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fatesundress · 1 year

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⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this.

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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sabertoothwalrus · 4 months

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OK PREFACING WITH IM SORRY IF I ALREADY SENT THIS EXACT ASK BUT MY WIFI KILLED ITSSLF AS I SENT IT SO IDK IF IT ACTUALLY WENT THROUGH. but in case it didn’t . i know youve gotten this countless times in the past because i blog stalked just in case youve mentioned something similar before but i need to know if you have any specific inspirations when you draw exaggerated expressions specifically like these two images of marcille. ive actually cried laughing over this comic and being able to communicate this type of visceral emotion is such an insane skill and ive followed your art for probably close to a decade through various fandoms so watching you develop this style has been fucking awesome and epic. like i cannot articulate how funny these are to me i just need you to understand i look at this comic to inspire me to draw now. the closest comparison i can draw to the feelings they evoke are like those mspaint reaction images and also mspaint tails i included for reference even though you probably know exactly what im talking about anyways but its actually so much harder to do that intentionally when you study art. also i lied you literally don’t even need to answer this i just had to let you know how obsessed i am over your silly comics and now ive written out a whole ass discussion post about it. im sorry if this is weird at all i think my daily prescribed amphetamines r wearing off and i know this is such a dumb specific thing to fixate on and im so sorry if its not something you want to hear about your art. ive just always seen that as an artist this type of expressive stupid silly style is something that comes after a significant amount of time and practice and study and style development despite being “simple” in theory. its just so cool to have worked with your own style so much that youre able to go “off model” from it and still maintain consistency with the rest of the piece. i said it already and im sorry this is actually rendundant now but the ability to communicate such raw emotion somehow decreases from at its height when someone is a beginner artist learning how to proportion and keep a steady line and what looks “normal” but somehow it all comes full circle because taking all that experience and using it to almost return to where you started but in a fully informed and intentional way so you can make choices to draw characters like this when the situation calls for it is just dhcidogakgoshfhw. i think i need to cut myself off or im going to talk in circles im sorry tumblr user sabertoothwalrus i just am fascinated by your style and progress and the years you’ve dedicated to art can be seen in so many places but this is just one that stands out to me specifically.

MMMMM what a fun question!!!

I'm not gonna lie, I think it's just Letting A Drawing Be Bad. I definitely think the people that struggle with this the most are people who have genuinely very pretty art styles, to the point of being kind of perfectionist about it. and to Draw Funny often means Drawing Fast and Weird. Pretty is kind of the antithesis of funny (unless being pretty is the punchline). do drawings that make yourself laugh. tracing/lining funny sketches almost always makes them less funny.

one of my favorite types of humor is when it skews more deadpan, actually. This is one of the reasons I love Adventure Time. minimal expressions and flat line delivery + absurd context is a really good combo. the key to comedy has more to do with contrast! if your drawings are allllll crazy ren & stimpy all the time, they're not funny anymore cause it's just "normal". if it's all subdued UNTIL it's extreme, and vice versa, then it's funny. The reason this comic is so funny is because of the complete lack of any expression. I feel like the one you sent of Marcille shouting "WHAT" is funnier when you know how much she tries to be dainty and feminine and delicate, how much she values her appearance, and how averse she is to "gross" or "weird" things.

something I find really annoying (and this is with comics/animation in general, not the expressions themselves) is when the joke goes on for too long. Like you'll have the joke, then the punchline, and THEN the characters reacting to the punchline??? Like the author didn't trust that their audience would find the joke funny, so they basically drew in a laugh track. But, this is distinct from a character's reaction being the punchline (like how the examples you gave from my Marcille comic are). MY POINT IS sometimes expressions aren't as funny on their own as you think, and context can affect how you feel about it!

as far as inspirations go!

my own face! even if I don't have a mirror, I like making the expressions myself so I can "feel" where the points of tension on my face are, and it gives me a sense of what to exaggerate.

my brother's art, believe it or not! we've been trying to make each other laugh with our drawings since we were kids, and he's really good at it.

ATLA has some great expressions

OK KO has been a reallyyyy good source for me lately. That show is so tailored to my sense of humor and the expressions and line deliveries feel exactly like the kinds of things I'd come up with. The tone, timing, and art style are all really close to the tv show pitch I'm working on, so when I feel like I've "strayed" too much from it (like after drawing a bunch of dungeon meshi, and my art feels tighter and... idk "manga-ier"?) I like to go and watch a couple episodes of OK KO to loosen back up

A lot of things like OG Spongebob, Calvin & Hobbes, the Simpsons, Chowder, etc etc

memes in general. if it makes you laugh, keep it in mind

and lastly, I wouldn't say I ever try to mimic funny expressions I see. Like if I watch a show for inspo, I'm not pausing it to copy specific drawings, I'm just trying to notice patterns and pay attention to what about it I find funny.

talking about being funny is really bizarre and I dunno if it makes it lose some of the magic. Ultimately it's something you can't think about too much, and just gotta go with your gut.

