#however if i WAS well written - just not to my tastes - my brain would not be complaining about it

[rolandapostatize]

cannot get over how theodore 7th time loop is written actually. 13 year old's suicidal tendencies resolved by having polite conversation with the person he loves most and whom he was doing all that for, and who has never before in his life clearly communicated with him at all, and who due to his own emotional immaturity decided that the best way to protect his desperate younger brother is to never talk to him and act as terrifying as possible around him. one unwell child eliminating another unwell child's problems, that he was contributing to, in a single conversation

like i cant get over how quickly the conflict was introduced and resolved.

#v*ncent n*ghtray is crying in my brain as i write this #not to say that that was his exact situation he just lives in my brain so that subplot reminded me of him #i just wish 7th time loop was more fucked up and better written. like arnold is gonna commit patricide in a few years #youd think thered be some atmospheric tension regarding the complete absence of his father in the plot (when we know hes right there in the #same palace) #im just imagining a version of it thats more fucked up and better written and also with less generic alternate-europe worldbuilding #generally when i fing myself wishing a story was more fucked up i do stop to consider that maybe thats my fault and im expecting it to be #something it isnt. and that fair on its own #however the writing IS bad - disregarding my own preferences #and i suppose its just that when im thinking of how it could be better my preferences affect my ideas #however if i WAS well written - just not to my tastes - my brain would not be complaining about it #also the economics in this show are so nothing. like again no effort put in. i struggle with understanding money related concepts #all the time but even i can see that

[shockedemojiatsv]

▪︎■☆ Новое Mолоко 🐮🥛 ☆■▪︎

(Translation: New Milk)

☆ 🔞!!NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!🔞

☆ male! subtop! Francis Mosses / male! dombottom! Reader

☆ overstimulation if ya squint a lil, milking, breeding, dumbification, passing out, belly bulge (If your not into this, look away!! 👻👻)

☆ implied Russian speaking Francis (translated from google translate and research for needed accuracy, however, any form of critique or correction definetely is allowed!)

☆ short (I think???)

☆ author has played Not My Neighbor

°○☆nsfw under the cut☆○°

You and Francis had a thing. And, fuck, for a minimum wage worker who barely gets any kind of rest at all, he's fucking good at what he does. He's a big fan of milking. Not his job, no, he could rant about how shitty it can be despite not wanting to get a new one (A/N: so real) but he's a fan of milking. Just the other kind of milking.

The first tim you two had sex, he was pretty sheepish about it, yeah. He didn't know if you prefered topping or bottoming so he settled for a handjob. You did the same as well. Until you both got used to each other and realized that he was pretty flexible. He'd do whatever you'd want to do, whatever you had in store, as long as if it wasn't too much for either of you. He loves fucking but he surely isn't a sex devient. Somewhere in the middle. Pliant to whatever you to had planned. But recently, he may or may not have discovered a new kink. Somethig that made his legs flex and his stamina increase and the gooey, warm, and fuzzy gears in his head grind back to life to keep on going. The last time you two had sex, there was now no condom, and he was pounding you into the bed that you swore Isaack would definetely send a formally written complain, persuasive enough for the both of you to not have such intense, hot, steamy sex for the next few months, (He's a reporter after all, have to respect the man informing the people, and he definetely has a way with words).

Humming, groaning, a little against your neck. You swore it was like a kitten, as if he was purring in a way. You pulled his hair as per usual and with a louder grunt his dark brown eyes roll up just a slight and flutter, closing shut as he fills you to the brim with his warm baby batter. Shaking, sweating, and biting his lip when he just keeps on cumming until theres nothing more to give. Or is there?

What he didn't expect, was when you suddenly whispered in the midst of him balls deep inside you,

"Thats it... good boy, you fuckin slut... Cum in me, keep milkin' yourself f'me"

Ah shit, he swore something inside of him just snapped loose. With the way he shivered violently, and as your hand loosened on his sweaty brown hair he moves again. Oh how odd, after a few rounds, the last one being penetration, he's always so tired, opting to give you a handjob or finger you if you didnt get a taste of your climax but shit. If this wasn't hot then what was?!

When you had basically degraded him to milk his balls dry you didn't mean literally, but fuck. This was so appealing, that your little milk boy had his quirks.

You look down at yourself seeing the bulge appearing on your abdoment everytime he thrusts in and god does it make you feel dizzy. Your hard dick, leaking as well just begging to cum while Francis gasps and shudders a little more, oh he looks so dumb. Trying to do as he's told. To keep milking himself. Milking himself for you. Just for motherfucking you. It keeps fuzzy sparks inside of his brain that has him smiling and drooling against your chest.

"Awe, what an adorable little cow you are... Milking your-...yourself for me... Giving me every ounce of that sweet sweet milk of yours, hmm? You wanna give me your milk Francis? You wanna fucking cum in me again?"

He feels so lightheaded that he smiles dumbly at the idea and nods as if his head is too heavy, full of warm cream. Muttering several words in russian mixed in with english as he nods slowly, trembling as his cock, still hard and moving perfectly against every spot inside of you.

"Please please please К-Куколка please... fuck fuckk- let me cum... inside... inside... cum inside please please milk me- oh... П-Пожалуйста... З-...Золотце... Пожалуйста..."

The pathetic, brown haired man sobs. Pawing at your sides like an injured little puppy. Begging so prettily, who could deny those eyes of his? all teary and tired. Small blobs of salty water dripping down his eyebags which were now disappearing, thanks to yourself for keeping his sleep schedule normal again after years of nap malnutrition.

After a few more moments of Francis groaning so softly against your ear, you feel yourself about to cum too, and when you order it directly, he really does come undone. Panting like a dog in heat while nails dig against his back skin. All the while he buries himself deep inside of you once again and fills you up with a second load of his fluids that it's practically drooling out of your hole. You hiss as well, shutting your eyes with a shudder as your dick spurts out a thick white rope of cum, coating Francis' stomach and your chest. Fuck.

Francis pants, collapsing on you. You gently push him to the side and just watch him catch his breath. Eyes closed, skin warm and sweaty while he's still inside you. All soft. But its not uncomfortable. At least now, you definetely know how you can abuse this new found information with your lovely boyfriend.

#🤯 writes #francis mosses #francis mosses milkman #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor #milkman #milkman thats not my neighbor #reader x milkman #milkman x reader #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x male reader #bottom francis mosses #sub francis mosses #usfw #smut #fic #fiction #tnmn #thats not my neighbor fandom #writing #writers of tumblr #romance #haha lol #doppleganger #Nacho Sama #yessss #x reader #x yn #reader #yn

[tcfactory]

Since my brain has been full of SVSSS brainrot lately:

I want a fic where the transmigration mostly fails and Shen Jiu wakes up from his qi deviation as User002 with the goddamn System treating him like he is Shen Yuan. Trashy yellow book what??? No, he doesn't need stats on his fellow peak lords, if he is supposed to follow a plot then he wants to see the script! You wretched floating rectangle, how is he supposed to play along if he doesn't know the source material?!

The stress of having what feels like a very pushy curse or an insanely weird demon inflicted upon him makes him deviate from some minor plot points and he gets punished for being OOC a couple of times until the System takes pity on him and directs him to Airplane bro, with the very clear suggestion that if he can't remember the early arcs of the story - System understands, User! It's very long after all. UwU - he should go and discuss it with the author.

He basically kicks down Shang Qinghua's door in desperation for some clarity and maybe an explanation, right now before he works himself into a stress-induced qi deviation, Shang-shidi. Shang hamster looks at his miserable scum villain, takes a deep breath, brings out all of Shen Qingqiu's favorite snacks that nobody should know about, makes a pot of calming tea and tells him everything.

Shang Qinghua expects Shen Qingqiu to be angry, to rip into him for writing him into this wretched life. And Shen Jiu is angry, but not at Qinghua. His anxious, mousy little shidi who lives his entire life under the looming threat of a horrible, seemingly unchangeable future doesn't look like a god. Shang Qinghua, who does his best to run his peak well and look out for his disciples despite his admittance that in the story the original Qinghua did a shoddy job - he doesn't look like someone who would have put pen to paper and written a tragedy if he knew it would become someone's reality.

And how could Shen Jiu, who has seen people sell their bodies and their very dignity for a cup of stale water, judge someone for writing a very bad yellow book so he can eat? Please. Peak Lord Shen might have developed a very discerning taste in literature over the years, but you can't fill your stomach with artistic integrity, Shang-shidi. Shen Jiu understands.

So they sit and for that first evening, Shen Qingqiu listens to all the differences creeping into the story, Shang Qinghua's retelling of the drafts he abandoned due to peer pressure, the long rambling tangents of the research he's done, even if they never made it into the story. Qinghua is so caught up in having someone to talk to that he doesn't realize that Shen Qingqiu put everything that happened to Qi-ge together, somewhere between the musings about how a sword inspired by kintsugi would be so cool looking, shame that nobody ever sees the thing, and the griping about how much one of his patrons complained about Yue Qingyuan dying without ever drawing his sword.

Later, when the snacks are gone and the tea is replaced with something stronger, he tells Shen Qingqiu about the stories he really wanted to write. About how he shamefully sneaked his dream man into PIDW, just so he could have some small part to himself, and oh, Shen Qingqiu will have to remind him about demon courting practices when they are both sober again, because it sounds like that Mobei prince is down bad for him.

He leaves that night with a newfound determination. Shang Qinghua might be resigned to the whims of his System and the shackles of the Plot, but Shen Jiu didn't burn the Qiu manor down and break his chains to give up so easily. This is his world, his sect, his Qi-ge on the line, and he would sooner wrest control from the System and become custodian of the world himself than let something take away and ruin what is his. He is the strategist of Cang Qiong Sect, there is no situation he can't think a way out of and he has had enough of tragedies.

Before any of that, however, he needs to go and have a good yell at his Qi-ge, smack his stupid face and then curl up in his arms for a good night's sleep. It's long overdue.

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shang qinghua #that last bit can be read as qijiu or platonic #but I'm personally very partial to qijiu. they just have so much tasty tasty tragedy to sink your teeth into #sqq fixing the world by directing his anger at the right thing for once? more likely than you'd think #idk how they would deal with all the binghe related nonsense but sqq is nothing if not resourceful #tc writes

[bug-is-snug]

starved pt. 2

part one

plot: you're a zombie <3 CW: depictions of violence, depictions of obsession, gore, self-cannibalism (stay safe cutiepies!), blood, gore, eventual smut (That means Minors DO NOT INTERACT), self harm (I think? I'm not sure but I'm adding it to be safe!), military inaccuracies, dead dove do not eat kinds of stuff

A/N: let me know if I missed anything with the content warnings! Also please forgive me for the terrible accents, I am but a small humble person with the brain made of v8 juice- Also some of this was written on mobile so forgive me if there are any grammar errors ^^; banner by: @frostthecupcake (deactivated) and found by using "Find A Banner"

You felt your face grow warm as your mind went back to the sight of your Captain's wrist. Well- mainly his veins...God, he had lovely veins... You imagined grabbing his arm and sinking your teeth in, tearing away at his skin and tendons with gnashing teeth...while you daydreamt you couldn't help but wonder; How sweet would his flesh taste? Shaking your head profusely, you let out a huff and continued to head off towards the barracks while ignoring the emptiness in your stomach. God, you could feel the blood running down your throat, warming you far better than any hard alcohol... "Stop it." You hissed quietly to yourself, as if you had any control over the thoughts that ran rampant in your mind, "Don't think at all, just shut up!"

Taking a moment, you lean up against the wall and desperately try to gather your thoughts. Your stomach growled almost angrily, making you let out a frustrated groan. "Hungry?" A familiar voice cooed playfully, their Scottish accent giving away their identity instantly. You look up to see Soap, your heart instantly beginning to race. Your eyes scanned over his body while your nose took in his scent, which allowed you to recognize that he had just gotten back from the shooting range, the smell of his musk and the gunpowder making your head swim. "Uh-" Christ, you sounded dumb, "Maybe? I dunno, I kinda skipped lunch today...though I do hear that your body can make you hungry when you're exhausted so- uh- maybe it's that?" ...WHAT? Where did that even come from?! What kind of stupid excuse is that?! Soap raised a brow, staring at you for a moment and giving away that he was also just as bewildered as you were over the shit you just said. "...I am going over here now." You quickly walked around him, attempting to make it to your room. "Hold on now, that dinnae make a lick o' sense. What's goin' on wi' ye?" A strong, calloused hand grasped at your forearm making your heart jump to your throat, "Ye alright, lovie?" You shuddered slightly, digging your nails into your palms as thoughts of tearing your precious teammate’s ribs apart and sinking your teeth into his heart while it still beats made you feel dizzy and your stomach ache. What would it taste like? Sweet? Savory? How much would you be able to devour before someone else stumbles upon the sight? You quickly interrupted your own thoughts as you blurted out, "I think I'm sick is all." Soap hummed and reached over, pressing his hand against your forehead. "Ye dinnae feel sick, ye feel cold to be honest, lovie..." He muttered. "Sarge-" You were cut off by his hands feeling up the scruff of your neck and under your jaw. "Sorry, mate. My mum used to do this to check if me or my siblings were sick..." His voice was low, as if he trying not to spook an injured animal. "Sarge, I'm fine, honest-!" You tried to reason with him. You knew he was telling you the truth, but you also knew how he was. To clarify, while the relationship between you and Soap was rather handsy it was usually a welcome action and when it wasn't, you would tell him and he would back off. The touches the two of you would share sometimes bordered on inappropriate, but it often didn't go much further than that. It was a very intimate relationship, one that could be missed if someone didn't have a trained eye. However, it wasn't quite romantic...just intimate and sometimes intense-

Looking into his eyes, you could tell that while he was indeed just checking up on you, there was a small sense of enjoyment at the fact you were letting him casually paw at your sensitive skin. You let out a soft hiss in pain when he pressed down on a particularly tender spot, "Johnny, too hard..." "Sorry, lovie..." Soap said quietly, letting go after a moment. "It's okay..." You assured him, "What's the prognosis, Doctor MacTavish?" He chuckled at your teasing and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, "Yer feelin' a bit stiff is all. Probably from yer god-awful posture." "Then I am going to do what I was planning to do and go take a nap. I should probably tell Gaz...I was gonna eat lunch with him today..." You said, disappointment heavy in your voice. "I can tell 'im fer you, lovie. Dinnae ye worry yer little head ‘bout it." Soap smiled, reaching over and giving you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. A sigh left your lips as you gave him a relieved smile, "You'd really do that for me? Thank you, Johnny..." He smiled back, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "Yer welcome..." You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow which made him chuckle and give you a wink before he walked around you, leaving you on your own as you finally made it to your room. You remembered the last time you retreated to your room when feeling unwell while you stared at your bed, closing your door behind you. It was a few days after the attack... Your body felt like it was on fire, especially where that damn doctor had bitten you. Your heart raced and your arm felt like your veins had poison coursing through them. You had refused to let anyone know, nor let anyone take care of you going as far as to barricade the door. Stupid? Yes, but what were you supposed to do? Let the teammates whom you trust your life with every single day know you're unwell? Ask them for help because they're your found family and you would drop everything to take care of them if they were in this state because you love and cherish them as people? Cringe- You groaned in pain, curling up in your little bed while digging your nails into the fabric, tearing them effortlessly much to your surprise. "What the fuck?" You huffed out, grimacing as you stare at the ruined sheets, "I just bought those..." Was that what you should have been worried about? Absolutely not, but you have to cope somehow. The pain was unbearable, but the worst of it was the fever and the fever dreams that came along with them. Well, you called them fever dreams; they actually appeared in your mind when you were awake. And most of them were really just...urges... Visions of ripping people apart filled your mind. It felt so real...you could feel your fingers digging into some faceless person's skin, tearing apart their flesh and ripping apart their ribs while they screamed and thrashed. The more skeptical part of your mind shoved it off as just an edgy little thought that you had as a courtesy of watching so many horror movies with Gaz, just a silly little spout of aggression. No, it was the thought of eating the person that got you to worry. It was the thought of burying your face into their warm body and sinking your teeth into their heart that scared you. The worst part of it was the fact that your stomach growled every time you imagined chewing and swallowing, like a forbidden fruit... Blood spilling down your chin like you had just bit into an apple after days of neglecting your hunger became a feeling you craved desperately. "Please just be a really fucked up version of the flu..." You whispered, "I swear to everything that is good and holy if it's not-" You were interrupted by a sudden sharp pain in your stomach, making you cry out. Burying your face into your pillow, you let out a quiet sob while you clung to it. Somehow, you felt embarrassed about how much pain you felt. You've taken bullets for fuck's sake! You have broken bones, dislocated joints-! And a little stomachache is making you cry?!

