canon, our stories are going to sound pretty much the same. It's all going to come out as relative genre fic slop. But why? When you take all this shibboleth as gospel, you aren't writing from your own experience with your own style--you're cobbling together a novel from a list of tropes. It's like forming a human with a list of character traits. It sounds good in theory, but practically, you miss something vital in what it means to be human, what it means to tell a story.

But how do you write a story without this advice? Well, you start writing. Very quickly, you figure out what works for you and what doesn't, how much "worldbuilding" you like, which tropes you naturally gravitate towards. You read a lot and incorporate the things you admire from your reading into your own work. This becomes your style. If you read too much hokey writing advice, your style will never develop. It will become the homogenous style of the genre fic slop factory. Don't let that happen! Write your own story, your genuine story, and then apply whatever genre labels may be applied to it.

Again, this isn't me trashing genre fic. Genre fic is great! I've published a novel of fairly genre-y realistic fiction, and I happily write grimdark McDonaldland fanfiction. I'm only saying the best genre fic didn't start with the writer asking himself, "How am I going to write the next big fantasy novel?" They didn't start with the author looking at blog posts about the most effective tropes to include in their narrative. The best stories are expressions of personal experience, of an individual's life. That should be what you write towards--not some platonic ideal of what a genre should be.

The same goes for writing advice. A lot of it is sound, but much of it is worthless, and some of it is actively toxic to the writing life (and figuring out which advice is in which category is another struggle that should be solved). For every "avoid adverbs when you can help it" (sound advice), there's another "stop using 'said' so much" (awful advice). And most advice falls somewhere in the middle (the semicolon debate is a huge chunk of the middle-ground advice). If you follow too much of this advice before your style has started to develop, it can stunt its growth. Maybe you love semicolons. I sure do! That may never reveal itself if you read too much about how semicolons are the devil.

TLDR popular writing advice very quickly becomes an echo chamber, and most of the advice is worthless or detrimental in developing your writing. A good general rule is to never take any advice about what to write too seriously.

#writeblr #writing #writing advice #writing questions #fanfic #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writer

[oatmilk-vampire]

Vampire Eddie (Steddie)

mdni 18+ part 1(original) @breealtair you made me want to write this and I couldn't focus on anything else until I did. So this part 2(technically a prequel) is for everyone but mostly you.

When Eddie Munson came back from the dead, it freaked Steve out.

Sure, it wasn’t the first time someone in Hawkins had seemed to come back from the dead, but it was certainly the first time they'd shown up on Steve's doorstep covered in mud and blood.

Steve was more than freaked out. He was terrified.

He didn't think to answer with his nailbat drawn, he hadn't needed to in quite some time. Sue him for screaming at the top of his lungs and falling flat on his ass and scrambling backwards the exact same way he'd yelled at people in horror movies for.

Only, Eddie didn't come after him like some deranged killer or bloodthirsty monster. He just stood there, equally shell-shocked that he'd been given that kind of reaction.

When Steve realized Eddie wasn't killing him right then and there his mouth clamped shut and he let out an awkward cough.

"Um, hi?"

"Harrington," Eddie greets, still standing at the threshold.

"What---er--- brings you here?" Steve still wants to look around for a makeshift weapon but he isn't ready to take his eyes off of the dark figure looming in his doorway.

"I just woke up. What the hell happened? Did we defeat Vecna?" Eddie had awoken, seemingly buried alive and so hungry and thirsty. What happened next is something he's not quite sure actually happened, but he'll always remember the sound a deer makes when it's dying now.

"Um... We might have? That depends. How are you feeling?"

Eddie blinks. "Fine, I guess? I was starving but now I'm really nauseated."

"Is that, um, what did you eat?" What the hell is all over your face? was left unsaid.

Eddie grimaces and Steve catches sight of them. Sharp and wholly unnatural. The fangs looked nothing like those in Fright Night, which Steve had watched last year when it came out, but it still terrified him.

