#Spectator Scarf

[fashionscape]

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

“Robbie is gone! I’m still here! And I refuse to live in his shadow!”

Rastapopoulos himself may be out of the picture, but his ghost continues to haunt those who were caught in his web.

A collaboration with @aboardthescheherazade using her OC Marlene Katz - an actress Tintin tries to save in Cigars of the Pharaoh!

Five years later and Tintin is baffled to see Hollywood starlet Marlene Katz turn up at his doorstep asking for help. Formerly under the thumb of Cosmos Pictures, Marlene became an unsuspecting witness to Rastapopoulos’ criminal activity and now the mob is after her, seeking to tie up some loose ends. To top things off, she is due to make a public appearance at The Golden Palm, a prestigious film festival. After years of hiding, Marlene is determined to get her acting career back on track, and this film may be her big break.

Tintin is highly suspicious. Chang, on the other hand, is utterly star struck, and after noticing an uncanny resemblance between the two hatches a ridiculous scheme that may finally put an end to this particular problem. It might just work, but Marlene makes the last minute decision to also go undercover, feeling immense guilt over having Tintin and Chang risk their lives for her.

While Tintin is running around in heels and beating up mobsters Haddock is away on a weekend break with Ramo Nash. Before leaving he asked Chang to keep Tintin away from any incidents and to promise not to throw any house parties.

This was my first collab on this blog and I had a lot of fun bouncing ideas off with Vaye. Her blog was one of the first Tintin blogs I followed - definitely check it out, it’s an absolute treasure trove of resources and research! Below are a few notes of stuff we discussed while making this:

- After the Blue Lotus, Marlene breaks away from Rastapopoulos and pulls back from the film industry to lay low, teaching dance classes instead. He keeps trying to come back to her, leaving her exhausted and paranoid. Since Rastapopoulos always considered Marlene to be pretty stupid he never made much of an effort to properly hide his criminal activities from her, but Marlene was able to slowly piece things together...

- This adventure takes place after St. Benezet’s Basement (the boarding school story) and before Call of the Songbird (Tintin Fucks Up and Steals A Whistle). Tintin is still in the grips of trauma from the canon stories. Chang is starting to settle in. Haddock and Nash’s relationship is in full swing, but they are keeping things quiet from everyone else. 

- In some sketchbook comics I did to flesh out ideas there’s hints of Tintin being gay and asexual, his complete lack of interest in Hollywood actresses and his mild irritation of people’s judgements being clouded by crushes! Chang’s attraction to Marlene however, foreshadows his feelings for Tintin later on down the line.

- There’s a role reversal theme going on here. Both Tintin and Marlene are victims of Rastapopoulos but in very different ways. By playing each others’ roles they both can get a clearer picture of how Rastapopoulos hurt people, and therefore a better understanding of their own traumas. Tintin is usually spontaneous and rarely makes himself known, but here he is playing a set character. Marlene as an actress, on the other hand, is used to receiving direction from others, but circumstance pushes her to improvise. I can imagine her using her skills as an actor to get into character as an ace reporter to fake some much needed bravery!

- Marlene’s disguise is literally just stuff she pulls from Tintin’s and Chang’s closets. She’s wearing Tintin’s trenchcoat, dress shirt and suspenders and Chang’s spectator shoes, trousers and scarf!

- Marlene is a very skittish person but will be compelled to do what she believes is the right thing. As Vaye put it, “Marlene’s bravery under fire is that she’s like the one person in a room who’s willing to get a spider outside...” Marlene is also older than Tintin and pretty much views him as a child, even though he’s in his early 20s at this point. She feels incredibly guilty about what Rastapopoulos did to him and the fact he’s risking his life for her. She feels some level of responsibility for him.

This all started because I thought it would be cool for Tintin to beat some guys up in drag

[rosedom]

Since you always serve us, let me serve you an imagination ( ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

Imagine aether or scara being so bratty and pouty all day, just genuinely being a cute meanie saying how they don't want to talk to you because they're so stressed out so you start kissing them everywhere and showering them with love, giving them the softest vanilla sex they've ever had. And the best part was you weren't even rough, you treated them like the king's they fucking are but they look so fucked dumb and cock drunk like they'd just beg you not to pull out because they just want more of your love cuz who wouldn't want a someone like you 😭🫰

—🪷

"in an open match, 【 🪷 】 has invited AETHER to play . . . stressed by day, blissed by night

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!aether, snarky aether (at first), couch sex, vaginal fingering & sex, gentle & full of praise, creampie, cockwarming .

A/N : i chose aether ,, i am a simple man . . .

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Today's been a busy day for Aether.

Commission after commission, all with no fruits to show for his reaping. And all day, he'd whined at you and shooed you away, pouting at you whenever you tried to so much as lay a soft kiss against his lips.

Really, he's been nothing short of a brat.

"I don't wanna talk to you right now."

You whine, draping yourself across your boyfriend's shoulders and nuzzling into his neck, shy of his blushing ear. The pointed tip of it jabs into your temple, but you pay it no mind as you busy yourself with the expanse of his honeyed skin. "But baby—"

Aether tilts, turns his head away from you, but it only serves to expose more skin to your light touch. He groans and reaches for your head, batting at your hair until you whine again. "'m stressed," he says, as if that's a good 'nuff answer for you.

"And I'm your—" Aether moves his hand to clamp over your mouth instead, keeping you from saying anything else.

When you lick at his palm, he grumbles at you, a disgruntled n' whiny "stopp." The sound is rather pitiful, really, but you grin nonetheless; it makes you wanna see what other lil' sounds you can draw out of his pretty throat.

"But baby," you drawl, repeat it, dragging your tongue across the freckles on his neck and pausing to suckle at the bob of his Adam's apple. "I missed you." You try to frown, right into the hollow of his throat, make him feel your hankering.