"What the fuck...?" You muttered, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Upon seeing the literal puddle of it in your hand you cringed, “Mm…that’s nasty…”

Sitting up, you use the headboard of your bed to keep you steady while your head pounds and begs you to lay back down. You huff, leaning your head against your arm for a moment. This fucking sucks. There is no denying it!

Your nose is pressed against your flesh, and you catch a whiff of yourself…Oh my…

Your stomach beckons you, and in that moment, you don’t even care. How can you? You’re starving!

So…

Without a second thought…

You sink your teeth into your wrist with a sickening squelch, tearing through veins and muscle. And, God, if it didn’t taste lovely…

Back To Current Day…

You sit down on your bed, running your fingers over the stitching you had done over the once torn sheets. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough!

With a sigh, you lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling as you reach over and gently touch your forearm, your fingertips sliding across the edge of the bandage. You didn’t really want to check if the wound was still there…but you didn’t want it to get infected either.

Your eyes glance down as you kicked off your shoes, scooting into your bed while your hand slowly peeled the bandaid off. You expected infection…a festering, pulsing and pus filled one…however, there was nothing. Your wrist was completely healed, like nothing happened-! How…?

You shake your head as hard as you can, as if it would shake the thoughts away. You ball the bandaid up and go to the trashcan, tossing it before going to your sink and rinsing your hands off. This isn’t so bad, right? It’s- er- not ideal, but it’s something! Maybe you should keep a journal of your changes- No. Too risky. If anyone found it…

Your eyes closed as you lean against the counter, inhaling through your nose while your leg bounce uncomfortably, “I can’t see a doctor…I really should but-! …What if I hurt someone…?”

You found yourself doing that a lot; whispering to yourself, fighting yourself…etc…

But that’s neither here nor there, it’s time to eat.

You started to head to your mini fridge, kneeling down before it and opening it up to take a package of raw meat out. You tear it open with your finger, feeling yourself begin to shake…

Shoveling raw meat into your mouth was not a good feeling. Did it scratch that lizard part of your brain? Yes. But social norms taught you to be disgusted with such bad manners-! However…as you sunk your teeth into the raw chicken breast, you ripped and tore away at it, feeling yourself grow more and more ravenous as it you continued. It tasted pretty okay for the most part, which is what surprised you the most.

Tasted like chicken, obviously, but the raw flavor added to it somehow? It was so hard to describe! But…then those thoughts came…

You were imaging the meat belonging to Soap, your beloved teammate. You felt so dirty and perverted…

‘This isn’t normal,’ You reminded yourself, ‘This is NOT. NORMAL!’

You didn’t even realize someone else had entered your room until they cleared their throat, making you snap your attention to whomever it was.

Oh shit.

#bug sure is snug in this rug #141 x reader #task force 141 #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #poly 141 #john soap mctavish x reader #zombie au #zombie reader #john price #141 au #cod 141

[planetdream]

I just stumbled across your skz & dildo training post and I think it turned my brain to MUSH and like hhhhhh;;; now I’m imagining what they would be like with throat training, especially the meanies like seungmin?? Teasing you as you turn into you a teary, drooling mess? Or fucking your cunt while making you take it? Goodbye

[mentioned post] oooo okok was gonna structure this like the prev post but the thoughts took over

chan...oh my god... he likes to make you watch while you're taking the dildo into your mouth. likes to sit you all pretty like in front of a mirror while he sits behind you, slowly guiding the dildo into your mouth. likes to hear the way you gag and to see how your tears fall when it reaches further than you've had it before—will praise you for the way you gag and how pretty you are when you shed a tear, amongst other things, of course. still likes taking his time with you but sometimes he wants to make you take it. (likes to place his free hand around your neck, if he's not playing with your clit, feeling how deep the dildo is in your throat)

as mentioned, minho likes pushing you close to your limits—and throat training does not change that. however, minho really assumes the role of a teacher. he's comforting, guides you well, and makes sure it's an enjoyable for you most importantly. he makes sure you're not feeling discomforted, that you're breathing properly, etc. he's still stern but not quite mean because he wants to take things slowly. it's not until days later, when you're a bit more confident with what he's taught you, that he slips into mean dom mode; forgoing the dildo and using his cock instead.

fucking you while making you take it? that has changbin written all over it. likes having you damn near in mating press, just needs to be face to face, chest to chest [bc he loves u n he's horny </3] tries not to be too rough with you so he opts to go slow; alternating the timing between his thrusts into you and working the dildo into your mouth. makes you cockwarm the dildo in your mouth while he's fucking you, hand over your mouth, delivering quick and deep thrusts because feeling you clench every time you gagged was driving him crazy.

with hyunjin, i think he's sweet. a little impatient and would rather have his actual dick in your mouth, but using the dildo means he can whisper sweet things and kiss on you, so he'll take it. he doesn't want you to choke too much but he loves seeing you all cute n messy for him—so he'll help in anyway he can to get rid of your gag reflex. the more you can take down your throat the more proud hyunjin is. is in love with kissing you after you've taken cock in your mouth <3

jisung walks in on you with your mouth around a cute pink dildo and he's stunned. kinda just stands there in shock for a bit. then he's suddenly bold for two seconds to ask if he can help before resorting back to being all shy (and slightly panicked). doesn't expect you to say yes nor does he expect you to say you wanted to try sucking him off (despite the fact that you've had sex with each other many time before). once he's calmed down, he'll take the dildo and help inch it into your mouth. practically drooling when he sees the look in your eye.

felix loves giving you little kisses against your throat while he's training your throat. is just...so enamored by the way you look, and the fact that you're doing this for him <3 gives the best praises and care, really preps you for when it's his cock. might start by thrusting his fingers in your mouth before you even get to taste the plastic of the dildo. if you want him to guide the dildo into your mouth and do all the work while your just take it? it's more than his pleasure to do so. he likes to wear the dildo on a strap or use the suction part on a wall and guide your head up and down.

now seungmin really wants to know how deep you can take it, and if you can take it deeper. regardless, he's going to help you. similar to minho, seungmin takes on the role of a teacher—but he's strict, condescending. wants to see how much of a mess he can make of you. will you cry? gag and choke around the dildo until you drool? and will you keep coming back and begging him to give you more? will put his fingers in your mouth with the dildo to see how wide he's fucking you open. probably chooses a size assortment of dildos to use on you.

jeongin is a menace. he's on a power high; wants to tease you and make you work for it. his heart races ever time he tells you to do something and you follow his orders—do you really want to learn how to take his cock in your mouth, or are you just a slut? he makes you stick your tongue out, slapping the tip of the dildo on your tongue. he has to make it extra messy and wet, so if you're not producing saliva quick enough for him, he'll def help you out yk.

#[💌] ˚｡⋆ #✰˚. !! dream.hardhours #☁️ — daydream.skz #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #minho smut #changbin smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #han jisung smut #lee felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin smut

[pinktom]

What do you think pink about tomarry content creators getting abusive tomione asks suddenly? First obsidian, then I saw one more account getting and now seminar arts. Is it only one person doing all this?

Btw my jaw dropped with your no filter answer where you said that whenever harry comes the chemistry between to marry best tomione 🤣. I would love to hear more of your no filter thoughts

I have no doubt those asks were sent by trolls. I, however, am simply a hater—I see an opportunity to hate, justified or not, I pounce. x]

In ascending order, here are the reasons I think Tomione sucks.

PS: If you know this post is gonna piss you off and press "Keep Reading" anyway - that is entirely on you. Send me anon hate and I'll assume you're a masochist who wants me to spank your pert, round hinie and call you a naughty, naughty girl.

“Book nerd loves book nerd uwu” trope does not fit Tom Riddle, and I find it obnoxious.

Like I touched on when I was first sipping on that haterade, Tom Riddle values usefulness. By this logic, you could easily contrive up a scenario in which he wants to use Hermione’s skills for whatever reason. 

However, the route that is usually taken in Tomione is that Tom is … impressed … by her intellect. A woman… who is… smart? He’s intrigued. 😏 He’s never once met a smart woman in his life before. And certainly not one so independent and feisty. She doesn’t swoon over him like the other girls do (eye roll).

I never got the impression anywhere in canon that Tom Riddle cared much about intellectual pursuits beyond those which were immediately useful to his goals, so for the very basis of a relationship to be his interest in her brains – to me, it’s tedious and off-base.

And also icky honestly lkjdflkj. Hermione’s two crushes are on a couple of stinky smelly boys (Krum, Ron), where the hell do you go off acting like she wants some mysterious, twisted dark boy? I’m offended. 

Absolutely zero chemistry; once Harry steps in, it’s game over

Because these characters lack any common ground, shared values, or compelling circumstances that tether them together, there is zero chemistry. You can try to fabricate those things with a little bit of crack!cocaine, but then you’re forced to contrive a lot of additional personality traits and circumstances that diverge them from their canon selves. (Which yes, you can do, but it only works if you’re gonna do something really interesting.)

As much as people like to har har about how canon doesn’t matter, here’s the truth: yes, it does. Our communities only exist because we’re referencing shared source material. However much you can bend characters around, everyone knows each character has an essence that just “feels like them” on a deeper human level. 

As such, we all know Tom Riddle and Harry Potter are intrinsically connected to each other. In Tomione this presents a conundrum. I could cite dozens of fics, but I’ll stick to two very well-written ones I enjoyed.

In one of them, Tom was a criminal and Harry was a detective on his tail; no matter how many times Tom fingered Hermione, he was always more entangled with Harry, because the stakes and intensity between them were so much grander. Same thing with the other fic but amplified by the Horcrux bond. At their very first encounter, when Tom and Harry laid eyes on each other, they both immediately felt an arresting connection, with distrust and intrigue. Hermione instantly paled in comparison in both stories.

It’s just like the moment Harry steps into the frame, you see how transparent and superficial the “commonalities” between Tom and Hermione ever are. Books and cleverness - oh but Harry, there are more important things! Like being spiritually linked! And sharing unique and intimate traumas in common! 

Heterosexual Tom is truly disgusting to read about

Look–it’s a matter of taste. We’re all products of our environments. For me, no amount of feminism or fantasy can overrule everything I’ve seen and experienced in my life. ( ಠ_ಠ )

I don’t enjoy reading about women in relationships with men who are controlling, violent, and selfish. Even the way Voldemort treats Bellatrix in canon always makes me wince, because I see it like this … here’s this girl who grew up proud; who was beautiful, rich, extremely gifted and powerful; and she turns into this horrible sniveling creature. Say it ain't so! I wish she'd killed him when he broke her ass out of Azkaban.

But back on the topic of Tomione specifically — I think there’s another layer to it, which is the greasy self-insertion aspect which makes me uncomfortably aware of how much the author’s ginie is tingling at the idea of Tom Riddle lifting a brow and saying, “Is that so, Miss Granger?” while she scowls and tells him to fuck off !!!

It’s of course not the self-insertion in itself that’s icky. It’s more just that the type of person who wants to self-insert into that particular heterosexual scenario is, uhh, too basic for me and my big powerful fujo brain.

And I guess that's gets me to the very core of why I find Tomione basic, trifling, and underwhelming. 

Tom Riddle is allowed no faults whatsoever in Tomione

Oh, sure. He’s controlling. He’s mean. He grabs her wrist and says, “What were you doing talking to Malfoy?” 😠

But so... ? Tom Riddle is a deeply embarrassing, mentally unwell trainwreck of a person. He's so much grosser than that. Yet you do not get that feeling at all in most Tomione fics. His worst character traits are often there but they’re made to seem sexy and flattering at all times.

I’m not saying your run-of-the-mill Tomarry fic doesn’t suffer this fatal flaw too—but when it comes down to it, Tomione doesn’t allow for his unsexy fallibility, period. Because the sexiness of the ship really depends on heteronormative romantic tropes and fantasies, which tend to be quite rigid and narrow. 

And I understand and empathize with why this is; just look at Reddit, so many women in heterosexual relationships already must put up with mortifying, embarrassing, and unhygienic things (y’all know which posts I mean 🙁). 

That’s just not what I’m here for. I love Tom Riddle because he’s a superficial narcissistic lunatic with no self-awareness and emotionally stunted outlook.

I don’t want to hear how he terrified the orphans if I’m not gonna hear about how he pissed the bed and got his bare ass whipped by a mean, toothless matron for chatting in sermon. I don’t care to see him bossing around those wimps at Hogwarts if there’s not at least one student who looks at “ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE” written in blood and feels tummy-churning secondhand embarrassment.

#tom #server #asks #offensive content #anti tomione #shipping wars

[saiidahyunie]

obsession

kim dahyun x f!reader 

synopsis: echoes of the past haunts you for years, hiding from the girl that you loved dearly. but now she’s found you, staying in control is worse than the current nightmare. 

warnings: dark concept!!! ; bit of angst ; reader is a vampire ; dahyun works for the fbi ; violence towards reader ; blood play ; implied smut ; flashbacks in italics ; written in one take ; might not be proofread

a/n: the first (and only) time i've written a fic in one sitting :O i'm never doing that again my brain is mush

the soap stung against your hands, palms already rubbed dry with the previous twenty times you’ve rinsed them. 

you rub your face furiously, but nothing that you do is enough to shake off the image of blood dripping from your mouth. 

her blood. 

tears are welling up in your eyes, choking sobs wrenching from your gut. it all started innocently enough. 

well-

not quite innocent, because that wasn’t the word you would use to describe the position that you were in, with your fingers buried inside dahyun, your mouth nibbling delicate trails down her neck. 

you only remember her moans, her breathless commands for you to go harder, faster, deeper, the way she opened up so beautifully to you, her legs spreading so eagerly for you. 

the scent, however, you don’t even remember how it overcame you, the heady aroma of her arousal and the blood, thrumming hard and fast in her veins. you remember even less when your teeth tore into dahyun’s skin and tasted her for the first time, a taste so exquisite, it would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“y/n…” 

you look up to see the reflection of your father in the mirror, jaw set in a grim line. 

