I’m Persephone and a lover of horror, fantasy, and sci-fi. Tumblr is definitely a space that is just my own and separate from my day to day life. My personality is INFP. I’m a Cancer. Total Introvert and Highly Sensitive Person, as well. I’ve been a Tumblr lurker and reblogger for a little bit, but recently decided to branch out a bit more and post some original content. Decided to try my hand at mood boards as a bit of an outlet. And I’m slowly posting fics. Hope you enjoy!
I am part of multiple fandoms. My current fixations are Harry Potter and Stranger Things but I also love some of the Choices fandom, Stephen King, Clive Barker, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You are welcome to send me suggestions or requests and I’ll try to accommodate.
I am a multishipper. I’m curious enough to read nearly any ship at least once in the fandoms I enjoy. If I like what I’m reading, I’ll read more. I definitely have my preferences, but I do respect others preferred ships and avoid any anti discourse. I’m a firm believer in if you don’t like a ship (or trope, or kink, or character) then don’t read and move on. So please be respectful and kind.
~Comments, likes, and reblogs are welcome! Please no reposts without permission. Thanks so much!!
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Click HERE to check out my aesthetic moodboards in Choices, Harry Potter, Stranger Things, Horror, Poetry, Tarot Cards, and seasonal days.
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Droodles by Roger Price (from his 1953 book). Droodles (a blend of “doodle”, “drawing”, “riddle”) are simple drawings with a witty, often absurd, caption. The first one, as some of you may know, was used by Frank Zappa for his 1982 album, Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch. (Zappa, a fan of Price's work, lived just a few miles from the artist and personally sought permission to use the image.)
The show's been off for 6 years and the cw is barely a network anymore. The WB is about to be absorbed. This social media manager is just destiel posting for the love of the game at this point
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You’re allowed to be excited about the little things. You’re allowed to be goofy. You’re allowed to be dorky about your favorite tv show, to make blanket forts, to enjoy cheesy movies, even just to sleep with stuffed animals. You’re allowed to do any of the things that make life a little more bearable. It’s fine, ok?
Not sure why it's a new trend among fic readers to assume if the fic has not been posted within the week it's inappropriate to comment on it, like the fic has to be hot out of the oven to give feedback for.
I got a comment on a fic that is less than a year old and it was mostly an apology for being a comment on an "old fic" and how late they were in commenting.
Just comment on the fic. Doesn't matter how old it is.
(@arliedraws had a sleepless night and brought this rough-plot to the group chat ft. @impishtubist. and this is what i have to show for myself. in which james/lily put harry up for adoption and slytherin!sirius ends up adopting him.)
--
Harry stood in front of a doorway, a small piece of parchment clutched in his hand and heart beating too fast to be healthy. The parchment was crumpled at this point, having survived a tube ride across London, and brisk walks--runs-- down the paventment, holding onto it for dear life, as he did his best to navigate unfamiliar streets. Hermione had helped him consult maps, and plot out the best and most straightforward route, details expressly written on that piece of parchment. He had been there, of course. To London. A few times. Though not unsupervised, and not to a stranger's house, and certainly not late at night when he was definitely supposed to be in his bedroom. He stared at the door, parts of the wood on the edges chipped off, and scuffs at the bottom, not even sure if he was in the correct place.
The address had come from Parvati.
Who had gotten it from her cousin.
Who had gotten it from her friends older sister who works at Witch Weekly and this is the address they send post correspondence to and get responses back so it has to be right.
And even though there was a voice in his head telling him to leave.
And telling him that this, showing up unannounced and sweaty, was, perhaps, not the correct course of action, he swallowed it down. Because there was a chance this could be right. This could be it.
He had left his mirror at home in his bedside table on purpose, not wanting a call from his Dad to disrupt any of his plans, but he ignored those thoughts too. The ones where his Dad had found his bedroom empty and his mirror put away and then grounded him until he was a thousand years old for sneaking out and making a trip across London.
Harry drowned out the lecture already playing in his head with a knock on the door in front of him.
Not quite sure what to expect, dancing on the balls of his feet to see if the door would even open. It took several moments, but it did.
Harry stood face to face with legendary Quidditch player, James Potter, all thoughts of a lecture quickly vanishing in favor of this. He had only ever seen him in magazines and of course, Quidditch game from afar. But it seemed silly, to expect James Potter to wear his Quidditch uniform around his own home. Of course he wouldn’t be in his uniform. And instead, a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, square glasses on his face and his hair stuck up at the back of his head.
