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So..out of pure curiosity are planning to make a part 2 of that Harry Potter x reader fanfic? Because I need to know wether or not the reader is a muggle or not LIKE AAA AND I SEE THE VISION OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP IN THE FUTUEE TRUSTF
also I like the way you write Harry’s character hehe
HELLOOO I'm so sorry I just got on to seeing this. yes!!! I'm wracking my brain on how to continue it. but in the meantime, I'd like to know why you loved the way I write his character! what makes it diff from the ways others have written him? ooooo I think it'd help a lot with continuing it.
hey idk if you do this (if you're uncomfortable with this that's totally fine no pressure at all!!) but Charlie Dalton NSFW alphabet? I cannot get this man out of my head good lord
hellooooo i do not write nsfw or 18+ in any way at all!! thank you for asking bubs ^_^
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ willow dancing on air, covering me | Aragorn, Son of Arathorn
desc.: Yes, I'm picturing gentleness with Aragorn. This is after he was crowned King of Gondor and Andor. Since he's with you and not Arwen, I switched some things up. Get cozy and enjoy.
Aragorn tucked her hair behind her ear, the strays of them floating by the light air. His sorrowful gaze refused to hide itself under the guise of his victory, seeking more of her, as much as he could. Whilst the kingdom of Gondor enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep, their King lacked one. His sole comfort was in knowing she was with him, whole and unseparated.
"I wished you had not been there," he muttered, his thumb brushing her chin. Aragorn looked only at her amulet, the one he gifted from Gondor's depths of treasures. It was easier that way.
"Perhaps then you'd be safe," he reasoned, "perhaps the scars of war would not affect you so. I—" he broke off, his chest tight with ache, "I have failed you, have I not, nin mel?"
Her nimble fingers clasped his, grasping them tightly.
"You do not speak of yourself as highly as I'd like you to," she hushed, "I do not like that."
She kissed his knuckles, dirtied with honor, and let him know how she felt. She let her soul see his, and Aragorn closed his eyes once her gentle palm met his cheek.
"Think not of what could have been, for it rots your soul — and I'd like to have you, as you are, here with me. The war has taken so much of you from me. I do not want to grieve a second longer."
Aragorn's strong arm, one he used to wield swords and fight Orcs to their shame, embraced her — around her soft shoulders, closer against him. His heart slowed to a thrum as he kissed her; from her forehead, to her nose, and finally her lips. It was a moment of selfishness he would not forgive himself for. But even then, she'd comfort him, kind and courageous in her own right.
"We'd start anew," he whispered the oath against her, "upon the hills of Gondor and under its willow trees. Your willow trees, as they grow tall and strong in your presence."
Her smile was of flower petals as she giggled. Aragorn couldn't help but mirror it.
Her palm rubbed his chest, clad in his evening robes, "Those are my favorites. You remembered."
He was wholly at her mercy, in the dark of twilight, by the privacy of their own. It was his own trophy, her presence as his reward.
They held each other to sleep.
a/n: if you loved this, you'll love the rest of my writing. It would be lovely for you to check out my published works — they're accessible, digital, and made with love. 💌 enjoy.
SYN: 4 Privet Drive isn't the best place to spend a summer's break in. The girl next door to him begs to differ.
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Harry is upset, incredibly so. Harsh winds blow outside, muffling the sounds of Dudley's TV as it turns itself off in the room upstairs. Summer has been a right tosser, and it was going to continue being this way until Uncle Vernon can shut his fat mouth and suck it up.
Aunt Petunia isn't any better — succumbing to Dudley's insistent nagging as it convinces her to make Harry do the dirty dishes instead of her son, the piles adding onto each other as the hours pass quicker than they persist. He wishes to Merlin or whoever listens that he could use magic somehow. Maybe they'll legalize it next year; if only Fudge wouldn't fuss too much about whatever Dumbledore is doing.