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 1 month

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i for once want to get the opinion of a "rational" jikooker who knows how to take a step back and take certain things for what they are and i wanna know your opinion or interpretation of jikook in chap2 and them not meeting and also that conversation they had in the car about that please.

And you thought I'm that rational person? Funny.

You know, there's something I always disliked about being in this fandom space. I mean, there's plenty of other things, don't get me wrong, but this one in particular really irks me. It's the need for approval, for confirmation of one's thoughts. There's a severe lack of independent thought. It might be hidden under apparent strong opinions, but when you look at how those opinions are spread to anon messaging to bloggers everyday, that's a sign that the complete opposite happens.

Jikook as a kpop ship always has to be questioned. At this point, I think it's part of its narrative as a ship. But what's curious (and stupid) is that the hardest line of questioning comes from the ones who consider themselves interested/curious. But make no mistake, this is not done for the sake of not becoming delusional and discard any rational thought. It happens because of the need for approval.

You sent me this ask because you hope for me to agree with your own thoughts about jikook and what that conversation in the car means. Not for them actually, but for you. And you're not the only person. A sure sign of fandom insanity is debating for over 2 weeks now a conversation that is not only heavily editated, it is mediated as well. It takes place in the context of a show for fans in which participants are two people who will never reveal everything about their lives. And on top of that, there's an intentional need to ignore that people can speak in hyperbole, that people can ommit or say one thing that actually means more or another that only the other person is capable of understanding the nuances of that.

Communication is complex. We do know that because we engage with it everyday. Except we forget all that the moment we have to talk about this specific ship. We forget a lot of things about human behavior, relationships, etc. It is an intentional act. So we start writing fanfictions. We start making relationship timelines. We start taking about temporary or definitive break ups of a ship that hasn't even been confirmed as a couple. At this point, shippers operate into this alternative universe sphere, canon adjacent but instead of doing it on ao3, they use their blogs and anon messages for that. But hey, fanfics on ao3 are a lot of the times the work of talented writers, while 500-1000 words essays on tumblr are simply a complete waste of time after the first paragraph.

Is this what you would consider a rational perspective? Or should I start writing down a timeline of all the times in which JM and JK have met in "Chapter 2" up until NY in July? (As if in reality their lives are actually separated that clearly, as if a break in band work completely defines their personal lives, jesus christ!). So, should I note down all the public events that they've been to? And to draw a conclusion from it to prove or disprove that the amount of times they've seen each other is reflective or not of what they said in the car when they left for their trip? Of course, we should ignore that there's an entire life outside of what we see.

And that's the thing, you know? We all supposedly agree that they actually share little of their lives with their fans, but practically? The fandom doesn't really give a shit. Because of the classic parasocial relationship we have developed that makes us believe we know everything there is to know.

What we are allowed to see and what we hear from whispers here and there should allow us to realize that no theory over a supposed relationship is better than the other. Believing they are just friends, that they have broken up, that they are fwb and so on is in no way more rational that believing they are together.

What does this mean? If none of us are wiser? It means we have a choice. Some are choosing to be losers or little bitches crying in anon asks about their "insecurities" over a ship. Some are choosing to look at this ship as a duo that includes two people who have really good chemistry and who match each other's freak.

I've always been in the latter category, I thought that was obvious and I've said it before. If one day Jimin makes a public statement that he's marrying the love of his life, a sweet girl that is also the mother of his 5 secret children, then so be it. And if one day, Jungkook shows up one day after he decided to run away and join a bike gang where he met his boyfriend, then so be it. If somehow that next day, a jikook clip would turn up on my tl in which Jimin is brushing his teeth while straddling Jungkook, my reaction would be "well, jikook fuck. Often". You know why? Because for me, the public life of stars and what they choose to share is entertainment. A travel show, a wlive, concerts, these are all forms of entertainment. I do not consume my entertainment by being a loser on the internet, pondering if my assessment over two people might be fucking is real or not or is approved by other people.

#m thoughts #jikook #shipping discourse

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queenburd · 2 months

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The use of color in The Stanley Parable: HD and Ultra Deluxe (with honorable mentions to the Demo)

dedicated to @squuote who needs more TSP analysis to rotate

A little over a year ago, I (only somewhat jokingly) lay out the argument that while The Stanley Parable is notorious in its use of yellow, the color yellow is not actually associated to the Narrator. The color most associated with him, I argued, was red. [1, 2]

I've had plenty of thoughts regarding color and TSP in the interim and I want to go over those thoughts today in as much depth as I can manage. You know, for fun. None of this is to argue about creator intent, but it's a fun way to stretch the critical thinking and literary analysis portions of my brain. It's also super cool if you don't agree with my readings, since the point is to get you thinking about these things and studying them to interpret for yourself.