The same way Harry’s did.
They had the same jaw shape too, though James’s had stubble on it, which filled Harry with some hope that maybe one day he’d be able to grow some semblance of a beard. He watched as James’s mouth fell slightly open, staring at Harry, hazel eyes scanning him from head to toe. Horrified or amazed at the eerie, uncanny resemblance.
Harry cleared his throat and attempted to stand up straight, “Uh…hi. Hello. I know it’s late. You probably don’t get visitors, or I don’t know, maybe you do. But my names Harry. I’m a big fan. I play Quidditch too! I’m a seeker! At Hogwarts! So I’m a fan, but I think you also…might be my Dad.”
On the other side of the door, James didn’t say anything, eyebrows slowly coming together in further confusion. Or concern. Harry couldn’t tell, but he could tell the longer James stared at him, the more he realized what a terrible, awful, hare-brained idea this had been.
The voice in his head was absolutely right.
But he had come all this way.
And he wasn’t going to go down without some kind of effort.
“Everyone at school says I look just like you,” Harry added, sticking his chin out a little, as if that tiny bit of information would help the situation. “And we do! You wear glasses! I wear glasses! And my hair, it's...like yours. Do you have a mole on your arse too?”
James slowly closed his eyes, mouth finally closing and twisting to fight a smile, “I don’t have a mole on my arse,” he said.
“So just the glasses then,” Harry nodded, “I’m adopted. Everyone’s said I look like you for ages. Did you give a baby up for adoption? I was adopted when I was a baby.”
James didn’t say anything but took a step outside of his door threshold, down the small drive, looking past Harry and around the bushes.
“Did you lose something?” Harry asked.
“No, I’m looking to see where the rest of your friends are, or the cameras or your parents, because a kid just showed up at my door at nearly midnight and--”
“I’m almost fifteen, I’m not a kid.”
“You’re a kid,” James repeated, bending down to look underneath a shrub before turning back around to face Harry. “Are you alone?”
“Yes?”
“For Merlin’s sake…” James muttered walking past Harry and into his home once more. Harry half expected James to shut the door in his face but instead James looked back at him expectantly, “Well? Come on in, kid.”
Harry smiled, practically skipping into James’s home, nervous heart beat quickly replaced with excited flutters because he was in James Potters home. He had seen it in a Quidditch magazine before, the inside of James’s home, and Harry pulled out the pictures, beggining his Dad to please change their kitchen table because James’s was built for athletes and if he wanted to be any good at Quidditch, he should try to do as much as he can.
His Dad didn’t buy a new kitchen table. And when Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup the second year in a row, his Dad had made a point to remind him that he didn’t need to be James Potter, and just Harry was more than enough.
“Take your shoes--” James started to say, but noticed Harry was already in process of untying his dirty trainers to leave them by the door. “Thanks.”
“You said in your Quidditch mag interview you were a shoes off household,” Harry told him excitedly, nearly stumbling over as he pulled off one of his shoes, standing on one leg, “I am too. Well…my house is, where I live. My Dad… the Dad I live with, not you, if you are my Dad, he says it's rude to leave your shoes on.”
“Mmm,” James hummed, regarding Harry closely. Harry kept grinning, unable to contain his excitement, head looking around at everything in sight.
“Do you have your cups here?” Harry asked, “Do you really have a whole room for all your cups and awards and stuff?”
James couldn’t help but laugh, reaching a hand up to mess up the hair at the back of his neck, “Not everything they put in there is true. They’re all at the Tornado’s training pitch, they only brought them to my house for the article.”
Harry’s tried to keep his face from falling, not wanting to let The James Potter know how badly he wanted to see the cups and his plaques up close. James had led them both into a living area, couches and chairs mismatched with brightly colored pillows, looking very different thant Harry’s living room, though exactly like he had imagined it. There was even a crocheted blanket folded on the armrest of the couch. If Harry remembered correctly, all handmade by James’s mother before she passed. James gestured for Harry to have a seat on the couch.
“Do you--” Harry started, looking around at the pictures on the walls and the mantle. Unable to sit still or stop his mind from racing with questions.
“Look, kid--”
“My names Harry.”
“Harry,” James paused, taking in the new piece of information, “I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“I told you, I think you might be my Dad. I’m adopted.”
“Do you want…an autograph?”
“Really? That’d be brilliant, no one would--”
“Most kids who want an autograph don’t show up at my doorstep.”
