I know it's the end of the year, so don't feel pressured to write this if you don't want to, just an idea:
James giving his watch to Harry on his 17th birthday - in a world with or without Voldemort, your choice (as much as I know you love angst) :)
I saw your ask and all I read was angst. Not part of Eyes Glistening for reasons, and also this was the inspiration for the watch Harry got.
“You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either—”
Ron’s wisdom is interrupted by a knock on the door. Harry exchanges a glance with him and then he hides his new book under his pillow just as the door opens to show his father there.
“Hey,” he greets. There is a stressed look on his face that flicks as he takes a look at both boys. His father could always smell mischief. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Harry says hurriedly. “I was just playing around—you know, enjoying the fact I can do magic now.”
“Oh, right.” His father doesn’t look fooled, but he lets it slip, turning to Ron. “Would you mind letting me talk to Harry alone?”
“No, of course not.” Ron jumps to his feet, throwing a quick glance at Harry. “Don’t take long, Mum will be waiting for breakfast.”
And then he is gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
Harry looks at his father; James looks tense once again, a wrinkle between his forehead that Harry only sees on a few occasions and he knows who is on his father’s mind now.
“Seventeen,” James says, moving to sit in Harry’s makeshift bed in the Burrow. “How does it feel?”
Harry opts for the light answer. “Magical,” he says, flicking his wand and making a Golden Snitch—the one he got for his twelfth birthday—fly in the room.
James’ eyes shift to the Snitch, looking wistful. His hand moves; it’s a quick movement that reminds Harry of things he once saw in a Pensieve, and then the Snitch is safely held in his father’s hand, its wing still fluttering.
“I still have it,” James says, almost smiling. “Even if I’m not the youngest seeker of the century.”
“We could fly today,” Harry says before he can think better, a childish hope that he usually is very good at concealing. “Never mind, I’m—”
“Maybe later,” his father answers, the same answer he has been giving Harry since he remembers. While James taught him how to fly, Harry has never seen his father on a broomstick; as it happens with many other things, all Harry has are Remus and Sirius’ stories. “I got you a birthday gift.”
And he takes a small box from inside his robes. Harry opens it to find a silver wristwatch, an adult model unlike any other watch he ever had; he traces the pointers over the blue dial.
“It’s a tradition to gift watches when wizards come of age.”
“Ron got one,” Harry acknowledges. He hesitates for a moment. “This is not a wizarding watch.” With the stainless steel band, this watch is undeniable Muggle.
His father sighs, and then there is that deep sorrow in his eyes, the one that’s been there as far as Harry remembers; his smile is sad. “Your mother would not have wanted a pocket watch. She used to tease mine.”
“She did?” Harry asks at once, always desperate to know more about her, to hear every little detail so he can complete the puzzle that was Lily Potter.
He feels he won’t ever finish it.
“Lily… Lily wasn’t a fan of following wizarding traditions. Old-fashioned, she called, and Sirius would argue with her just to tease her… they bickered like siblings.”
Harry nods; he knows that—Sirius would spent hours telling him about all the silly arguments he would get with Lily, neither really caring about the outcome more than winding the other up. It had sounded fun, the kind of thing Harry would have loved to see.
“Here, let me help you put it on.” James shows him how to close the watch. “It’s waterproof.”
“Oh, I could have used that a few years back.”
“Yeah, I thought, what if you need to deal with merpeople again.” James’ voice is teasing, but his eyes don’t shine. Harry knows it won’t—whenever they are talking about Lily, a light is gone from his father, the same light that died with her sixteen years ago. “Her protection is gone now.”
Harry nods slowly, lowering his head. He had thought about it the night before, before going to sleep, feeling strangely nervous about the end of that protection for a reason that had nothing to do with how useful it had been. It was his mother’s love that had launched that magic and he knew it would be gone when he was of age; still, its end felt as if he was losing the connection to his mother that he had always searched for.