Anyway let's gooooooo

(note: all images are embedded with a link to the source page I pulled them from. For those on mobile, be careful with your scrolling and tapping!)

Yellow

Okay let's start with the “obvious” one. Yellow is seen as one of the main colors in the game, it's the color of the main office and the primary assets associated with the Parable. We see yellow PRIMARILY in the beginning of the office, before the two doors room. It lines the cubicles and the walls are often interpreted as yellow (eh, they're more of an off-white. They're actually absorbing color from the brown-yellow carpet, and they do the same in the lounge).

It's the color of the Line(TM), it's the color of the cargo lift in the warehouse, and, most strikingly, it's the color of the SKIP Button.

We'll get to you.

Okay, so yellow is a color with conflicting interpretations, which is par for the course for all of them, we're not going TOO insane on color theory and color psychology we will be here ALL DAY and I was an ART student. So let's just look at the most basic reading. Bright, oversaturated yellow is a color that can exhaust the eyes easily. It grabs our attention like a highlighter and burns our retinas.

It can be a color of excitement, but it can also be a color of sickness. I've been thinking about the short story The Yellow Wallpaper the past couple days. Or maybe I've been thinking about it for longer. It's just that I haven't reread it in actual years, but every time I saw someone talk about the wallpaper in TSP, I thought about the story. Here's some passing thoughts on the short story in comparison to TSP. [3]

Sickness, and madness, and beginnings, and infinity. In the end, yellow, to me, is the color of the Parable grabbing the player (and by extension the Narrator) by the nose and saying “let's get moving. We have a story to play. Play the game, and keep playing.” Notable to me is how the SKIP button is almost scathingly yellow in contrast to the room it's in, and as the room gets darker the glow gets more foreboding. The Parable did this. The Narrator might think he made it, but he doesn't control it. Yellow isn't his color, and it never was.

Red

“Stanley walked through the RED. DOOR.”

The use of red in TSP is probably the most interesting and fun to analyze for me. It's used extremely intentionally and it's commonly associated with power, anger, and passion. We see red in the Boss's Office, in the Countdown ending, as the door to the Starry Dome, and a TON in the TSP2 Expo. There's red doors and signs in the Escape Pod Bay.

So I've joked that the color red is the Narrator's color, and while it's still a fun interpretation, it's not one I'm married to. I think it's more accurate to say red symbolizes control. The Zending Door is you letting him control the story. The Countdown screens are him taking control from you. And TSP2 is the Narrator trying to exert control over what the developers have made. It's a response to New Content and to the SKIP button. I have a million trillion thoughts about the TSP2 Expo but I won't get into them here.

Anyway, red feels very obviously to me associated with the Narrator trying to take control, or things only being possible when he has control. I'm thinking about the signs in the Escape Pod Bay telling you that it won't work without him. (I'm thinking about how the same door asset for the Zending is used in the Escape Pod Bay. No. shhh. Staying on topic.) So I don't have much more to say on the matter because I feel like I've tread this ground before. Red is about control, and it is held in direct contrast with blue.

Blue

Oh, blue. Soothing blue, sweet relaxing lounge and ocean paintings and boss's bathroom and blue door that leads to broken textures and an irritable Voice.

If red is the color of control, then blue is the color of rebellion. Small rebellion, sure. Rebellion that means nothing in the scheme of things. Blue is the stepping stone to bigger deviations from the path. I mean, the lounge is only the first step to the right, and you can still get on the “correct” path. The blue door you have to go through repeatedly, you have to make the choice multiple times, for it to lead to the Games ending. The boss's bathroom doesn't GO anywhere until after the epilogue. These are “rebellious choices” in a game where you don't really have a choice, and it's the closest you get to defiance.

I like to make it Stanley's favorite color for obvious reasons.

(Hey, fandom, why you keep associating it with the Curator? The only blue in the Museum is in a couple assets on display.)

Green

I gotta admit, while there's definitely something to green and its use in TSP, a clear meaning for it is eluding me, and I've been thinking about it on and off for a couple days now. It's a fairly infrequent color in TSP as a whole, but it does make an appearance. Besides being the color of plants (such as the ever important fern, the potted plants scattered through the office and the ones in the TSP2 expo, and of course the growth in the SKIP button room), it's also the wallpaper in the Demo, and the same wallpaper is used in the Boss's Office in the Real Person Ending. Thinking further, it also appears in the small room before the stage in the Press Conference Ending, and it's the color of the carpet in the HL2 Office that is found under the Games ending. (It was also brought up by my pal glitch that green is the color of the cursor on Stanley's screen, the first thing you see before gameplay begins. Good catch!)

