Hello! My name is Red, and my pronouns are he/him. I like to read, write, draw, and analyze characters I’m interested in. English is not my first language, so please be patient! <33
Rules:
I only write for male (ftm included) or gender neutral readers.
I write fluff, angst, and smut, but smut may come a bit slower and shorter than the rest.
I only write x male or non-binary characters from the media I write fanfiction for.
When requesting smut, know that I will not accept piss/shit kinks, non-con, zoophilia, pedophilia, dub-con, etc.
When requesting smut, know that I will only write top + dom reader.
I will not write x Shane (TWD) or The Governor (TWD).
would you be willing to do headcanons for Sal fisher with a male s/o who isn’t good with words but rather shows affection physically, like holding sal’s hand, lots of hugging, cuddling, etc? if you’re cool with that :) thanks!
Quiet Male Reader/Sal Fisher Headcanons
I'm concussed atm, so I do apologize if nothing here makes much sense! Don't get socked in the head, kids. Warning: NSFW under the cut!
SFW:
You planned on being the one to ask him out, hell, you even planned out a whole prom date poster.
...But it didn't quite go as you hoped.
You had both walked to a nice, isolated little spot that faced the sunset.
The words tripped over themselves before you could even pull the poster from behind your back.
It was a totally incoherent mess of a sentence, but he understood you anyway.
Prom was overrated, but the post-prom hangout with the group made the night fly.
Oh, and getting to dance with Sal as the shitty LED lights blurred and his hair tangled as it flew made it simply perfect.
You clutched onto his hands like he'd spin away at any given moment.
College was a whole other horizon of anxiety, but you both fit into being roommates like it was natural.
The bonus of it all was that you got to snuggle up to him anytime, anywhere inside your dorm.
It never felt too small with Sal in it.
NSFW:
Sal knows you love him, and knows especially that words aren't the only way to communicate that.
He can tell you love him because on the days his scars ache, you pull him into your arms and kiss him in the same, gentle way only you know how to.
On those days, you fuck into him deep, but soft and ever so slow.
You don't quite hover over him as you do lay beside him, but you always look him in the eye.
To your credit, you try to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, which he doesn't mind.
But the real message lies in how your hands move up his skin, as if he were something precious to hold and care for.
Hello! Don't worry, you're not dumb, this is a great question! My ao3 username is coralpot. If you prefer finding my profile through my works themselves, "Smudged" is my most popular fic. If you click "Search," then "Edit Search," you can fill in this menu to find my page if you're struggling! >>
Hiii!!! I’ve seen that you’re slow w writing and I don’t mean to nag or rush you at all but I just wanted to know if you’re still going to be/planning on updating smudged ?
Smudged Chapter Eight - Is it Effort?
Chapter Summary: You and Rodrick work on the final touches of your projects in his room, not that work stops you from messing with him.
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1.1K
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“How have you ever managed to pass middle school?” You rolled your eyes, raising your eyebrow at where Rodrick was perched on the floor, markers and pencils scattered around him.
He scoffed, “Pure coolness, uh, how’d you think I did it?”
You spun lazily on a nearby chair because God knows you wanted to avoid sitting on Rodrick’s, of all people’s, bed. It’d been a week since you set off with the two biggest, and one sweetest, dumbass into the forest to fail at any sort of prolificacy. Your own project sat half-finished on the desk in front of you, along with abandoned scissors and colored construction paper. The birds outside the window sang tunes as the sun prepared to exit the sky, some sweet and others a little annoying, but the days were getting notably shorter. A sigh here, a shrug there, and you started to chip back at your project again.
“Coolness? Yeah, right, maybe los–” The final word caught on your tongue, and it struck you how much that made you sound like Heather. Fuck, that made you cringe. But if Rodrick even got a whiff that you were feeling pity for him, he’d never let you forget it.
“Maybe by making teachers lose their shit.”
Rodrick scribbled glue onto the back of a photo, and when he stuck it on, the corners immediately sprung back, “That’s practically a synonym to what I just said!”
“Woah, there, sweetcheeks. That’s a big word,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your lips like venom, or perhaps honey to a guy like Rodrick.
He sat up on his elbows and turned around to stick his tongue at you. By doing so, you got a good glance at what he’d just stuck on his project, a sight that made you stand up in offense and lean over him, “Dude, what the fuck? That’s my best photo– at least glue it on right so it doesn’t fly off and get trampled on in the hallway.”