"Promise not to freak out?" Eddie questions but Steve already shakes his head.

"Kinda too late for that."

Eddie sighs.

"I ate a deer. Or, drank a deer, technically. I don't know the logistics. I think I'm a vampire. One moment I'm surrounded by that colony of demobats and next thing I'm alone in the dirt, starving, and now I'm here."

"Okay, okay. Fuck." Steve mumbled to himself, finally looking away from Eddie's eyes. His eyes still remain the same, nothing monstrous or undead about them. Steve suddenly remembers something, eyes shooting up to meet Eddie's once more.

"You can't come in unless you're invited, right?"

Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. Laugh!

"Um, actually I think I can. I was just trying to be respective and not send you into cardiac arrest before your time."

"Oh."

So Steve was only really safe because Eddie chose not to come in and murder him. Okay. It should make him feel better but it does very little to uncoil the knot in his stomach.

"Yeah. So, can I come in?"

Flash forward two weeks, by now all of their friends were aware Eddie was in fact not dead and seemingly not controlled by Vecna. It's just him.

Of course, only Steve knew Eddie's, erm, condition and how he could eat human food but it didn't stanch his hunger.

Steve and Eddie decidedly got closer in those two week, mostly because they shared a secret no one else knew. No one else could know, they reasoned.

Eddie moved back in with Uncle Wayne, but even he didn't know the nature of Eddie's return. Despite this, Eddie was practically over at Steve's every free chance he had anyway.

It's one of their hangouts that Eddie seems a little different, something Steve has realized indicates he's getting hungry.

"Just go eat, man. I don't mind. I'll wait to start the movie. Just don't, like, kill the neighbor's dog or anything."

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face.

"As much as I want to eat, Steve, I feel nauseated just thinking about it."

"But, you have to." Steve's brows furrow. "You can't not eat."

"I know, but the animal blood is just... I don't know if they have weird diseases or something but it just makes me sick."

"Oh." Steve hesitates, considering what he's about to say and offer. "So, it's not drinking blood that grosses you out. It's drinking animal blood."

"Yeah..." Eddie questions, wondering where Steve is going with this.

"So, have you considered drinking human blood?"

Eddie blinks at him.

"Steve, I'm not gonna just go drink from some random person. And I don't exactly feel like trying to rob a blood bank. I've had an angry Hawkins mob come after me once already and I don't exactly want it again. They'll think I want it for some satanic ritual."

"Okay, so just drink from me." Steve shrugs as if he merely suggested Eddie borrow a shirt from him. "I don't have any weird diseases."

Eddie scoffs, "That's debatable." because he couldn't miss a moment to take a dig at the pretty boy, he hoped it would make Steve retract his offer or forget about it all together.

It didn't.

"Oh wow, Munson. Slut-shaming, really?" He waves his arm in front of Eddie's face and the vampire stares at it as if someone just offered him a T-bone steak when all he's ever had were microwaved Salisbury ones from banquet. Because he had. And this is practically what Steve's blood smelled like.

"Steve, get away from me. Seriously, I'm not gonna drink from you."

Steve's face gets a pinched expression.

"Seriously? What's wrong with my blood?" He doesn't lower his arm. "You're hungry and animals make you sick. Drink."

"Steve, I don't know if I'll be able to stop. I killed that deer, and yeah maybe it's because I was starving or dehydrated or whatever, but what if your blood is like, really really good? I don't want to hurt or kill you." Sure, he's only killed the one deer. He was able to stop himself with each subsequent animal, as long as they were big. The smaller ones were sucked dry.

"And, what, I just let you fast until you get hungry enough that you might hurt someone else? Might hurt Dustin? Come on, Munson."

Steve had a point.

Eddie eyes Steve's arm, hears the blood thrumming just beneath his skin. He licks his lips.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Should you maybe, I don't know. Would it make you uncomfortable if I had you, um, straddle my lap? Just so you could have more control! Maybe you could arm yourself with a knife or something just in case I don't let you go."