Thinking about it, it's hard to find a throughline. There's something familiar about the green. Not necessarily safe, but it usually comes before something much bigger. Maybe this is a bit of a stretch, though. Let's say for now green is associated with the familiar in the face of the unfamiliar.

(There's possibly a thesis here about green being associated with gifts and surprises. The Narrator makes the Press Conference ending something that teases but also praises Stanley, the Green Room in the Demo is the space where the Demo is meant to be revealed to you, and that alternate Boss's Office is supposed to, in the Narrator's mind, be the first step to a wonderful story made just for you.)

White

Most people, when they think of white in The Stanley Parable, immediately think of the Museum. And they're right to! It's one of the most prominent environments that uses white. With that in mind, we can't forget the other places it appears, since it's best to keep everything in mind when trying to formulate a meaning for it.

So, other places where white is prominent: We have the out-of-bounds ending, and the Art ending (aka play that Baby game for four hours). We also have a massive part of the TSP2 expo.

Honestly, there is a lot of white in the rest of the office, but it tends to be absorbing the colors of the environment in ways that make it less noticeable. White's really good at that, which means the times where it's by itself as the outstanding color are outliers and feel intentional. So what do these things have in common?

Well, they kind of show the seams of the game? Take this with a grain of salt, but the Museum is designed to show you some of the design process for the game, effectively taking you out of the setting to give you a top-down perspective (hehe, literally in the case of the diorama of the office up to the two doors), and the out-of-bounds ending is a joke about breaking the map, falling out of the world , which can break immersion in other games. The TSP2 Expo is the Narrator showing off all the features for his sequel idea, giving a “sneak peek” of what will be included.

The Art ending doesn't fit with this thesis, but it does involve the... revelation, I suppose, of the “character” of the Essence of Divine Art. What I'm trying to get to is that white is a color of revelation and display.

Gray

Gray is not a color that tends to stand on its own merit in The Stanley Parable, and that in itself is intentional. Gray is used as a texture of “unfinished” things, things the Narrator doesn't want you to look closely at, and would prefer you move past Right Now Right This Second Please.

It's the walls of the Broom Closet, as well as the walls of the maintenance room. It's also the walls of the room right outside the Starry Dome—the hall that leads right to the stairs. (Honorable mention, @chirpbudgie brought up that the desks in the office are gray, which is also an implication of the way Stanley's coworkers seemed to disappear with work unfinished. There is a sense of “wrongness” in how they've all vanished. Nice eye, bud.)

You're not supposed to dwell in these places. Go back to the story, please!

Black

“Blackness, and a rising chill of uncertainty. Was it over?”

Last and least is black, less used as a color in its own right and more a use of shadow. It really stars primarily in the Mind Control Facility, dark rooms with a sense of foreboding. Honestly, what is there to say about black?

Only, I tell a lie. You see quite a lot of black in this game, don't you? After all:

It's the Loading screen.

Blackness is uncertainty, and mystery, like the game tells us, because anything could be hiding in the darkness, and anything could happen when that screen is finished loading. It's white's opposite not just in value but in meaning. You don't know what's going on, you just have to wait and see. Any time you might have an answer, or an ending, here comes that loading screen to wipe the slate clean and say “hey, what haven't you found yet? What haven't you tried? What tricks does this game still have up its sleeve?”

(And now I'm thinking about the Figurines ending, and how the Narrator shouts to stop the loading screen, to go back and stay in the familiar please!! Because the fellow hates uncertainty, really he does. But that's a thesis for another day.)

(We also can't forget that Ultra Deluxe's Setting the Time is also set on a black background, and there's always, to me, a sense of foreboding and uncertainty there too. What happens after this is the game, right? Is this for something? Is this doing anything? Is it changing anything?)

Silver

It's a bucket :)

Okay that's the end of this post. There's probably plenty more to say about this subject, this isn't exhaustive by any means. Color is an incredible tool, and visual storytelling and color interpretation is not in any way a science. As I posted bits of this in my server for extra feedback and examples of color, other folks brought up an entirely different interpretation of the color green. And I didn't even bring up Mariella being dressed in full green!

Anyway I didn't bring up orange because there's only a couple instances of it in the game but its always about unfinished things/assets (Baby game, just a lot of Games ending things) but it also shows up in the TSP2 Expo (Button That Says The Name of the Player Playing The Game (Jim)) for features that uuuuuh. Aren't done. So that's funny.

Like I said, there's almost certainly more to say about color theory and the game, but this thing is hitting 4 pages long and that's not including images oops.

