#Writing response

[the-exhausted-xexandaler]

I stare at the infantile mortal carefully. This is a first for me. I, Gregorionus, third in line for the throne of the 3rd ring and third son of the Triagorial family… acting as… I believe the mortal called me a ‘sitter’? Sitting on what? The child? Wouldn’t that harm the youth?

The child stares back at me… like they’re trying to figure me out.

I cough as I speak to the small one. ‘Sooooo… do you like soulfood? Good for a growing demon, but I don’t know how it would be for humans.’ I say as I take out a Soulbar from my backpack.

What? Demons need to go to school as well. I’ll have you know reader that I am in 662nd grade. I’ll be graduating in another four years.

As I break the fourth wall, I can help but notice that my hands feel… empty. I look towards where my Soulbar was and only see crumbs on the face of the child.

‘Well, I suppose that solves that dilemma. I don’t have training yet for how to make human food, so you can have some of these though out my service here.’

The child tilts their head. Seriously what kind of parent leaves without informing their contracted demon about what they need to do. That damned lady didn’t even inform me about what this childs name is.

‘I can hardly just call you ‘Child’, so speak thy name!’ I demand as I hold the… youth up before my face.

They smile happily. ‘Becky. I dis Beccy.’

I smirk. ‘Becky eh? Not a difficult name to remember.’ I say setting Becky down before I take in the room carefully. It’s quite small, at least compared to my room back home and even at the school. ‘So Becky, what do you play around here?’

I’m just going to assume given the name that this is a girl. Screw you humans in the fourth plane for being so anal about genders and identity.

Back on the subject matter, little Becky smiles before quickly running off to a shelf. She reaches for a book with a crusted weathered spine just a little to far away for her to reach. Is that her favorite story? Maybe she wants me to read it to her.

I grab the book she is reaching for. ‘Shall we do a little light reading before we have a meal together Becky?’

Her face lights up. ‘Ray! Stawy teim!’ She shouts. What charm this young one has.

I take a seat in the maluable seat that I believe humans call a ‘bean bag chair’ and set her in my lap. ‘Now then, what is this book anyways?’ I say before I read the front. ‘Demonic Summoning, Magic, Contracting and You? I didn’t know they had this tome on this plane. This should be a good read for you little Becky. Shall I begin?’

Becky nods vigorously. ‘Yee! I get te be wik mama!’

‘Hohoho! I’m sure you will be little one. Now sit back and listen to the greatest voice in all of the third circle brings information to your mind.’

What nobody knew was that this would be the start of the greatest Demonic Mage of the 24th century. But we’ll get to that story after mama gets home from work.

You’re a demon. One day, you’re summoned into a living room, and an exhausted woman quickly rambles about needing to get to work and being unable to find a sitter before flying out the door. Now, you stand in your summoning circle, a toddler staring wide eyed at you.

[clit-eastwood-spicy]

for the writing thingy, imma actually give you TWO numbers just because i can 😤 21 and 55.

Ayyy you got it <3

Page 21~

I'll have you know I looked up how much USD that 300 Yen was and I laughed so hard I coughed and cried. What even is research when you're 10 and can make shit up on the fly as you're typing info up at the speed of unfiltered ADHD/Autism? lmfao

Page 55 (+bonus of the rest of the convo since I think the banter actually funny lmao)

Fucking so much to break down with this but here we go lol

General idea of this part of the story is that a small group of ninja and Pokemon Warriors/Wielders (or as I've been calling them in the story PKMN) had to do a covert mission because at this point theres multi groups trying to either kill, capture or protect Uki (self insert oc type vibe who lost her memory and due to having specific Seals on her body is also unable to speak or use her powers - she's pretty much just a vessel holding Palkia atm. As a side note if you see Uki speak its literally just her "lipping words and hoping people can understand her.) and one of the groups hates humans and are tying to start a war so thats how this mission starts lol.

Heather is the wielder or Heatran. Roi wields Mewtwo. Hiru wields Regigigas and is Heathers ex friend/lover type vibe. Locke, Chok and Baralai are Regice, Registeel and Regirock respectively. Fun fact: Their names are based off of "lock shock and barrel" from Nightmare Before Christmas (was a fave movie when I was a kid ngl lmao).

Also speaking on the prev clip Jiraiya got his ass handed to him by Uki with the betting. In the story its explained weirdly but she's accidently using a tiny bit of her power without knowing it (because its later revealed that the Seal is wonky/degrading) and literally changing the outcome of the dice lol. And I had completely forgotten that Uxie (I made her a very sassy old lady who is constantly berating / fighting Jiraiya and calling him out on his bullshit lol) and Jiraiya's relationship like that and it actually made me smile because I thought it was such fun side banter between them.