And when he woke up that morning, he couldn’t help but wonder if there would be a difference, something physical; there was none, the same as he didn’t look older just because the day had changed.
There was still the same longing for his mother, the same ponder about how it would feel to be hugged by her.
James takes a deep breath, then he raises, squeezing Harry’s shoulder with a brave smile on his lips. “Happy birthday, son.”
James nods; he is at the door when the question leaves Harry’s lips, born of that need of feeling connected to a mother whose love saved him, whose face he once saw in a mirror, his heart’s deepest desire.
“Dumbledore once told me the dead we love never leave us,” he says hurriedly. James’ eyes wide. “Do you think it’s true?”
His father stares at him and Harry knows what James is seeing; his father never notices their physical resemblance, not when Harry has the green eyes he inherited from his mother.
Harry wonders if his father is always looking for a connection to Lily as well.
“I hope so,” he agrees. “I like to think she is always here with us.”
Harry believes it; he knows his mother moved on, that she is somewhere whose mystery he hopes to find out someday, but sometimes he swears he feels a hand touching his shoulder, a caress on his hair and the smell of lilies in the air. It’s probably just wishful thinking, but—
“She would be proud of you,” James adds, and then it’s one of those moments that Harry never confessed to anyone, in which he swears he can see both of his parents smiling at him, together. “As I am.”
James smiles at him—it’s his double smile, the one that Harry associates with his father trying to be both parents to Harry—and then he is gone.
Harry waits until his footsteps vanish in the stairs to go to his trunk. At the bottom, carefully stored next to his Invisibility Cloak, he finds an old doe plush. His fingers trace the doe, the plush no longer fluffy as it used to be. “Thanks for the watch, Mum.”
A slight breeze come from the window—lilies, Harry always smells lilies in the wind—and he inhales deeply before returning the doe to her safe place, drying the corner of his eyes and getting up to face the day.
bob dylan always looks like he just woke up but also hasn't slept in days and i have no idea how he does that or how he's maintained it for the last 80 years.
midoriya getting a boyfriend who lovingly calls him izuku (“you’re deku, their hero. but to me you’re izuku, my beloved.”) and bakugou gets jealous of how easy it is for this man to call midoriya with his name, saying it with such reverence as if he triumphs bakugou and midoriya’s decades-long friendship.
wondering what gave the idea of female/feminine chuuya to people. or, what makes female/feminine chuuya better than female/feminine dazai OR why people needs to do chuuya female or feminine and keep dazai as a male or in character.
well this is long so readmore.
i am fucking tired yall. look at your man, he is fully masculine. his hat, his looking, his clothing— if you are someone who thinks a guy can’t have long hair, female/feminine chuuya is the perfect thing for you, the thing is you are not perfect.
i’m tired x2. like— chuuya doesn’t act feminine, i- first of all, he struggles about emotions because of his past and lots of friends he lost— i mean, he probably doesn’t act close to anyone anymore cuz he thinks he will lose them anyway. and you just go and say oh! he is tsuntsun, what a cute man and then turn him onto dazai’s personal maid. what the fuck. the way he is around dazai is just- being tsundere?? nah you are wrong, are we watching the same anime. or read the same manga.
go read novels or something istg.
three, height difference??
well not sure about this one but i think thats a reason too, like chuuya is always the bottom in fics and if you ask the author its always ‘bc he is short xd’. and there is this thing where always bottom acts feminine so. also, tall people always dominates?? no man. this is probably bullshit but being short is not a bad thing and short men can be masculine or dominant too?? whar.
anyways this is a random ramble. don’t take me for serious, stop making soukoku hetero, and stop writing chuuya that feminine, bye
Friends with benefits - Part II
Osamu x fem Reader
Words: 1,7 k
A/n: took me a bit longer but here is part II! Enjoy!
"Osamu Miya, I want to have sex with you."
You said it.
And you actually mean every single word of it. Not that he is aware of it- is he?