I hope this was a fun read! Some of this stuff has been percolating in my brain for a while and it's good to finally get it on the page. Talk to me about TSP I love this game.

#the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp #tspud #tsp analysis #the sparrow parable #fuck man idk what other tags to use its 1 am ive been working on this on and off since noon #good NIGHT.

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thetombedspirit · 1 month

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So... I could be totally wrong, but based on the new promo pictures for Avatar 3, I think the Ash People are going to be less of a tribe and more of a cult.

I mean, just look at this image for starters. The ones one surrounding Varang are wearing some freaky looking masks, and Varang seems to be wearing an outfit made entirely of Na'vi braids. That is insane and defiantly makes me afraid of this woman. So no wonder she and Quaritch team up at some point.

You can actually see glimpses of Lyle and Quaritch in the back here as Varang introduces a new kind of creature, which is also pretty dope.

In fact, you can see a LOT of Na'vi here weilding guns, like WHAT?!?!

Which brings me to another image that I think really proves that not only are these people a cult, but they're a cult that worships the Sky People.

Yep. They have air balloon ships. We literally have Na'vi Sky Pirates.

All jokes aside though, what I think is going on is that the Ash People are a Cargo Cult, a group of indigenous people who see bizarre looking strangers coming from a foreign land (or in this case, planet) and basically liken them to Gods (for better details, I recommend watching Game Theory's Minecraft Cult video.)

Anyway, what I'm getting at here is that Na'vi like Varang probably were inspired by the Sky People and their giant metal ikran that could fit more then one person, and their weapons and tried to recreate them, disregarding the way of Eywa, which likely didn't go over well with the other Na'vi. Especially after Grace's School; they were probably banished when those particular Na'vi still supported them after the fact.

But when the RDA was first defeated and sent away, Varang and those Na'vi, like the Cargo Cults of Earth, tried anything to get them to return. They wear masks over their faces, they recreated their ships, they teach themselves how to use their weapons and basically making menaces of themselves to other Na'vi.

And so, Varang become the Olo'eykte of a new clan. A clan that worships the innovations and technologies of the Sky People.

And I bet they would be very excited if they were ever to come across Miles and Lyle, humans that have been reborn into Na'vi, hence why they start working together, which would be a scary thought to think about.

But it would make sense too, because, before, when I still thought of the Ash People as a legitimate clan, I never understood why a clan would be supportive of what they're doing if they worshipped Eywa and help them attack other Na'vi. Like why side with Quaritch when he wants to help the RDA perform a hostile takeover and not Jake, who wants to preserve the Na'vi home and way of life. But it does make sense to me, if they were ostracized by their people for their continued adoration of their techniques.

In fact, if I was to really dig into this, this might explain Teylan and his fascination with human tech too. If others are just as intrigued by their tech, then so would he.

So yeah, that is my reasoning for why I think the Ash People are a cult and why they would align themselves with the RDA. Please let me know what you think and I can't wait to see this movie!!!💙

EDIT!!

So these airships...

What I may have misinterpreted as a Ash People replication of ships may actually belong to another tribe that's to feature in the film. The Windtraders.

And that makes sense with this image of Neytiri and her Ikran flying beside them. The Ikran's calm, Neytiri has no weapon ready, so I can only assume that the Windtraders are a tribe of nomadic merchants, who travel from place to place and, as the name implies, trade with other clans.

Maybe one such clan they trade with is the Metkayina, and that's how we'll get introduced to this clan and their way of living.

I still %100 believe that the Ash People are a cult, but I just wanted to clarify my mishap.

And who knows? Maybe the Ash People are scheming to steal their ships so that they can really imitate the Sky People and that's how the Sully's confront them.

Be a good way to kick start the plot is all I'm thinking.

#avatar james cameron #avatar 3 #avatar fire and ash #avatar ash people #cult vibes #i am genuinely scared of varang now #if Quaritch and Varang does happen then its a match made in Eywa #also makes me scared for spider and the other sully kids #and literally everyone #atwow #avatar the way of water #afop teylan #avatar windtraders

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peggingeddiediaz · 3 days

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Hello, I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I received a lot of hate for not staning a side character and I had to take a break. Now though, I don’t care.

The obsession with BuckTommy as a couple is pretty much fetishization and misogyny bc I'm 100% sure that if Tommy had been a female love interest, his stans wouldn't have been so obsessed with the relationship and would’ve hated every single thing he did last season.

Buck’s coming out as bi should be the focus, but as always, such an important storyline gets reduced to a rushed relationship and a obsession for a side character with not enough background to fill a napkin.