At his responding whimper—a sound you feel wash over your ear, a vibration that reverberates through your lips and down to your toes—, you can't help but go back to grinning, instead.

Hook, line, and sinker, all without even getting his knickers down to his knees !

So, "Baby," you say.

He tries to hum, at that; but his soft, sounding sound is more akin to another breathless whimper, one masquerading as a meak "hm."

"You're tired."

"No shit." Well. He's got his voice back enough to snide, to yip and yap at your gentle teases; but, really, he's loosening in your arms and under your wandering lips. His attitude is a only a weak façade, the physical accumulation of the day's—the week's, the month's, the year's, the fucking life's—stresses.

With a last, suckling kiss to a prominent freckle—more of a beauty mark, to be honest, pigmented and stark amidst otherwise subtle freckles, lots of sunspots—atop his clavicle, one you found by tugging his scarf down, you lean back on up and bump your nose against his.

Gently, you shush him; then you press your lips against his, soft and slow and sweet, letting him melt into you. He whimpers, again, even without the introduction of tongue.

Aether is, simply put, fuckin' exhausted.

You tell him so. "You're exhausted," you say, enunciate, nipping at his bottom lip as you leave it kiss-bitten and red. This time, he doesn't snark, and you know then and there that he's submitted. "Let me take care of you tonight, honey. Please?"

He nods, and, "Okay. Okay. Please." Your name is gasped out, too, smothered in the messy kiss you give him at the first go-ahead.

"My sweet Aether," you murmur.

"Y-yeah?"

Getting his garments off is easy: scarf, done; crop top, off and tossed away; knickers and boxers, gone in one fell-swoop. He's bare in front of you quickly, the expanse of scarred, freckled and sun-spotted skin absolutely appetizing, to you.

And, in gentle reply, smoothed right to the erratic flutter of his pulse: "Let me make you feel good."

After that, moving him to the sofa is an mindless thing; you push him to sit down, get comfy, for the mere seconds it takes you to strip yourself. Clothes gone—out of sight, out of mind—you tumble on top of him, and he giggles—tired, huffing lil' things, but still giggles, nonetheless—, and you smother him in kisses, in sweet praises.

His giggles turn to gasps, his gasps into quiet moans. You're working another deep mark into his neck when he starts grinding into you, and you decide it's time to move on. "Up, up," you mutter, taking hold of his pretty hips, the fat of them filling your palms, and spin the two of you around.

Aether yelps your name, clinging onto your shoulders as his world is upended. "What—" he starts, whines, but you settle him properly onto your lap and bump your groin against his. The whisper of your cock against his makes him shiver.

Around you, his arms shake; his abs ripple when you tease your fingertips down his torso, the hair of his happy trail; and his hips try to jump away at the feeling of your fingers across his cunt. You hold him down easily enough with one arm—a feat made easy thanks to his exhaustion, sure, but mainly the utter trust he placed in you—, and ask him, softly, "What'd I say, honey?"

"H-huh?" Whimperin' like a pup, he shakes his head, crying out when your fingers gentle him open, one, two, three. The process is long, sure; but it's an art, to you—an act of love as each finger slips inside, the stretch of each one you soothe with kisses and sweet words.

You curl the three of them upwards, soaked down to your wrist, bumping your palm against his jutting cock. "What'd I say, earlier? Told you I was gonna do two things to you tonight."

Aether whines, clenching around your knuckle-deep fingers. "Y—you, ah—" You slide them out slowly, and he catches his breath, hot puffs of air against your own marked-up throat. "You said you'd take care of me."

"And?" you implore, not unkindly. He mewls, shivers, lets you lift him up enough to nudge the swollen, pre-cum slick head of your cock against his hole. "And what, darlin'?"

He moans, high and ready, scrambling for hold on your biceps when you slowly drop him, giving him inch by inch of your cock. "A-and—" he tries, at first, before he crumbles and falls forward into your neck once more at the pressure of your cock against his g-spot.

"Breathe, honey, breathe. You're doing so well, lettin' me take care of you, lettin' me—"

"Make me feel good! You—" he squirms on your cock, crying out desperately into your neck. He squeezes your upper arms like his cunt squeezes your dick: deliciously. "You said you'd—you'd make me feel good."

Lifting him up is easy; dropping him is even easier. He mewls and moans, whimpers and whines, and he gives you total control of his tired body. "That's right, Aeth," you coo, nipping at his ear and groaning at the slick slide of him on you, you in him. "I said I'd take care of you, and I'd make you feel good. You're perfect, lettin' me do these things to you, lettin' me make you feel nice, just as nice as you deserve."

You know it's a little cruel, forcing him up and down on your cock when he's already this tired; but the strain in his thighs is sweet, the gentle motions of your cock even more-so. He's boneless with pleasure, melting into your body while you maneuver him in the way that makes you both feel oh-so good.

Your orgasm, then, takes you by surprise. It's a slow n' steady build, one that washes over you in gentle waves and has you tugging Aether down onto you—a motion that makes him cry out n' harshly clench around your cock and leaves his cunt, wet n' sloppy, spasming, milking you for your cum. But it's rapturous nonetheless, and you reach down to thumb at his own cock and bring him over the edge, too.

"Good boy," you murmur, the two of you reveling in the remnants of your orgasms: you, in the wet-warmth of his cunt; and him, with the heat of your cum settling warm and deep in him.

However, when you try to move, try to pull out your softened cock, he cries, squeezes tight on you and keeps you snug in him. "Don't pull out," he whispers, and who are you to deny him?

"Alright, honey." He settles back into your lap enough for you to pull a throw over you both, tucking him up in warmth from all sides—inner and outer. You can feel his contented sigh in your own chest, his arms falling limp around your middle as he deeply breathes, dozes off.