The moment feels like a dream. The kind of dream you don't know the outcome of before you finish it. Nervousness is killing you, eating you up instantly after the words left your lips. Especially when Osamu doesn't move the slightest bit. He keeps the intense eye contact, but his poker face doesn't reveal what's going on inside of him.
Why did he even force you to say it? Just to mock you and make fun of you? Or worse: Will he tell Atsumu and forever laugh about this? About you??
A few seconds of silence pass.
The longest ten seconds of your life.
Until you hear him take a deep breath, then slowly nodding and finally easing the tension between the two of you.
"Ya do? Come here then." His voice reaches you through the speaker with a short delay. Wait, what?
He pats his thigh with his free hand, a somewhat teasing and challenging smirk on his face- something you have seen on Atsumu, but never on Osamu before. Is it a Miya thing?
"What? Stop joking, let's eat and go to bed." You place your phone on the table and fake a lighthearted chuckle to avoid looking at him. This feels like torture- when he says the things you always wanted him to but just to tease you.
"I'd rather eat ya instead and have ya in my bed tonight."
"You heard me well."
Your jaw drops, your face now burning at his flirtatious actions. How can he flirt so calmly with you? His eyes dart down to his lap once again- a clear invitation.
"Are you- are you serious?" Your voice breaks, even the attempt to clear your throat cannot conceal your nervousness. He can't be serious. You wished it was true, but there is no way-
A simple nod, a simple gesture and he ends the call and places his phone on the table. His legs spread, his muscular thighs evident through the dark, tight fabric of his jeans. And he is waiting just for you.
You wait for him to yell "Sike", "Gottcha" or anything else, but he remains silent when you stand up and slowly make your way towards the dark haired male. His eyes don't leave your body for a second, following each and every movement of you. It only takes four steps- but the tension is growing with every inch you get closer to him.
You come to halt in front of him, mentally screaming and debating if this is a good idea- but he grabs your hips firmly with his hands, pulling you down to his laps eagerly- more than you expected him too.
His body is massive. His thighs feel hard under your ass, your hands flatly pressed against his chest, your faces only a few centimetres away from each other. Your breath hitches when he leans towards you, his intention obvious.
He will kiss you.
Osamu Miya is about to kiss you.
You instinctively close your eyes, unable to think, unable to move- until you feel his lips against yours. It's a chaste and soft kiss, your lips carefully and gently moving against each. Your body is moving on its own, wrapping your hands around his broad shoulders until he deepens the kiss and grabs your waist tighter. You move your legs to straddle his lap, only breaking the heated and passionate kiss for a second to adjust your position. Your dress rides up until your waist, exposing your ass to the chilly air of the empty restaurant. His hand wanders to the back of your head, deepening the kiss and finally inserting his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is a mess by now, your breaths and gasps echoing through the room, and you mentally thank everyone for leaving already.
It's when his hips buck up into yours, when you gasp and break the kiss. A thin string of saliva connects his lips with yours, only breaking when he touches his lip with a grin. "You're a good kisser." Your voice is breathless, and you try to calm your fast beating heart, which seems like an impossible task when he's still holding you close. You just kissed Osamu- or he kissed you, it doesn't matter at this point. And it was even better than you could ever imagine- there is no way you will ever forget how his lips taste.
"Yer not so bad yourself."
Did his voice get deeper and raspier?
It's fucking hot.
He's waiting for you to do the next move, clearly giving you the chance to stop him, to walk away if you want to.
But you don't.
Feeling him slowly growing cock against your thigh urges something inside of you to grind against him until he's fully hard, the wetness between your legs increasing with every time you rub against him. Your loud breaths are mixed with slight moans, his head falling back when you move faster.
You kiss down his jaw, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites against his neck, causing a deep growl to escape his lips. A curse leaves his lips when he bucks up and let's one of his hands wander upwards on your bare thigh. He's moving slowly, caressing the soft flesh and massaging, feeling as much of your skin as he can while you're busy leaving a mark on his neck. When his fingers finally reach your panties, you're almost embarrassed by how wet you are just by grinding against him.