“Well, no, that's not…I’m not here for an autograph.”
“So what is it? Do you…want money?”
Harry snorted, “I don’t need your money. I have plenty.”
“Do your parents know your here?”
“...Not exactly.”
“Are you unhappy at your home? Is that what this is? Do you need to--"
Harry’s head immediately started shaking back and forth, almost laughing at the suggestion James had made, “No! No. Merlin, no. My Dad is brilliant. He’s the best! He takes me to Quidditch games loads, and I have a really nice house and space to fly and, he’s great.” James let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose behind his glasses, “I don’t…want anything from you. And I already have a Dad, so I don’t actually need one. If that's what you think I'm here for. I was just curious and thought maybe and if it wasn’t true and you didn’t give a baby up for adoption fifteen years ago then…maybe we do just look alike! Which is pretty cool. For me anyway. But…if you were…I dunno, if you’re my Dad…I wanted to meet you, and I thought you might…want to meet me too?”
“I can’t let you stay here, Harry.”
"Can you at least answer--"
"I have to get you home."
“But--”
"Your parents are probably worried sick and I can't let you stay here longer than you've already been gone."
Harry scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping into the couch, “You’re being very uncool for a Quidditch player.”
“You can tell Witch Weekly all about it,” James told him.
“Can I still get an autograph?”
“I’ll get you a jersey in exchange for your address. I'll sign it and then we are out of here. Deal?”
“Deal,” Harry grinned, sitting up again. “Number 12 Grimmauld Place.” And for a reason Harry didn’t quite understand, James Potters mouth fell open for the second time that evening.
--
It was supposed to be a quiet night. It was a by week. No games. Practice all week and Coach Fletscher had let them leave the pitch early. Ordinarily, James might have gone out with his teammates--it was Friday after all-- but something had compelled him to call it an early night. He was looking forward to an evening at home, by himself. A nice dinner. The wireless playing the Falcons-Canons game, while he made a pot of tea. All had gone according to plan until there was a knock on his door, and James answered it. In hindsight, terrible idea. James had been in the public eye long enough to know better and not answer doors after certain hours. But he did, and was met with none other than a younger version of himself.
The same glasses.
The same hair, sticking up at the back and curls falling over his ears. James could remember being a teenager and wanting to keep it long like the kid in front of him.
Do you have a mole on your arse?
James had said no.
But he did. On his left cheek. And he wasn’t about to ask this strange kid to pull down his pants to compare. He could see the headlines in his mind already, even as he welcome the kid into his home.
It was supposed to be a quiet night.And getting the kid home was supposed to be a noble and responsible duty.
But now James was in front of a doorstep that wasn’t quite unfamiliar. He remembered, he knew it from mistakes of years past. The welcome mat had been swapped out. The door had been painted a bright teal and the lawn was well maintained, white rose bushes lining the walkway. The kid, Harry, stood slumped at his side, head hanging even with the blue, signed, jersey hanging around his elbow.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked looking up at James as they stood in front of the door, “Isn’t this more trouble for you?”
“Sorry,” James shrugged, “Had to make sure you got home safe.”
“I’m here though! Can’t you just--”
“I’ll tell you this,” James said, “If I ever snuck out, after my curfew, and went to a strangers home at your age,” but James paused, thinking momentarily about his own parents, knowing that he would’ve never wanted to sneak out in the first place. His parents were his best friends. “Actually, I would’ve never had the nerve to leave in the first place, but if I did, my mother wouldn’t have let me out of her sight until I was thirty. I owe it to...I need to make sure you get in there."
Harry laughed a little, scuffing his shoe on the ground, and sighing, “Fine.” Harry hesitated only a few moments more before reaching forward and clicking the hinge to the door handle. The house was protected by magic, recognizing Harry’s signature immediately, and allow him to enter through the front door.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
James would’ve recognized the black dragon hide boots and oxfords by the front door anywhere. Any time. Any space. It could’ve been at a fancy ministry gala, the shoes piled miles high and James would’ve been able to pick them out.
The door shut behind them and before Harry could even say a word, footsteps were running down the hall.
“Harry, I swear on Merlin’s Beard if that is not you, I am going to--”
“It’s me, it’s me. Don’t call the aurors or whatever you were going to do,” Harry said plainly, holding his arms up in surrender as Sirius Black came into view, the end of his sentence cut off.
James hadn’t seen Sirius since the night before his wedding.