Steve takes his arm away and Eddie thinks he's blown it.

"Fine, I'll straddle your lap but I'm not holding a knife on you--Jesus, Eddie!" He exclaims as he's swiftly manhandled into Eddie's lap, knees on either side of Eddie's hips.

"How are you supposed to drink from my arm now? Isn't this an awkward angle?" Steve wonders out loud, already preparing to offer up his neck instead.

"Oh, shit, You're right. Maybe--"

Steve tilts his head to the side and the words die on Eddie's tongue.

Steve mentally steels himself for a pain reminiscent of what the Russians inflicted on him and Robin, or of the sharp bite of the demobats themselves.

Eddie takes a deep breath in, out. "Are you sure?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yes, Eddie, I'm--" he's cut off with his own gasp as he feels Eddie's lips on his neck, and then--

What happens next is not Steve's fault.

He's barely even aware that his hands find purchase on Eddie's sides, or that his hips start moving on their own accord. Seeking friction as his body wakes up to new sensations.

Eddie doesn't drink much, even if Steve was the best thing he's ever tasted. He has control over himself, so he only drinks until the actual hunger fades away leaving behind only his cravings.

He pops off of his neck, licking across the twin puncture wounds before guiding Steve backward to make sure he's okay.

Steve's eyes are half-mast, lips apart.

Eddie worries for a moment. Steve's out of it appearance in combination with the mewling noises he was making and rutting he was doing either meant one, Eddie did some serious damage; or two, Steve was fucked out.

When Eddie looked down and saw the visible wet spot right over where Steve's boner was beginning to fade, he had his answer.

His eyes flit back to Steve's suddenly feeling like he shouldn't be seeing Steve in such a vulnerable state.

"You okay, Stevie?" The nickname falls right off of his tongue. "I think you, hmm. I think you came in your pants, big boy."

That seems to snap Steve out of it. His eyes focus on Eddie's before falling to his lap with a gasp.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

Eddie stops him from scrambling off of his lap. "Hey, hold on! I don't know how much blood I took, I don't exactly trust you on your feet right now."

"Well I can't just stay on your lap like this!"

Eddie doesn't mind it one bit. Sure he was worried with that initial gasp Steve let out, but now that he knows it was a good kind of breathlessness, we'll it's all okay. He voices just that.

"I, I hope I didn't make it weird. God, I'm so stupid. Who gets hard when their friend is--"

"Sucking them?" Eddie supplies with a giggle and Steve shoves his shoulder.

"This isn't funny!"

"Okay, embarrassment aside. Do you feel okay? Do you have any regrets about letting me drink your blood?"

"No. Other than coming in my pants? I'm okay. It didn't even hurt that bad." It hurt good.

Steve pretends not to notice the boner straining against Eddie's own jeans and how much he wanted to help Eddie out with that.

As weird as it was, that was the best orgasm Steve's ever had. And he'd do anything to get it again. Plus if his friend could reman happy and fed, well, who was he to complain?

#monster fucker steve am i right? #part 2 to that vampire ficlet i wrote #steve harrington #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #vampire eddie munson

[dragonedged-if]

Author's Tale Entries

So Merry Christmas my lovely Readers! Yes! I know that I disappeared for a long time but to summarize it I took a break and life is very hectic as of now.

Writing is resuming and as you guys wait I decided to this. Ever since I was a kid me and my friends use to to this type of thing plus I can use it as practice. I'm sure you guys already stumbles stuff like this but to clarify I will explain it. This will be your story where the outcome is random based on your choice and my let's say whims. So expect the writing style will change as time goes on and such. So without further ado let us begin.

Close your ey- Wait! Haha silly me, your reading not listening so I want you instead to visualize. (Keep them peepers open now!)