"Fuck," he curses, two of his fingers caressing the soft, wet patch on your panties and rubbing against it teasingly. "Soakin' wet for me, huh? And I didn't even start."
You whimper at his words, the muscles of your thighs involuntarily tensing when he pushes your panties to the side and teases your wet entrance. "Samu-" his name leaves your lips like a prayer, wanting more, to feel him, to touch him- but he pulls back his fingers and grabs your hips firmly. "Hang on."
He pushes the chair back with his legs and stands up with you on his lap, making you gasp and wrap your arms and legs tighter around him. He places you on your feet in front of the counter, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders to keep you steady. He pecks your lips shortly, his arms caging you against the counter while he stares down at you.
He looks so hot with his pupils blown wide from lust, the slight smirk on his face as if you just served his favorite meal.
"Turn around and bend over like a good girl."
Your knees feel weak at his words, the counter behind you the only thing that keeps you up. You gulp hard and hesitantly turn around, feeling his chest pressing against your back when you stopped moving. His lips pressing against your earlobe when he whispers in your ear. "Gonna fuck ya until yer screamin' my name. And yer gonna be a good girl and take it all."
He suddenly smacks your ass, his hand meeting your bare skin as your dress rode up even further when he carried you. The sting sends a wave of pleasure through your body, your body instinctively leaning into his soft touch when he caresses your ass check. "Bend over, hmm?"
His hand wanders up between your shoulder blades, pressing your body against the polished wood of the counter, a shiver running down your spine when he pulls your panties down. It's the sound of him fumbling with his belt that gets your attention and you impatiently squirm under his hold. "Please- Samu- I need you-" your whines spur him to pull down his pants in a haste, his fully hardened cock pressing between your legs and rubbing against your pussy. His cock easily glides between your legs, your wetness mixing with his precum as he moves his hips against yours.
A whimper leaves your lips he stops moving, his hips stilling against yours and stopping you from moving further. "Stop teasing-" you whine, your body aching for more-
"Everythin' for my princess."
Osamu jerks his cock shortly, lining up at your entrance before he hesitates for a second. You impatiently press your hips back and cause the head of his cock to push into you- and it feels so good. "More-" you arch your back, desperately whining for more, whimpering his name while your body is on fire. It's so hot- he feels so hot, his hands holding you in place when he slowly pushes further in. Finally.
He moves painfully slow, inching further inside of you, stretching you out so good. His spanks your ass while he moves in further, finally fully buried in your cunt.
You moan- his name leaving your lips again and again when he finally starts to fuck you. "Faster- faster-" you gasp when he slams his hips back into yours, his initially slow pace now replaced by his hard and deep thrusts. "So good-" he groans, his head falling back in pleasure when he fucks you like there so tomorrow. His hand finds your neck, pulling you up against his chest and turning your face to pull you into a sloppy kiss- and you can't hold back and kiss him back with all of your passion.
You still can't believe that this is real- Osamu Miya, mercilessly fucking you against the counter, his cock buried deeply inside of your cunt, moving with a wet, squelching noise every time he slams back in. It feels so good, you feel like you're in heaven, your pussy clenching about his thick cock while curses leave his lips along with sweet praises. Your body feels like bursting- and that's when you cum without any warning at all.
"Fuck- SAMU-" you cry out his name against his lips, your hands gripping the wood tightly when you orgasm, his hand instantly moving to your clit to rub and prolong your high when he realizes what's happening. Your clenching cunt brings him to his limit, and he releases inside of you, his hot cum filling you up as he makes a mess out of you.
He thrusts two more times, his hips coming to stop when he falls down on you. His weight rests on you, almost crushing you, but you're too absorbed to the heavenly post-orgasm feeling to notice. His lips caress your cheek and kiss your face softly, praises like "such a good girl for me", "beautiful princess, takin' my cock so well" leaving his lips and slowly bringing you back to reality.