[dex-zabeth]

(Part 2. Hermione undresses him 😌😉)

The kiss deepened, a silent conversation of longing and burgeoning desire. Harry’s hands tightened on Hermione’s waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him, the soft fabric of her bra a thin barrier between them. The air in the small bedroom crackled with a newfound energy, the years of friendship and shared adventures now tinged with a potent, undeniable attraction.

Hermione pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and luminous in the dim light. Her hands, which had been resting on his cheeks, now trailed down his neck, her fingertips lightly brushing against his collarbone. Harry’s breath hitched again, the simple touch sending a wave of heat through him.

A playful smile flickered across Hermione’s lips. She reached for the hem of his t-shirt, her gaze meeting his, a silent question in her eyes. Harry’s heart pounded in response. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his own hands instinctively reaching up to grip her waist tighter.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Hermione pulled his shirt over his head, the soft cotton rustling in the quiet room before falling to the floor. The moonlight now bathed his bare chest, highlighting the lean muscles beneath his skin. Hermione’s gaze lingered for a moment, a hint of admiration in her eyes, before flicking back up to meet his.

Harry felt a rush of self-consciousness mixed with a thrill of anticipation. He’d never been this exposed, this vulnerable with Hermione before. Yet, there was a sense of rightness to it, a feeling that this was a natural progression of their deepening connection.

Hermione’s hands, now free, moved to his chest, her palms flat against his skin. He could feel the warmth of her touch, the slight tremor in her fingers. He instinctively held his breath, savoring the sensation.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of playful confidence and a hint of something more profound. "Do you know what I've been imagining, Harry?" she whispered, her voice husky.

Harry swallowed, his gaze locked on hers. "Tell me," he managed, his voice a low rumble.

Hermione’s smile widened, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. She slid her hands further up his chest, her fingers tangling in the short hairs there, sending shivers down his spine.

"I've been imagining…" she began, her voice a soft caress, "what it would feel like… to feel your heart beating against mine."

Before Harry could respond, she gently took his hands in hers and slowly guided them upwards, placing them over her chest, directly over her heart. He could feel the rapid thumping beneath his palms, a frantic rhythm that mirrored his own.

The contact was electric. The delicate lace of her bra felt almost nonexistent beneath his fingertips, the warmth of her skin radiating through. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breath, the frantic beat of her heart a tangible connection between them.

Hermione leaned closer, her own hands now resting on his forearms, her gaze never leaving his. "Can you feel it, Harry?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Can you feel how fast it's beating for you?"

Harry’s throat was tight. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

"It's… it's racing," he managed, his voice hoarse.

"Just like mine," Hermione breathed, her eyes searching his. "You do this to me, Harry."

The vulnerability in her voice, the raw honesty in her gaze, sent a wave of tenderness washing over him. He tightened his grip on her hands, his thumbs gently stroking the soft fabric over her heart.

"You do this to me too, Hermione," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken emotions, the only sounds the soft rhythm of their breathing and the frantic beating of their hearts. Hermione leaned in, her forehead resting against his chest, just above where his hands lay. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin, the soft brush of her hair.

"I've wanted this for so long, Harry," she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest.

Harry closed his eyes, savoring the moment, the feel of her against him, the tangible connection between them. He had longed for this too, this closeness, this intimacy that went beyond friendship. And now, here in the quiet of her bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, it was finally happening.

He gently cupped her face in his hands, lifting her head so he could look into her eyes. They were dark with desire, but also filled with a soft, almost hesitant tenderness.

"Hermione," he whispered, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again, her gaze locking with his. The unspoken question hung in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of the precipice they stood on.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He leaned down, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and filled with a burgeoning passion. It was a kiss that spoke of years of friendship, of shared laughter and tears, of a deep connection that had finally blossomed into something more profound. And as they stood there, entwined in the moonlight, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable pull that had finally brought them together.

Oooh, i loved it . It was awesome and you could feel how they felt about each other,

And while both hot, it was also romantic in its own way, and that made it so much better.

It was an amazing peice to read well done

[kawareo]

My only new year's resolution is to leave more comments on AO3

[reba-ceres]

"What did you say?" my sister asked me. No, asked is too gentle of a word. Asking implies that she is seeking an answer if I was willing to give it. No, her voice could only be described as nothing else but demanding. "You know that's not what I meant!"