“she’s gonna make it, right…?” 

you haven’t heard yourself this weak since the early years of grade school. not since losing to the new girl at the park left you in tears, 

every. 

single. 

day. 

now, that same girl, older now, the same one you held so many times, was in the hospital, battling for her life…and it was completely, entirely, your doing. 

your father just nods, knowing that the words will serve no purpose here, because you’ve already become broken, too damaged by the truth of your own nature to be consoled by the petty words. 

“we need to leave, y/n.” 

knowing what your father meant, that he wasn’t talking about leaving the bathroom, or the hospital, or even to go visit dahyun…he was talking about leaving town…forever. 

“you can’t expect me to just leave her like this,” you cry, “she needs me,” 

the stinging sound of a slap rang loud and clear across the stalls of the bathroom.

“let’s not forget the reason she’s in the hospital, in the first place.” 

and all you could do was hold your cheek gingerly, tears burning the red imprint of your father’s hand across your skin, because those words were a much needed reminder. even though guilt ripped through you for what you done, a small part of you, stubborn and child-like, still longed to be at dahyun’s bedside, to hold her hand till her eyes opened again. 

“i will only say this once,” your father murmurs somberly, “and you will do well to listen.” 

“she is better off without you.” 

—

most people say that medical anesthesia induces a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep. but instead of the black nothingness that was supposed to surround her, dahyun rememberonly red, swelling around her like pretty petals falling from the sky…and a voice. 

“dahyun…?” 

“oh god, no please wake up dahyun, please…” 

she can hear soft sobs in the background. 

“what have i done…dad? what’s happening?” 

“why won’t she open her eyes?!?!” 

there is pain, heavy, scathing in this voice, and she wants to go to you, to the voice that’s crying for her. 

but she can’t, for the love of you, seem to open her eyes. 

—

when dahyun does finally wake, to the dull, throbbing pain of having one too many tubes stuck in her body, she sees jeongyeon, her eyes lighting up as if in slow motion. 

“dahyun,” jeongyeon mumbles, hugging her gingerly, “i was so worried…what happened to you?” 

her hands feel stiff, like lead, but she lifts them to her head anyway, rubbing her forehead slowly. “i don’t know…” 

dahyun would’ve asked where she was, but her consciousness had revived to the point where she could recognize the conatst beeping and the bottles of liquid hung over her head. 

she was in the hospital. 

“your parents just went to grab a bite…they’ve been here for the past ten hours, waiting for you to wake up…” 

“jeong…” dahyun speaks slowly, her tongue hurting to even speak, “where’s y/n?” 

jeongyeon gulps, the brown in her eyes crinkling with regret. 

“she…” jeongyeon hesitates, not knowing how to tell her that when you had called her, there was no answer, and that when you had run over to her house, frantic, pounding on her door desperately, nobody had opened the door either. “y/n has gone away…for a bit.” 

—

working for the bureau has taught dahyun a host of things. of these life lessons, the most important is to always be prepared. with a job that has such high amounts of risk involved on a daily basis, being prepared for the worst is a lifestyle that she has adapted to. be it an explosion, a knife at her throat, or being held at gunpoint, dahyun’s seen it all and come out unfazed.

but standing here, across the room from a woman she hasn’t seen in years, dahyun is definitely not prepared for the impatient scowl spreading across your sharp features. 

“how did you find me?” 

contempt oozes out of your words, thick and poisonous, flowing onto her and leaving their sting, but dahyun doesn’t show it. it’s a trait she’s mastered over the years. 

“i work for the bureau,” dahyun says impassively, “we have our ways.” ways that have been useless for the past seven years, she wants to add, but elects to keep quiet. 

you stare at dahyun for what seems like hours, angry flashes of dark into her warm brown. you are visibly seething and a part of dahyun is smiling inside because after seven of not knowing if you were alive or dead, she was ready to give anything to just look at you, angry or not. 

“did it ever occur to you that maybe i didn’t want you to find me?” you hiss, tone rising. 

every day, dahyun thinks somberly. she was never under any illusions. she realized within the first one year of your devastating disappearance from her life that you didn’t want anything to do with her. 

“i needed to know that you were okay.” 

that you were alive. happy. 

before dahyun’s well trained eyes could register it, you were in front of her, pinning her against the wall. your presence is everywhere, all around her and she can barely breathe. dazedly, dahyun wonders when you learned to move that fast. 

you grit your teeth, eyes gleaming menacingly. “well here i am, dahyun.” you hover right above her, face barely inches away. “do i look okay enough for you?” 

dahyun nods mutely, crushed by the power of your hold to make her feel so vulnerable. “i thought you were dead,” she whispers, looking into your bright verdant orbs, still reveling in the fact that you weren’t dead, you very much alive and standing right in front of her. 

the fear, that undeniable dread in her voice as she utters those words is so powerful, you were this close to breaking down, the heady scent of having dahyun in your arms making you completely weak. 

backing away, knowing that this kind of proximity, the nature of this very conversation is heading down a dangerous path for the both of you and so you step away, giving back her breathing space. 

pinching the bridge of your nose, you steel yourself, working up the courage to say the words that are the very opposite of what you so desperately want. “you need to leave.” 

desperation washes over, fuelled by the withdrawal of having you so close to her. “i’ve never stopped looking,” dahyun says, looking away. “not once.” 

“you weren’t supposed to be looking for me,” you mutter, but it’s futile, you knew perfectly well how she worked. 

“there were no traces of you anywhere,” dahyun continues bleaky, “not until you contacted jeongyeon.”

a moment of weakness. when you learned that jeongyeon was getting married, you had fought every fiber in your body to ont get onto the first plane back home and share this moment of happiness with her. so you did something almost as stupid. you left a voice message.

“congrats on the wedding day! i hope that you and jihyo share a wonderful life ahead!” 

you had taken enough precaution to use a public phone, but you should’ve known that there was no stopping dahyun. 

“she told you,” you mutter, wondering why you’re even surprised, it was the obvious course of action. “that bitch…” 

“she’s the only one who’s ever understood,” dahyun whispers, and it’s then you see her properly, for the first time this evening. you see the helpless look in her brown pool and guilt washes over you like a tidal wave. “i came back from the hospital and you were gone.” 

you don’t say anything, not even looking at dahyun–you can’t—not with the memories of what left her in the hospital playing so vividly in your mind. 

“y/n?” dahyun’s voice wavers, but she powers on because she’s lived for seven years without any answers, all her memories shaken, ever since that day. “tell me what happened that day?” 

you mumble a curse. it was everything you never wanted, to relive those memories—and even worse— recount them to the girl who’d almost died in your hands. 

“you don’t remember anything?” 

dahyun shakes her head. “i remember we were in your room…we were,” she blushes at this point, because the sight of her at that moment, so lost in her own pleasure would have made anyone blush, “and the next thing i knew, i was waking up in the hospital.”

“convenient…” you mutter, irrationally angry with dahyun for only remembering the pretty, happy moments, while you were cursed to live with the guilt. 

“well,” you whisper, a slight evil glint in your glowing eyes, “let’s help you remember then.” 

you walk toward dahyun slowly, dispelling your jacket, and unbuttoning the top two buttons. it was such a loose, effortless motion, and dahyun knows that on some level this was what she desired, but for some reason she takes a step back. 

soon, dahyun finds herself pressed up against the wall, with nowhere to run or hide, not knowing why she’s thinking of that all of a sudden, with you looming over her, the beautiful eyes she remembers all dark and stormy. 

“why so scared, dahyun?” you ask, mockingly, “you don’t remember anything anyway.” 

it makes no sense, these tears welled up in dahyun’s eyes, because she’s dreamt of you for so long, of you like this, close to her. but something feels different, more sinister, and it makes her edgy. 

“shhh,” you whisper, as the first tear drop rolls its way down dahyun’s cheek, guilty on some level that you’re scaling her, but she’s so close to you, her heartbeat pouding so loud and alluring in your ears, that you were beyond just simply turned on. “i just want to pick up where we left off.” 

dahyun’s mouth responded eagerly to you despite her fear, body pressing up against you the way it remembers, lithe muscles against your slightly larger frame. 

you weren’t sure of what kind of seduction you were aiming for, because it felt like you were the one melting, your objectionable heart like putty in her hands, so lost in the exquisite sweetness of her mouth, that you think you’re quite willing to forget all of the threats you’ve just made, as long as she stayed like this, dahyun wrapped in your arms for eternity. 

“dahyun,” you groan, as dahyun’s legs rub together against the one leg put in between, testing your control further. 

“i missed you…” dahyun mumblers, in between kisses, unwilling to let go of your mouth for these much needed words. 

it was somewhere at this point, when you were so lost in this shameless gyrating, that you’re nipping on her lower lip roughly, willing herself to give into you, tongue sweeping into hers, that you were aware of the cold, metalice tinge of something in the kissand you don’t even need to think twice about what it really is. 

you stagger back, desperate to get away from her, away from the mistake that threatened to repeat itself all over again. 

you see dahyun’s eyes recover slowly from their glaze, her breathing still uneven.

she probably didn't even realize. 

but the panic seizes you, making you crumble to the floor, voice pleading “you need to leave, dahyun…please.” 

dahyun’s lips tremble, the undeniable feeling of rejection flooding through her. “is there…” she hesitates for a second, because it’s the only thing she could think of. “someone else?” 

it had been seven years after all. maybe dahyun really didn't have a place in your life anymore. 

there was something about the way her words hit you, deep and accusing, and so very broken, that the precious string of control was holding you steady, snapped. 

“is that what you think?” you whisper, wondering just how dahyun could deny the truth even after so long. 

“look at me, dahyun,” you say hoarsely. “i’m a monster.” because despite living among your own kind for the past seven years, you could never see it any other way. 

“this place you stumbled into, its filled with the whole lot of us filthy vampires. you’ve stubled right into the goddamn hellhole and i can hardly protect you from myself…” you take a deep breath. “how will i protect you from the others?” 

dahyun reels her head from your admission. yet, on some level, she can’t deny that she had harbored a suspicion, especially when she had found evidence of your residence in this area. 

“i don’t need your protection, y/n. i can hold my own, i–” 

“i almost killed you, dahyun,” you grit out, anger flashing in your bright eyes, like it always does, when she thinks she doesn’t need you, “that’s what happened seven years ago.” 

dahyun’s eyes widened, shock coursing it way through her. 

“and do you know why?” you ask bitterly. 

“because i wanted you. and here you are, right in front of me, and all i can think of is taking you. possessing you, all over again.” 

because that was the truth, that’s all you can think of, the softness of her lips as it brushed against yours, the tentative flick of her tongue, her sweet breath mingling with yours….

and the delicious scent of her blood, pumping through her veins. 

and all you want to feel them all…all over again.

dahyun’s eyes fall to the floor, tears streaming freely now. she knew what you were trying to do. 

but you would never understand, that for dahyun, you could say anything and it would never be enough to scare her away, 

because in dahyun’s eyes it was all the same, lifelessness, or a life without you, knowing that you hurt for her too, wants her in whatever twisted way that you do…it was just too fucking painful. 

and dahyun had already lived seven years of this hell. you were here now, in front of her, and she wasn’t willing to give up this glimpse of paradise, no matter how fucked up it was. 

she bit into her already split lip, the blood only too happy to be relieved of its container, smearing all over her lip. dahyun watched as your pupils dilated, blown by the sheer arousal of her act, and it was probably downright depraved, but she was pretty sure that if you kept looking at her like that, she would be alright. 

“if this is all you want,” dahyun whispers, walking toward you, the blood dripping in a beautiful red trail down to her chin as she sat down astride you. she angled her chin so that drop would fall perfectly into your waiting, parted mouth.

“then take me.” 

#hyunie #twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice dahyun #kim dahyun #dahyun x reader #twice imagines #dahyun imagines #twice

[eldritch-spouse]

Giving Cero a handjob while reading to him our marriage contract and fawning over him

Can I also just say your blog is the love of my life I love your characters and content you put so much heart into it so just thank you and hope ya basements always full of bagels😭💞💞🫶🫶🫶

[Girls, guys and ghouls give it up for the biggest brain in the basement! Also, thenk you so much, that means a lot to me. :'7 <3 Fem reader.]

Cero expected a couple of outcomes when he slid the marriage contact your way and sat at a certain distance as you read.

You could be intelligent, come to the conclusion that he's offering you a better life than you'll ever have otherwise, recognize him as the savior he is and sign it. You could sign it out of fear, not ideal but he'll take it. Or you could throw a little baby tantrum and force him to use less appealing methods of making you reconsider.

He did not expect this however.

Maybe in his fantasies. The type of thing he'd sooner be caught dead than admitting he wastes energy conjuring in his mind.

You liked that contract.

In hindsight, you liked a lot of things, not just the contract. The demonlord had simply been far too busy trying to predict everything at once to notice the way your eyes would sparkle up at him whenever he said anything, how he basically didn't even have to tug you along to this room, how you exuded raw admiration watching every new room of his mansion revealed to you. Typical that, in his own magnificent intelligence, he didn't even stop to gouge your reactions. Regardless, the contract must have been the straw that broke the camel's back, because the moment you signed it-

-By the Rings, Cero didn't even get the opportunity to gloat about the fact that you signed it- You fucking signed it so fast! So readily! So willingly! You're so docile-

You threw yourself at him like a bitch in heat.

Normally, he wouldn't stand for this. Cero doesn't want to encourage this lack of self-control and discipline in his future Queen, it would be disastrous and cruel of him to allow you to behave so beastly. But, perhaps it was the sheer infectious glee in the air, the euphoria, the anticipation, the feelings he's never felt before being so quickly returned in spite of the minuscule speck of doubt that kept rearing its head... It all sparked together in one horrifically uncouth explosion of base urges gnashing their teeth.

The monster tried to keep his composure when he offered you a drink and dragged your chair closer to himself.

Several glasses of Gluttony's finest wine later, he's standing by your side, panting quietly, sharp yet slightly fogged eyes watching your small hand stroke languidly along his twitching length while you read several sections of his written work -It's a fine contract. A bit rushed, but a product of raw talent and passion he's well and truly proud of- Both of you tug at your own clothes to combat the heated friction in the air, and Cero has to hand it to you, your diction is commendable for someone so incredibly drunk on their first taste of Hell's crimson.

" This is marvelous... " You utter after a short pause when turning the page.

Cero schemes the outline of your tits through the shabby rags you call clothing, hips rocking ever so slightly as he considers dragging his cock between them, size difference be damned. You respond by squeezing around him a bit harder, delightfully so. " You expected less from me? " The last word dips into a poorly concealed moan.

Your grin is lopsided. " ... No. "

Cero will deny it with all his strength later, but his eyes rolled a little at that timid confession.

" Very good. " His clawed hand comes to guide your harmless one more efficiently, letting you know how he likes to be worshipped. After all, it's relevant to the next part you're going to enunciate. " Continue. "

The Icon pays close attention to the reactions in your face as you re-read this particular section. Because, while some parts were left deliberately vague, he knows you can pick up on the insinuations behind much of his professional language. He took care to make it tread that thin line between perfectly adequate, easily defensible, yet deviously secretly filthy. How could you ever miss the meaning interwoven in his phrasing when his dick hovers dangerously close to your face?