Buck being bi doesn't mean he has to end with the first guy he kisses or that people have to like whatever he has going with Tommy, especially when he’s had so little development that his characterization is whatever head canon you guys gaslight yourself into and think that makes him the best gay character ever. Y’all really went insane over those cameos.

I don’t think you guys really care about good, well crafted, quality narrative representation of queer relationships, you only care about flaunting around your canon surface level ship. It’s pretty obvious why a lot of Bucktommy blogs used to be Buddie accounts in the months prior. It’s bc y’all only cared about Buck messing around with any guy he could find. A white man specifically.

The negativity towards Buck and Eddie skyrocketed from "They won't be canon, Eddie is straight" to the absolute extreme with "Why not just have Eddie die so Tommy and Buck can raise Chris?" The increase in blatant racism using shipping as a cover is incredibly sad.

A lot of you had no issue with Tommy, a white man randomly appearing again being revealed to be queer or Buck’s coming out but the idea of Eddie, a mexican man with catholic guilt and failed relationships with women, is too insane to happen somehow. And let’s not get into the “theories” about how Eddie, a latino man, is gonna side with Gerrard’s racism because of a mustache but Tommy’s active bigotry towards Chim and Hen during season 2 should be ignored because “he changed”. I wonder WHITE that is...?

#maria rants #fandom racism #fandom problems #fandom misogyny #911 abc #tommy kinard #anti tommy kinard #fetishization #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #bucktommy #the caucasity of it all #being a fan of buck’s hamster wheel is a take I guess #brat summer is out bigot autum is in #we love tommy so much we write him with eddie’s personality while hating on eddie #it be funny if it weren’t so sad #case study for parasocial relationships

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papercorgiworld · 5 months

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Hiii!! Don’t know if you take requests. What about Sirius x reader doing it on a piano . Can’t get the image out of my head. Only if you are okay with writing it.

In theory I still don't take new request because I still have to finish some other ones, but since I'm short on time and inspiration I decided to go with whatever works and it was this very random but lovely request. Big thanks for sending in, sending you lots of love and I hope that you like this!

“No, I did not ruin the piano.”

A Sirius Black imagine

Sirius and you have been frustrated with each other for a while, leading to a surprising situation where you both deal with those frustrations.

Warning: smutty

“You’re such an ass.” You snare at Sirius as he drags you away from the horrible dinner party with all the filthy rich families. He again had managed to ruin everything. You understood why he was acting the way he was. His family and their pureblood mania upset you as well, but you still managed to be diplomatic about it, contrary to Sirius. “Can’t you just behave for once.” You continue and Sirius rolls his eyes annoyed that you’re lecturing him again. You’re both startled when you hear someone snicker in the back of the apparently not so empty room after all.

“You two argue like a married couple that’s not having enough sex.” Your eyes meet Regulus’ smug ones as he passes you both, gently patting his brother on the shoulder before leaving the room. “Maybe deal with those frustrations rather than bothering everyone else with it.” Regulus smirks as he closes the door behind him.

Your eyes stay focused on the door through which Regulus had just left. “He's such a stuck up little shit.” Sirius growls and your eyes snap to Sirius. “No. He’s right and you just hate it when other people are right and you’re wrong.” Your tone has Sirius’ blood boiling but he only quirks a brow at you. You purse your lips and lift your chin, before explaining. “It isn’t just your family. Something else is causing you to be this frustrated and you should work it out and not bother others with it.” You cross your arm and stare Sirius down.

Sirius remains calm on the outside while actually raging on the inside. You were not blaming him for everything again, when you were the one driving him insane. “I’m sorry.” His voice is sassy and twisted as he takes a step closer to you. “I’m the frustrated one.” And another step closer, so now he’s towering over you. You take a step back to give yourself some space to come up with a witty comeback but you startle yourself when your behind touches a piano key, sending a single tone through the room.

You look back at the black elegant piano behind you, almost angry that it stood there. When you bring your eyes back to Sirius his smirk makes you roll your eyes. “You’re vibrating with annoyance and frustration. So don’t tell me I’m the problem.” The man in front of you argues and your tongue moves over your lips as you try not to lose your cool. “You. Are. Unbelie-”

Sirius wasn’t thinking. He was sure of it, because no logical thought would have let him do this. In less than a second his hands were on your hips and his lips were hungrily moving over yours. He didn’t want you to start another empty argument, because lately that was all the two of you did and there was never a good ending, never a release. He craved that. All of those frustrations out. Almost feverish both of you move closer to one another, clawing at each other's flesh and clothes, wanting more out of every touch. “What are you doing?” You manage to say in between heavy breaths and animalistic kisses as you move a hand through his hair. “Do you want me to stop?” Sirius’ low voice against your neck in between kisses has you question your sanity. You didn’t want him to stop. Quite the opposite, you wanted more, much more and asap. Your lack of response makes Sirius chuckle in between sloppy kisses. “Then shut up.” He says with a hushed voice, pushing into you and making your ass hit another piano key.