A.T. Entry 1

The sun, a celestial artist, weaves an ethereal tapestry through the verdant foliage overhead. It bathes you in its warm, golden embrace, illuminating the colors of the surrounding flora with an intensity that leaves you mesmerized. You draw in a lungful of the pristine air, letting it fill your senses with the harmony of nature, before releasing it with a contented sigh that mingles with the rustling of the leaves.

Every pore of your skin basks in the sun's affectionate kiss, sending a delightful tingle coursing through your veins, a reminder of the life that thrums within you. Your ears, attuned to the forest's melody, catch the harmonious chirping of the birds, their fluttering wings beating a rhythm that resonates with the very heartbeat of the wilderness, shaking of the branches as their talons find purchase on its woods..

Suddenly, an unexpected sound - the crisp snap of a twig - punctuates the serenity. Whirling around, your boots send a spray of loose earth and pebbles scattering. A figure emerges from the dappled shadows, and a doe steps into your line of sight. It regards you with its obsidian eyes, an epitome of tranquility as it absentmindedly munches on some fresh leaves, wholly unperturbed by your presence.

Now, isn't this a sight to behold? You, alone in the heart of nature, sharing a moment with a doe - something straight out of a Disney movie, don't you think? Except, of course, without the singing animals and magic. But hey, who needs that when you've got the real deal right here, in all its untamed glory? It's almost as if Mother Nature herself decided to roll out the red carpet just for you.

So go ahead, take a moment. Savor the feeling. After all, it's not every day you get to play Snow White in the woods, is it?

Finish? Well, it seems the doe's novelty has worn off, hasn't it? You turn your back on it, slightly affronted by its lack of interest, and, dare we say, its judgmental gaze? Well, no matter, there's a whole world out there waiting to be explored. One foot before the other, you march forward, your path dictated not by choice but by the whims of this narrative.

But wait! What's that lurking in the distance? A structure of some sort emerges from the verdant sea of green, its silhouette a stark contrast against the sunlit foliage. Even from this considerable gap, the infectious melody of mirth reaches your ears, a siren's call that tugs at your curiosity. It appears the festivities have begun without you, you old latecomer, you!

Intrigued and slightly affronted (because who starts a party without you?), you press on, drawn towards the distant merriment like a moth to a flame. The harmony of laughter and joyous chatter wafts towards you, carried on the gentle breeze, a tantalizing taste of what lies ahead.

Isn't it just like you, chasing after the sound of fun and abandoning our poor doe friend? But, who can blame you? After all, who can resist the pull of a good party, especially when the soundtrack sounds like a scene straight out of The Great Gatsby? So, dust off your boots and straighten your collar, my friend, for it seems the night has only just begun. And remember, punctuality is overrated when you're the life of the party!

As you draw closer to the establishment, your eyes eagerly roam about, searching for any signs of life. And there it is, a sign looming atop the building, its weathered appearance only adding to its charm. The words "Nature's Embrace" are proudly displayed, the letters slightly faded but still commanding attention. It's as if the tavern has emerged from the heart of the forest itself, nestled in a place where magic and reality intertwine.

Vines boldly crawl up the sides of the building, embracing it with nature's touch, as if the very essence of the forest has claimed this place as its own. The wooden facade, weathered and worn, tells tales of countless adventures and laughter that have echoed within.

As you approach the entrance, the sound of merriment grows louder, seeping through the cracks of the door and beckoning you to step inside. You can't help but marvel at the warm glow that spills out from the windows, casting dancing shadows on the path before you. Laughter and the clinking of mugs intertwine, creating a collection of joy that resonates in the air.

With anticipation bubbling within you, each step on the worn-out staircase seems to echo through the air, the creaking boards adding a touch of suspense to your ascent. The sound magnifies the excitement building inside you, as if the very steps are teasing you with the promise of what lies beyond. (Oh, the anticipation must be killing you, my dear reader!)