Holding him close, feeling the rise and fall of his body against yours, you wonder whether you may have made him feel a bit too good—if such thing even exists. (You don't think it does.)

Today's been a busy day, after all; tonight an even busier night.

writing with my dick out ngl . . . i kind of took the request in another direction (⁠>⁠0⁠<⁠；⁠) maybe not as cock-drunk as straight up cock-passed-the-hell-out.

1 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

[cosmal]

𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐬 — 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

summary — you go to james' footy match, despite hating crowds and it being cold.

warnings/tags — fem!reader, she/her pronouns, professionalrugbyplayer!james, shy!reader, something short!

note — okay this is solely based on how australian rugby works! I'm assuming it's not that different to uk rugby tbh. also very much professional player james! not small town team.

word count — 1.2k

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you went to one of James’s matches. Maybe a few weeks. You remember how cold the last one was - the mud, your wind-whipped cheeks, the massive crowd.

You remember getting stuck in a group of rowdy, 20-something-year-old men. They seemed to be big fans of your boyfriend, cheering and jumping for each try he scored and conversion he kicked. They spilt beer on you and trod all over your feet. You also remember what James had said, Sweetheart, next time tell me you’re coming and I’ll organise you to sit up in a box. You’re freezing.

The thing you remember most was James’s face when he saw you in the sheds. He looked so goddamn happy it wasn’t even funny. You never really come to his games, you hate the crowds so much, and the fact that rugby season is in winter. You’d much rather to watch it live on your TV, in the comfort of your own home.

James knows this, he’s completely fine with it. Well, that’s what he says. It’s okay, Y/N. This match is supposed to be really big and I’d much rather you stay home than get caught up in all the commotion. That was what he had said to you once. He knows you get nervous, no matter whether you’re in the middle of the grandstands or tucked away upstairs with his coach, watching in a spectator’s box. It’s too much for you.

Still, you want to support him. This is his job, his life. And the spectacle of a large crowd is something you can put aside for a moment if it means you get to see your boyfriend tackle some men to the ground, get all muddy and sweaty, and then his eyes light up when he sees you afterwards. It’s completely worth it.

It wasn’t cold when you left, you swear of it. Now, you’re sat up in the middle of the front grandstand, in a much quieter section. But still, the wind has picked up and the sun doesn’t look as if it’ll come out again. The outfit you decided to wear isn’t a bad one, but you still wished you’d worn a warmer coat. Maybe a scarf.

You have the perfect view of James as he runs the field. Passing off the ball to assist with try’s, scoring his own, kicking and tackling as hard as he can. You can tell he’s a star player with how hard he pushes himself, instructing which plays to run and calling out all the important things you should on the field. He’s a born leader.

He’s sweaty and stuck with mud and grass. Muscles straining through the jersey that’s the tiniest bit too small. He’s a total turn-on on the field and you’re excited to find him afterwards. Especially because you’re entirely frozen, and it's loud and overwhelming. Still, you watch him win the match with the biggest grin. 

You climb the endless stairs up to the top of the stadium, past security guards that know you from the few times you’ve been back here, through corridors and hallways until you make it to the home-team sheds.

You can hear their cheering and rowdiness before you open the door and momentarily almost decide on waiting until later. That is until the doors are opening before you can even push your palm flat against the metal frame.

It’s much warmer inside - much stuffier. You push past other family members, girlfriends and friends, and spot him before he does you. The back of his head, the mess of unruly curls that you probably should’ve offered to braid back this morning before he left.

“Potter, your girl's here!’’ You hear one of his teammates call before he turns around, confused.

He’s squinting at first, obviously without the contacts he wears for his games. Then lighting up like an excited puppy the moment he clocks you amidst the chaos that is his buzzing, win-high, team. 

He closes the gap between you and picks you up in a messy, sweaty hug. You’re all giddy when you push your face into his sticky neck. Breathing in his scent. Sweat, dwindling, boyish deodorant and grass. Something that follows him home even after a post-game shower.

“Which girl were you expecting, Potter?” you tease, speaking into his skin. He chuckles when he settles you back down, the feel of it reverberating through your chest.

“One of the many I have on call,” he entertains, arms still wrapped around your lower back. This close you can feel his pecs pressed into you after spending the entire match discretely drooling over them. He’s firm and broad. One of the many benefits of having a rugby player boyfriend.

“You played really well,” you tell him, tucking ink black locks behind his ears. He turns into your hand.

“Thanks, lovely. You’re my good luck charm.”

He’s too kind.

“Where are your glasses?” you ask, bunching the hem of his jersey in your hands, exposing the slip of flesh that covers his hip bones, glistening with perspiration. 

“In my bag,” he answers, “What are you doing here?”

You press a kiss to the skin of the bottom of his jaw, “To see my boyfriend tackle some strong men.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod gleefully.

“Does that require dressing like it’s not 7 degrees outside?” he scolds, albeit with zero heat. Less heat than his body is creating this close against yours. Where his big hands traverse a path up the length of your back.

“It’s not that cold,” you defend. Still, you melt under his touch. “I’m wearing more clothes than you!” You say it like it makes any sense.

“You didn’t just run a hundred laps of a football field.” He frowns.

“M’sorry,” you pout. James melts. Completely crumbles under your soft gaze.

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, squeezing you close before letting you go again, “Just let me know next time, I’ll put you somewhere warm.”

“I know, you tell me every time.”

“Then listen to me,” James laughs as he moves to the other side of the shed. You follow him like a lost puppy, weaving through players.

“I wanted to surprise you.” You tell him like arguing matters. He’ll be hating himself the entire night for not knowing you were out in the cold. It obviously wasn’t your plan but it’ll still happen.