“Uh,” Rodrick stared up at you, lips wet and slightly parted before finding their way into an indignant sneer, “who says I’m driving to school on time?”
“Ah, that’s right! It’ll get violently abused in the back of your van, much better.”
You knelt down and picked up a marker. The feeling of your binder cutting into your skin, something that will definitely leave a bright red line on your stomach by tonight, made you frown. But still, you persisted, and lodged the end of the marker in between your molars before tugging hard. It opened with a pop, the lid still stuck between your teeth while you signed the photo as quick as the lightning doodles Rodrick had drawn on the margins. Oh, yeah, those aggravating cursive lessons in elementary school sure came in handy now.
Spitting the cap onto the smelly, stained carpet underneath Rodrick, you tossed the marker in his direction, which unfortunately ended with a streak of black on his cheek before it actually landed in his hands. You chuckled at the sight, and even more so at his gaping jaw.
“Consider it a souvenir to remember me by after your teacher takes your ass to detention, cornball.”
Rodrick scowled, “How do you have a better signature than me, an actual, very real, very awesome rockstar?”
“Guess.”
He rolled his eyes, whining, “It always circles back to school with you.”
“It sounds like somebody’s catching on! Welcome to real life, we’re so pumped to have you.”
Squeals and banging footsteps echoed from downstairs, a sure sign that Greg and Rowley were home from terrorizing the neighborhood in one way or another. You kind of hoped Greg hadn’t and wouldn’t pick up on Rodrick’s old treatment of Heather, because you took notice of the way his ears went all red when Holly looked his way. Yes, that’s right, you thought. Old treatment. Despite Heather’s continuous offstandish behavior whenever Rodrick came over to your house, as was her right, he no longer threw infamous jokes her way, nor did he stare in the direction of her room. It was a tad bit weird having him be so focused– at least for him– on a school project.
Hell, you were a little proud.
Rodrick reached towards his cheeks, and you instinctively curled your lip and turned away in preparation for the dirty move he was about to pull, the one he knew never failed to make you queasy. But instead of pulling down his bottom eyelids, Rodrick loudly exclaimed, “Ugh– aw, damn it! Why didn’t you tell me my eyeliner leaked?”
You glanced towards him and a snicker bubbled up from deep in your chest. A decently large smudge that matched the one on his cheek sat on his fingertips, “Yeah, you got a little… marker.”
The gesture to your own face made him scowl.
“Fuck you. Ten times over.”
“Well, I really have the opposite preference, but that’s none of your damn business.” You shake your head, smirking, “Let me just–”
Spitting into your hand, you spread your saliva over your fingers, and reached over to rub it all over the stain on his face. At first, it appeared promising. Wisps of hair fell over his eyes, blending into the still intact eyeliner, smelling of cheap hairspray he probably got at the local gas station. Strangely enough, you could smell traces of cologne and pine soap, two things you could swear were Mr. Heffley’s deal. It only slightly masked the smell of grease.
But then, as you drew back and wiped your hand on your black shirt, you found that the stain was still there. Bigger. Maybe a little more opaque on the sides? You scratched your neck.
“I think it was a waterproof marker.”
“What the hell? No, nuh-uh,” Rodrick launched to his feet, “you’re so gonna pay for that!”
Your body cracked into motion before you even processed that an incredibly angry, lanky boy was barreling towards you, and hopped on the bed towards the window. It wasn’t locked, nor did it have a screen, as was expected. Fuck the no bed rule, it didn’t apply in war.
You managed to wiggle it open and slide out, balancing on the roof like you’d been doing for the past few days– who knew avoiding the Heffleys’ prying questions about your recent appearances would actually be helpful? Rodrick leaned out the window, cackling, “No fair, that’s foul play! You know I don’t have shoes on.”
“Duh.”
“Yet.” He disappeared into the dark of his room, and you didn’t waste any time trying to find out if he was serious. You knew him well enough that chances are, he was.
Waving your hand, you yelled, “See you tomorrow morning, Heffley!”
The studs on your belt scratched against the shingles as you climbed down, landing swiftly on a few boxes you had previously stacked. You didn’t turn back, sturdy soles clicking in a rhythm against road pavement as the sun finally settled to sleep.