The more you read, the more you seem to buzz with arousal. Cero doesn't need to be a concubus to understand those clenching thighs and hasty breathing. He bites his lip for a moment, his own excitement beading at the tip of his member, used by you to further slick things along, a lewd sound now accompanying that trembling speech. You're almost picturesque like this- With your rosy lips, that flustered blinking, reduced to a mess by the mere terms and conditions he crafted. Cero would tease you about likely making a puddle on his chair's cushion if he wasn't already biting back snarls of pleasure.

" G- God, I- Fuck... " You whisper, whatever it is that you're imagining bringing a bead of sweat to your visage.

Unable to keep himself straight for much longer, Cero bends to loom over your figure, one hand bracing his weight on said chair's top rail while a boot rests on of the stretcher.

" I'm sure you must be dying to get started, no? Why, you're already practicing! " Some humor bleeds into his poisonous tone, though the King is much too turned on to make it sound as playful as he wished.

A shiver that looks more like a death rattle makes its way down your back and, adorably, you find your tongue tied in knots. Cero all but chuckles cruelly when you can't find the voice to continue reading, mind muddling into blind want.

" I'm... I'm sorry I- I can't... "

" Hush. You're forgiven, inamorata. " There's no shortage of jubilation in the Icon's toothy sneer when you effortlessly allow his digits to beckon your head closer, turning it.

He swipes the pristine pages from the table, the tip of his cock parked at your lips. You kiss him without being told to, already showing a lot of promise, and he casts you a slightly softer look while he buries as much of his length down your throat as you can handle.

" I'll do the reading for us now. "

#Cero oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #not sfw #minors dni

[teddy-bear-baby]

Their Deadly Flower - One

A/N: Please enjoy this written version of one of my many hallucinations. As a reminder, this doesn’t directly follow the canon events of CoD. Also, feel free to leave feedback and share if you are so inclined.

Prolog    Chapter Two

Pairings: Ghost X Reader,  König X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, 

     Some things would never change, from the silence of your steps to your highly perceptive hearing. All of your training had stayed with you even after your leave from 141. Your eyes were always sharp, keeping watch for what could be lurking around the corner. Shoulders always squared and feet poised to strike at anyone who might try to take you out. You were constantly on edge, rarely ever sleeping due to the fear of those seeking your head. The things you had done, the face of those whose lives you had taken, would flash through your mind when you closed your eyes. On the rare occasions you did sleep, you’d wake in a cold sweat, screaming from the night terrors that plagued you. Memories of the capture that lead to your forced leave from the 141. Flickering images of the torture you were put through at the hands of the enemy.

     You had been sloppy in your work only once, but once was good enough for them to take advantage of. They captured you as you lay in a puddle of your own blood. You weren’t fast enough as the bullet started flying, shelter just far enough from you for them to get one good shot off. You were too weak to crawl away as the crimson stained your clothes, seeping from the wound in your abdomen. The taste of blood in the back of your throat kept you from yelling for help. The hands of the enemy dragging you out of sight as the rest of your team made their escape. Too little too late did they notice your absence. By the time they had realized, you were already too far gone. Forced to evacuate and regroup, they made a plan back at the main base.

     Another team had gotten to you first, though you distinctly remember Laswell having been there. The other team took you for medical assistance in the building where they would eventually push you from the 141.

     That was two years ago now and you had built somewhat of a normal life for yourself now. Going under a fake name and being under 24/7 surveillance from those who had employed you before. You still didn’t feel safe. You never felt safe anywhere unless you were surrounded by your team. They had been your family, never had you felt like you belonged somewhere more in your entire life. Gaz and Soap were like brothers to you, Price like a father and Ghost... Well, he was a complicated one. You get along well and all but he was never one to open up. You knew little things about him, but you were sure the others knew those things too. He never opened up to you and for some reason, it bothered you. He hadn’t been cold to you like he was with most, he treated you well enough and would even occasionally joke with you. They were wry and sarcastic, sure, but they were jokes nonetheless. Which meant there was at least something there, right? Some semblance of a friendship?

     “Desert?” A female voice snaps you from your thoughts as your brain registers the fake name you’d been given. Alice was calling for you, your eyes snapping to meet her brown ones, the worry on her face evident. “Hey, are you ok?” 

     Batting away the concern in her voice, you allow your eyes to readjust to your surroundings. “Yeah, yeah. I was just… lost in thought, that’s all.” Shaking your head you begin picking at your food, not really hungry anymore. You knew that this brunch thing wouldn’t go well, you spent most of your time busying your mind with work and chores. You even went as far as to fill any unoccupied time with volunteer work and excessively retraining your movements, just in case. None of it was necessary, however. Your ex-employers were paying for everything for you. They’d literally handed you the keys and address of a one-bedroom flat and a box of food would arrive at your door every Friday at 2 p.m. But none of that kept your mind from slipping back to the day you lost everything. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. They took you to a separate outpost, then shipped you out here.

     “You seem a little more than just lost in thought, Hun.” She gives you a look as if to say ‘I know you better than you think’ before returning her attention to her food. “If you need to talk you know I’m here. You’re like, my best friend and I’d hope that you’d feel safe sharing your thoughts and feelings with me.” She smiles mischievously leaning slightly over the table. “No matter how fucked up they might be. Believe me when I say I have seen some shit.” She pushes her pin-straight blond hair over her shoulder as she bites into a carrot she’d picked out of her salad. 

     You nod silently as you stab the salad in front of you with the cheap plastic fork it came with. “I, um…” Your nerves are on fire after everything that just ran through your mind. “I’ve been thinking back on all the fucked up things I’ve done in my life, you know?” Taking the forkful of salad into your mouth, you look up at her to gauge her expression. She seems passive enough as she nods slowly, encouraging you to continue. And so you do, trying to keep the words that spill from your lips as cryptic as possible. Swallowing the bite of salad, you plaster a fake smile on your face. “You know, like, when you do something so completely avoidable and get into a lot of trouble over it or hurt yourself in the process.” Your smile falters as your mind again drifts back to that day.

     A small laugh escapes her plump lips. “Yeah, no, I get it.” She shakes her head looking you dead in the eyes, brows creased with amusement dancing in her eyes. “Is that really what you spend all that time thinking about?” Her cocks slightly to the side.

     An odd feeling rolls through your gut as you stare at her for a moment, trying to keep your features as neutral and light as possible. Something about her felt familiar, almost dangerous. Your mind races trying to figure out why she seemed familiar. Of course you knew her, you’d befriended each other a few months after you’d been moved here, but something about the look she just gave you sent your mind into a spiral. You remember that face, from a long time ago, way before you’d messed up. Then, as if you’d unlocked a hidden door somewhere deep in your mind, it all comes flooding back. All the negotiating you’d done with the enemy’s intelligence unit, it was her. She was always the one that would show up to speak with you, always completely unarmed and far too casual for the serious discussions that took place. You remember the odd, creepy vibes she gave off whenever she’d crack an inappropriate joke about whichever team member had been partnered with you that day.

     You’re sure at this point in thought that your mask had slipped, letting her in on the feelings flooding through your body. Fear and confusion, among many other feelings, flood you. As you regain composure you notice her once amused face has turned serious. “I’d be careful what your next move is soldier, wouldn’t want to make any more stupid mistakes, would we?” The smile returns to her face, sickeningly sweet and overall creepy as the tone in her voice turns sardonic.

     Inhaling deeply, you push your nerves down, blowing the anxiety out of your body with the exhale. “No, no more stupid mistakes.” With a light shake of your head, you stand slowly, clasping your hands in one another. You can only hope this action has the effect you're looking for. The last thing you’d want is an innocent getting hurt in the crossfire of a war they weren’t part of. Your eyes shift from her face to the rest of her body, searching for any signs of hostility. None immediately present themselves outright, perfect. Now you could easily lead her away from the civilians who were just trying to enjoy their remaining days on this spinning ball of hell. “Shall we?” Your voice comes out more confident than you were anticipating. Gesturing to the exit of the small café with your hands still clasped., you take a cautious step towards it, eyes never leaving her form.

     A knowing look crosses her gaze as she dabs her lips with a napkin. “Of course bestie.” An almost crazed smile paints itself across her thin lips. “Wouldn’t wanna waste our hours away sitting here all day.” She stands tall and straight, walking with intent. She strides up to you, giving you a cocky look as she links her elbow with yours. Leading you through the exit, she stops a few steps down the sidewalk, appearing to map the best route in her head as she looks up and down the street. 

     Sizing her up mentally you come to the conclusion that in hand-to-hand combat you could easily subdue her. If she possessed a firearm, however, your chances were slimmer. In the current environment, she’d be stupid to try anything. Civilians and shop owners would see everything and most of them knew her face by now. A small hiccup with living so long in such a small town, but an advantage you’d abuse in your current circumstances. On top of that, you’d taken the time in your paranoia-stricken state to map out the whole town repeatedly. At this point, every street, alley, and building was permanently ingrained in your mind. You’d need to make it to the forest on the west side of town. You knew what path you’d take if you got the chance to make a break for it. You stay silent as she continues to inspect the intersecting roads. Now though, you’re not sure whether she’s mapping out her surroundings, or looking for someone. It hit you then that if she had been this close to you the whole time, her team probably wasn’t far from her.

     Your mind begins to analyze the situation again, this time with the assumption that her team was also here, watching you both. Taking a silent deep breath, you clear your mind. There were some obvious spots that they would hide, plain sight for instance. You’d never got a glimpse of her team members’ faces, anonymity was almost a must for field ops during any mission. The town could be chock-full of enemy soldiers waiting around any corner ready to gun you down. Your mind flips through the nearly infinite paths you could take to safety, each one being tossed out for one reason or another. Corners you couldn’t see around, places not dense enough with buildings to duck behind, alleyways that didn’t lead directly into each other, and places too busy with civilian activity. You could do this, it would be risky but you knew you could. 

     Your eyes fix on the side of her head, trying to assess if you had the time to slip away before she located what she was looking for. Her eyes were still flitting back and forth, deciding now was the best chance you’d get, as time only allowed whatever danger there was to get closer. You steel yourself against the thought of being shot at and chased down, your leg muscles twitch as you shift your feet silently into position. Your mind flashes the path one last time, the hardest part would be the 180 you’d have to make to start the long trek out of this place. You glance once behind you to ensure the path is clear. Your body begins to move on its own, your hands unwinding from each other before you swiftly yank your arm from Alice’s. Using the moment of your own movements you spin on your toes taking off in a mad dash for the first alleyway you’d mapped in your head.

     Time seems to slow as you round the corner. Your strides nearly halt as the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rings off of the walls around you. Your sense of self-preservation kicks in and your legs begin to move faster. Rushing footsteps sound off from the street behind you. Wasting no time as you come to the next turn in your mental map, your right-hand jumps away from your body. It grips tightly on the pole of a street sign, using the momentum you’ve gained to whip yourself around the corner, losing little to no speed. With the path still clear in your mind, you focus all of your energy on putting as much distance as possible between you and your assailants. More gunshots ring in the air coming from all directions, confusion growing in your mind. Your chest heaves as you push yourself to keep going, running for what felt like forever as the sounds of all-out chaos resound through the streets. The footsteps behind you hadn’t ceased but had grown a bit quieter, farther away. If you could, you’d find a place to hunker down and hope they’d run right past you, but with no weapons to defend yourself with it wasn’t the best option. 

     Your legs ache from exertion, your chest heaving with every footfall. ‘You can do this’ repeats in your head over and over, a sort of mantra to keep yourself going. You were so close to the outskirts of town, the sweet taste of freedom stuck to the back of your tongue. One left turn, then a right and you’d smack face-first into the trees you plan to use to get away. The sound of gunfire is slowly dying down as you ready yourself to make the swift turn around the corner. For what has to be the twentieth time today, your arm jumps away from your body and you fling yourself around the corner. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of a large looming figure standing in the middle of the small alleyway. Suited in full tactical gear, a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, he’s a menacing sight. His whole body is covered in weaponry and as your eyes scan up his body you catch a quick glimpse of a skull mask peering back at you. Using the little bit of clarity left in your head, you make a split decision, knowing you wouldn’t have time to stop before colliding with his large frame.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare II #modern warfare I #captain price #john price #soap #ghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #taskforce 141 #soldier reader #gender neutral reader #fem reader #male reader #special forces reader #141 reader #ghostxreader #ghost x reader #konig #konig call of duty #konig x y/n #König #könig modern warfare #königxreader #könig x you

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Want to double check that I've done a decent job of avoiding disfiguremisia, and try to turn it into great counter to hatred instead of just an okay one.

Preface: I have a form of memory loss and likely brain damage so I cannot always phrase things clearly although I will try my best.

Personally I do not feel happy reading escapist stories as that happy ending is not achievable for real people. We don't get to live in a place that's completely safe and free from judgement. I'd like to write people in a hostile world who find love and safety and community, however this does necessite writing hostility. I want to make sure I'm doing so with care.

I would like to make sure that the hostility written as tension does not tar how I write how one of the main characters. He should be written with dignity and respect even when he is not being treated well by those around him.

One of my characters is blind and develops severe burn scars. He wears a blindfold to help with photophobia and sensory overwhelm, but takes it off when its dim. (CVI plus autism.)

While he does wear a cloth coverings in public due to ugly laws, he views it as a ridiculous requirement and happily removes this mask when with friends. He also enjoys that being visibly strange or somewhat unnerving to most people means that shallow people who judge by appearances avoid him.

Question: what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia? I have him being content with his face as it tells a story of his life and he's a blunt, forward person, not covering his face for most of the story despite laws necessitating that he do so, and a few other things too (and many side characters with facial differences and deformities also).

Also none of the central plotlines centre around facial difference. He's joining a servant rebellion, befriending a bitter exile intent on status at all costs, and discovering the truth of history. (Also a mind controlling octopus being is involved and a semi sentient moon amalgam thing but don't worry about it everything's fine.)

I think later books will be a more effective counter due to lack of ugly laws and him finding a lovely interest. I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world. I want his happy ending to feel real.

I respect the hell out of escapist fantasies it's just that they do nothing for me personally. I really want to write someone dealing with a lot - more than I ever have - and coming out the other end happy. Yes this world is hostile and will judge me but I can find joy despite it all. Some say the world is universally cruel but I have not found this to be the case. It is wise to be wary but myself and friends can create small sections of time and space where no precautions are necessary. Am I not part of the world? Are not they? The world is not universally cruel as long as I and those I treasure live in and we are not extraordinary, simply uncommon, and what is uncommon is still a great bounty. (Something to that effect.)

I'm set on what I want to write but the specifics I'm more than happy to change in order to bring joy. Do you have ideas on how I can do this full idea full justice?

Hello,

before getting to your actual ask, I have a "few" questions about the premise of the story itself.

You mention that you don't like escapist fantasies - that's fair. Taste differs; you can write whatever and that's great. But I do find the insistence to write a story about a specific type of discrimination as an outsider rather strange. If you want to have facial difference representation, I assume you want to have readers with facial differences, correct? I mean, I don't think that many able-bodied people would be too interested in it specifically considering most don't know what it is. So okay, this is supposed to be a story of characters with facial differences overcoming centuries worth of hatred and all that. Arguably more, considering that disfiguremisia and ableism go all the way back to Biblical times.

Why are you the person who needs to tell this story?

Just as people with facial differences are readers, we can be authors as well. We tell our stories. I will take an #OwnVoices book over a one that isn't that any day, and this fact will influence the rest of this answer. I'm a firm believer in #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs and all when it comes to this stuff.