Sirius pulls you against him and away from the piano. He doesn’t need his family barging in here to demand he play the piano, while all he wanted to do was play with you. Holding you pressed against his chest Sirius leans to close the fallboard, only to place you on it. Seated with Sirius between your legs there is nothing for you to do except for letting the man ravish you. He pushes up your long dress so his hardening bulge is pressed against your soaking panties. His hand grip and almost tear the fabric of your dress covering your chest, exposing your breasts to his sucking and nipping. Soft sounds coming from your lips only encourage him to continue, not holding back any of the lust he’s feeling.

You let yourself rest on the piano, while lazily pulling his shirt in an attempt to get him to take it off. All Sirius had done for the past few weeks was get on your nerves, it was only just that he would be the one to calm your nerves by presenting you with a good view and some release. Finally getting your hints Sirius pulls his shirt over his head with an urgency to have his mouth back on your flesh. Your hand moves over his muscular chest and abdomen. Merlin, his looks make up for a lot of the dumb stuff he says and does.

His fingers push your panties to the side and enter, working your clit like he’s on a clock, but to him it was the view he was working so hard for. Your face filling with pleasure, your back arching against the piano and your lips slightly parted, just enough to have your moans vibrate perfectly. Gods, I need more of this woman.

***

You made your way back to the party first, immediately mingling in some pointless chitchat, like you never left the room. Sirius arrived a little later, hoping to not raise any suspicion about your absence. His fingers combing through his hair, hoping it looked as it did before you had moved your fingers through it and tugged at it while he had rushed you to an orgasm, crying his name as he eagerly slammed his hips into yours, eyes never leaving your beautiful and blushed face.

“Can I still play that piano or did the two of you ruin it?” Regulus whispers only loud enough for Sirius to hear his concern about the piano. Sirius stares his brother down as he offers him a glass of champagne with an amused grin gracing his lips. “No, I did not ruin the piano.” Sirius answers dryly, looking around the room and resting on your figure. “So, you just ruined her.” Regulus states, before taking a sip from his glass, while meeting his brother's annoyed, but confused eyes. “I don’t know why I did that? Why she let me do that?” Sirius obliviousness makes his younger brother chuckle. “Yes, why? So bizarre...” Regulus mocks before leaving his brother to stand alone and wonder about what was really going on between you two. It was only when you looked at him from across the room that he knew.

Word count: 1181

#the marauders era #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #papercorgiworldwritings

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demodraws0606 · 8 months

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What Cyberpunk DeadBoy Means and What it's Potentially Foreshadowing (aka very complicated analysis that makes a lot of sense and could happen depending on how colorpalet is feeling while writing the story)

Now I'm seeing so many people like running around wondering what this event could mean for the future for multiple reasons and like I've made like one post throwing my hat into the ring.

I've been frustrated with people's unwillingness to realise that this comm is prob foreshadowing because this is not the first time Colorpalet has hidden foreshadowing into comms weither subtely or not

Exemple's being :

-Akito's second comm foreshadowing his third event

-Lower's cover art literally foreshadowing what would happen to Mafuyu's phone in her event

-88 vocals being emurui and nenekasa foreshadowing the kind of dynamic the disbandement arc had with nenekasa wanting to move forward with emurui being scared of isolation

-Probably way better exemples that I forgot

I've seen people make Some assumptions which I don't agree with but there is one thing I think is true

There is 100 pourcent gonna be struggle between corporation/reality and WxS.

Purely because that's been WxS's entire theme since the beginning. They constantly bash you over the head with the theme of compromising with reality and the importance of dreams. In fact the pick of Maiki-P is not at all surprising as he basically has the same message WxS has just... well harsher.

The Big thing people have ignored however is by focusing on the lyrics, they've ignored something that's personally to me even more telling and that's the line distribution

We know for a fact colorpalet loves to mess around with line distribution, weither it's to make characters say lines that fit them or to kind of foreshadow their headspace.

Now something Big happens with the line distribution of Cyberpunk Deadboy that i've seen NO ONE notice and that's in the last chorus (that and also Tsukasa's lines which people have pointed out but it works less on it's own which is why I'm gonna analyse his lines afterwards).

This is the only time the chorus is like that, the others have a much more even distribution.

In fact the distribution choice makes it look like the rest of WxS is Talking to Rui.