Hi may I request something like twd (any character) and a ghost reader who is like haunting them just for fun.. reader is sort of mysterious and cryptic but overall he just wants to mess with them :3 Idk how it would work but I couldn’t get rid of the idea in my head
Harmless Pranks, Little Thoughts
Daryl Dixon x Ghost!M Reader
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Summary: You are quite the formidable ghost from your years behind a desk, however, you find that the afterlife gets boring rather quickly. When you stumble across a man in the forest, struggling to survive, how can you resist a little harmless fun?
Warnings: Animal death, canon typical violence, and implied death.
Word Count: 1.1K
A/N: Long time no see!
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Earth is quite ugly these days. The cracked asphalt was steaming underneath your feet, but you simply sighed, walking alongside broken down cars. Some had weeds curling around their tires, holding them in place. Nature had long overtaken civilization by the ten year mark of humanity’s extinction event. Any survivors had scattered, chased away by slow, blubbering undead.
Said creatures weren’t hard to relax among once the odor stopped bothering you. Strange, how one of the only senses that stayed with you was smell. They only had mind for the living, no discrimination as long as it had flesh and blood for their teeth to rip to pieces. Otherwise, they just… existed as eyesores. You squinted at a rather unfortunate one, trapped by a seatbelt, doomed to scratch at air until a merciful survivor put it out of its misery. It gnashed its teeth, its jaw uncomfortably visible against gaunt skin. A few steps further and you were met with the edge of a forest, closer than you remembered. The grass didn’t sink when you breached the treeline, nor did sticks prick your arms, and you whistled as loud as your lips would let you.
You brushed your fingers against the bark of trees, seeing the ridges rippled underneath them. Sometimes, if you focused enough, you could almost feel how it would have been if you were alive again. There were some scratches, naturally put and then those which seemed too precise. A bear couldn’t knick away the outer layer to access inside it, straight lines cutting windows in pine. Leaves had been crushed underfoot, meticulous, pressed into the grooves of a boot sole. This only gave you a matter of seconds to flinch back as a breeze whisked past your face– metal glinted in the sun, sharp and sleek. You could practically feel its feathered end tickling your nose. Then, it was gone as quick as it came, hitting its mark with a squeak!
A gruff voice grumbled, “Hello, dinner.”
Years of floating around hadn’t gotten rid of your instincts– hell, you had seen one too many survivors suffer gory deaths to play around. You ducked behind the vandalized pine, watching as a squirrel landed on the dirt, the arrow piercing straight through its eye. Footsteps approached and a hairy, uniquely human hand grasped the corpse. The smell of sweat, blood, and dirt filled your nose; fitting for a survivor. In this world, you supposed you couldn’t judge. Shoulder-length brown hair framed hardened yet passionate eyes, with gray peppering the stubble on his chin. Old for a survivor but still alive and kicking, you noted.
The man gently pulled the arrow out of his target, blood dripping in crimson rivers as he placed it back in his quiver, reaching down to tie the squirrel to his leather bag. Another, equally sized rodent shared the same fate. Its fur blew in the wind, dull; a simple decoration on a cold corpse. He lifted his crossbow easily, taking his view to the sky above, searching for a new target.
Thus, an idea sparked in your mind; unexpected and brilliant in the moment. Mischievous, sure, but when have you ever been opposed to some fun? If anything, being nothing but floating air piqued such interests by thousands. It took energy to physically manifest yourself– kind of like working out. The more you did it, the easier it got, you told yourself. Your eyebrows scrunched and your stomach clenched as you stomped your foot down with a crack, splitting a runt of a stick in half. Despite its size, the noise echoed throughout the atmosphere, bouncing off of rocks until it dissipated.
The aftereffects were immediate, dizziness slamming into you like a freight train. You tried to lean on the tree for support, but you were as solid as smoke, and the wood simply phased through your body. The man whipped his attention towards you, crossbow pointed, but no amount of arrows could get rid of you. Perhaps, that is what started your obsession with Daryl, when you looked back on it. A man that only protruded sharp edges and weight on his back, yet had survived with the burden for so long. You looked down at your dress shirt, bloody, ruined from when a customer had lunged for your neck. It still had your name pinned to the black tie.
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Carol slammed the door shut behind Daryl, crossing her arms in the most private space they could have in the settlement, “Something’s been up with you lately, Daryl.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with me,” he said, shrugging, but his tone held no annoyance.