Have you talked to people with facial differences who would be interested in the kind of story you want to tell? Do you know what they want to see from an author that's not taking it from their own experience? I don't count here, because as I made clear before, I'm not and won't be interested in it. I also don't know anyone in the community who has ever said "I wish more people without our experiences wrote about how hard it is to be us!". You need to make sure there are people who want this.

So, have, or will you, reach out to those that could like it? Sensitivity readers, random people online who like to read about disfiguremisia in their free time, advocates who work on media-centric problems? Anyone who would enjoy it is automatically a better candidate to help than me. I'm too jaded, I suppose.

If you want to talk about people with facial differences in such detail and setting, you need to get to know us. One guy with a specific set of opinions from a blog on Tumblr isn't that (thank god), but I guess I can serve as a reminder that not everyone will be excited to read a book that represents them in some way. We still have preferences.

To write it, you need to involve yourself in the community, start actually spreading activism about our issues. Preach about Face Equality and celebrate when our once-a-year week happens in May. See what disfiguremisia causes. Share our efforts to get all the problematic garbage off the big screen. Read our stories. Understand us as people who are incredibly diverse, and that not all of us like to be described as strange or unnerving.

If you only want to talk about our suffering as some quota to fill on a "types of discrimination" list, it will always be flat and inauthentic, and if you don't put in the effort it's pointless. We don't want tragedy porn, and we don't need to be included in every story about struggles that just wants some brand-new type of bigotry in it. We want authors who care about us, the living and breathing people. And sometimes it might mean respecting our opinions on writing disfiguremisia.

Here is a great post by @writingwithcolor explaining the effects of tragedy exploitation. Not everything there applies, but I would consider it a very valuable read.

If you think about all this, and decide that you are ready to write such a heavy, community-based story, go ahead to...

Actual Answers! Hooray

what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia?

Sympathize with him. Disfiguremisia is a tragedy, it's brutal and it hurts. It's traumatic and impossible to forget, even if it wasn't happening constantly just to remind us that it's still there. On this note, I would recommend you research writing characters with PTSD.

Have him think about it. Sometimes I get home after getting stared down on the street and just want to yell. You don't forget a microaggression or a hate crime after five minutes. Let him vent and let him be upset. He can have flashbacks or recall similar situations that happened in the past.

I'm glad that he's aware of disfiguremisia unlike a ton of characters who are somehow always unable to figure out that it's a problem. If the ableism he's facing is so systemic and severe, individual people will be even more extreme. You can have him remember that the shop owner was a slur-spitting bigot, or that his neighbors avoid even talking to him. I want him to call them out - in retrospective, at the moment, in his head, whatever - on what they're doing. Throw a "not this fucking thing again" or something in there.

The minimum is to make him feel like a human with an internal thought process, who is able to actually experience what's happening to him, and for it to have long-term effects.

Also, outside of the whole disfiguremisia thing and me being overdramatic, check out our #blindness tag, and research burn scar care. If you don't show the boring and mundane, it will only feel closer to tragedy porn; just a sad thing one after another.

I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world.

This I think is the part of the ask that made me the saddest, and not because of what you wrote. I tried to think of achievable ways; ways that we did it, tried to do it, and are doing it, and one-by-one I crossed them out as "didn't work", "no one cared enough" or "kinda worked but honestly, it didn't". Face Equality is basically non-existent, not matter how much it hurts me to admit it! We are trying our best, and it doesn't work. It's just plain hard for me to come up with suggestions for this.

In fiction, I suppose that personal resistance is the way when it comes to this. I don't think there are feasible systemic changes that could happen that don't border on magical thinking or get into the "singular glorious revolution that somehow fixes everything and everyone lived happy ever after. We fixed racism, yay!". This just sucks.He could try to educate the people who are willing to listen - that's somewhat what I'm trying to pull off here on this blog, I guess. Sometimes it works, often it doesn't, but in his situation it wouldn't hurt to try.

The fundamental part here will be whether your character is able to find a way to make the ordinary person care in the end. To me, society who still hates us just as much, with a small group that thinks we're okay isn't a happy ending. The opposite, rather. It's cold and isolating to know only your friends could value you as a human being, and downright sad to imply that we should be happy for that. I don't mean that everyone should love us in every story, but there's a difference between The Ableism being represented by an antagonist or two versus the entire world except for the main characters.

If you decide to go forward with this story, I do hope your other readers with facial differences enjoy it!

mod Sasza

[This ask was submitted before my announcement of not taking questions regarding this subject matter. As of publishing this, it still applies.]

#mod sasza #anonymous #face difference #disfiguremisia #tw ableism #long post

[mamawasatesttube]

I’m having trouble getting a straight answer on whether or not Kon can use TTK under a red sun. The answer from googling seems to be “depends on the writer”. You’re kinda my go-to Kon expert, so I was wondering if you knew

yes.

i'm sure canon is at least kinda inconsistent about this (dc does, after all, stand for "dunno consistency") but here's the logic i follow when it comes to ttk. you'll have to forgive me for just referring to certain issues without actually citing numbers or anything, i have a migraine and a half this morning and don't wanna deal with checking i'm so sorry but if you want me to find a specific one i mention at some point later just remind me and i'll try in a few hours if my brain stops hurting!

but anyways. yes, i do believe kon can use ttk under a red sun. why? ttk is established as a metagene, not a kryptonian power. even before he's got any of his sunlight-processing powers (which are repeatedly established as coming in as he grows up, both before and even after the geoff retcon), he has the full extent of his ttk.

now, wf3 and also the aftermath of sins of youth do both suggest that he is still tied to sunlight-processing in some way (after all, why else would kryptonite have affected him in wf3?), so that's definitely an inconsistency. however, i posit that since ttk is a metagene, even if his body is powered by sunlight, he should still be able to access it. (depowered kon arc post-sins of youth still works in this way if we assume he was just Really Fuckign Tired and also the magic was still impacting him.)

but honestly the biggest reason i say that yes, his ttk still should work even under a red sun, is in supergirl vol 5. kon himself isn't there at the point i'm thinking of, but there's an arc sometime before last stand of new krypton (the hunt for reactron, iirc, but don't quote me on that) in which kara, thara ak-var, and chris kent all get slapped with red sun projector collars. this neutralizes their kryptonian powers, but chris specifically says he can still use his telekinesis.

now people who know more about editorial impact on the superfam than i do can definitely chime in here, because i'm just going to refer to stuff i've read but don't have sources on immediately on hand, but. why does chris have ttk? well, because before infinite crisis killed kon off, kon was supposed to be nightwing. (i know there was an artist who tweeted about this. i don't remember who.) in fact some of the dialogue written with the nightwing in new krypton reads kind of like kon, specifically the way he introduces and brags about his ttk, imo. this was later retconned into being chris. therefore, chris has ttk, which is explained away as being some general phantom zone related weirdness. (as a matter of personal taste i think it kind of diminishes the POINT of ttk being to imitate kryptonian powers to give it to chris, so i like to pretend that he has some weird psychic stuff going on instead, to keep chris and kon distinct, but thats kinda beside the point.)

SO. all of that to say. it's sort of a matter of opinion because you can construct an argument based on canon both ways, but i personally fall into camp ttk is a metagene and therefore can only be suppressed by meta-suppression tech, not red sun.

#answers #the-dracologist #kon

[sassyfrassboss]

Leakings and the British Press

I tend to do some of my best thinking in the shower in the morning. Not sure if it has to do with my brain being fresh in the morning or if the water just pounds good ideas into my brain.

Anyways, after watched both the Anderson Cooper interview and the Michael Strahan interview, both twice, something Harry kept saying over and over again in both interviews stuck with me.

Harry was saying that the palaces, aka William, Charles, and the other royals, would continually brief against, mostly Meghan but Harry as well. Harry claimed that the palaces would collaborate with the British press and plant false stories about Meghan to take attention away from the other senior royals. He said they did this to distract from negative stories about the other senior royals. It was a cover up at Meghan’s expense.

Now I have spent the past few hours racking my brain trying to think about these “negative” stories about the other royals.

As we know, Catherine rarely has anything negative written about her. The top stories that come to mind are “Three Kitchens Kate” her being “work shy” and of course her “fight” with Rose Hanbury.

Charles, well I don’t think anything bad about him came out until after Harry left which was the donations for favors scandal.

William, yeah other than him being work shy or having a temper, and his kids going to a posh expensive school that he pays for out of his own pocket, but that is about all I can think about.

Camilla, well she tends to keep her nose clean as well.

The British press have all expressed their confusion as well over these claims. They keep saying “what negative articles about the other royals!?”

However, all the articles that made Meghan look bad were all of her own doing.

She is the one who demanded a big tiara. She is the one who yelled at The Queen’s chef about the taste of eggs. She is the one who made Catherine and Charlotte cry. She is the one who cried about no one asking if she was okay in a poverty stricken country where girls are raped and murdered daily. She is the one who had a $300k baby shower and her security for it was paid for by the UK taxpayers. She is the one who broke royal protocol over and over again by walking in front of Harry in the processional line and to greet a King. She is the one who planned surprised engagements on days other senior royals have very important speeches or engagements or tours. She is the one who cleared out an entire section at Wimbledon because she was too important to sit with the peasants. She is the one who lied to the palaces about work she knew she was not allowed to do and did it anyways. She is the one who lied on court documents. She is the one who has changed the story more than once and when her inconsistencies are pointed out it isn’t her being a liar but the press being racist.

So how exactly by reporting on the truth were the other palaces leaking or throwing her under the bus? Sure a couple of the instances happened behind closed doors so obviously those were leaked but, from memory, this was around the time that Meghan had started her own PR against the BRF and how they were threatened by her and her star power. She was saying her and Harry left KP because William was a bully. So we got the leaks of the tiara, the egg issue, and Catherine & Charlotte crying.  However, all the other ones, and many more, were there for us to witness with our own eyes and put two and two together. We didn’t need the British press to point out that when another senior royal, especially Catherine or Camilla had something important scheduled, Meghan would show up somewhere as a surprise!

KP even issued denials about stories that WERE true. The stories that Catherine and Meghan were fighting was true and KP issued a statement saying it was a lie. I think the only stories that were false were the copper bath tub and yoga floor, which many people believed Meghan and Harry planted themselves.

So I guess I am just super confused over the "fake" stories about Meghan? I can't recall a single fake article other than the bathtub.

I love how Harry has this attitude that the world cannot form opinions on their own and that us peons believe everything that we read.

This is the dude that fell for a fake phone call and believed in an island doesn’t exist. No questions asked. But yeah…we are the chumps.

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Chapter 8

Series Summary: There are moments in our lives that have a major impact. The interactions, the adventures, and the love, all make up who we are. But when Harry can't remember those moments with YN, they are both left wondering what that means for themselves and their relationship.

Chapter Summary: This is (again) from Harry's point of view. Now that he remembers it all, how does he handle the reality that he may have lost everything?

Thanks for sticking around even though I broke most of your hearts with the last chapter.

~~~~~

Chapter Warnings: Some explicit language (of course), mention of mild depression, mention of brain injury, jealousy, scheming, lots of songs, and angst

~~~~~

"No one will know!" Harry chuckles, a giant smirk unapologetically stretching across his face, caving his dimples deep into his cheeks.

"I will know!" YN exclaims, raising her palms up to rest across her reddening cheeks.

"That's fine with me…" He replies. "It is about you after all."

She lets out a giggle, biting her lip as she coyly looks into his eyes with the ones he can always get lost in.

"So which one is it?"

"What?"

"Do I taste like strawberries? Or watermelon?"

Harry walks up to YN, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer, instantly feeling her warmth.

"Sweet." He shrugs, unable to fully put into words what he experiences during that specific, intimate moment. "You just taste sweet."

She wraps her arms around his neck, her gaze putting him in a trance, as she looks down at his lips.

"How many other songs have you written about me?"

His cheek color begins to match hers, and his gaze drops down to her own pink lips. He is definitely gone for her.

"All of them." He responds, watching as her eyes light up, like she could guide his way through the dark. "All of my new songs are about you."

Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture. Harry thought all the torment had reached its peak before this, but he is completely broken now. YN is happy. He had wanted that for her. He had just hoped it would be with him. Now more than ever, he wishes she was happy with him.

His entire week since that night at the bar has been filled with crying, sleeping, and writing. He now has page after page of songs about her. So many songs. Maybe too many songs, but he can't help it. He really is pouring his heart out at this point, what little bit he has left.

Baby, you are the love of my life

Maybe, you don't know it's lost til you find it

It's not what I want, to leave you behind

Don't know where you'll land when you fly

But, baby, you are the love of my life

There is a subtle knock on the bedroom door, which Harry almost misses. Or more truthfully, he wants to ignore. He has become comfortable drowning in his sadness, letting it take him under. He tries to convince himself it has to do with the creative process of getting his feelings down with ink on paper. That's not totally true. He believes this is his penance, his punishment for being an idiot. But mostly, he has come to believe that the pain from all of this is the only thing he has left of YN. So, the knock at the door and the expectation to open it is unwelcome, with the potential to disrupt everything he's feeling at this moment. However, it slowly opens nonetheless and he looks over to see Gemma walking in with a sympathetic expression plastered all over her face.

"Hey." She mutters, walking towards his bed. Her eyes suddenly shoot over to his nightstand, finding a view of the engagement ring that Harry can't seem to put away. If he is going to be tortured, he might as well encompass himself in it fully.

"Mum… told me what's happened." She mutters again, sitting down next to him on the bed, just like she used to during their childhood, when he was hurting in some way. Her sight then switches over to the journals laying next to him, picking up the open one closest to her and flipping through the recently inked pages. "Shit, Harry."

"Pathetic, right?" He responds, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "In my twenties, wallowing in depression, and writing songs about all my heartache."

"No. It's not pathetic. It's anything but pathetic, actually. It's what you do. It's cathartic. You were in lov-"

"I am still in love." He interrupts, correcting her terminology so she understands how he still truly feels. The love came back. More accurately, it never actually went away. It just hid itself in the depths of his mind and frustratingly didn't reveal itself until the most inopportune moment. A moment too late.

"Right." She nods, dropping her gaze to the floor as she sighs. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Gem. It's all mine." His gaze drops down, mimicking hers, also followed by his own disappointed exhale. He might never get rid of that knowledge. The guilt. He did this to YN, and inadvertently to himself. He almost wishes for another brain injury, so he can also forget all the pain he is experiencing now. But of course, if it means forgetting YN, he'd never want it. As much as he hurts, she's everything to him. And as torturing as the memories are, he doesn't want a life that is completely void of her.

"Mum says you've been cooped up here all week…" She states, bringing Harry out of yet another spiral of damning thoughts. "Let's go get some coffee or something."

"Umm…"

"C'mon, Harry. You need to get outta the house." She states, causing him to respond with a nod. As much as he wants to bunker down and hide away from the world, he knows it's not good for his mental health. It's barely hanging on by a thread as it is. He could clear his head. Even if it's for a moment. Those seem to be all he gets these days.

"Alright." He relents, taking the journal from his sister's hands and tossing it onto the bed, knowing full well that he will open it again as soon as he returns. "But… where…?"

•••

Harry follows his sister after parking her car on the side of the building, passing the market store, and stopping at the front of the Beachwood Cafe.

He's been here a few times, mainly before he met YN, and brought her a time or two as well. But they both had to agree, Way Cup was much better, and the sentiment it had for the two of them made it that much more special. Not to say they didn't visit other cafes if needed, but Way Cup was their place. Always their place.