For the upteenth time since he started washing the plates, Harry nudges his glasses upright with the back of his wrist, the sleeves of his surfer's shirt that Ron's mum gave him soaking wet with soapy dishwashing water. The TV downstairs buzzes along; it was the weather girl with the big hair that Uncle Vernon was quite fond of. It always ticks Aunt Petunia's stinger like a loud brass. While the presenter talks Harry's ears off, the big man of 4 Privet Drive resumes to snore asleep on the couch.
Harry cannot fathom how the anger inside of him intensified each year he returned to Privet Drive. It's like a demon's taken space inside of him, colonizing his lungs and heart, leaving no room for good conscience. It convinces him that nothing, and it presses that absolutely nothing is of any good in this grey, constricted suburbia.
Strange, but perhaps after what loveliness he's been exposed to in Hogwarts and around it only made the cruelty of 4 Privet Drive much more intolerable as time passes; or perhaps it was Voldemort's presence. Antagonizing him, consuming him, becoming him until he was nothing short of a cursed child—
A pretty girl is outside the window.
Harry tilts his head, blinking once and twice. He fixes his glasses once more, leaving a spot of detergent water on the bridge of his nose. It was a bicycle — sure, it was — but riding it was a girl. No, a woman. A young woman. Perhaps his age, maybe a year older, he couldn't really tell. She brings along magazines and cards, parking her bicycle just sideways across their lawn. Aunt Petunia will blow a fuse.
Nothing, absolutely nothing is of any good here.
Harry shakes the thought away. His gaze ticks from the living room, then back outside. He guesses she's be gone by now, but her curious form waits outside — alone, determined. He doesn't know what she's aiming for. It's a gloomy afternoon and no one is out.
Footsteps emerge downstairs, and Aunt Petunia's orders for her husband resounds as a shrilling noise across the hardwood floors. Harry winces, covering his ears with the insides of his flannel. He rinses his hands, turning the sink of afterwards before heading out to the front lawn.
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"You shouldn't be here," Harry said through gritted teeth, hurrying towards her after he locks the door behind him. The cold air hit him like the Knight Bus on a swerve, and he wonders how she can withstand such a tempreature in only a dress and a cardigan.
She crosses her arms, eyes deadset his way, "Why?"
"It's— my aunt—," Harry's words constricted as she faces him.
Her eyes are a deep pool, scorching with magic-made fire; her hair twirls around like inklings as the wind blows through them. He doesn't recall her ever attending Hogwarts. She cannot be a muggle.
She raises a brow, "If you don't have a good reason to hold me back, leave me be. I'm only selling cakes."
"Did– did you just say 'cakes'?", Harry asks, brushing off how stupid he sounds.
She smiles in excitement, handing him a piece of paper, "I sell desserts. You should try them. They're pretty and sweet, sort of like your eyes right there."
Harry chokes on his own spit. He clears his throat, his face burning red before laughing, a nervous vibration from the back of his mouth. At this, she inches closer to him, intrigued with his sudden vulnerability.
"I was talking about how, y'know," she softly gestures to them, looking up a bit his way, "they're green, like my mint cookies."
The corner of Harry's mouth lifts to a smirk; both smug and caught off guard by the compliment. He leans against the mailbox, but slips and puts his hand behind his neck instead. She bit her lip to stifle a giggle.
The girl handed him a box and introduces her name.
"I live at 12 Privet Drive," she points a straight road across, but Harry can only see how soft her skin looks in the dress she wears, "just around the corner."
"Yeah," Harry nods profusely, speaking faster than his brain can think, "yeah, twelveth. Heard of it. Feel it. Sure, yeah."
She laughs at his antics. Merlin, he was on fire.
"You'll be here all summer?" she asks while giving a flyer to Mrs. Figs, the old broad with the dead husband living across Uncle Vernon's house.
Mrs. Figs complimented her 'sweet smile' before resuming to walk her tortoise, Spectacle, to the suburb's park. Harry shrugs, toying with the cardboard of the cookie box,
"I'll be back to school quite soon."
"Oh yeah?" she lilted, "me too."