You floated through the door, watching as a shiver went up Carol’s spine at your passing. She shifted her weight and continued, “I’ve just noticed you’ve been jumpy, that’s all. You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you, right?”
That bothersome thing, you knew, was obvious. Harmless pranks, some basic and some ingenious, but none that ever harmed the man. Not anything that did more than attract a lone walker, which is what you learned survivors called them now, at any rate. Hiding an arrow, Dog’s toy– why is a dog’s name Dog, anyway– or knocking on the walls occasionally. Sure, Daryl was jumpy, who wouldn’t be in a world like this? However, over time, he got accustomed to your antics, so much so that he did not react to them nearly as satisfying as previously. You had to go bigger, better, each time.
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”
“There’s only one in a million things that can scare you these days.”
Mhm, that’s right. You are– were– a one in a million office worker; the sentiment was baffling. If only your boss thought the same, you chuckled.
However, what was once a likely source of pride for the arrogant prick lost in the winds of time… now only cast deep shadows underneath Daryl’s eyes as the man glanced at his feet. His face had permanent wrinkles where his eyebrows touched his nose, ingrained like inked tattoos on his skin.
It was then, in the swirl of conflicting emotions painting Daryl’s face, that your fingers twitched. It was then, past Carol’s careful exit, that you yearned. Such a strong instinct, akin to fear and overtaking greed, gripped you. Your surroundings felt less dim and you felt more alive than you have in the many, many years prior. For the first time, you had the urge to clasp his cheeks and to comfort the man whom you suspected rarely ever felt a gentle touch. Not to prank, not to scare, not to dance around like a jester for eternity– the desire melted your body like chocolate. As the air gave way to your ghostly form, parting under your fingertips, you realized that the Earth was a little less ugly with Daryl in it.
'there are no real men anymore. men nowadays are all too feminine, they even look and act like women' where are all these feminine men. where. can you pinpoint them on a map for me. please. can you direct me to them. im begging you. please. please please please pl
dear writers who are slower/take more time with their writing or writers who are on hiatus or writers who are trying to find their voice again, i see you and i love you and you are valid
Summary: You fulfill your promise to Daniel, but Rodrick insists on coming along.
Warning: Talk of knives
Word Count: 1.1K
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Crickets hummed a tune as you turned your headlight on, gripping your camera as if a bear would rip it from your hands at any moment. Daniel leaned against the hood of your car, flipping through pages in his binder, exchanging a few words with Rodrick. They were cautiously neutral, you noticed, despite Rodrick’s typical behavior. He was nosy and in Daniel’s personal space, trying to peer over his shoulder with a smug grin. You shined your light in his face, and he backed down with a hiss, “Are we gonna get started or just wait for the vandalism to come to us?”
“I’m pretty much ready, you?” Daniel responded.
You huffed, leaves crunching underfoot as you moved away from the car, “You already know my answer.”
“Dangerous, blah, blah, blah, squatters–”
“C’mon, don’t be a pussy,” Rodrick patted your back, pushing you onwards, “this is tame shit.”
“You wouldn’t know tame shit if it was right under your nose!”
Shaking your head, you kicked rocks off of the overgrown trail. The moon was high and the cool summer air kissed your cheeks with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. Fog whispered amongst the bushes, sticking close to the ground, swirling around your shoes. You could feel the warmth of the other two lights on the back of your neck, forcing you to adjust your collar in order to escape it. Owls stared down from their nocturnal perches; there was no privacy in the woods.
You scanned each and every piece of bark you could find, even stooping to check fallen logs. There were plenty of grooves, but none were short of natural, and you were cut off by Daniel. He put his hand on your shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, “So, I have an idea– hear me out.”
When you nodded, he continued, “We’ll get clearer pictures if we focus only on smoother trees. Like, beech and musclewood and… stuff.”
That’s all Daniel managed before a body pushed between the two of you, proud and arrogant. Daniel shot him a glare, but Rodrick returned it with just as much venom, “Muscles? Yeah, I got plenty of those!”
One look at his stick arms and you burst out laughing, “Dude, seriously?”
“What?”
“Do you even know what we’re talking about? Look around you.” You threw your arms outward, embracing the scenery, “Trees! Trees, trees, and more trees!”
Daniel noted, snickering as he watched Rodrick’s mouth twitch, “Wood. Vandalized wood that we need to find. Preferably before my ass gets frostbite.”
“It’s not even that cold out,” Rodrick scoffed.