Finally, you reach the doorknob, your hand reaching out to grasp the weathered wooden knob. Its rough surface greets your fingertips, creating a tactile connection that heightens your senses. You can almost feel the stories embedded within its grains and the countless hands that have turned it over the years. With a firm grip, you push the door open, revealing a burst of light and life within.

As you step further into the bustling tavern, the noise that greeted you outside is nothing compared to the deafening orchestra that engulfs you now. The air is alive with the vibrant melodies of musicians stationed on the side, their fingers dancing across strings and keys with unparalleled gusto. A lute is plucked with nimble precision, its melody resonating with a sense of longing and whimsy. A harp is strummed, its ethereal notes cascading through the air like a gentle breeze. And the xylophone adds its own playful rhythm, its vibrant tones punctuating the music with a delightful charm. (Don't be shy now, go one shake that hip, tap that foot and get your groove on!)

In the center of the room, a roaring fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm and inviting glow. Its flames dance with wild abandon, casting flickering shadows that playfully dance across the walls. And what a sight those walls present! Adorned with the heads of majestic animals, each trophy tells a story of bravery and triumph. The mighty bear stands proud, its gaze fierce and unwavering. The boar's tusks gleam in the flickering light, a testament to its untamed strength. And the wolf, frozen in a ferocious snarl, seems to guard the room with unwavering loyalty. Among the trophies, a bow is proudly displayed, its wood gleaming with a polished sheen.

With a spring in your step, you confidently navigate through the bustling atmosphere of the tavern, deftly sidestepping two men locked in a heated brawl. The sound of bones crunching fills the air as their punches connect. You manage to avoid the chaos and make your way towards a vacant table, before skillfully maneuvering around a stumbling drunkard, his ale swishing dangerously in his mug. Just as he nears collision with you, he trips over a misplaced stool and crashes to the ground, his muffled groans drowned out by the raucous laughter of the patrons.

Finally, you settle into the comfort of a sturdy chair at the table, relieved to have survived the onslaught of what the locals call "Happy Hour." The tavern is alive with conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Amidst the lively ambiance, a voice, sultry and captivating, slices through the noise, capturing your attention like a siren's call.

You turn towards the source of the voice and find yourself captivated by the sight of a woman in her thirties. A mischievous smile dances upon her lips, and her amber eyes burn with a fiery intensity. Her cascading hair, the color of autumn leaves, frames her face like a soft halo. "Come here often, stranger?"

In one fluid motion, she reaches for a frothy mug on her tray and takes a seat at your table. "On the house!" she declares, her voice a velvety purr, before sauntering off to attend to the other patrons. The rich aroma of the freshly poured ale wafts up to your nostrils, tempting your senses with its intoxicating fragrance.

Hold your horses, my adventurous friend, for no journey is complete without choosing your class and assembling your crew! With your mug in hand, you survey the area, searching for potential allies amidst the lively festivities. Your eyes are drawn to the far left corner, where a group of armored figures revel in high spirits. One particularly enthusiastic individual jumps onto a table, rallying his comrades with fervor.

"Come, brothers and sisters! Tonight, we celebrate our initiation as the Lord's instruments of justice!" the helmet-clad leader exclaims, his voice booming across the tavern. The group responds in unison, their voices harmonizing in a resounding chorus of "AMEN…AMEN…AMEN!" Just as the leader raises his mug to drink, he sways precariously, losing his balance and toppling off the table, much to the amusement of his companions.

Curiosity piqued, you continue your search, your gaze now shifting to the shadowy corners of the room. Two individuals stand apart from the revelry, observing the festivities with an air of quiet detachment. Their eyes dart around, filled with a mix of distrust and paranoia. Squinting to get a better look, you notice tattoos adorning their hands, but before you can discern their meaning, the owners quickly roll up their sleeves, obscuring your view.