This is his chance.
"I'm Harry," he mentions, and she shrugs.
"I've heard."
Now it's his turn to be surprised. How come she recalls his name when he hasn't seen her yet?
An empathetic shade paints her eyes, "Word goes around, you see."
"Yeah," Harry says, a lump lodged in his chest, and by a spontaneous courage, he risks his facade to ask, "you believe them?"
She scrunches her face, shaking her head. It's so simple. It's so... delightful, to be believed. She doesn't think he's crazy.
Uncle Vernon calls him from inside, an utterly humiliating action as his yells echo against the walls of the other homes across Privet Drive. The girl winces, gazing away from the scene. He hates that man.
"I'm sorry," he says, wanting to do more than just verbally utter his apology, "please, I— do you usually come here every day?"
"Yes," she says, the determination returning in her eyes. She hands her pamphlet to a passing little girl on her tricycle, but her attention was on Harry, "I'll be here. Same time, if things go well."
She might just be what keeps him living until Summer break ends. He'll keeps his promise. He will. He has to.
Harry returns indoors to a dusty room, no one to hold, no one to talk to.
Nothing, absolutely nothing is of any good in this grey, constricted suburbia.
He hopes tomorrow will come sooner than usual.
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comment if you want to be part of my Hogwarts fic taglist! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
ahhh girl I saw your requests were open and got excited!!! I love your works sm 🩷🩷🩷 especially your richard cameron sfw alphabet
would you be open to writing an sfw alphabet for meeks or pitts? there is such a lack of fic for them 😔
no pressure ofc!! hope you have a lovely day
Gerard Pitts SFW Alphabet . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁
Here we go! Feeling inspired to write again, so it's safe for you guys to expect a lot of work coming from me this season God willing ;) enjoy
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
He loves it when you call him names like 'Ger' or 'Gary' because of how ridiculous they are. He'd giggle so badly and try to hold it in, but it'd just come out in a snort and both of you have to shush each other because you can't be caught laughing too loud in public. Gerard (see, funny name) shows his affection and love by being himself around you, and he strives to be someone who you can do the same with too. Being who you are, without compromise, is really the best privilege you could offer to him.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Oh when I tell you this boy is so bad at keeping secrets, I mean it. He loves you — he loved you from the start, and he couldn't even hide it. Sometimes he doesn't even try, gives up on it entirely. You insisted you're "just friends," but you always smiled so wide and squealed a happy "Jerry!" with outstretched arms as he caught you with all his ease (and height) as he twirled you around for mid-laughter. After it died down, he sighed — giving into the temptation of brushing your hair back tenderly, his lovesick-shade-of-brown, puppy-dog eyes in a trance. His friends were sick of it and they gagged every time because they knew. But still, to both of you, you were "just friends."
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
HE LOVES IT. Stop. In what world does Gerard (funny name) Pitts does NOT love being cuddled by his "mighty fine" (his words) girl. Look me in the eyes. You're wrong. He's a heavy sleeper though, so he'd snore and whine when you go away too quickly, and he'd also take all the blankets to his side... but if you kiss his cheek so nicely, he'd be sweet and engulf you in a groggy hug that equals a three-layer blanket anyway.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
He's so bad at cooking, good with cleaning, and amazing at blue-collar tasks. Gerard loves good food, okay — but he loves your food. He likes ordering out as much as the next guy, but he loves the warmth of hearing and smelling your cooking while he buried himself in the garage (or in his words, 'workshop.') You'd never EVER (as he swore) have to call the repairman, the electricity guy, the plumber, the pool boy, or the technician as far as he's concerned. He's got them all hook, line, and sinker. It saves you up on costs too (you pay by kisses.)
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
Nope! I'm seething at you, angsts.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
It was the late fifties! With all the era's... obvious flaws aside, men would take any chance to settle down. Gerry (funny name) is not an exception. Your story is as loving as being friends, committing, then loving with each other. It's wonderful.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
He sees you as his one and only and it's quite difficult to say otherwise. When Ger likes you, he really does. He doesn't think twice, look twice, or reconsider. You're all he wants and it's as simple as that.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
Far too often. He engulfs you and I mean it. His hugs mean warm lights above a busy, intimate diner — it means you're finally safe, it means he's done enough for his life for it to end up this way, it means everything it ought to say.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
Far too soon.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
Nope! Not at all. You'd have to go through MILES to make this guy jealous. Sometimes you do, and it gets fun, but he can't really stay frustrated for too long since he knows he's all yours and you're the same.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
He kisses like he misses you, like he's a soldier having drafted into Vietnam not of his own discretion. But it's a duality on when he kisses your cheek, your nose, your chin. Then, he's gentle and playful with the way he shows affection.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
FUNNNYYTT so so funny. He's the type to chase them around and roll in the carpet with them and toss them off the bed and play as the scary pirate if they wanted him to. It's almost as if they're the same age. He'd be a great father.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Slow, loving and wonderful. He's a family guy so he loves staying home and doing whatever his hobby demands him to do, especially on weekends. You'd make him tea and kiss his head and he lets you sit on his thigh and hold you tight whilst he works. You talk over about your life, and the sun comes up when you're ready.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
He's such a sucker for a candlelit dinner and a dance. He's so insufferable with it too — fumbles the whole thing by stepping on your foot and when you say 'ow!,' he rubs your nose to his and giggles along. He's so... tender. It's like you're an aromatherapy candle and he's an easily impressed kid.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
No, he is OPEN. He loves sharing everything with you, it feels so... close. It's so vulnerable and lovely, and he's never had anyone to tell the things he tells to you. It's safe to say he feels connected through shared secrets.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
If you've ever heard someone sigh sharply and look down, and then put their hands on their hips like a disappointed father — that's him. Like, that's the "angriest" you can get him to be. And then he'll still hold you close, kiss your head, and talk about it with you with an easy smile on his face.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
He does, even when you don't expect him to. It's honestly so surprising, you'd think he'd forget when you told him about the day you lost your ballet recital to another girl in kindergarten, but somehow he showed up with a little music box (that he tweaked himself) and gave it to you with the most smug expression. It's as if he's saying, "I remembered, and you didn't have to remind me."
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
Just after your engagement, Ger got his Master's in Aerospace Engineering and you graduated from your bachelor's. You took photos in front of his campus, brought him flowers as he bought you a nice cake and gifts (as per usual lol), and after then, he took you to a nice, Italian dinner. The lights were low and warm, and there weren't as many patrons as the weekends did. You talked of a world newer than the present, and what a family you've created for yourselves. He held your hand across the table. You've never felt more beautiful. You believed then that you were the most accomplished woman in Vermont — even, the world.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
Ger doesn't really like you going out on your own. He has a car — worked for it, bought it with his own, hard-earned money. Saved up for a secure, safe home for both of you. He hates to think of you having to risk yourself in the face of the public (as if you were royalty themselves.) He'd just... prefer it if he Tok you. Then he could keep his eyes on you, open the door for you, and treat you nicely until you both went home. He knows no one could do it better than he does.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
A lot. It just feels fulfilling to him. You're his responsibility; his to be kind to, his to love, his to pamper. It's a privilege he didn't know he could experience, so he'd try the best to make it worth his wait and effort.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
He... is far too eager in eating your cooking. Sometimes he insists that you make his lunch because "the deli's sandwich just doesn't taste the same." Ger would please so prettily and tug on your arm and kiss your cheek, just because he wants another taste of the lasagna you packed so generously to him for yesterday's meal. He lives showing it off to his coworkers at the lab or workshop and having them hoot and holler at him for it. He'd feel quite smug seeing your handwriting on the note while his buds are their bland coleslaw salads.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Not really. He loves the occasional flat-top renewal, a bit of hair gel here and there, maybe even moisturizer (you told him to get some), but he doesn't pride himself over his appearance. Once he's adulted more, he'd get a degree (or multiple) he's quite proud of, and he'd like for you (and others) to find value in him for his efforts and hard work. Looks are easy, washed out. He's not that kinda guy. Unless you compliment him really nicely, then his chest swells up a bit.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
He'd feel as if there's something missing, as you have given essence in the color of his life — but he'd still be a man. Hollow and aching, but a man. Maybe half. But definitely not whole.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
Once he got older, he starts wearing these square-ish glasses that make him look like a physics teacher and it drives you nuts each time you see him with it because he's so tall...and broad ..and suddenly! Glasses! What the heck.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
Materialism. Believe me he provides for both of you, but they're laced with the intention of gifting or making you feel loved instead of the money itself. He can't love someone whose sole purpose in life is to consume. Ger's a giver, and it's only fair that he gets given too.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
Snoring. Extremely loud, and he cushions you beneath his weight. He thinks of you as a pillow no one but him can hold.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ willow dancing on air, covering me | Aragorn, Son of Arathorn
desc.: Yes, I'm picturing gentleness with Aragorn. This is after he was crowned King of Gondor and Andor. Since he's with you and not Arwen, I switched some things up. Get cozy and enjoy.
Aragorn tucked her hair behind her ear, the strays of them floating by the light air. His sorrowful gaze refused to hide itself under the guise of his victory, seeking more of her, as much as he could. Whilst the kingdom of Gondor enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep, their King lacked one. His sole comfort was in knowing she was with him, whole and unseparated.
"I wished you had not been there," he muttered, his thumb brushing her chin. Aragorn looked only at her amulet, the one he gifted from Gondor's depths of treasures. It was easier that way.
"Perhaps then you'd be safe," he reasoned, "perhaps the scars of war would not affect you so. I—" he broke off, his chest tight with ache, "I have failed you, have I not, nin mel?"
Her nimble fingers clasped his, grasping them tightly.
"You do not speak of yourself as highly as I'd like you to," she hushed, "I do not like that."
She kissed his knuckles, dirtied with honor, and let him know how she felt. She let her soul see his, and Aragorn closed his eyes once her gentle palm met his cheek.
"Think not of what could have been, for it rots your soul — and I'd like to have you, as you are, here with me. The war has taken so much of you from me. I do not want to grieve a second longer."
Aragorn's strong arm, one he used to wield swords and fight Orcs to their shame, embraced her — around her soft shoulders, closer against him. His heart slowed to a thrum as he kissed her; from her forehead, to her nose, and finally her lips. It was a moment of selfishness he would not forgive himself for. But even then, she'd comfort him, kind and courageous in her own right.
"We'd start anew," he whispered the oath against her, "upon the hills of Gondor and under its willow trees. Your willow trees, as they grow tall and strong in your presence."
Her smile was of flower petals as she giggled. Aragorn couldn't help but mirror it.
Her palm rubbed his chest, clad in his evening robes, "Those are my favorites. You remembered."
He was wholly at her mercy, in the dark of twilight, by the privacy of their own. It was his own trophy, her presence as his reward.
They held each other to sleep.
a/n: if you loved this, you'll love the rest of my writing. It would be lovely for you to check out my published works — they're accessible, digital, and made with love. 💌 enjoy.
I swear being a writer and artist in the 21st century is so SO weird because you have to balance out between having inspiration and cannot wait to express it and also the obligation to make a living. can't I just write fics in peace can we cancel capitalism guys
Hi!! I rlly like your writings, so I was wondering if you could do something for steven meeks (bcs im lowk obsessed with this man)?? Like an SFW Alphabet Headcanons type thing?? Or anything else you prefer tbh, I dont mind.
Zero pressure!! Much love, tangerine <33
hi tangerine baby so sorry I just answered, life is busyyyy. right now my mail is open for LOTr fics only so no fic recs for DPS until further notice!! I saw a lot of u requesting a Meeks SFW alphabet so I had to announce this haha