“Well consider me surprised, babe. Your arms are like popsicles.” James rummages through his bag until he finds his jumper. Turning back around to pull it over your head. You fit your arms through it and brush the ruffled hairs from your face. Brandished in his team colours, you beam in his clothes. 

“Cute,” James murmurs.

Your face warms, “Stop.” You cover your cheeks with your sleeved hands.

“You’re never taking that off.”

“James.”

“I’m serious, you’re fucking adorable,.” he groans like it’s actually painful. You can tell he’s trying to make you comfortable in an environment you have trouble with. You despise his flirty methods. Or love them, you’re not sure.

“Okay, c’mon. Go get you’re stuff, we’re going home.”

“I need to shower.”

“We have a shower at home, if I remember correctly,” you quirk with a tilt of your lips. James’s eyes glint knowingly.

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah.”

“Shit, okay. Let me grab my shit, I’ll be five minutes.”

[martybaker]

For the WIP game!

I would love for you to share anything you thought or wrote about Only Fools Rush In. 💕💕 It's so cute!

Sorry I took so long to answer! I’m so happy you’re interested in my dreamling ice skating au! ❤️

As a matter of fact, there’s been some new development in this au! I’ve watched Dead Boy Detectives and funnily enough, this au featured 4 students, one of them an incorrigible matchmaker and another a no-nonsense badass who gives Hob some advice, and Dead Boy Detectives gave me all of those! So this story now features DBD gang as guest stars 😅

And here are two excerpts, one to give some context and another featuring my best girl Niko 😊

(part one of this au here, an excerpt here, yet another excerpt here)

—-

“Hob,”Dream asks, squeezing Hob’s hand tight, “Did you, by any chance, tweet about this?”

“No,” Hob says, but his face is telling a different story.

Dream gives him his best teacher glare that always makes students come clean, and

Hob proves to be no exception - he blushes, admitting his crimes. “Umm, I might have shared a story on instagram? But I didn’t share a picture of us, or the location, nor did I mention your name!”

“And yet, here they are,” Dream grumbles, stopping by the boards of the ice rink (against the boards, his stopping technique still needs work). He pulls out his phone and opens instagram.

There it is, a view of the ice rink with the word “revenge” written over it, followed by an evil emoji.

“You’re an idiot, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, exasperated. “Did you really think that the kids with their smartphones today wouldn’t be able to find the location? Did you think they wouldn’t figure out that I am your company? They know about our bets, they’re the main spectators! And you teach them how to look for the missing context, for heaven’s sake,” Dream says, jabbing a finger into Hob’s chest.

———

Unsurprisingly, the first one to catch up with them is Niko, who is the fastest one (and unfortunately, the one with the least sense for tact).

“Hiii! Oh Professor Endeles, I didn’t know you knew how to skate!”

“I don’t,” Dream grumbles. “I’m learning.”

“That’s so nice that Professor Gadling took you out here to teach you! I really think this ice skating rink with the lights and the music is such a romantic place, don’t you think?”

Dream resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t care about the lights. Or the music.”

But Niko chatters on as if he hadn’t spoken a word. “I love ice skating, it’s so fun, isn’t it? And today is perfect for an outing with good company! Oh, isn’t that Professor Gadling’s scarf?” She points at Dream’s neck, looking absolutely delighted.

Dream grimaces, then glares at Hob who is visibly suppressing giggles next to him.

“Yes. I was cold,” Dream explains, tone icy.

“Aww, that’s so thoughtful of you Professor Gadling! This is the best, spending a nice winter evening together, holding hands!”

“Niko,” Hob admonishes, “we’re just here to ice skate. It’s Dream’s first time. Yes, we are holding hands, it’s necessary as he’s not yet confident to skate on his own. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Dream mutters.

———

(I figured I should make a tag for this au, so you can now follow #ofri dreamling au if you’re interested 😊)

[leastparanoidandroid]

i think a big part of dune highlighted in villeneuve’s adaptations is the idea of the unrecognizable.

paul sees lady jessica become unrecognizable. she is not the same. she is his mother still, but what has happened to her? she is cold. she is veiled. she has the memories of uncountable women. she can see it all.

chani sees paul become unrecognizable. he is her lover still, but what has happened to him? he is violent. he wields unimaginable power. he has risen to godhood. he can see it all.

the audience sees a world that has become unrecognizable. it is the world still, but what has happened to it? what has happened to it all?

guild navigators stand with their faces obscured, and perhaps, if the books are any indicator, behind each opaque cloud of sublimated spice, there lies something mutated. something that once was human, that still walks like one, that is shaped like one, that has fragments of humanity left, but is not the same. they are themselves, but they are unrecognizable.

culture is something mutated. fragments of it are left. the o.c. bible is certainly not any bible the audience may know today. it is bits and pieces of countless religions and countless minds, warped and joined. words remain, and phrases, but they are not the same. they are in a context that is unrecognizable. names we know — does anyone even remember what idaho is? — have been passed to worlds we don’t. nuclear warheads are family heirlooms from a time long gone. eyes are strange and blue and piercing, but they are eyes we can look into. the spectators at the colosseum are infinite and painted a stark and inhuman white, but they are spectators at a colosseum nonetheless. almost every major character has their face covered by something — a veil, a metallic headpiece, a scarf, a helmet — at least once. they speak in voices we don’t know. a distance is created. yet they were once us.

familiar voices sing unfamiliar songs. themselves, but unrecognizable.

[entityverse-utmv]

Welcome to Entityverse! This AU was created by @enbyhyena with help from @new-moon44 and @the-voidkin-playground.

In this AU, reality itself has a vessel. The Void, the Anti-Void, and the Multiverse itself are confined to physical forms.

Feel free to ask any questions you may have, and maybe get some art (or writing) in return!

Main Tags:

#entityverse utmv, #entityverse art, #entityverse asks, #entityverse drabbles

Playlist: Feel free to suggest additions!