As you crane your head, your attention is immediately captivated by a group of adventurers gathered around a grand feast. One of them bears an impressive ax strapped to his back, exuding an aura of strength and determination. An elf, with a sleek bow slung across her shoulder, exudes an air of grace and precision. Your keen eye catches the subtle movements of another figure, a nimble thief, his hands disappearing and reappearing in a swift and practiced manner. And lastly, a fair maiden donning a pristine white robe, her head bowed in prayer, murmuring words of protection for her comrades.

Just as you begin to take in their presence, another voice, filled with confidence and charm, reaches your ears. "Listen, lads and lasses, for I shall regale you with a tale of the legendary Sword Dancer!" The speaker, undoubtedly a seasoned storyteller, captures the attention of the entire group. Their appearance suggests they are mercenaries, enjoying a well-deserved respite after a successful mission. Two members of their party, engrossed in a game of Five Finger Fillet, demonstrate their dexterity as the knives dance across their fingertips, the metallic tips dangerously close to their flesh.

As you take a sip of the complimentary ale, its flavors explode on your tongue, a delightful blend of hops and malt that dances across your taste buds. The liquid glides smoothly down your throat, leaving a warm, lingering sensation in its wake. You can't help but savor the moment, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the boisterous crowd that surrounds you.

Now dear readers as you drink your ale in deep thought, let me present to you four enticing classes to choose from. Each class possesses its own unique abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, along with their own unique captivating stories and journeys.

Let us begin with the Paladin class, noble warriors skilled in the art of close combat. Their proficiency with weapons and unwavering strength make them formidable adversaries on the battlefield. These warriors seek honor and glory, their journey driven by an unwavering determination to prove themselves in combat and earn the respect of their comrades. However, their reliance on physical strength may sometimes cloud their tactical judgment, leading to challenges that test their resolve.

Moving on, we have the enigmatic Assassins, masters of stealth and deception. These silent predators thrive in the shadows, executing covert operations with deadly precision. Their agility and reflexes make them formidable foes, capable of infiltrating enemy lines undetected and eliminating their targets with lethal efficiency. The Assassins' journey is one of secrecy and intrigue, navigating a world where shadows hold secrets and danger lurks at every turn. However, their solitary nature can sometimes isolate them from their allies, presenting a unique set of challenges.

The Mercenary Class, our third option, consists of battle-hardened warriors with vast experience in combat tactics. These versatile fighters adapt to any situation, whether it be engaging in close combat or providing ranged support. Driven by profit and the thrill of adventure, mercenaries eagerly take on contracts and revel in the spoils of war. However, their loyalty lies with the highest bidder, and their actions may be fueled by personal gain rather than a sense of honor or duty.

Lastly, we have the Bard Mage, a mesmerizing combination of spellcasting and musical enchantment. These magical minstrels wield both the power of spells and the captivating melodies of music. With their harmonies, they can heal wounds, inspire bravery, or lull enemies into a deep slumber. The Bard Mage's repertoire of spells is vast and diverse, allowing them to adapt to any situation they encounter. Their journey is one of artistic expression and mystical exploration.

As you contemplate these four intriguing classes, the possibilities unfold before you. The allure of glory and honor beckons as you envision yourself as a valiant Paladin, standing on the frontlines of battle. Perhaps the thrill of adventure and the promise of lucrative rewards draw you towards the life of a Mercenary, where each new contract brings both danger and excitement. Or maybe, just maybe, the enigmatic world of shadows and secrets calls to your soul, tempting you to become an elusive Assassin, a master of stealth and deception. Alternatively, the enchanting melodies and spellcasting prowess of the Bard Mage may resonate within you, offering a path of magic and artistic expression.

Dear readers, the choice is yours. So, weigh the pros and cons, let your imagination soar, and select the class that ignites a fire within your heart, guiding you towards the adventure that awaits.

#A.T. Entries #choose your own adventure #Adventure #fantasy writing #dnd #cyoa #my polls