James had actively avoided circles where Sirius Black might have been. Gringotts. St. Mungos. Diagon Alley. It was half the reason he became a Quidditch player, deciding that was the safest bet to stay far, far, far away from the man who had nearly ended his relationship (though it turns out James didn’t need anyones help to do that) and was the subject of every day-dream and night dream James ever had back in school. He was the chip on his shoulder. The thorn in his side.
James had done an excellent job of building a life without giving Sirius a second thought.
Until this quiet night turned to dust and Sirius was in front of him, dark curls pulled back away from his face in a knot, except for one that fell across his eyebrows.
Older.
Somehow more handsome than he had been all those years ago.
James watched as Sirius pulled Harry into a fierce hug, hand at the back of Harry’s head, pulling him into his chest.
“I’m fine,” Harry said, muffled by Sirius’s jacket. Sirius was fully dressed in muggle clothing, likely in preparation of starting a neighborhood search for his missing teenager.
“For now,” Sirius responded quickly, grey eyes fixed on James.
His insides squirmed under the scrutiny.
But he was nearly thirty five. He wasn’t going to let a school-yard…crush turned lover turned Merlin knows set him off-kilter after all these years.
“James Potter,” Sirius said plainly, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a half smirk, while still holding Harry against his chest.
“James signed a jersey for me, isn’t that cool?”
“Well, I’m certainly glad your little excursion led to something cool, Haz, because that will probably be the last cool moment of your summer. Any final wishes?”
Harry pulled away from Sirius’s chest, and turned to look back at James, “Do you have any extra tickets to next weeks game that you can--” James laughed as Harry’s sentence was cut off by Sirius’s hand coming over his mouth.
“I apologize for my very rude child, I don’t know who raised him,” Sirius said, keeping his hand over Harry’s mouth and pulling him closer to his chest again with his other arm.
It was strange.
It was…comforting.
To see Sirius Black with the kid that could’ve been his. To see Harry not in a hurry to leave Sirius’s embrace. How comfortable his kid was speaking and joking with his parent without a second thought. Entering a house after sneaking out without fear.
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A/N: Requested by an anonymous user. Hopefully I did you justice 🩷
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Giving your boyfriend Eddie the after-sex emotional intimacy that he craves.
Content Warning: 18+ Smut, Unprotected Sex (P in V), Cockwarming, Sexual Language, Swearing/Profanity.
Credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers
────────
“Holy shiiiit, you’re unreal! Fuck! Oh fuck!”
Your boyfriend pants in your ear as he nears his high, thrusting into you as deep as he could go.
“You feel so- god, oh my god! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Just like that! Hoooooly mother of god!”
“You okay?” You moan underneath him, out of breath and wrecked as you watched him fall apart above you.
“M’good! So good, baby….So fucking good. This feels so nice.” He whimpers “Being inside you like this…”
“Yeah?” You squeak as he hits a spot deep inside of you that had your toes curling.
“Fuck yes….so wet…and tight and perfect. God, baby, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect….all for me. Mine. My girl…”
“Yours.” You whisper, kissing his neck as he lets out a gasp.
“Hah! Fuck! Y-you…oh god! You’re…squeezing’ me…so good. So fucking good! Are you close, sweetheart? Tell me you’re close. Please tell me you’re close!” He pleads.
“M’almost there, Eds.” You moan, gripping tightly onto his biceps as he keeps fucking into you “Just keep going, baby. Don’t stop.”
“No, no, no. Not gonna stop…I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve fucking got you. Shit….just give it to me, yeah? Please? God, please, angel. I need you to cum. Need you to give it to me.”
“Eddie…” You whine.
“Fuck, baby! You’re squeezing me so good….you gonna cum? Yeah? You gonna cum for me? Please fucking cum for me, angel.”
He slams into you relentlessly, reaching down between the two of you to rub hurried circles on your clit.
“Eddie!”
“Fuck, baby, you’re so close. I can feel it. Come on, sweetheart, fucking cum for me. Need to feel you cum on my cock.”
It hit you faster than you expected, your orgasm peaking with a high pitched gasp that had Eddie tumbling right after you.
“Oh my god, sweetheart! Atta girl!” He groans “I’m so close, baby. Gonna fucking cum. Gonna- oh shit!”
Eddie grasps your hand, squeezing it as he released inside of you- filling you up as he panted and whimpering above you. His arms give out, sending him collapsing on top of you as he tries to catch his breath.
“Fuck…” He laughs, gasping for air “That was…god, you’re amazing.”