"And I know exactly what you meant," I replied coldly. I hated the sound of my voice, but best to come off as the unfeeling, cold person she always claims I am when I don't do what she wants than to show my real emotions. My sister and mother both had used my emotions against me far too many times for far too many years, and you don't feed the trolls.

Or, in this case, the abusers.

"No, you don't. You can't know what's going on in my mind," my sister replied condescendingly. It really never mattered what I did. Nothing I did was good enough for her. Or our mother. Hence the derogatory tone. Another control tactic that now that I was done being a coward, wasn't going to work. "What I meant was-"

"Let me finish," I snapped at her in a cool, level voice. I could feel the fear bubbling up, but to have courage is to face that fear, and, sadly, my sister, who had already crossed the threshold from someone I loved unconditionally into someone I was terrified of, was why I was having to face that fear.

The familiar words I spoke, words that used to control me, words that my mother uttered more than once when I would try to argue a point before she began her circular arguments that spiraled into insane ramblings silenced my sister instantly. Realizing the power words still held on her, despite her proclaiming that she has 'let it go' was about to prove my further points. I hated having to use those words, but they were the only ones that would allow me the chance to speak before I lost that courage to the tide of fear.

"What you miss isn't the little girl I once was," I began. "What you miss is the little girl who was too scared to speak up. You miss the young woman who would rush to your side and drop everything to help you, care for you, look out for you, and fix your problems. You miss the person that put her own happiness on hold over and over again at your whim. And, most of all, you miss the control. Control over her friends, her outings, her school, her time, her likes, her life."

"I never meant it like that!" my sister blubbers, her face growing red and her hands clinching into tight fists at her side. "I never controlled you! You're a fucking adult! You can make your own decisions!"

"I know," I say sadly, "but back then, I was afraid, and being afraid makes you small, and being small allows people to influence your choices."

My sister jerked as though I had physically struck her, but I pressed on.

"As a child, you heard our mother use her words to bring out my fear more than once, and you saw it got her what she wanted. Whether you wanted it or not, you mimicked her, and when that cowardly, terrified, emotionally abused little girl caved to your wishes and whims, you were given power that you didn't deserve."

"I am not like her!" she shouted sternly, her anger making her eyes blank and bulge much like our mother's did when she was in the midst of her cold rage.

"Sis, we are like her, because she is a part of us," I say sadly, "and that tells me that the scared girl she raised me into being is what she knew in her youth. I got her past, but you got her future."

She waves her hand in a dismissive motion. "Now you are talking crazy. You're such a narcissist!"

"No, I'm not." I'm surprised at how level my voice is. I know I can never get through to her. She's so much like our mother: stubborn in all the wrong kinds of ways. There is no further point in arguing, and for once I have the resolve to not continue a loosing battle. So before I walked away, I told her the real reason she missed the little girl I used to be:

"What I am is brave."

(The above is FICTION.)

Prompt #1011

"I sometimes miss that little girl you once were."

"I don't, she was a coward."

[trekkiesagainstchastity]

It doesn't matter if that fic has been in your drafts for years and is now self-indulgent to the point of parody. If Steven Moffatt is allowed to do it professionally, you are allowed to do it for fun.

[bruciemilf]

I think Bruce's anti-murder philosophy would translate better if it wasn't portrayed by writers who obviously want him to kill someone lol

[chipper-smol]

[katsinspats]

Tragic: Guy you based your entire villain backstory on doesn't even remember you

[lesbianjamies]

Cait always lets Vi know that she can be vulnerable with her, that she can touch her if she wanted to

[the-exhausted-xexandaler]

I go from wanting to write about the Hell Hotel to wanting to get Becky to get help from a dragon for ancient magic that Gregorinus is teaching her… why do I have to be so lazy and busy??

As a dragon, you are used to humans entering to obtain your treasure or your head. "I need help with my magic school homework" is a new one though.

[megapteraurelia]

suna rintarou who knows how to tie the stem of a cherry into a knot with his tongue. who is intent on teaching you how to. who beckons you closer with a wave of two fingers, curling up against his palm.

"open," he hums, his nose caressing yours, hands splayed out on your thighs, fingertips pressing into your flesh.

when your lips part, he had already tipped his head towards yours, tongue sneaking into your mouth. he tastes warm, sweet; the pink muscle wet and teasing against yours. he pushes something rough into your mouth, the stem scratchy and faintly covered in cherry juice. it feels weird, foreign next to the familiar touch of him.

one hand of his sneaks back to grip your neck tightly, pushing your lips closer to his. his tongue moves swiftly, dancing around yours as you let him devour your mouth. victim to his demonstration, a thin trickle of spit smears on your chin and a slight gasp isn't far behind.

within a couple seconds, he pulls back and lets you feel out the knot he tied in the stem.