"Oh man!" Gemma states, causing Harry to look up and fix his eyes on the piece of paper taped to the front door. "They're out of coffee."

All he can do is laugh. He won't wallow about this, and throw a pity party about how everything in his life seems to be going that way, but at this point he just isn't surprised, because it does feel true.

"What do you wanna do?" She asks, turning towards him with a look shows she is concerned he could crumble it at any moment. He feels sad that she feels like that. She shouldn't. But he supposes it isn't outrageous that she does, considering his current state.

"We can just go back home. Or…" He pauses, unsure how he feels about the suggestion he has just initiated. Does he want to say it? Or even do it? "We could go to Way Cup…"

Gemma's eyes widen subtly, but Harry picks up on her surprised reaction. He responds with a simple shrug.

"It's better coffee." He adds, certain of the truth behind that statement, but not entirely of the reason he wants to visit that particular cafe. He's beginning to think he just wants to put himself through hell. Maybe because he feels as if he deserves it. Or maybe because YN might feel that way. Or maybe, just maybe, because he could bump into her there, and they could start their fairytale all over again. Why he even has the tiniest bit of hope for that scenario, he has no idea. But he's holding onto it. However small.

•••

Just like the drive to the bar, the drive to Way Cup is just as nerve-wracking. He can't even begin to gather any words to give her, and he knows YN's probably run out of things to say. Besides, he is almost positive he will not be seeing YN this time. He takes a deep breath as he opens the door for his sister, and unintentionally does a scan of the room. His heart still wants to look for her. To find her. Even if it's pointless.

The person he finds is not YN, however, but Adhira instead. And she isn't alone. Standing next to her is the man who had YN's attention that night at BarCode. The man who gave her a hug, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and made her smile. Smile, and laugh. It's the man who made YN happy, in whatever capacity it is. He just doesn't want to know that detail.

Adhira spins around as she receives her order, clearly intending to head out the front door that Harry now stands in front of.

"Harry!" She exclaims, a bit of shock flashing across her face as her gaze flickers over to the man beside her. "Hey."

He clears the lump in his throat as he notices her do the same, and his eyes land upon the stranger. The one he wishes wasn't here but also the one he oddly wishes that he was.

"Hey, man! I'm Raj!" The man extends his hand towards Harry, who has the instant desire to reject it. But this man has done nothing wrong. Taken the attention of the woman he loves? Yes. But that's not Raj's fault. Everyone is captivated by her anyway. His selfish ex demanded the attention of everyone around her, but YN can simply draw people in naturally, and clearly this man is no exception.

"Hi, mate. I'm Harry." He responds, extending his own hand to meet for the uncomfortable exchange of pleasantries, at least on Harry's end. Yet something takes over him. Call it confidence, or jealousy, but a question begins to spill out of his mouth without his consent. "You were at the opening of BarCode, yeah?"

"Oh. Yeah. I was." Raj replies, slight confusion instantly appearing on his face.

"How'd you-" Adhira begins to say.

"So how do you know YN?" Harry asks, ignoring the touch he feels on his forearm from Gemma's hand, most likely to reign him in before anything unpleasant starts. He doesn't care about staying casual with this conversation. He won't be mean, he just wants the answers. Again, torturing himself further. It's sadistic at this point.

"Well, we…" Raj's gaze shoots over to Adhira with widened eyes and he points between the two of them. "We are cousins. So, I've known YN for a long time."

"That's nice. How well do you know her?" Harry quickly inquires, noticing Adhira's mild glare, and instantly feeling Gemma's hand squeezing his skin as she clears her throat.

"Sorry, guys, we should probably order now." Gemma states, scowling at her brother as she tries to move him along. He notices the apologetic look she gives her friend. Their friend. "I'll call you later, Addy."

As everyone begins to maneuver around each other, a small box slips from Raj's hand and hits the floor. Harry stops before his foot smashes its contents, and picks up the box, noticing three sugary baked goods inside. He knows who the extra one is for. It's guaranteed.

"Careful with those. YN will be upset if they don't serve their purpose." He states, handing it over to the man who inevitably gets to hand its contents over to the woman he loves. Now he knows that the sight of any dessert will be damning.

Raj nods and Harry begins to step towards the counter when he feels another hand, one not belonging to his sister, grip onto his shoulder. He turns to see Adhira with a deer-in-headlights expression. She's usually so direct, and sure of herself, that this reaction causes Harry to chuckle.

"What did you just say?" She asks him quietly.

A mild panic begins to set in. He had been too bold with his statements, or too aggressive with Raj. Now Adhira is pissed and of course that will get back to YN. He wishes he knew when he would stop being an idiot.

"I, umm, I thought one was for her." He replies shyly. "And she said something like that to me before… so I was just…"

"Excuse us." She states, looking between Raj and Gemma, immediately pulling Harry through the cafe and out the front door.

"Addy, m'sorry, I-"

"When did she say that to you, Harry?" She asks, her features softening so suddenly that Harry shakes his head to confirm his eyesight isn't tricking him.

"Here."

"When?"

He straightens up, worried about what she may be thinking, but also proud that he is finally able to pull from all the memories he has of YN.

"When we first met."

Adhira lets out a breath so full that Harry is certain there is no air left in her lungs.

"Oh my god." She looks up at him, gripping onto his shoulder with the hand that's void of her coffee cup. The hold on him doesn't feel like it's meant to inflict any pain. Instead, it oddly feels as if it could lift him off the ground with joy. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." He whispers, unsure if he was loud enough for her to hear. His question is instantly answered when she wraps her arms around him and lets out an excited squeal as she pulls away.

A smile appears across his face as he notices the water beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. However, his heart begins to sink, knowing that regaining his memories doesn't do any good for him now. Especially now, with Raj around.

"Holy shit! This is fucking crazy! I mean, it's good, but, like, crazy good! When? When did this happen?"

Harry clears his throat, suddenly feeling anxiety begin to bubble up inside.

"Umm, 'bout a week ago. After the BarCode opening night. I found-" He stops himself before admitting any more. No one else knew about the ring, and it should probably stay that way. It's just him, his mum, and Gemma. Things have been complicated enough, and he selfishly wants to hold onto that knowledge so it doesn't get spoiled. Even though nothing will come of it. "I found some songs I wrote 'bout her and it all kinda just came back to me at once."

"Does she know?" She immediately asks, but Harry simply responds with a small shake of his head. "Why not?"

It really is a good question. His simple answer is that she deserves better. And that's true. The deeper part of it is that he didn't choose her when he lost his memory, a mistake he will forever regret. But he doesn't want her to be with him just because he remembers. Just as she didn't want to feel like an obligation, he doesn't want to either. He hurt her. Even with injury as an excuse, he still did that to her, and she does, truly, deserve better than that.

"I hurt her. Too much." He finally replies, dropping his gaze to the ground as that recent night flashes in front of his eyes.

"Harry, yeah, she's hurting…" Adhira grabs one of his shoulders as a frown forms between his brows. His eyes meet hers and she gives him a small smile. "But she loves you. You love her, right?"

"F'course I do!" His heart begins to race at the thought of how much he loves her. Partly because of how strong the feeling is, but also from the fear of no longer being able to express it to her. "But… I don't know if I deserve the chance."

Adhira is silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground, causing Harry's chest to tighten. He's felt, for a long time now, that he has probably fucked it up too much for her to take him back, and seeing her best friend's hesitation to speak is beginning to give him that confirmation that the outcome he dreads is actually true.

"I think she deserves to know though." She finally responds, looking back up at him with a compassionate expression. He doesn't know how to feel about that. But his chest remains tight.

"I'm not going to say you'll get her back, but you need to talk to her..." She adds. "At least try to!"

Try? Their friend, YN's best friend, is suggesting he try. Maybe things with Raj aren't serious. It's only been a few weeks after all. Maybe, and only maybe, Harry does have a chance. But hope has been cruel to him before.

"How?"

Again she is silent, stepping back from him and raising her finger to her mouth as she contemplates her answer.

"Meet me at BarCode later, at like 2pm." She replies.

"Why are you helping me?" He asks, his brow furrowing again, not in anger, but confusion. She knows what he has done. She doesn't need to do this for him.

"What?" Her own baffled expression quickly appearing on her face in response. "Because you're my friend too, Harry, and you both deserve to be happy."

A breath he didn't know he was holding is released, and gratitude softly bubbles up so strongly that he could float away. Finally, he has someone to help. Someone on his side. Someone who believes he actually does deserve an opportunity and is willing to nudge that possibility along.

Finally, he lets himself feel hope.

•••

Harry takes a deep breath before knocking on the bar's front door. It opens in an hour, so the door is locked, but he doesn't have to wait too long before Adhira opens it up and motions him to come in. He isn't sure what will become of this little meetup, but he is thankful it will be in private. For the most part. Adhira motions him over to sit on a barstool, and Aman walks up behind the bar. Adhira sits next to Harry, and her brother rests his elbows on the counter. The atmosphere seems serious and nerves shoot through Harry.

"So. We've come up with a plan." Adhira begins, pointing between herself and Aman. Harry couldn't be more bewildered.

"Okay…" He responds.

"Well, it's not about making her take you back, or whatever you call it… but at least you can have the opportunity… to talk or something… both of you… because, like-"

"Oh my god, Adhira, take longer." Aman chuckles, rolling his eyes and looking directly at Harry. "Harry, would you and your band want to play here Friday night?"

Again, he feels nothing but confusion. He wonders if the two of them are even having the same conversation with him.

"Sure." He shrugs, looking between the siblings. He figures he'll have to talk to the others, but he can almost guarantee they'll say yes. He knows they've been wanting to play gigs, waiting for him to be ready and willing again, even if they haven't expressed those sentiments out loud.

"My scheming sister figures it'll give you the chance to talk to YN, if she can get her here. And you can speak your peace, or whatever it is you wanna do."

"I'm not scheming!" Adhira exclaims, smacking her brother on the arm. "I'm just… organizing an opportune moment for them to talk…"

Aman scoffs and Harry chuckles. He will take whatever he can get if it means he can talk to YN. Although, he is still unsure why they are helping him when Raj, their own cousin, is there making her happy. As much as he doesn't want to bring it up, he has to ask. He has to know what his odds are in this plan of theirs.

"Umm… what about Raj?" He asks quietly, internally wincing at the name. He has nothing against him, except the fact that he is in the position that Harry desires to be in.

The siblings both shoot their gazes over to him and it causes Harry to sit up straighter. Maybe they forgot about that hurdle for him.

"Huh?"

"Well, I, umm, I saw him and YN talking on opening night. She… she looked happy. I don't wanna… shit… I just want her to be happy." He admits. It's true, and he's been telling himself that since his little epiphany about his feelings for her, even before his memories came back. Because ultimately, as miserable as he would be, and it would be a lot, her happiness is the most important thing to him.

They look at each and laugh.

"What? No!" Adhira giggles. "He's our cousin. He met her at a family gathering years ago. It's not, no, he's married! They just haven't seen each other in a long time."

"He's taking over the bar for me while Priya and I get ready for the wedding and go on our honeymoon." Aman adds, and Harry has never felt more relieved than at this moment. Hope grows. He can't help it now. She hasn't moved on. She still loves him and she hasn't moved on.

"Is that… why you walked out that night?" She asks, a very quizzical look and tone leaving her as the words come out. Harry just drops his gaze and shrugs. "Oh, Harry. Shit. I'm sorry."

"S'alright. It's my fault this all happened." He replies, still not meeting either of their gazes. "I just wanna make it right."

"Hey." Adhira reaches out to him and places her hand on his. "She's my best friend, but we still love you too. As angry as I've been for her, I do know this has been hard on you. Especially now."

Again, relief floods over him, like his worries are being washed away as he stands under a waterfall, and he can't help but smile at the knowledge that he isn't hated by everyone else.

"Thank you." He mumbles happily, overwhelmed by all the positivity that's coming his way now. He hated having hope. He kept getting let down. But now, he could care less, because the feeling he has of possibly winning over the woman he loves is too much to dismiss.

"Okay." He adds, beginning to show off an uncontrollable grin. "Let's do this."

•••

Just as Harry thought, it didn't take any convincing to get Mitch and Sarah on board, and that was before he even explained the greater intent behind the gig. After that, they immediately began to create a setlist. He expressed his desire to add at least one of the new songs he has written for her, and they didn't even question the suggestion.

So here they are. Backstage at BarCode on a Friday night, waiting to head out and perform their set.

"That is the eighteenth time you've looked out there, man. I'm sure she'll come." Mitch states, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

Doubt tries to creep in, sure, but he is holding onto that strong, newfound hope. That doesn't mean he isn't anxious. Outrageously anxious. This is kind of all or nothing at this point, which doesn't help the nerves, but he is willing to put it all out there for YN.

Raj, who Harry has coincidentally become very fond of, walks in and lets them know they have five minutes until they are due on stage. Harry walks over to their sheet music, looking over their song choices for the hundredth time.

He feels a palm on the back of his shoulder and looks up to see Sarah's smile. "Let's just have a fun night."

He returns her smile, thankful that she wants to calm him, even though his nerves remain at their peak. Not only is it due to YN, but also the fact that he hasn't performed for months now. Especially not in front of a crowd. He can only think on how important this night is.

"Ready?" Mitch asks, pulling him back to the moment.

"S'pose." Harry chuckles, nodding to his friend, taking a few deep breaths, and grabbing his guitar to walk out on stage.

The bright lights stun him for a moment as he sets up, looking out to the crowd occasionally to adjust his vision. Once it clears, he instantly scans each face, desperate to find the only person he cares about being there.

His heart sinks, not meeting her beautiful eyes, but as he hears Mitch strum a chord to check his sound, Harry places his guitar down and clears his throat as he steps closer to the mic.

"Hello. I'm Harry. And these are my friends, Mitch and Sarah." He begins, his voice quiet to start. "We are, umm, here to entertain, hopefully, with a few songs. You are here to, hopefully, enjoy your night. So… let's get this started, shall we?"

As routine as those words have been from previous gigs, tonight has too much going on for him to feel composed. He's really counting on the music to get him back into the groove and shake off all of the anxiety he's flooded with.

"We're gonna start with a couple of cover songs, and if you know them, please sing along." He states, looking to Sarah, to not only acknowledge that she can count them in, but also to allow himself a quick moment to take another deep breath.

He's thankful that they are starting with a Fleetwood Mac song, because it is one he can sing without truly thinking about. And that's what he's doing. Lyrics just falling out, and unfamiliar faces staring back at him, he closes his eyes and stays that way until the song ends. Applause pries them back open and he nods to the crowd.

"Thank you. That was 'The Chain' by Fleetwood Mac. Such a good song." He states, giving a small smile as turns around to face the drums. He squeezes his hands together, subtly shaking his head as he looks up at Sarah, graciously accepting her reassuring nod. But his hands still shake as he picks up his guitar.

He swivels back to the mic, momentarily placing the pick between his teeth as he runs his hand through his already sweaty locks.

"This… umm… so, uh, this next… song…" He mumbles, his voice becoming just as shaky as his hands. His eyes begin to flicker up to the crowd and his gaze instantly lands on a familiar face. His breath hitches and he steps back from the mic, quickly turning around to Mitch and Sarah.

"I'm changing the order." He whispers. "Just follow me."