He presses featherlight kisses to your forehead, your temples, your cheeks.
“I love you.” He whispers “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” You say, looking up at him as he looms over you- the ends of his curly tresses brushing against your face. You reach up, grabbing his necklace as you absentmindedly turn it over between your fingers.
Eddie just stares down at you. Admiring. Watching.
Fuck, you were so beautiful.
“You okay?” You ask, noticing that he hadn’t yet pulled out and rolled over onto the mattress beside you like he normally did.
“Yeah.” He says, clearing his throat “I just…can I just stay here like this? Just for a little longer?”
You watch as he looks down at your tangled up bodies, his eyes staring at where you met.
“What do you mean? Like-“
“Inside you.” He admits “Just like this. I just want to stay here with me inside you. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” You nod, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes “Okay.”
“I just….I love being inside of you. Even after we have sex. I love how warm you feel….and wet. I…okay, you’re going to think I’m a total weirdo creep when I say this.”
“Yeah? What else is new?” You joke, causing Eddie to playfully tap you on the arm.
“Stop it.” He says “I’m being serious here. I…I love being inside of you. It’s my favorite place. I know that sounds crazy but I feel safe. Right here like this…with you. You make me feel safe.”
The words that left his lips had made you feel tingly inside. Good. Loved.
“You feel safe with me?” You ask, looking into his brown doe eyes.
“Yeah, I do.” He sighs “But especially like this. I could stay like this forever. Knowing that this is the closest that I’ll ever be to you.”
“Okay, that’s actually really sweet.” You murmur.
“Can I ask you for something else? Without you judging me?” Eddie asks, his voice coming out small.
“Of course.” You say, threading your fingers through his hair.
“Can you…can you hold me, please? Would that be weird? If that’s too weird-“
“Come here.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to you- allowing him to lay on top of you fully as he buries his face in your neck. He inhales your scent, smiling into your hair as he closes his eyes.
You smelled like home.
You felt like warmth.
You were safety.
“This good?” You ask.
Eddie nods his head against your neck, wrapping his arms around you so that you were pressed tightly against him.
“This is perfect.” He mutters.
Home.
Warmth.
Safety.
You.
“I can feel your heart beating.” He whispers as you run your fingers down his back soothingly, sending a shiver down his body.
Your touch. Your body. Your heartbeat.
You were so close. He wanted nothing more than this. To be completely wrapped up in you.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.” He says, mumbling against your neck “With you.”
He pulls away for a second, taking you aback as he reaches for one of your hands- gently placing it over his heart.
“Do you feel how crazy you make me?” He asks, looking down at you as you felt his heart race beneath your touch “That’s what you do to me, sweetheart. No one else. You. I love you. I love you until my heart stops beating, you understand?”
“I love you too, Eddie.” You proclaim “More than anything.”
“Good.” He smiles, nuzzling his nose against your cheek “Because you’re stuck with me. Forever. Just like this.”
And you couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else but Eddie. Forever.
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In the background of the video clip, posted by a fan at the hotel breakfast just before Christmas 2018, Shane Hollander is talking on the phone. He looks tired but he's smiling, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork. "I saw, baby," he says. "No, definitely, no way that was slashing, I'm with you. You'll get them next time, though. Beautiful goal you got in the first, that was so fucking sexy. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Love you."
Which leads to a bit of an uproar because omg Shane Hollander has a girlfriend?? who plays hockey???? that's so on brand for him like. okay who was playing last night and got a goal in the first period, we need to find the woman who has Shane Hollander crooning into his phone like a lovestruck teenager. and the consensus lands on an unsuspecting and entirely unrelated CWHL forward who has never even been in the same city as Shane but the Internet is running with the story and there's journalists harassing her and Shane has to get his agent to call her agent so he can apologise for this mess and she's like, dude, I know it's not your fault, but Shane feels so fucking bad about it, you know?
And unfortunately it doesn't really let up as quickly as they thought because it's right before Christmas and isn't this a great story, fucking Hallmark movie shit, so a very unimpressed Leila (her name is Leila) has to look a reporter in the eye after her team just played a really good fucking game of hockey and everybody wants to talk to her about some fucking guy, you know? so she looks him in the eye and says, no, I am not dating Shane Hollander, I have never dated Shane Hollander, I will never date Shane Hollander, I am literally a lesbian. I have a whole-ass girlfriend. She plays for the Blades.
And Shane Hollander is so consumed by jealousy he almost chokes.