Muses Below the Cut:

Verse:

Chaotic Neutral. Omnipotent.

The physical manifestation of the Multiverse itself.

Possesses multiple characteristics from various AUs, almost like a mosaic.

5'2". They/He/She/It Pronouns.

Capable of shapeshifting, though their eyes and blush color can give them away no matter what form they take.

Likes to use their shapeshifting powers to spectate and infiltrate AUs, often "roleplaying" when bored.

Eye colors change whenever they blink, but never change shape. The yellow dots remain the same no matter what color the pupils are.

Looks different in every Multiverse that they exist in, as every Multiverse is comprised of a different line-up of AUs.

Their health and stability are directly parallel to the balance of the multiverse. If the balance tips too far in either direction, something very bad might happen...

Anti:

The physical embodiment of the Anti-Void.

Seeks to change anything that gets too close to him, chasing its own idea of "perfection".

The reason why Geno was able to escape the Save Screen and ended up in the Anti-Void.

5'6". He/It pronouns.

Void:

The physical embodiment of the Void.

Always hungry, but can never be full.

Puppydog energy; just happy to be there.

Will eat anything, even if it's inedible. This doesn't seem to have any adverse effects on them regardless.

Arms, legs, and scarf are made purely of void-magic. The void constantly shifts like static or flickering shadows.

Probably wants to eat you. It's how they show affection.

4'11. He/They pronouns.

Disclaimers:

Verse, Anti, and Void are embodiments of forces of nature—thus they are unable to be held to a normal standard of morality. They are deeply flawed and problematic characters; this is intentional. However the creators do not endorse their behaviors nor will they necessarily get away with their actions without consequences. When engaging with this blog, please beware of recurring themes of mental illness, eating disorders, and abusive relationships. These themes will likely come up often, but will be tagged accordingly; please be careful when navigating our blog and take care of yourself. We are not responsible for any harm that may come to you for engaging in content you can moderate for yourself.

For transparency: Verse as a character is very loosely inspired by @nebulaanimates's character 'Verse' over on TikTok. However, their character only served as a building block which turned into a completely different idea. The only things still shared are the name of the character and the concept of the Multiverse as a person.

[starmonsterrr]

Introducing: Undertale self-insert #102480125 (Version 1.0)

HELLO HELLO SO I KNOW I HAVE TO CATCH UP WITH INKTOBERTALE BUT SHUSH I NEED TO INTRODUCE IO'S "CREATOR" COUNTERPART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you haven't already read the introduction post of my primary Undertale 'sona' i advice you to do so. here's the link to it

DRRRRRRRRRUMMMROLLLLLLL

NOTE: THE REF NEEDS TO BE UPDATED

THIS THANG TOOK LIKE FOREVER TO FIGURE OUT BUT NOW I AM FREE FROM THE PAIN

Now it's time to explain the physics of this hhh

Aurum doesn't live inside the UTMV, but rather, exists as a creator for it, and lives in the fandom itself. That "fandom" location functions as a realm that allows for creativity from beings living in our world to brew and develop further to then take form in the UTMV itself, and is also where Creators can interact with eachother, no matter the distance.

Aurum cannot interact directly with the UTMV, but, due to being a Creator, is able to craft things and characters that live within it.

To do this, she requires a quill that it takes with itself wherever it goes. It functions as an outlet for her creative abilities.

I've also been thinking of the possibility of its soul being that quill, due to how tightly Aurum is connected to her creativity, but it might take me a bit to figure out the specifics for that.

In addition to creativity, Aurum is also able to spectate the works of other Creators, and of course, interact with said fellow Creators, but it can take her a bit to get out of it's shell.

Aurum tends to add quite an amount of detail to its work. While it has tried various artistic outlets, the one in which she excels the most is drawing, animation and writing, especially the earlier 2, as those are the hobbies it has been practicing since it has memory.

It also happens to be quite the extra-clever being. (extra clever earthbound spirit ghost in the form-)

It struggles with issues from a past fandom she used to mostly create for, and is trying to recover by 'pushing away shame', as it would word it. It also appears to have a particular dislike of what is known as cringe culture.

That scarf it wears? Just as the ref sheet says, it provides safety, but it also helps somewhat at covering up her neck scar that comes from a far older thing that happened. The scar may sometimes bleed when Aurum feels unsafe or as if it has 'slipped up creatively'.

Some bonus trivia:

Aurum's blood is gold! I made it like that because i myself have RH Null blood, which is also known as the....golden blood type.

It's design is inspired by the silver fox because I just recently found out it is one of my kintypes. And also because i have a tendency to represent myself online as a fox.

And the 'draconic' stuff? Dragon kintype, though that is covered by Io.

Speaking of, Aurum is the being that puppeteers Io.

INK FANGIRL INK FANGIRL INK FANGIRL

To add on the thing from above, this thing collects Ink images to survive.

probably has a little room full of simpy stuff

it's like a dragon hoard maybe

Aurum is meant to be in the autistic spectrum, as i myself am autistic!

I got the name Aurum from "Au", which is the periodic table of elements's symbol for gold. And y'know.... AUs! Aurum is a Creator! Doesn't that tie together nicely?

Yes, the scarf that it's wearing is a recreation of Ink's scarf.

Aurum first started as an arctic fox but then started getting covered in ink over time from drawing and drawing and drawing a lot, so it's basically identical to an actual silver fox.

Aurum sometimes stands on 2 legs, usually when interacting with other Creators.

I believe that's all i can think of right now, now off i go to catch up with Inktobertale. I may also do asks for Aurum when i take breaks! (AND I JUST REMEMBERED I MADE A SIDE BLOG TO RP AS IO HHHHH I GOTTA GET IT READY)

Later on i'll make a masterpost with the links to both Io and Aurum's posts

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 8

Today's story is Geraskifer (Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer)!