He stands up straighten as he turns back around, his eyes once again meeting the gaze he found seconds before.

"This next one is a new one." He speaks clearly into the mic. "I hope you like it."

He looks down at his guitar for a moment as he plays the first few chords of the song, one he wrote specifically for this night. For this moment. One he could sing specifically for YN.

Now you are standing there right in front of me

I hold on, it's getting harder to breathe

All of a sudden these lights are blinding me

I never noticed how bright they would be

As he stares into those intoxicating eyes of hers, singing the next lines, all nerves fade away. He should be surprised. Anyone else would think it would cause them to peak, but the thing about YN is that she always made him feel at ease. She was the reason he started playing gigs, and she was the reason he was confident enough to do so. Looking at her always made everything okay, and that hasn't changed.

I'll keep my eyes wide open

I'll keep my arms wide open

He can't help but let out a deep exhale, not knowing or caring if it came through the mic.

Don't let me, don't let me,

Don't let me go

'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone

Don't let me, don't let me go

'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone

His heart races as his gaze stays fixated on her, being given the same focus in return.

I promised one day that I'd bring you back a star

I caught one and it burned a hole in my hand

Seems like these days, I watch you from afar

Just trying to make you understand

God, he hopes that she knows this is all for her.

I'll keep my eyes wide open

This song, and his heart.

Don't let me, don't let me,

Don't let me go

'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone

Don't let me, don't let me go

A small watering begins to pool at the corners of his eyes, as he desperately wants to be next to her. Every part of him is drawn to her. It always has been, and this moment is no different. To him, they are the only ones in the bar right now, and the distance is killing him. But the tears are also because he is pouring out his heart to the only one who it belongs to. The love he has is so strong. He wants her to know it. And feel it. And, if this plan is any indication, he wants hers too. He wants her love so badly.

Don't let me, don't let me go

'Cause I'm tired of sleeping alone

He pulls away from the mic, and a loud applause erupts throughout the bar. But he is still zoned in on YN, embracing each and every second that he gets to look at her, and be in her presence. Even if it's from afar.

She wipes just under her eyes and he doesn't know if he is able to take that as a good sign. But now he has a boost of confidence, and also an idea. He turns around to place the guitar back down and lifts up the sheet music of the next song he wants to play.

With a quick gulp of water, he swivels back around to the crowd, gripping onto the mic and flickering his eyes quickly across the sea of faces in front of him.

"Thank you!" He exclaims, as Sarah and Mitch begin to play an extended intro to the next song.

"This is the first time we've played that one. But this next song, which is our last tonight, was written a while back. It's about... a fun love, and one of my favorites." And his eyes set back on the only person he cares to see. It's an extremely bold move for him to sing this one right, considering the state of things, but he wants to show her that he really does feel the same as he did back then. Maybe bring back the memories of those good times, for her too.

Tastes like strawberries, on a summer evening

And it sounds just like a song

I want more berries, and that summer feeling

It's so wonderful and warm

Only YN knows the real meaning behind this one.

Breathe me in, breathe me out

I don't know if I could ever go without

I'm just thinking out loud

I don't know if I could ever go without

He subtly bites his bottom lip as all the feelings from the inspiration of the song overcome him.

Watermelon sugar high

Waternelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar

He almost laughs as he notices her palm shoot up over her mouth, which had dropped open as soon as the chorus started. He isn't sure if she is just surprised, flustered, or appalled by what he chose to sing, but he hopes she knows it's still all for her. As his eyes stayed glued on her, they unintentionally travel slowly down her figure, and he dwells on every curve. He misses her beauty, her body, her touch, and her intimacy so damn much. Now more than ever, he is craving it. Craving her. Just to be close.

I just wanna taste it, I just wanna taste it

Watermelon sugar high

He begins to smirk, and almost giggles again, as he watches her squirm slightly. He wonders if she is thinking anything even remotely similar to what he is, or if the song is reminding her of those times they had together.

Watermelon sugar high

Waternelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar

His heart immediately sinks, however, as he sees her finish her drink and hand the bartender some cash, throwing her purse over her shoulder. She looks around the room, beginning to move through the crowd, and stops when she finds her best friend.

I just wanna taste it, I just wanna taste it

Watermelon sugar high

Adhira's eyes shoot over to Harry as she gives YN a hug, and he has never wanted to run off a stage until now, seeing the love of his life walking to the front door.

I just wanna taste it, I just wanna taste it

Watermelon sugar high

Watermelon sugar

"Thank you!" He quickly exclaims, hopping off the stage and beginning to make his way through the crowd. This may be the first time he is actually bothered by the feedback from others after a gig, because each attempted initiation of an interaction keeps him further and further away from the only person he cares to talk to.

He makes it through to the front door and flings it open, frantically looking down both sides of the sidewalk for any sign of YN.

"Shit!" He shouts, throwing both hands up and resting them on top of his head, as he pants from the physical exertion he had to go through just to get outside. "Shit!"

He lets out a growl as he leans against the wall. This whole night was for her. It was supposed to show her how he feels now, how he's always felt. He had so much hope that the regaining of his memories and serenading her tonight would grant him some sort of good outcome. He would've accepted the ability to simply talk to her if that's all he could get. But he couldn't. He didn't. She is that hurt, and hates him that much, that she couldn't even bring herself to speak one word to him. And that's it.

The door suddenly flings open again, causing Harry to jolt sideways from the surprise, and looks over to see Adhira appearing next to him.

"Did you catch up to her?" She asks, breathlessly.

"No." He shakes his head and it falls down, a lump instantly forming in his throat to keep down the pain-filled whimper threatening to come out.

"Damn it." She states. "I tried to get her to stay but…"

"S'alright." He replies, leaning back against the wall, feeling tears begin to reappear and roll down his cheeks, as the reality sets in that it is actually over. He's done all he could, but it wasn't enough. "She doesn't want me. She knows I remember and then this-"

"Fuck!" Adhira interrupts. Harry's head shoots up and over to her with a deep, furrowed brow.

"What?"

"I didn't know you wanted me to tell her that you got your memory back. I thought you were going to…" She admits, smacking her palms against her forehead. "Fuck! I'm so sorry!"

"So… she doesn't know?" His heart begins to race, not yet able to determine the exact emotion behind it.

"No…" She quietly replies.

"So… I was just singing songs about her, to her, and she didn't know why?" He asks, suddenly letting out a loud laugh and bending over from the tightness it created in his stomach. "I must've looked like an idiot."

"Harry, I'm so, so sorry." Adhira states, turning completely to him with the most apologetic expression.

He simply shakes his head. He really can't be surprised that none of this worked out the way he wanted it to, but he knows exactly what he is going to do now. He pushes himself off the wall and begins to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Adhira shouts out to him.

Harry turns around back in her direction, and a confident smile grows across his face.

"To tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"Everything."

~~~~~

Series Masterlist

~~~~~

If you like what I post, and want to just send some extra support, I have a ko-fi account. Even the smallest amount is greatly appreciated. There is no obligation or expectation to donate, because I am honestly just so grateful that you're here! 💗 Bee xx

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Overall Taglist: @watermelonsugacry @tw1nflamebruis3 @hopefulwastelandcreation @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @queenmadi2 @runway-to-my-aid @theekyliepage @be-yourss @harryistheonlyoneforme @b-reads-things @behindmygreyeyes @michellekstyles @a-strange-familiar @yousunshineyoutempter @buckybarnessimpp @little-freak-satellite @msolbesg @sleutherclaw @katiebaxterrrrrr @percysaidnever @thatbitch2828 @mrspeacem1nusone @thurhomish @sushiabby @woanderry @harrystylesrecs @vickiii17 @itsbebeyyy @divalovesyou @bxbyysstuff @jessitpwk @sunshinemoonsposts @theroosterswife24 @boybands-baseball @austynparksandpizza @missmielyhoran @harryspirate @qualitygiantshoepsychic @tiaamberxx @matildasatellite @fool4him @cherryshouse

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles story #harry styles concept #harry styles au #au!harry #teacher!harry #music teacher!harry #memory!harry #unrequited love #harry edward styles #harry fic #harry angst #harry fluff #harry smut #strangers to friends #friends to more #friends to lovers #mwbh series #my way back home

[poryphoria]

bunch of neurodivergent/disability/whateverthefuck you wanna call these angled crackpot hcs bc fuck ya life (my crackles uses hymn/gore/rot/chirp thank uuuu ^_^)

touch adverse to strangers, flinches & winces whenever someone chirp doesn't know bumps or touches hymn. needs a lot of personal space, hyperventilates & struggles to breathe in crowds or in general uncomfortably close proximity to strangers

however gore is also BADLY touch starved in an intimate or friendly way. loves to cuddle, hold hands, hug & lean on ppl. craves body heat. would probably be healed if someone just laid on hymn like a sandwich for an hour or so

hates eye contact but loves to stare at people when they're not looking. not for malicious purposes hy just finds people fascinating

acne crazystyle bc rot can never stop touching & picking rots face & body 🔥🔥🔥🔥 hys got it all over hys shoulders and back too, sometimes on hys thighs. dry skin aswell bc hy hates the sensation of lotion/whatever oily shit ur supposed to put on ur skin to make it Not do that. patchy like a lizard 🔥🔥🔥🔥

severe stomach issues & food sensitivity 🔥🔥🔥🔥 gets horrible stomach cramps from stress & anxiety. Stressed and anxious often. god bless. gore's also lactose intolerant 🔥🔥🔥🔥

has trouble expressing gratitude- feels a lot of emotions very strongly but hy's rarely able to actually express or articulate them. on the equal opposite end rot tends to break down into tears whenever rot tries to express frustration & anger, frustratingly enough

CHRONIC PAIN NUMERO UNOOOOO 🔥🔥🔥🔥 Walking Hurts! Standing Hurts! Why does it hurt? Only god knows! would probably benefit from a cane. frequent back pain as well occasional mystery hand pain. also gets period cramps REALLY FUCKING BADLY to the point that they usually leave hymn bedridden for a day

anxious stutter & hy tends to mix up & get stuck on words, especially when hys brain is moving faster than hy can talk.

mimics voices & speech patterns, especially those of the people hy likes/is close with. does silly voices to hymnself. often Gets Stuck doing said voices. Condemned to the bit

in a similar vein, has been told that gore is inexpressive/"too flat" so frequently that gore now overcompensates heavily by exaggerating hys voice & gestures in order to get hymnself across

has mild dyslexia, mixes up directions frequently, Very Bad at navigating

chronically bad memory issues that were exacerbated by the dissonance poisoning. Sticky note.... Save me sticky note with appointment written on it.... Save me clipboard full of important information I will not remember otherwise.....

sensory ordeals chirp despises: dust/powder on hands, being in close proximity to live bands, the taste of smoke in food/grilled meats, any smell that is very chemical-y in nature (formaldehyde and latex are sort of exceptions but they're on thin ice.)

has a very difficult time discerning between platonic & romantic affection, and honestly doesn't rly gaf about the difference either at this point. love is love and rot has so much of it in rots heart

source: all of these came to me in prophetic visions. i probably have more but i cant remember them rn You're welcome thank youuu

#pory turgles #madcom #madness combat #dr crackpot

[inlocusmads]

list of ocs in my crimes canon:

oof okay so this took a While lmao. I hope to keep this list handy because it's easier for me to explore these characters once they're written on paper.

There are two categories: 'the recurring cast' who make cameos in fics and' 'potential crossovers' that I still wrote down, but not sure how it might "feel" like. I also have a third category - 'one-offs' as in they're mentioned but you don't see them everm but they're just only 2-3 characters and their stories are already over, so... I dunno lmao. Maybe I'll make a different list and add those guys in.

recurring cast:

Buddy "Bull" Bager (he/him, 45): Nora's number one contact for anything to do with famous people. Bull's been in many social circles - from being a concierge at fancy hotels to driving around celebrities and he's got all the insider information. He's strong, was a big name in underground street fighting rings but now wants to settle down and start businesses he's passionate about - ranging from a mechanic shop to a bakery. Got his nickname "Bull" because he once wore a t-shirt that had a picture of one, once.

Skilner (he/him, 63): Ex-drug supplier turned janitor for literally any place imaginable. He's good with names and addresses and doesn't forget people easily, which makes him a great contact if you're looking for someone on a more domestic level. Pretty old, so doesn't fight much. He has a niece whom he loves very much and would move mountains for. He aspires to put his old life behind him and really work to being a normal guy, get an education if he can afford it somewhere down the road.

Mx. TJ (they/them, 29): Former bank robber - well not exactly in the way you'd expect - but yes, they did bypass the security system just to tell the authorities how stupid their security system really was. Now TJ doesn't do it all that much since they and their team are on the run. If Luke can get through security tapes, TJ can barrel through government servers. They usually have a 'scratch my back and ill scratch yours' way of payment, so Nora would usually have to supply them information or run errands on behalf of them. TJ also takes cases on a 'dire' basis, meaning Nora can't just contact them to look up xyz unless it is an absolute emergency.

Officer Jillian (she/they, 32): Jillian was Nora's coworker at the 53rd precinct and still works there. They keep her updated on all happenings within the NYPD and beyond. Jillian also has many friends in restaurant circles, so she's the one to go for, if you're ever looking for recommendations or if you're looking to track down a person's tastes in cuisine. Nora actually learned of Ricochet's taste in this particular hollandaise sauce that they served in the Sensation En Bouche thanks to Jillian doing her homework on high profile criminals and where they usually go. They're also the first to call out on Nora's bullshit in the sparse moments they hang out.

Monty Jackson (he/him, 31): Monty was very close to Trystan since he was one of the latter's very first friends in New York. Monty runs a small sandwich shop with his college friends Lee and Todd. He doesn't know what he wants to do with life, but will gladly help you out with yours. He isn't much of an informant or anything - can't do much for you, but like Skilner, he's pretty good with names and addresses and has built up a connection over the years from sourcing supplies over the years. However he's a bit of a crook, doesn't know what he talks about, will talk out of his ass and is a pain to deal with, but if you know how to talk to him, he'd tell you how to win at life.

Lenny "Lee" Yamada (he/him, 29): Trystan's other close friend. Lee is the brains of the sandwich shop. He's a committed person, dedicated, loves his job and wants to earn money so he could put himself through culinary school. Despite Monty minoring in economics, Lee knows more about the market than he does and he didn't even finish college. Lee's super into research and he's pretty efficient at scouring the web for answers, thanks to his experience hunting down old blogs and broken links and salvage recipes. If it's on the web, it cannot fly under his radar. Lee was chronically online before "chronically online" became a thing.

Samaya G. Pallan (she/her, 21): Samaya is a barista/assistant manager in the coffee house across the street from the Ginovesi Agency. She's good friends with all the four of them, given they're regulars but exceptionally close with Ruby. She is a music student, very good at identifying musical notes and being able to tell you where you're likely to be - as in, where you live, where you are at your current position in life, where you'd like to be and so on - solely from your taste in music. She does this thing where she likes to judge people and embody being a hater for funsies by allowing people to suggest their playlists for the music in the coffee shop. She was able to read through Luke's little crush on Ruby from what he played in the shop.