It's even more evident considering the lines they chose to make WxS sing compared to only just Rui

Emu/Tsukasa/Nene saying kimi (you)

Rui saying boku (i)

Which honestly makes me think this is colorpalet foreshadowing some kind of issue reguarding specifically Rui. Remember Emu's second event ? The story of Rilley whose imagination was crippled by the industry to the point where he didn't really have any artistic vision until Emu's grandpa helped him.

In fact remember how the flashback that showcases that has Rilley working on a film

Now we get to Tsukasa's line which have been pointed out to be kind of sus but it's not just his lines.

Tsukasa refuses to sing with Rui (unless it's a line they all sing together but i consider those exceptions). In fact pretty much everyone has a duo line with each other except those two.

In fact in the section where Rui has duo lines with everybody, Tsukasa is the only one he doesnt sing with and the visuals make it clear that it's something that we're supposed to find strange

And then we of course have Tsukasa's solo lines

Tsukasa is the only one that say "fuzakeruna" outside of Rui (of course ignoring entire group WxS lines) and i've seen some people pointed out how it sounds like he's saying it in response to Rui's lines. Which I agree with.

Then we got his big boy solo lines

These lines will make more sense with my theory/analysis but right now if we go with the idea that WxS in the last chorus were speaking to Rui and Tsukasa in this comm refuses to sing with Rui then this implies those lines are Tsukasa speaking to Rui.

And this is where the insanity begins because people have pointed out a concerning trend with Ruikasa that I know some people use for shipping fuel but for me kinda feels more so like foreshadowing.

IGNORING all the ARG ass weirdness of the Fixer 2dmv, this choice to switch Ruikasa's colors have to mean something in my opinion outside of just wholesome shipping influence especially considering the two songs they do this are less than jovial.

What this kind of color switching signifies to me is that, Ruikasa somehow are/or will switch places.

And with that let me bring back Tsukasa's lines

These lines stand out because Tsukasa before remembering his dreams was extremely shallow only doing things for fame and probably the money that would come with it.

Now if you think about everything I've layed out I think you can gain a pretty clear picture.

Of Rui falling into the trap Rilley did, becoming jaded and losing the true motivation of his dream (or at least starting to have doubts). Becoming stuck with the struggle of managing dreams and reality.

Rui's costume even has a mask which can be a metaphor for his artistic voice and individuality being silenced .

Which now you get into the line distribution where WxS is implied to be talking to Rui.

And you get to Tsukasa, who is refusing to sing with Rui and in fact seems to be arguing with Rui if we really want to overthink it. In fact almost switching their roles from the main story.

Because Tsukasa has grown now and how else to show that growth than to switch Rui and Tsukasa's perspectives/roles.

Now how this would happen really depends since there are multiple ways they can go about it with the time they have.

There is obviously mystery dude dude (who i know now is sakaki) who still gives me bad vibes. However there is actually two way they can make mystery dude trigger this sort of plot :

-Mystery dude is malicious and actively manipulates/confronts Rui to make him rethink his worldview

-Mystery dude isn't malicious but instead is just jaded/has been through a lot of industry bullshit which ends up rubbing off on Rui accidentally

But you can even just not have mystery dude involved with this at all (which i doubt but still) because you know what loose plotpoint is still lingering over WxS, fucking Asahi

Rui still has not talked about Asahi to WxS, in fact Curtain Call ends on an explicit cliffhanger which is never really emotionally concluded (at least in Rui's own events, technically the arc ender did but there are still a lot of loose threads from that arc). Why would Colorpalet make Asahi come back after Rui graduates, they could've just had him disappear into the sunset but instead they hint at his potential comeback.

Unless Rui will be forced to again confront similar feelings he did during Curtain Call this time with possibly an added layer of whatever happens during WxS's freelance arc.

Anyways yeah this is overly complicated but then again colorpalet is not being easy with us so...yeah.

#project sekai #pjsk rui #rui kamishiro #wxs #wonderlandxshowtime #project sekai theory #project sekai analysis #rui kamishiro analysis #wxs rui #wxs tsukasa #tsukasa tenma #rui #cyberpunk deadboy #i'm sorry if this giant wall of text makes sense to nobody but me but i need this to leave myt mind otherwise i explode #and also i'm not looking at twitter for theories of this event because twitter is the breeding ground of bad takes so idk if i'm the only #one but it's very interesting #anyways i really don't want any “but what if the comm is not at all related to the event at all” because we've had active confirmation #colorpalet describe events and give at least on sentence prompts to commissioners (which we know pinnochioP and the creators of Mr.Showtime #I believe) and again even if it WERE the case and it was a fluke or a rewrite or whatever #it doesnt change the fact colorpalet made an active choice to make the line distribution and 2dmv like this #this is the motherfuckers that foreshadowed an arc ender years before through a fucking song cover art #complain about their writing all you want these motherfuckers love little detail oriented shit like this for better and for worse

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