Dec 8 - Geraskifer - Fake Relationship - Fireplace

All three of them were deep in their cups -- there wasn’t much else to do while they waited for the spring thaw to open the mountain pass. They were playing Gwent, the loser ceding their chair to the spectator after each round; the playing table had been set up in front of the fire, where the light was best, and the players’ chairs were the warmest seats in the house. It was a good system - there was incentive to win, to remain by the fire, but even the loser only had to wait one game to reclaim one of the good spots.

It was something to do, at any rate, which made it better than doing nothing, though only by the slimmest of margins. After more than a month in this place, they’d all learned each other’s tells, sober or drunk, and it was starting to get more than a bit tedious. But drinking and playing Gwent was better than listening to the wind howl and worrying about Ciri.

Jaskier could think of better -- and warmer -- activities with which to pass the time, but, decades of pining aside, he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. His only consolation was that he was reasonably certain that Geralt wasn’t fucking Yennefer, either. Not unless they were doing it in utter silence, and “quiet” had not been a word he’d have used to describe Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship at any time in the past.

Geralt grunted irritably and threw down the rest of his cards. “I’m going to check Roach.” He stalked out of the little cabin and out into the storm without even pausing to put on a scarf.

“He seems tense,” Jaskier observed, taking Geralt’s chair and raking the cards toward himself.

“He needs to get laid,” said Yennefer.

Jaskier made a face as he started shuffling. “I’m not stopping him.”

Yennefer hummed, collecting her cards as he dealt them. “He wants both of us.”

“The fuck he does.”

“No, really,” she said. “I’ve seen him watching you.”

“I know you’re lying to me,” Jaskier said, narrowing his eyes at her over his cards. “I just can’t figure out what your angle is.”

“My angle,” Yennefer said, “is that I think we’d all be a bit more comfortable if we were sharing the bed instead of sleeping on the floor.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He thinks we hate each other.”

Jaskier paused in the middle of laying down a card. “Because... we do.” Jaskier didn’t, actually, hate her. Not anymore. But he’d kiss Valdo Marx on the mouth before he admitted it out loud. “We very much do hate each other, Yennefer.”

“Mm.” Her fey violet eyes snared his gaze. “And what’s that got to do with fucking?”

Jaskier opened his mouth, then closed it again. She had a point. “So what do we do?”

“He’s a man,” Yennefer said. “Men are oblivious.” She gave him a stern look to keep him from protesting. He hadn’t been planning on it. “So when he comes back, we should be kissing.”

Jaskier blinked. “Kissing?”

“Yes.” She stood up and started unlacing her shirt. “Or something similar. It’s best to be direct.”

“Just like that, he’s going to believe we’ve stopped hating each other and now want to fuck?”

“Yes.”

“...All right.” Jaskier got up and started in on his pants. “And then what?” he wondered. “Just say, ‘why don’t you join us to make sure things stay civil?’”

“Not bad,” Yennefer said, grudgingly impressed. “That might even work.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled him up against her. “He’s coming,” she whispered, closing her teeth on his earlobe just a touch past the point of pain. “Act like you want this.”

[fandomsoda]

Hello

If you don't mind me asking, do you remember anything else about your dust?

Well other than his bird calling hobby I mentioned a while back (saw you interact with that though), not a ton.

He was definitely the quiet type, but was also more light-hearted than most interpretations, not very talkative but a chill air about him.

I do remember he specifically wore either a visor or a baseball cap like some people draw him with, and it was very rare to actually see his face, even his eye lights, he was usually void-faced with his hood, and he wore a dull red scarf, but only sometimes. I know that’s a lot of visual information, but I just have a lot of memories where he was present but merely a spectator to situations.

I think he was a bit of a tinkerer as well? Had a lot of small, odd hobbies iirc. He was part of Night’s team as one would guess and was usually just there when the rest were there. Besides him terrorizing me with owl sounds from time to time, we never had much friction or interaction, at least from what I can remember for now. I’m still far from having a very complete picture of everything, though..

thanks for asking either way! Hope this helped in some way.

[peakyblinderswhore]

A/N: new hiatus record: almost 3 years. Happy 1.2k!

W/C: 1.8k

Warnings: Smutty at the end but no intercourse

It was ten minutes past the hour and the dimly lit room was shrouded in an air of anticipation. Tommy was impatient and not ready to wait any longer, he had a business to run, you see. Behind him, the soft, seductive notes of a saxophone filled the space as the black curtain slowly rose before his eyes, revealing a sultry stage bathed in a single spotlight. You stood there, hidden behind a veil of crimson silk, your heart pounding in rhythm with the music.

With slow, deliberate movements, you let the silk scarf slip from your fingers, allowing it to cascade to the floor. Your eyes, framed by long lashes coated in midnight black mascara, sparkled with mischief as you batted them at the audience. The soft sighs and hushed whispers of desire filled the room. Tommy was holding back on a small groan of pain from withholding himself.

Your dress clung to every curve, its deep V-neck plunging down to reveal your ample cleavage, while the slit up the side showcased one of your long, sculpted legs. Your fingers danced lightly over your exposed skin, tracing a path from thigh to hip, drawing attention to the lacy garters that held up sheer stockings hidden underneath.

The saxophonist's melody grew more insistent, mirroring the pulse of desire in the room. You turned slowly, trying to disguise the fact that you were looking for him, hips swaying sensually, the dress following your every move. The audience was captivated by you, the enchantress, on stage, unable to tear their eyes away.

Your gaze swept across the room, searching for him. You knew he was out there, watching you with rapt attention. A sly smile played on your lips as you licked them, the bright crimson lipstick drawing his eyes like a magnet. Tommy was windswept with emotions, unable to control them much longer. His legs were splayed apart, hand resting between them on his crotch area, slumping back on his chair. He had the best seat in the house.

Reaching for the hem of your dress, you let it ride up your thigh, revealing a tantalising glimpse of what lay beneath. Gasps of excitement and desire rippled through the audience as you teased them, then just as quickly dropped the dress back down, leaving them hungry for more. You had yet to spot him in the crowd but you just knew Tommy wouldn’t be able to resist such a cheeky move.

Your body moved like a seductive melody, a dance of desire that left the audience spellbound. Every sway of your hips was a tantalising invitation, drawing them deeper into your sensual web. Your legs, long and sculpted, glided gracefully across the stage, accentuating your every curve.

As you turned, your dress clung to you like a lover's caress, revealing hints of your bare skin before concealing them once more. Your hands, gloved in black satin, became extensions of your desire, tracing delicate paths along your exposed thigh, up to your hip, and back down again. It was a tease, an erotic game of hide and seek that left Tommy yearning for more.

Your lips, painted a bold crimson parted slightly to reveal a glimpse of your pearly teeth as your tongue traced their contours. You knew the power of your mouth, the promise it held, and you used it to perfection, drawing their gaze to your every wordless invitation.

Your eyes, smokey and mysterious, held a secret that only the lucky few would ever truly uncover. They smouldered with a fiery intensity, locking onto your chosen spectator, a silent promise of passion and pleasure.

When you leaned down, your legs spread apart, revealing the lace-trimmed edge of your lingerie, the audience gasped collectively. It was a daring move, a deliberate provocation, and they revelled in it. You knew how to manipulate their desire, to make it your own.

Searching one last time, the blinding lights no longer stopping you as you step forward, you manage to spot him in the front row. He was hardly hiding the fact that he was most certainly aroused. You pretended not to notice and calculate your next moves carefully.

You approached the front row, your eyes locked on him. He couldn't hide the longing in his eyes, the way his gaze traced every inch of you. You spun away, your fingers playing with the delicate clasp that held your dress together. With a seductive smile, you faced him once more, making sure he knew that every move was for him alone before spinning away in a sultry manner.

With a final flourish, you let the dress fall open after unhooking the clasp at the front revealing a minimal, barely-there corset that left little to the imagination. You spun, arms raised above your head, letting the dress twirl around you, teasingly covering and revealing her. Your eyes locked onto his, and you mouthed, "For you."

The dress slipped off your shoulders and dropped to the floor. You stood there, wearing nothing but the alluring corset. The room's temperature seemed to rise as you ran your hands over your body, accentuating your curves.

With a sultry smile, you moved to the centre of the stage, reaching out to the band behind you, and then toying with your hair, your fingers deftly rearranging the dark curls. You swayed and undulated, your body a mesmerising dance of desire and temptation.

Your final act was a slow, deliberate strip-tease, shedding your corset and revealing your bare skin. The audience watched in breathless anticipation as you bared yourself, your movements a seductive crescendo to the intoxicating performance.

As the music reached its climax, you let out a throaty, satisfied sigh, standing there fully exposed, bathed in the spotlight's glow. The room erupted in applause and cheers, but you were only interested in one set of eyes—the ones that had been on you from the beginning.

With a lingering glance at him, you blew a sultry kiss, a promise of things to come, before strutting off the stage, leaving the audience in a feverish frenzy of desire.

After the electrifying performance, the backstage was a whirlwind of emotions and anticipation. The audience’s applause still echoed in the air as you slipped away from the stage, heart pounding with the knowledge that you had captivated not only the crowd but also him – Tommy.

In the darkness backstage, you found him waiting, and without a word, you succumbed to the irresistible pull you had both felt throughout the performance, both of your desires finally merging in an explosion of passion and longing.

Tommy was unforgiving, as always, pulling you into your dressing room and slamming the door shut, barely managing to lock the door. He was too preoccupied with his mouth on your neck, breasts, clavicle, neck again and jaw before reaching your lips. He was breathy – like the first time he had sprinted through the damp and groggy lanes of Birmingham for you when you had both been much younger. 

He paused, momentarily and without a word, he was closing the distance again, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. Looking into your eyes, he saw a reflection of his own desire. How could you possibly resist?

“Tommy,” you whisper, voice barely audible with the bustle and bustle of the backstage chaos behind the closed door.

Of course, he didn’t need words. The kiss you shared spoke volumes, a passionate and hungry embrace that left you both breathless. It was a kiss born of desire, a longing that had been building for far too long.

As you pulled away from each other. Your foreheads touching, he spoke in a low husky voice, “I can’t stay away form you, love. Your performance tonight… it’s like you were dancing just for me.”

A sly smile plays on your lips as you trace a finger along his jawline, his electrifying blue gaze waiting and watching.

“That’s because I was. Every move,” you pause, taking a small breath in, chest still rising and falling rhythmically, “was for you. On that stage, I’m always struck by your stare.”

His grip on you tightened, as if he never wanted to let you go. “You drive me mad, you know that?”

You chuckled softly. Fingers tangling in his hair, “And you; the same to me, Tommy.”

Hidden away in your cloakroom, Tommy had suddenly been captivated by you and could no longer resist your allure any longer.

The dressing room was cloaked in shadows, the only illumination coming from a single dimly lit lamp. The air was thick with anticipation as Tommy and you stood face to face, your desire for each other palpable.

Tommy's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, his finely tailored suit brushing against your bared skin. Your lips met in a searing kiss, a union of longing and passion.

You tasted like temptation and desire, your mouth warm and inviting. His tongue danced with hers, a slow and sensual exploration that left them both breathless. As you kissed, your bodies pressed together, moulding to each other's contours.