You just had sex with Osamu Miya.
Y’know I’m pretty sure frogblr would go to war if someone was picking on a well loved peep. Anyways, speaking of well loved peeps, hi there peep reading this! I would fight for you!!
DIS BITCH 9 YEARS OLD
Gaze upon my baby. My child. My old-enough-to-be-a-4th-grader OC. The reason I met my wife. Is she not perfect?
Not so sure when I salted on Adrien so much. I was a fan for pretty much all of Season 1. But idk, I guess with the fandom’s (and wrtiers’) misogyny influencing the writing, he just became a bit pushy and forceful. Marinette got issues too, but again the fandom’s misogyny just kinda goes overboard with it and excuse Adrien for everything
Ikr!! I hate how misogynistic and racist the fandom and the writers can be! This was the main reason why I became a salter. I can rant about it all day.
I have been learning more about sexism, racism and r*** culture and the ML fandom and Miraculous got a thousand times more creepier for me. The way some Adrien stans blame Adrien's harassment on Marinette, tell her to give Chat a chance, expect her to fix Adrien and get mad at her for thinking of chat as her friend and nothing more is so toxic and creepy.
I never once saw an Adrien salter scolding Adrien for friend zoning Marinette but Marinette salters always blame her for friend zoning chat and tell her to "give him a chance", which make zero sense because they are literally telling her to date someone who she doesn't have feelings for. Do they really want Marinette to take chat on a pity date, because then it would just make chat look desperate and pathetic.
They say that "Chat noir does so much for her and she should date him" which implies that boys should be rewarded for helping or caring for their female friends.
Girls are under no obligations to return boys' feelings or make them feel special for doing something or acting like a normal friend.
I am now beginning to find so many problems with the fandom and show smh. All of this is so frustrating.
Your Heart snippet
Patently, Elain did not know how to stab a man. She and Nesta had been taught a lot of useless shit that largely boiled down to screaming and running- but the knife in her hand was forged in blood, and knew were to find it.
Elain, who had drowned too-
Elain, who was not the least of the Archerons in any way, who winnowed like moonlight, slow bright and impossible, eerie pale in shadow, to slide Truthteller right beneath Azriel’s chin.
The moment was endless. The moment was less than a heartbeat, not quite right to behold.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Azriel said, even as blood, black in the dark, ran gleaming down his neck.
“No?” Elain laughed, too teary to be cruel, “Then you shouldn’t have let Rhysand all but kill my sister. Done something, when they wanted my magic. Said a single thing you actually believe when they came for Nesta.”
It seemed like it took a very, very long time to reach them- it was only four steps, ringing on stone- it was a small eternity, dense with power.
Nesta knew well the value of blood. The dangerous and uncontrollable binding of what was given freely- Azriel, half captive by a hungry magic knife and a hell the gentlest Archeron could make.
She touched the back of Elain’s free hand, prepared not at all the for the way the world rippled when Elain seized it.
“I’m going home,” Elain said. “Don’t- Az, this is not our home.”
Despite the way it made Truthteller bite deeper, Azriel nodded. Inclined his head more than a little, inviting the pain- giving respect. “It could have been.”
Elain pulled the knife from his neck and kicked him, hard as she could, in the shin.
“Rhys burnt down our fucking house,” She yelled. “Where is the fortune of my family, Azriel? Where is the money we made, trading Spring emeralds? Where is my dowry?”
Like this was an old argument, and gods, maybe it was- Nesta watched Azriel nod again, miserably, more emote than she’d ever seen.
“Do not,” Elain practically shrieked, “Try to give me your money again, Az.”
[Y/N]: How do I deal with my enemies?
John: Kill them.
[Y/N]: That's a bit extreme, I was hoping for a more passive solution.
John: Kill them only a little?
Me trying to remember what I did with my time before discord.
You're being murdered. You look the killer in the eye & your last words are the last text you sent:
they all look like soft gay English professors but. they are just waiting.