"how—?"

a faint chuckle escapes him, and he broadens his tongue, licking up the remnants of spit on your chin up to your mouth.

he murmurs against you, "let me show you again."

he says that but when he gets up on his knees and looks down at you, thumb pulling down your lower lip to inspect your gums, your teeth, the red of your swollen mouth, the cherry stem is fast forgotten.

instead, there's a vulgar twitch in his lazy grin and an amused glint in his sharp eyes.

"open," he says again, and when you listen, beads of spit drop from his lolled tongue into your awaiting mouth.

blushed cheeks, heavy breath, crazed look in his eyes at how readily you take anything he gives you. for a second, he wonders how your mouth would look like with his cum and saliva painted all over your lips like his own special brand of lip gloss. he aches, and his spine catches fire at the fantasy.

before you know it, it's just him licking the inside of your mouth, hips grinding up your thigh, one hand of his buried in your hair to press you closer to him, the other shoved down your pants to find how wet you are.

rutting against your leg, he kisses you messily, sloppy; his pants growing wetter and wetter with each groan that leaves your mouth, because fuck, he can't wait to make a mess out of you, mix both of your fluids together like one of those damn witch's concoctions you brewed as kids, lick it all off you again, lose himself in your mouth and your heat.

his abdomen squeezes and your thighs tremble.

his cum, spit, your arousal — check, check, check.

TAGLIST | @takes1 ; @lale-txt (suffer with me, lale)

[dex-zabeth]

(🤭😉)

The moonlight spilled through the gap in the curtains of Hermione's bedroom, painting a silver stripe across the worn rug. The air was still and quiet, carrying only the faint sounds of the late-night suburban neighborhood outside. Harry sat on the edge of her bed, the springs creaking softly beneath his weight, his gaze fixed on Hermione, who stood by her desk, ostensibly tidying a stack of books but her attention seemed elsewhere.

She wore a simple, lacy white bra, the delicate fabric a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to the curves of her shoulders and back. Her hair, usually a carefully managed cascade of curls, was slightly disheveled, a few strands escaping her makeshift bun to frame her face. The dim light caught the subtle sheen of her skin, making her appear almost ethereal.

Harry’s throat felt suddenly dry. He’d been visiting her at her home for a few days during the summer holidays, a welcome respite from the boisterous energy of Potter Manor. Their days had been filled with quiet walks in the park, exploring quaint local shops, and long, rambling conversations about everything and nothing. But this evening felt different. A subtle shift had occurred, a silent acknowledgment of the growing intimacy between them.

Hermione turned from her desk, her eyes meeting his across the small room. There was a playful glint in their depths, a confidence he hadn't quite seen before. She leaned against the edge of the desk, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Find something interesting?" she asked, her voice a low murmur that seemed to amplify in the quiet room.

Harry swallowed, his gaze involuntarily tracing the delicate lace of her bra. He quickly looked up, meeting her eyes again, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. "Just… thinking," he managed, his voice a little rougher than usual.

Hermione pushed herself off the desk, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him. The moonlight caught the curve of her hip as she moved, and Harry's breath hitched.

"About what?" she purred, taking another step, closing the distance between them. She stopped just a few feet away, her gaze unwavering.

Harry’s mind felt like a snitch in a hurricane. He tried to focus, to find a coherent thought amidst the sudden awareness of her proximity, the soft scent of lavender that always clung to her, the way the moonlight seemed to caress her skin.

"Us," he finally said, the word barely a whisper.

Hermione’s smile widened slightly, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "Us?" she echoed, tilting her head slightly. "In what context, exactly?"

She took another step, and Harry instinctively leaned back against the headboard of the bed. She was close now, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. She reached out a hand, her fingertips lightly tracing the line of his jaw.

"Perhaps," she said softly, her voice a silken thread, "you're thinking about how different things are now. How much… closer we've become."

Harry’s heart hammered against his ribs. He reached up, his hand covering hers, his thumb gently stroking her skin. "It feels… right," he murmured, his gaze locked on hers.

Hermione leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Does it?" she whispered, her voice sending shivers down his spine. "Even when things get… a little less academic?"

Her fingers trailed down his neck, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He gripped her hand tighter, his knuckles white.

"Especially then," he admitted, his voice husky.

Hermione’s smile turned into a full, radiant grin. She moved closer still, her other hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Good," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with playful confidence. "Because I've been doing a lot of… thinking… myself."

She leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. Harry could feel the anticipation building, the unspoken desires that had been simmering beneath the surface finally threatening to boil over.

"And what have you been thinking about, Hermione?" he managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper.

"Oh, all sorts of things," she replied, her gaze dropping momentarily to his lips before flicking back up to meet his eyes. "The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way you always know what I'm thinking, even when I don't say it. And…" she paused, her thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip, "how much I like the way you look at me."

Harry’s breath hitched. He reached up, his other hand finding her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. He could feel the soft give of her skin beneath his fingertips, the rapid beat of her heart mirroring his own.

"Hermione," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

"Hmm?" she murmured, her eyes half-lidded, her gaze fixed on his lips.

He closed the remaining distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss that quickly deepened. The moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating their entwined figures, the unspoken desires finally finding expression in the warmth of their embrace. The academic barriers had dissolved, replaced by a raw, undeniable attraction that filled the small room with a palpable energy. Hermione, the ever-composed intellectual, was now a confident, flirty young woman, and Harry was utterly captivated. The night was just beginning, and the air in Hermione's room was charged with the promise of something more.

That was beautiful, I loved every moment of their nighttime talk. You can feel how much they simply love each other in both their words and subtle movements and expressions,

It was very well done, i hope you keep up with writing i would love to read more of them

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Dialogue Responses

"You don't understand."

"You're right, I don't."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Please, help me out here."

"But I want to understand."

"Oh, I understand it very well."

"Then please, make me understand."

"What is it that I don't understand here?"

"And I don't care enough anymore to try."

"Ok, here is your chance to explain it to me."

"How could I when you don't tell me anything?"

All the Dialogue Responses can be found here.

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[thebubblesareevil]

Harley Quinn is Danny’s therapist

Danny needs therapy… desperately.

Jazz know this and acknowledges that it’s not a good idea for her to fill that role, so she goes out in search for the next best thing.

While in Gotham for college Jazz breaks into harley and ivys hideout and waits for them to return.

She waters the plants, she does the dishes and she even cooks some dinner setting the table just as they arrive.

The smells coming from the table prevent the immediate attack.

Jazz introduces herself and offers Harley the opportunity of a lifetime

“How would you like to be the personal therapist to a dead superhero?”

Of course jazz is more than willing to pay Harley (Danny gave her some Aztec gold for spending money while at school) but harley refuses to commit until she meets the kid

The 2 join jazz when she goes home for break, introducing them as some upperclassmen

(Her parents don’t really question it. Not bad parents just super accepting, they don’t know about Danny yet, though Danny stopped hiding it awhile ago)

Jazz brings them up to Danny’s room and knocks on the door

“Hey little brother, got a minute?”

A garbled yes comes from the other side and she opens the door to reveal half the room is missing and in its place is a gaping hole in reality where a large woman was cooking

“What’s up? New friends?” he asked looking down from where he was floating mid air reading a book about stars

“What’s with the portal?”

Danny just shrugged “lunch lady’s making spaghetti, want some?”

“Hell yeah!” Harley piped in. “Honey, I think we’re gonna get along swell”

Ivy just sighed.

The two move to amity so harley can have easy access to her favorite patient and Ivy ends up getting her own green house and somehow a job on the city council to reduce pollution and to push green areas in town

Do with this what you will

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

idk i just. i gotta say there is something so powerful about having two alpha male coded characters discussing their emotions on a rooftop while grappling with overt suicidality and having the most alpha of the two not only providing emotional support and words of affirmation but actively endorsing therapy. admitting that he goes and it helps. do you understand how insane that is. they really wrote jack abbot to be in the middle of a venn diagram of suicidal demographics and said we're not going to leave him there, we're going to make him be the one who is advocating for the mental health care of healthcare workers. Do you get this. he's a white male veteran between like 18-50 who undoubtedly has access to a firearm. he's disabled, he works in emergency medicine as an attending and we have no idea what kind of support system he has outside of work. like. that is a man i would be actively worried about in my workplace. that is a man who knows how to kill himself and make it stick. and he's talking about his therapist out in the open. the amount of stigma and internalized masculine ideals and military masculinity he has worked through. do you. do you understand. do you understand what an incredible character jack abbot is. i'm tearing up. robby is terrified someone will find out he has ptsd and panic attacks and jack is telling him it's okay. implying he has them too. it's okay because you came out and went right back in it. you were who we needed you to be, and it wasn't fair and it's okay to not be okay. it's okay to need help. jack. jack abbot said those things.

jack abbot you have my entire heart