You backed away as they argued back and forth, their voices fading ever so slightly. Yeah, real tough decision from the guy who was insistent on caution, but what could you do? Honestly, it was your fault for bringing two clashing personalities. Now, none of you were getting work done which, as Daniel stated, you preferred to finish swiftly. Your leather jacket had gained at least a few more signs of wear and tear since you started, scraping against trees that were a little too close to the trail. The bark of a tree lit up, bleached pale by your headlight, without many grooves to make shadows. On its surface were two initials surrounded by a heart; K+A, carved for eternity. Or, at least until the tree grew its skin back. Which, according to Daniel, wouldn’t be for years. He wasn’t shy about rambling tree facts to you after the projects were announced.
Taking a step forward, you raised your camera. Snap! Brushing your fingers over it and peering at it closer, it seemed less… fresh than you had initially thought. Certainly not from some lovesick high schoolers that ran off for some private time. Carved with a serrated pocket knife, the letters were lopsided and jagged, but medium-sized. Looking over your shoulder, you called out, “Hey, I found something!”
The two boys snapped out of their quarrel, with Daniel fumbling to get his camera out of his pocket. You grinned, tracing the letters with your thumb, pointing out the obvious, “See? It’s not hopeless.”
“Sure, but I need a few more or I’ll lose ten points for lack of visuals,” he sighed, snapping his own picture.
“Couldn’t you just fill it in with graphs or some crap?”
Daniel shrugged, “Not according to the rubric. If there’s something here, then chances are there’s bound to be another one up ahead, right?”
“Worth a shot.”
You pushed Rodrick ahead, keeping yourself to the back of the line and flipping through the camera roll. It was mostly just Daniel with his family, or flowers, or– okay, he looked super nerdy there– his first day at work. Glancing up to compare the awkward dude in front of you to the acne-prone fourteen year old in the photo, it was pretty believable. A branch smacked your shoulder and you jumped, glaring at Rodrick when you heard a snicker escape his mouth. What an asshole.
Trees started getting more and more scarce, and soon, none were present. A small clearing emerged in front of your group, opening up to an idle road in the distance. You heard Daniel sigh and Rodrick grumble, so you glanced over their heads to witness what was probably the most annoying thing that night. Lines marked the packed dirt, a few benches beside them, and inside was a parked car that was too familiar for your liking.
“So this was rad and all but,” Rodrick chuckled, “you two are shit navigators.”
Daniel scoffed, and you circled around to your car, “Like you’re any better.”
Rodrick mocked his mouth with his hands, “Chit-chat.”
His demeanor was cool, relaxed, and smug. Otherwise, Rodrick looked nothing short of a mess. Your eyes traced down his figure, landing on his legs, where a dark brown bruise made itself known. You squinted, “Uh, man, what’d you hit your left leg on?”
“Huh?” His shoulders stiffened as he looked at his right leg.
“My left.”
You watched in slow motion as his face changed; Rodrick’s lips parted to show tightly shut teeth, his eyebrows raised, and he jumped in the air. He shook his leg repeatedly, yanking on your jacket to keep himself balanced. The not-bruise got flung in the air, landing on your car and shuffling into the wheel, as you stumbled backward. Finally, Rodrick screeched, high-pitched and girly.
Your ears were left ringing after, “Ow– dude, what the fuck? Get off!”
He didn’t, only gripping onto you with more strength. You could feel the fabric of your jacket straining against his fists, but before you could say anything more, Daniel interrupted, “Wow, I didn’t know Rodrick was scared of spiders.”
“I am not!”
You tugged him off by his own shirt, opening the car door, “C’mon, guys. Let’s quit it for the night.”
i got out of the theater 5 hours ago and i'm still sitting here thinking about i saw the tv glow like the entire concept of a horror movie that's not truly a horror movie until the very last scene. the concept of a horror movie where the horror is not a literal monster or a monster as metaphor for the self the horror is literally just the self and the damage done to oneself when you refuse a fundamental part of your identity. and how part of the horror isn't just the damage done to yourself but also to the people who can relate to you and who love and want to help you. but also that little glimmer of hope in "there is still time" because even just looking into the heart of yourself in the mirror is a step forward, even if you take two steps back immediately after. like the horror in hope and the hope in horror and how the whole reason horror is even a thing is because of the existence of hope (and its failure) god this movie is SO good i need to watch it again immediately.