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing them one by one. The soft material slipped from his shoulders, revealing the expanse of his chest. Your lips left his for a moment, trailing kisses along his jawline and down to his neck. Tommy's eyes fluttered closed as he relished the sensation of your mouth on his skin.

He reciprocated, his hands roaming over your body, tracing the curves and contours that had tantalised him on stage. The lace of her lingerie was a delicate barrier that he couldn't wait to breach.

With practised ease, he unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your breasts, full and inviting, were bared to him. Tommy's fingers brushed over your sensitive flesh, eliciting a soft moan from you. He bent down, capturing one taut nipple in his mouth, suckling gently as you arched against him.

Your hands continued their exploration, sliding down his chest to the buckle of his belt. With trembling fingers, you undid it and then the button of his trousers. You could feel his arousal pressing against her, a promise of what was to come.

As your clothes fell to the floor, you stood before each other, exposed and vulnerable. The dressing room was a sanctuary of desire, a place where their long-held fantasies could finally be realised.

With a hunger that could no longer be denied, you both surrendered to the pull of your bodies, entwined in a sensual dance that left you both breathless and sated. In that intimate moment, it was no longer Tommy and you instead, you were two souls consumed by a fiery and irresistible passion that neither of you could bear to deny for a moment longer.

[kyovtani]

Am absolutely obsessed with pining! Shinichiro >.<

Like he sees you every morning at 7.25 sharp walk past the shop with a cup in your hand and a pastry bag in the other, backpack and cute earcuffs on, probably listening to some tune to give yourself the energy before your lessons begins.

And then he sees you again through the shop's window in the evenings, at various times, walking slower, hands in pockets to protect them from the cold, big scarf around your neck and lower face and tousled hair because of the wind.

You always seem to have a purpose in your steps and Shinichiro feels like a spectator whenever you pass by, but it doesn't really matter: you are so cute and pretty that he won't mind peeking at you for those five or six steps a day, even if his friends and little brother call him "degenerate" or "creep". There really is nothing creepy about his staring: just a weak, big heart.

One time, however, you look through the window: it's another winter morning and Shin has opened the shop earlier to catch up on some work; he's exhausted and cold and bored and he doesn't really mind his appearance for once, opting for an oversized black sweater and sweatpants. Of course, that's when the two of you make eye contact through the windows shop: you are on your phone, talking animatedly with someone, and for a second he swears you stop to look.

It's only an instant but that's enough for his body to catch on fire.

He doesn't see you walk by that evening.

The next day he's forced to stay home for the morning and recover from the cold he caught previously (which explains his extreme fatigue) and it's around lunchtime that he leaves home to get lunch at a pastry shop close to his shop.

Poor guy almost has a heart attack when he sees you right behind him in line. And when you see him and recognize him? Deceased.

At least he recovers enough to pay for your pastries too.

Pining Shin is the best because he's an absolute dork

nonie this had me so excited i wrote so much and it got deleted so i hope the second bersion does your big brain justice! thank you so much for this, deffo the way i'd imagine shin to be 🥺💞💗

and after the two of you leave the shop, shinichiro is determined to get to know you better and to his luck, you don't seem uncomfortable because you are talking to him, telling him about random things and yet he can't help but be distracted by you.

he's never expected you to be so much prettier, so much softer and so much cuter up close, which is probably why he's staring at you like he's never seen another human being before. shin is aware of his prying gaze and he feels so sorry about it, yet can't stop taking in the gentle sight of your beautiful face. your lips, your nose, your eyes – those god damn eyes, he feels suffocated and trapped in the sweetest and best way possible.

ask for her number, his brain is basically screaming at him to just go for it because after all he's been observing and watching your for so long, yet he's never had the guts to go out and actually ask you anything. he didn't want to seem like a creep who's got your arrival memorized so he could wait at the front door for you.

and before his brain and his body can cooperate, he finds himself rudely interrupting your little ramble about how much you love the pastries at this particular shop.

"your number!" those two words leave his lips before he can even realise and only the way your lips stretch into the cutest smile he's ever seem makes his brain process what he just said.

"oh my god- i'm so sorry", he mumbles quickly and pushes a hand through his thick hair, revealing his ring and tattoo clad fingers to your curious eyes, "i – i was actually – can i have your number?"

at this point shinichiro has lost the last bit of hope he's had to actually get your number when all of a sudden you ask for his phone and quickly type it in; adding a cute little heart next to your name before handing it back to him.

and once the two of you part ways again, he's busy celebrating, whereas you're trying not to giggle about your plan working out exactly how you've wanted it to. because little did the cute boy from the random show at the end of your street know that you intentionally changed your route from the door to your bus station to get a quick glimpse of him whenever you're on the go.

[doodlegraveyard]

Red Riot and Dynamight  steal a moment away from the cameras.

It’s been a long time since I drew my krbk kid but I was having emotions about him.

[Image description: Red Riot and Dynamight stand in full hero costume, crowding around a small boy with dark blonde hair in a green jacket. Kirishima stands uncharacteristically imposing, resting his hand gently on his son’s back and putting himself between his family and the spectators. He sends a warning glance over his shoulder, towards the viewer. Bakugo, by contrast only has eyes for his kid, completely ignoring whatever Kirishima is shielding them from. He’s kneeling in the snow, in a winter version of his costume, talking to him and pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. Even though he is only seen from the back, the distinct lightning bolt of darker hair makes him look unmistakably like Kaminari  End description.]

[annbott]

I’m Writing My Story Anyway.

Yeah, I decided that listening to Soldier, Poet, King is a good enough reason to write. So my story revolves around Fell. And no, it’s not Sans. To sum it up, I was inspired by my first role playing buddy to make AU’s of my own, different versions of myself, and boy howdy have they come a long way! So, they all have completely different stories and personalities compared to the Undertale fandom. