Yeah Sure We’ve All Binged A Long Fic, But Have You Ever Read A WIP And Followed Someone’s Life?

Missionary is good but especially good if you're so concentrated on fucking you don't hold yourself up anymore so you just lay with your chest pressed against theirs, panting and moaning into their neck and you reach back under them, grope their ass and lift it up so you can drill a little deeper and they automatically wrap their legs around you...yeah

I think the ultimate funny thing about yandere alucard being so chill, is that I'm fucking dense. Like I miss social queues like I'm neo played by Forrest Gump. I wouldn't even know he was a yandere, I'd just be like "oh? I can't go places without you, or leave often, alright 🫡" I'd be either a blessing or a nightmare for him and it makes me giggle no matter what

Isn't he hilarious?! Alucard is pretty easygoing in many senses despite being a yandere, you could almost just explain away those qualities/yandere actions of his as being part of his quirkiness. But if he wants something, it's his way or the highway. Won't matter what anyone else thinks or how much drama he'll be stirring up haha.

I think he'd find that endearing about you! He loves all the peculiarities that comes with humans. And it's not like he's the most well-socialized being either. In some aspects, I think he has forgotten what it's like to be human. In other cases, he knows his behaviours are uncalled for, but what anyone else thinks is irrelevant to him and interacting with him (as long as we aren't enemies of Hellsing) would be a blast!

Vlad got confused when trying to play foosball 😅

Canadian Madara AU 🍁

@al-hekima-madara-blog: Can we have AU headcanon Madara as a North american guy? Maybe with japanese ancestry. I just wonder what type of job he would do, his hobbies, food preferences ect ect... Typical American boy😋

Of course I can write this! Thank you for this ask. It was fun! Madara will be Canadian here because that’s hilarious for me to write:

Speaks like a good Canadian boy: says “Eh” and “sorry” a lot even when it’s something minor and he isn’t at fault

Madara lives in Northern Canada away from other people in an igloo. He rides a moose to work

He dresses like a lumberjack (plaid shirt and jeans) and drinks maple syrup shots

Just kidding! You should have realized I was trolling the moment I said Madara apologizes a lot. And moose and igloos don’t exist in the same place. By the way, the English translations I’ve read don’t sound particularly Canadian to me for Madara. If anyone knows of the post highlighting how he sounds Canadian, please let me know! I’d love to read it!

But of course Madara can be Canadian because a Canadian can look and sound like anyone, including someone with Japanese heritage

Madara is exceptionally proud of his Japanese background, especially in a country with a smaller Japanese community than the other East Asian nationalities he is often mistaken for

His home contains a variety of Japanese items, such as katanas displayed on the walls, tatami mats, and byobu (folding screens with panels decorated with paintings and/or calligraphy). He owns several yukatas and kimonos

As much as he loves traditional Japanese food, he likes trying food from other cultures. He is spoiled for choices in his part of the country, but he most strongly prefers cuisines that aren’t too heavy

He is fluent in Japanese, French, and probably Mandarin and enjoys reading classical works in these languages in addition to English. He makes a point to occasionally speak in Japanese to his Japanese peers to maintain his language skills

Madara lives in the city away from the city center in a greatly overpriced mansion. However even in the suburbs, it is more densely populated than he enjoys, but he tolerates it because of its relative proximity to his job. Whenever he has a stretch of days off, he and Izuna often escape to cottage country a few hours’ drive away and engage in their outdoor hobbies. The cold doesn’t bother him

He is a black belt in karate. His other hobbies include rock climbing (especially bouldering since he appreciates the risk), archery, and Japanese calligraphy

He could be involved in the business world, but I can only vaguely hand-wave about ‘business things,’ so I’ll suggest something else I can see Madara doing that I’m familiar with instead

Madara is a thoracic surgeon (half of the ones I see are Japanese okay). He is excellent at his specialty, a perfectionist, and world renown for his surgical skill and medical knowledge. His surgeries are a work of art, but he’s a bit like an assembly line – patients in and out of his operating table. He fits the stereotypes of a surgeon too: Madara isn’t known for his bedside manners after all. He has a slight God complex due to his expertise, but even if he’s brusque, he remains adequately professional to his colleagues to avoid complaints

He actually destroys the image of the average Canadian’s polite speech patterns, which excessively contain “thank you,” “sorry,” and other hedging language. Madara doesn’t waste his time with these pointless words. Everything he says is meaningful, otherwise he wouldn’t bother speaking at all

…Madara doesn’t care about hockey…

Hope you enjoyed this little piece!

I can see his reaction too. His eyes widen in surprise, then he'll smile in that enigmatic way of his. He knows it was a compliment, but he'll tell us that he hates the sun. Luckily we know he secretly thinks it's the most beautiful thing.

I could stare at his eyes forever

This is completely true. This is why I joined Tumblr haha. I'm glad I found your blog

Why Madara fandom is superior to all

(you can't even fight me because it's as factual as a meteor falling from the sky) :

They write the most depressing meta analysis you've ever read about how life sucks.

Then, they write the most thirsty post about a hundred years old senior. Like who does that?

They dissect all Konoha's bullshits and they are so articulate. They never fall for the emotional traps, in particular those coming from the woodman and his minions. Our fav warn us it's a scam since the first Valley of the End, more than sixty years ago. We watch Boruto like : Why are you all crying for the plot and Sasuke's hair? He told you so... 🤷‍♀️

No childish ship battles because he's canonically single. He belongs to the street to us all. A generous endless clone-maker King!

They have a better sense of humour, meaning they don't take criticizes personally because their fav is a villain. He's allowed to any human rights infringements he wants. Actually, we're actively looking for a way to help him improving his massive destruction scale.

They understand sarcasm, second degree, dark jokes. A rare quality in the Naruto fandom.

They have to be smart just in order to follow the big boss machivellian plan. Like grandpa speaks in old riddles and metaphors... We gotta open wikipedia from time to time 🧐

An Oxford study said that belonging to his fandom makes laughs more, makes your hair grows brighter and thicker, enhance your skin's glow, make you live longer and smarter, makes you chose better partner.

Yeah they are all petty pretty, the ugly ones just die of exhaustion watching him.

OK we have a weakness... we don't like aliens... That alien is taboo, ok? We don't know her. Actually Naruto to our knowledge ends here :

The Way You Look Tonight

Chapter two • Enemies to lovers

Author’s note: I've re-read this chapter four times while editing, and it still creeps me out a little. Then again, I have a bit of a wild imagination.

Contents: MULTI-CHAPTER, Alucard (Hellsing)xfem!reader, eventual NSFW, written in 2nd person, relatively ambiguous time period but pre-2000s, reader and family members descriptions (other than clothes and personalities) are kept ambiguous for the sake of inclusion, ghost Alucard (kind of?), spooky stuff, Integra is dead and the Hellsing Organization has been dissolved.

3.2k words

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Within the week, the electricity had been fixed. You don't need to worry about your lamp's batteries corroding anymore when you put new ones in. Neither do you have to squint in the dim light of a single candle to see the dark shadow in the corner of your room. Now, with the small bulb chandelier in your room, there was no corner that light couldn't reach, even in the dead of night. That seemed to give you a newfound sense of confidence, which had previously been killed when your childhood fear of the dark was rekindled one week ago in the dining room. You still couldn't figure out what it was you’d run into. All the dining room chairs had cushions that were made of rough fabric. Not smooth and silky to the touch. Whatever it was… You knew what you felt. It was a person. There was no other excuse. And you weren't crazy. But you had no choice but to let the matter go. All the clues you might have gotten to there being something wrong with this place led you to nowhere. Your strange dream led you to the manor’s layout which led you to a cut-off page with the letter “D,” being your only tie to an answer. There was simply no logical explanation for the corroding batteries. You didn't even know what caused batteries to corrode other than time. Heat? That was impossible. The house had been freezing that night. You stick to your only answer, “D.” Or was it a “B?” The page had been cut off. Then were you right about a basement? If that was true, and there was a basement, then the previous owner really had something to hide if they cut it out of the building’s layout. The only thing left to do was check for a basement entrance. The problem with that plan was… that the only access to the lower level of the manor you had was the kitchen, the dining room, and the entertainment room. The rest was currently undergoing renovations. Water damage, rats, and other pests — that's what your father told you. If you wanted to get a look around without getting into trouble you’d have to go at night. Hell no. That spelled disaster. You’d read enough mystery horror books to know not to do that. So, with a mystery-hungry heart, you continued to help around the house while trying to forget your strange discoveries and just enjoy the place. 

You were currently helping your mother in the garden, which was admittedly beautiful. You couldn't imagine what it used to look like when it had a full team of gardeners. Great big hedges sparkling after being freshly watered in the morning, fountains running, the sound of splashing water adding to the chirping melody of the birds. That’s what you imagined at least. Right now, it was still a work in progress. You were responsible for taking care of the fountain. Which was more satisfying than you thought it would be. Scrubbing the dry algae off the emptied basins was rather therapeutic and took your mind off of the happenings. This was short-lived, however. As you straightened up and wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, you caught movement in one of the upper-story windows. Your window. You paused, setting down the hard-bristled brush for a moment. That couldn't be your brother… he wasn't… well- he wasn't that tall, to be honest. He was a teenager, and you towered a good five inches over your brother still. Whoever that was… 

“Is Dad fixing something in my room?” You turn your head for just a moment. Your mother looks up from the dirt she’d been packing in around some freshly planted flowers and gives you a confused glance. 

“No… why?” Her eyes drag up to your window. 

You turn your head again, about to point up at the figure in the window only to find you’ve been played a fool a second time. This felt similar to the dining room incident — in that it made you look crazy.

"I saw someone up there." You say, feeling uncomfortable. You turn your head again and see your mother's skeptical expression as she continues to look up at your window.

“I’m sure we would have noticed if someone we didn't know came into the house. It was probably just a shadow.” She turns back to the dirt and continues packing it around the flowers before moving on to the next. 

You're not as willing as your mother to give up the matter. Now, your job of scrubbing algae can't be over fast enough. When you finish, you don't even bother washing your hands. You take yourself up the stairs, a burn of annoyance giving you a burst of adrenaline that may or may not have been encouraged by it being broad daylight, and push your door open. It's empty. Exactly as you anticipated. But that doesn’t stop you from fixing the window with a glare, checking under your bed, and then fixing your hair before walking back to the door, where you turn, hold out the middle finger, and close the dor. Whatever… ghost… was messing with you... Well, it wasn't funny. Not that you believed in ghosts, of course.

Nonverbally saying “fuck you” to a ghost was clearly a bad idea. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but shortly afterward, the electricity was acting weird. Your brother had come down from his room for once to complain about how “this stupid house is busted”. His computer was apparently shutting off right when he was about to complete a level in his game. You even came up with your dad to watch it happen. Right when he was at the end of his level, the screen went black. Your dad checked the outlet, unplugged it, plugged it back in, and told your brother to give it another try. So with a sigh, your brother would reboot his computer and run the game. Same problem. It ended with your dad scratching his head and muttering about calling the electricity guys again. You, however, with your newfound skepticism, were positive that you’d pissed the house ghost off by giving it the finger. 

“It’s probably a ghost messing with you.” You’d told your bother.

“The ghost can go fuck off.” Was his grumbled response as he turned to his bookcase instead. 

You turned in after dinner, carrying a full glass of water up to your room to set on the bedside table, which had a gross crusty ring left over from the batteries. You’d tried to wipe it off the best you could but… the wood was ruined. The one thing you’d liked about candles or lamps was how easy it was to turn them off or blow them out and shove the covers up and over your head. A light switch? Not so much. Especially when the room felt like it… stretched… in the dark. You took a sip of your water before turning to shut off the light. Climbing into bed amidst the dark, you muttered to the ghost (which you half-believed in) to, “not be weird.”