Kimia Ahktar (she/her, 27): Kimia runs an Art Conservatory - one that teaches art as well as runs programs to "conserve" pieces of old art. Her family came from a long line of painters and artisans, especially her great-grandfather who was a prominent artist during his time. Kimia and Sonja Dormer ran in the same social circles, with Sonja usually putting up her work when Kimia's Conservatory conducted art shows. They weren't close, since Kimia didn't really want to be a part of this "academia" of elite for-profit people. She met Trystan (and Nora) when she learned her great grandfather's work had been forged. Kimia's made many enemies in the art society in the past, which is why she's quite weary about talking to new people and likes to keep to herself.

Isac Zamfir (they/he, 48): One of Trystan's old contacts, Izaak works as a librarian in the Romanian embassy in Drakovia . They have a degree in metallurgy and are pretty close with museum directors and cultural ambassadors - especially an avid financial contributor to the Dimitrie Gusti National Village Museum among many other heritage sites. Isac's background in metallurgy and current venture into gemology puts them at a valuable position where they're able to assist in retrieving stolen museum artefacts back to their homelands. He and Trystan have been close thanks to their shared interests, thanks to attending many dinner parties in lieu of his engagement to Juliana Georgescu. In fact it was Isac who cultivated Trystan's interest in jewelry and Trystan who'd consulted them for assistance to find ways to get more funding into museums once he gets coronated.

Aizan "Kaz" Tso (he/him, 34): Aizan is a friend of Mafalda's. He runs a bookshop/novelty shop who sometimes dabbles in metalworking and plaque-making. Mafalda basically took him in as her own kid like how she did with Nora -- helping him get through college, get him safe gender-affirming surgery and assisted him as he got himself some financial stability. Kaz majored in manufacturing and design engineering and really wanted to set up his own additive manufacturing business and combine his love for comic books somehow. He runs his own shop, selling books and figurines of characters he made and is the guy behind the 'best detective/employee' plaque the Agency made into a quarterly tradition. He does so as a thank-you to Mafalda. Kaz is also super into pop culture, so he sometimes helps the gang out when they require his expertise.

potential crossovers:

Inam Vallath (laws of attraction-ish? | she/her, 34): Inam is an intellectual property lawyer. She majored in mechanical engineering in undergrad, with a minor in art history before switching over to IP law. Now she majorly works with entrepreneurs in the domain of protecting their brand, protecting their work from infringement and detecting it. She gets a pool of clients from mostly the automobile or tech industry, publishing and sometimes the art fields. It's usually trickier for her to deal with art, which is why she goes by the books and tries to get a complete story as much as possible. She currently works as a junior associate at Brahms & Partners, IP. Inam works with Nora on Kimia's case to aid her in the discovery process. They kind of start developing a more serious partnership later on.

Ramona "Rowan" Stone (murder at homecoming | she/her, 19): Rowan is an aspiring investigative journalist from Beachwood who started on this path after her sister, Perdita went missing. She goes on to major in journalism in New York and gets a part-time job as a writer for a small up-and-coming digital newspaper/blog to pay for her expenses. During her time gaining experience in the field, she stumbles on old allegations for the NYPD's internal corruption and decides to report on it; only to have her be a massive target planted by none other than the 53rd precinct and Captain Thompson. This is around the time Rowan meets Nora who tells her to keep calm and helps her deal with the matter. Later, Nora and Rowan forge a new partnership. Nora helps Rowan finish her article without any turbulence. She was a big influence on Rowan and her motivation to go pursue the truth. Eventually Rowan would do her internship at The Styrne Examiner.

Aloka Sinott (veil of secrets | she/her, 35): Aloka earned her big break from helping solve the mystery of the Birchport killer. However she didn't return back to the New York Herald or take up a job offer with the FBI. She was offered a place in a non-profit investigative journalist organization - The Styrne Examiner based in New York, who also put out articles. They collaborate with major news organizations and are committed to bring back valiant journalism and commit to the truth. Aloka works on a lot of different projects but gives a lot of priority to training young interns. This is where she met Rowan and took her under her wing; helping her hone her craft and build up her experience in the field. The two of them became good friends solely due to their pasts. Rowan was able to connect with Aloka and how she dealt with a missing persons case involving Kate.

Morgan Horowitz/Hayes (the unexpected heiress (modern day) | they/them, 29): Morgan is the descendant of the Hayes family - known for their influence in the electrical power industry based in New York. They got into corporate law and currently are working in the business's R&D division to come up with more sustainable technology measures. They're a well-known person especially to Trystan since the Hayes-Horowitz family had long been an avid supporter of the arts and were generous to Ruth Iverson's once-upon-a-time charity. Morgan's family is also a long-term client to Brahms & Partners IP. They basically helped Inam skyrocket her career after choosing her to represent them and aid them when a smaller company copied the design of a new sustainable wind turbine and filed the patent under their name. It was also Inam's first ever case and Morgan's first ever dealing of such a case as a manager and the two handled it pretty well.

Reyna "Rusty" Jones (open heart-ish | she/her, 34): Nora and Rusty were childhood friends who grew up on the same block in Manhattan. Rusty got her name from being well, a take-charge no-nonsense rough person and went on to leave home to go to medical school in supposedly Boston or Boston-adjacent(??) She did her internship and residency at Mass Kenmore before transferring to a more research-oriented hospital (about this time Mass Ken and Edenbrook may have had their feud and she was tired). Rusty and Nora aren't super in contact w each other but since they were such big part of each other's lives for a long time, they still text each other as much as they can or if they're reminded to. There was this one point where Nora didn't have Ruby or Luke's assistance and had to make do with Rusty's expertise on a case. I HC Nora might get involved in Rusty's life - either by offering her some professional help or just getting her out of a sticky situation. I don't know Rusty's story yet or what she ends up doing but hopefully I get to mull it over and come back later with an answer.

one-offs

Gustav Cvejić: Trystan's childhood friend-turned-boyfriend, Gustav is pretty headstrong. he's constantly getting into fights, he lives in a rough part of town and met Trystan when they went to the same primary school. After Trystan got pulled out of school to be homeschooled, Gustav still made it a priority to visit him in the palace. It thankfully worked considering his father was a wholesale vendor who supplied grain and flour to the palace. Gustav, thanks to his upbringing is more aware of the social happenings in the country as opposed to Trystan who had been sheltered for most of his life. It is in fact, Gustav offered him insight by helping him navigate this new life as a would-be king, offering him good advice and introducing new music to him.

He grew up in a very anti-monarchist household and developed the same beliefs after learning what was really out there. Thanks to this and his association with Trystan being known to Viktoria one day and all these years of secret-keeping, she tries her hardest to persuade Trystan, but decided to just simply stop her business with Gustav's father. To add further to the wound, she ensured the family was cut of any ties to the palace but at the same time, treated them as well, kings.

She gave Mr Cvejić a visa for Gustav to study abroad- she basically cornered them in a stalemate in exchange for their loyalty. Viktoria had to pull in a lot of strings because she believed Trystan was being "influenced" when in reality, he was just developing critical thinking skills from having a friend/boyfriend, you get the idea. This led to him developing a resentment for his own mother. Gustav's father sent him away to get an education abroad and that's the last they heard from the other. Even before Trystan could think about Gustav, he was whisked away to a new life preparing for his coronation.

Gustav has had a tough childhood. His father was a single parent and had dreamed for his son to take up the family business as a wholesaler, but wanting him to first get into a good school. They didn't make a lot of money, so when the opportunity presented itself, he sent Gustav away to America. He'd go on to study economics and would eventually come back home to settle down, but with a lingering hollowness he'd trace back to his past. Gustav and Trystan do end up reconciling someday in the future - perhaps when they meet again, because you just didn't let go of special people like that, but it's far away for now.

They'd lost contact after Viktoria's puppeteering, thus creating a sour taste of Trystan in Gustav's mouth and an absolute vile hatred for his mother in Trystan's heart. It never fails to go away.

Aneesa Wang: Aneesa was a postgrad student when she met Nora when the latter worked in the NYPD. Aneesa at that time, was an immigrant student on a visa as well. She'd come from Hong Kong to do her master's in New York along with her other friends. Aneesa's quiet, determined and pretty savvy. One day they all make a collective mistake by accidentally stumbling into an underground criminal gang looking for a quick weed fix. Aneesa's name is taken into their account at the time of purchase, but since neither of them could afford anything high-quality, they offered to pay it in installments -- only to come back home, say "fuck it" and not do that anymore.

After a couple of warnings, Aneesa's name and info quickly became an easy way for the underground guys to use as a "fall guy" contact. Suddenly she's receiving hundreds of calls, thousands of death threats, mysterious text messages. She literally stopped going to classes, afraid that someone might know something. It was Aneesa's first time in America, mind you. She'd gotten involved with the wrong people and she was so freaking scared. So she met Nora, covered in sweat and dirt - trying to scrub her name off credit cards and lists and using cold cash to get by. Aneesa's broke, terrified and Nora was her only hope.

Nora helped her out. She gave her shelter in her home, accompanied her to her classes - would basically sit outside her classes decked out in normal clothes but with her holster visible for everyone to see. By night, she'd try her best to track down these guys. It was around this time she'd discovered the so-called 'underground gang' was really composed of dirty cops - some even from her precinct, which made her stumble onto a huge corruption scandal. She tried to notify the higher-ups about it, with no avail. Aneesa wasn't going to get justice not when they were both fighting against horrible people.

Eventually, Aneesa had to drop out. Nora insisted the only way out was to leave the country because it got so dangerous that Aneesa was on every 'wanted by the police' list because she was technically a fall guy. Nora spent a long time thoroughly wiping away her data, ensuring she could somehow transfer her current uni credits to a college back home so she didn't have to worry about discontinuing her education and had to literally help her make a daring escape on a cruise ship heading for Spain and then get her tickets back home via plane.

Nora and Aneesa had a very brief relationship (?) to say the least. It wasn't really of the romantic pursuit but somewhere where they could both confide in each other and be able to trust the other- given Aneesa had spent weeks living in Nora's apartment before she left home. This was a major catalyst in Nora quitting the force. Literally the day after Aneesa left, Nora turned in her resignation letter.

As for if they're still in contact? It's tough to say. Nora does email her from time to time, but she can't afford to have it on the record since well, Aneesa's still a wanted person even though the case ran cold. They try to check in from time to time. Nora also firmly believed the theory that the 'underground gang' might have something to do with her father's death. Aneesa, as a thank-you, used to send back packages of little trinkets and things from home. Nora still has some of it on her desk.

Vinko Novac: Vinko was Trystan's old tutor from when he was a teenager and ever since his mother pulled him out of school. Vinko started off as trying to want to get a formidable job in the palace - since manning a government office as a clerk is practically the last resort-job option if you can't get in any other place. Vinko kind of stumbled his way into the royal family's affairs by being a speechwriter for Trystan for a while before he was moved up the ranks to become a de-facto "helper" of some sort where he'd just assist the prince with more than just speechwriting - it was a bit of everything, but mostly inclined towards academia.

Viktoria wasn't picky with her tutor options - she knew it was a thankless job with no takers. Vinko had a decent college degree, so he was kind of an interim tutor of sorts until they could find Trystan a proper tutor/mentor of some kind. Vinko's presence in Trystan's life was short, but he was the only one to make a more lasting impact. He taught Trys everything he knew now - the deviant tricks, the confidence, the poise, the 'how to talk like you know what you're talking about' - along with cultivating this inert curiosity in him to ask as many questions as he'd like. The worst part was, Vinko believed he was an actual tutor, when in reality Viktoria really intended for him to keep her son company and was quick to let him go once they found a foreign academic to teach him and learned he was just a crook who'd shimmied his way in just to make some money.

Trystan actually ended up encouraging Vinko to pursue a teaching degree if he really wanted to. But he ended up not doing that, just quietly leaving - hoping he'd made some impact because it was the first time he'd cared about something - a job, even though it was frivolous as "babysitting". He didn't find much success doing much else, just ended up getting berated by his father - a scriptwriter - only to just simply carry on with whatever he felt like doing.

Vinko's story is pretty sad, because he knows he wouldn't find that satisfaction. He felt like he'd just touched upon people's lives - but not wholly a person himself and can never feel that way - just doomed to this 'temporary appearance' box. He'd continue to stay in Drakovia, following through with Trystan for a while before getting sick of it very quickly. He'd try to move to the suburbs - maybe start a new life someplace else, but it would still be of no avail. He, much like his father, is doomed to being his own worst critic. Never more than the sum of his parts, just relying on dumb luck to get through. Vinko would find a career, nonetheless - a successful one (remember that one hugh jackman meme where he recognizes his former student?) but this would keep digging into his brain for years to come.

***

Please send me some asks about these guys! I'd love to talk about them and get to know them if I ever plan on writing crossovers.

I remember I wrote an Open Heart/Crimes of Passion crossover a long long time ago. It didn't work out because I was trying so hard to make it follow canon. Now I reject canon.

Thanks for.. reading until here lmao. you're a real one.

Until then I'll just keep editing and adding as I go.

#character introductions #i just took an idea and ran w it i love that for me

[courtingchaos]

I'm soooo thrilled for all the Gator stories that you'll come up with (no pressure though!) I also want to ask if you can recommend some of your favorite writers on here. Eddie, Steve, Gator I don't care. I read your masterlist up and down and I love every single thing and I trust you to have great taste. it's hard to find rare treasures sometimes with the very popular blogs being reblogged so overwhelmingly.

thank you for sharing your work with us 💜

So for one, I’ve been hanging on to this because I was trying to get a good sampling of people and also because I was being a little lazy and forgetful. Anyways, on to the recommendations.

I have a lot more Eddie than I have other ones but that’s because he’s baby boy and the very specialist of them all.

@jo-harrington has Freaky Friday, Store Manger Verse, and an amazing Van Helsing (2003) AU that she’s working on that just blows me away with every new thing I read for it.

@storiesbyrhi Burning Yarrow series is DELICIOUS and is also super in depth and well researched and just ugh. It’s so good okay?

@dr-aculaaa who has a mixed bag of Eddie and Steve, but mostly Steven. Their Sunday Morning stuff is literally made of butter and cinnamon sugar it’s just so good.

@chestylarouxx has just so many things. So so so many. There’s a vampire Eddie that makes me go insane and then she has this Rockstar Eddie that is unlike any other Rockstar Eddie I’ve seen. It’s VERY good and VERY angsty and it just really hits the soul right.

@bettyfrommars has Nightmare Factory AND Gargoyle Eddie which makes me also go insane. I’m jumping around in my cage thinking about her work. She also has a biker Eddie series (that also features a biker Steve. Yum.)

@eddiemunsonbignaturals who wrote this disgustingly sexy piercing Eddie thing. If you read all my stuff and liked it, you will for sure like their work too. Like, I think about this fic at least once a week.

@deadboyfriendd Everything they’ve written but especially Cochise. Just go read it. Wild West. Eddie Munson.

@somnambulic-thing also has a vampire Eddie BUT THEY ALSO HAVE a musician Eddie who is the best boy. He’s so full of life and I also think about him whenever I listen to my psychedelic metal playlist for some reason.

For Gator things I haven’t personally found a whole bunch of writers but @wroteclassicaly has a nice little bathroom romp that she wrote a while ago before the show aired that I really like (also she has some little blurbs about him being an asshole).

This isn’t everyone because I would just give you a list of everyone I follow at this point. However these are a few of my favs and what I’ve been reading recently because I got a bad brain and it’s been hard to keep up with my TBR list. I hope you find something in this mess!!!!!!

And thank you again so much for reading, I really appreciate it ❤️❤️❤️

#asks!