That night, sleep seemed to escape you. Like standing too far away from the ocean on the shore. When you thought it might reach you… it dragged itself back. You had no memory of falling asleep… but when you woke… it was because a chorus of stringed instruments and deafening piano seemed to be searing into your ears as your world burst into color. Through your eyelids, you saw light and movement, shadows falling over your eyelids like sunspots through a tree. You open them with a gasp and find yourself standing in the middle of a ballroom. Confusion lapses you and you reach down to pinch your hand tightly to wake yourself up — which hurts. It's covered in a long, silk glove. None of the colors you wear seem to keep a constant. The shape of your dress — if you were wearing one, you're not sure —  and even the people around you never stay constant. They change form as they move with the waltz at a gallivanting pace around you. You try to follow them with your eyes — to make out what’s even happening around you — but the task feels impossible. Turning frantically, you catch an opening in the figures and run towards it, hoisting heavy skirts up (so it was a dress?). The space is quickly taken up by red. A deep, blood-red cloak, and a charcoal gray suit tucked beneath it. You’re too slow to stop yourself and crash into the figure. It was that fabric. Warm satin and the dull sound a human chest makes when it's beat against. You back up slower than you had the night you first encountered that feeling… and slowly look up at the only solid shape in this dream. Nothing about him changes or shifts. His colors do not even change in hue or tone. Red, charcoal, and black, black hair. You’re not quite sure if his hair is short or long. It seems to evade your memory somehow. But you know it's dark and unruly and frames his shadowed face in a wicked way as he grins down at you with a mouth full of teeth too sharp to be human. He feels far too real to be a part of your dream. Image stark and crisp compared to the fogginess of the others and even your own body. It feels like he towers over you. Proportions not quite right. You stagger back. Too slow. He surges unnaturally forward and takes up your hand with his gloved one, the other gripping your waist tightly. Too fast to gain footing, you're thrown into a waltz that you cannot keep up with. It's the same pace as the inconstant dancers around you. Spinning, spinning, you grip his shoulder with desperation as your hair whips against your face. As chaos unfolds, your feet clumsily stumble. Seeking solace, you bury your face into his chest, briefly capturing the aroma of copper and perfume. No warmth comes from him, despite how real he feels.

 The music picks up at an impossible pace. A pace no one could ever hope to properly waltz to… and you're spun even faster. Then, the music rises into a quick crescendo, and then the notes seem to… fall… as if they were falling off the very air. The song is ending too fast for your body to register… and all too soon, your dancer lets go of you. Your hand slips off his shoulder and the force of the awful, spinning waltz throws you cruelly to the floor in a flutter of skirts against the hard, hard surface beneath you. 

Your eyes shoot open and the silent dark of your room echoes around you. You’re on the floor, nowhere near your bed, and very, very sore. Laying there, belly-down on the cold wood, you let out a slow and shaky breath before pushing yourself onto your knees. You feel vulnerable in the middle of that huge room. It's too dark to see a thing. The moon is barely visible tonight. But the eerie silence is enough to encourage you to stumble back into bed with a confused and exhausted whimper. The music feels like it rings an echo of itself in your ears, and you still feel your dancer’s bruising grip on your hand and waist. The covers are cold. You’d been sweating in your sleep… and the dampness was not the least bit comforting. 

⛤

The day after that was dreary. It was as if your strange dream had put a fog over your entire world. Cloud cover. Autumn was approaching, so it was fitting. Your mother said that there would be a thunderstorm tonight. One look at the blackened sky and you believed her. Going for a walk, you’d taken to the road that led away from the manor. It was a much-needed break from the place. The surrounding countryside felt cold and wet despite it not having rained yet. The smell and the chill helped you clear your mind a bit. 

Despite everything — the bizarre dreams, feeling things in the dark, seeing things — you… didn't miss home. No. The manor had way too many things locked away in the dark waiting to be found for you to wish them away and out of your memory so soon. You almost felt like a kid again. Running about trying to solve imaginary mysteries. And that dream you’d had, more so, how you’d found yourself when you’d woken from it. You never used to sleepwalk like that. It was so strange. And your muscles were so sore as if you’d actually been dancing. Maybe the lack of restful sleep was getting to you.

You lost track of time out in the grass and had only just begun walking back to the house when you felt the chill of a drop of rain on your nose. By the time you were through the manor’s gate you were soaked. But the rain and the countryside had brought a strange clarity to your mind. Looking towards the manor in the distance… You swore you saw someone standing there waiting in front of the door, cloaked in red. The body in the dark, the figure in the window, the dancing man. Were they all the same person? A flash of lightning high in the sky and the rolling rumble that followed seemed to wick him away from reality. You never thought to believe in ghosts until now. Now, as you hurry up the steps and open the door, you're sure that there’s a ghost haunting this place. 

You’d taken a shower to get the smell of dampness off of you. By the time you were done, the light of the sun that filtered through the thick clouds had disappeared completely. Something about the rain beating on the roof comforted you as you walked through the dim hallway to your room. It seemed to fill what would usually be an uncomfortable silence. Taking up the empty spots in your mind and lining them with a lulling white noise. Flipping on the light in your room, you take note of the empty glass on your bedside table. A dull dread tickles at the back of your neck. You knew you’d be miserable all night if you woke up thirsty and with nothing to drink. This day would have come eventually, you tell yourself. At least the power works now. Still, you take a flashlight. 

The rain lulls to silence as you descend the stairs to the kitchen. That makes you uneasy. It was as if some protective blanket had been peeled off your back. Your steps on the marble echo as you make your way through the dining room, which is eerie in the light of your flashlight, and onto the tiled floor of the most harrowing room you know of in the manor. The kitchen looks even more worn with age than the rest of the house, even after you and your mother have spent the last week cleaning it up. Slowly, you make your way over to the sink, fitting your flashlight under your armpit while you fill up your glass. Over the sound of the sink, you hear a whisper. You shut the water off and pause, standing perfectly still while you strain your ears. Nothing. You turn the water on full to fill the glass up in a mere second. Some spills over the lip and into the sink, wetting your fingers. You don't care about that though. You turn and make your quick exit from the kitchen, only glancing back when you're in the doorway. That's where you pause, turning your flashlight onto the room one last time… just to be sure. The dull white light spills across the counter and the big fridge, reflecting off of hanging pots and pans and the old tile floor. When the light begins to buzz brighter, you already know what's going to happen. It begins to flicker… slowly at first and then fast like a strobe. You waste no time in turning tail and running up the stairs. There’d be no repeat of the dining room. You swear on it. Your feet thump on the carpet with each hurried step, water spilling from your glass as you reach the top with a gasp of breath and take a sharp turn for the hallway leading to your room. Halfway there… your stomach drops in horror when you hear footsteps running up the stairs after you. It's like someone was mimicking you. Same tempo, same speed. Fast footsteps. Your brain kicks into raw adrenaline, realizing you're being chased. You feel like a wolf chased by something that is not a wolf. Not used to being scared like this… but knowing deep in your gut to run and hide. You can't even think to scream. Your eyes begin to water and your breath comes out in ragged fear-strained rasps. Flinging your door open, you don't bother looking over your shoulder as you slam it closed behind you. The footsteps follow quickly — bare like your own — and come right up to the door where they stop abruptly. Your heart climbs into your throat as you stand there. A slab of wood keeps you and… it… separated. Holding your breath and bracing your forearm on the door… you wait in silence with eyes wider than they’d ever been in your life. Your flashlight had long since gone out and hangs dead in your hand, while your other one struggles not to shake while keeping the glass of water upright. It was still there. Still there. Still there. Waiting. The footsteps had stopped. It was waiting. Waiting there on the other side of the door just as silently as you. When your lungs burn, you realize that you still have yet to take a breath. Slowly, you let it draw out before taking another, quiet breath in and holding it. You couldn't miss a single sound. Not a single sound could escape your ears right now. Something was outside your door, you’d heard it loud and clear, chasing you. So… why were you doubting your own judgment? Perhaps... you were simply imagining things. Maybe it was just your imagination getting the best of you. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. It couldn't be real it- 

“Hey.” 

You stiffen. You swore you just heard a whisper through the door. Right up against it. It couldn't be a trick of your ears. The sound was so crisp. The voice so unfamiliar: low, raspy, and amused. The thought that there was some… thing… on the other side, pressing its face right up against the crack in the door to whisper- you have to bite your lips to keep yourself from bursting into tears. This is a nightmare. A nightmare. An awful nightmare. 

But you can't sit here all night. So… gathering your strength, you set down your glass and flashlight on the floor. You pause, hand on the doorknob, thinking about what the hell you’d do if there was something there. Scream, you supposed. With that, you yank the door open. 

You're met with nothing. You look in both directions of the hall, left — nothing — and right, towards the staircase — nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, you shut the door. 

That night… You slept with the lights on. 

The Gladiator’s Ring

C/W: Warrior (Predator)/F!Humans, Male Yautja/F!Humans, dubcon, sex club, monster sex, human fetish, exhibitionism, female gloryhole, sex marathon, size kink, hair kink, unprotected sex, public sex, casual sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, self-indulgent debauchery, ass-to-pussy, face-sitting, multiple partners, predator/prey WC: 9528

It was well-known that Yautja had needs after a successful hunt. A veteran with a fondness for pyode amedha required many willing participants to sate his.

*This is a work of fiction that features unsafe sexual practices besides the involvement of a 7'+ alien. Depiction isn't endorsement*

An excerpt below the cut

He'd have to be mindful not to break skin with his talons, but that was part of the allure of oomans. Their inherent fragility was an addiction once he had learned how to handle their bodies. Their thin hides bruised and tore easily, their bones could snap if he got carried away. But once they lay undone beneath him in disbelief, the moment they realized they were enjoying the experience and bared their tender flesh to a ruthless alien for more…

The submission in their eyes when they understood he wasn't going to kill nor maim them, he only wanted to pauk them. Oomani-di were a delicacy. He was more than willing to play ‘gently’ at their level if it meant he got to partake in ooman sex.

The ooman reeked of anxiety, but she took a measured step towards him, followed by another. His pupils dilated from her proximity. He trilled in encouragement when she was within arm's reach, eagerly anticipating what this novel playmate would do next. He was acutely aware of her. The scent of her heat and apprehension wrapped around his head, a haze he would rejoice losing himself in. Her courage and appearance were extremely appealing to his tastes and it was getting difficult to keep his paws to himself.

Shaky fingertips brushed his hide with the most tentative of touches and she held her breath. His eyes fell to slits as he focused on the feathery sensation on his scales. Another reason he adored oomans –so gentle and curious, yet eager to please once he attained that delicious submission. He would like to take this one to mate if she was willing.

~

~

It wasn't even breathing heavily after that level of exertion.

The woman fixated on the sinewy contours of its musculature. It –no, he– how could this creature be anything but a ‘he?’ Her eyes dropped to the swollen evidence of his raw masculinity between thighs carved in stone, swallowing at the bumpy surface on the ridiculous endowment. He was all sleek power and so very male. There was that preternatural grace to his movements, the way the mesmerizing patterns to that rough bluish skin rippled, skin she recalled was not wholly unpleasant to touch. She witnessed the extended demonstration of what he could do with that wicked maw – how delicately his terrifying mandibles could handle the women as he did unspeakable things to them with that tongue. He was the picture of virility as he humped his latest woman while standing and cradling her.

She stared in rapture. The beast quirked a mandible, a frank invitation to sample the monster that clearly intrigued her. It was an apt reminder that this was an intelligent creature far more advanced than the humans who surrounded him. She drew a sharp intake of breath. Heat blazed as she waded into the incandescent gold pools in his eyes –the predatory cunning of that gaze was undeniable. He knew he was captivating. And his hulking presence demanded he be watched. 

~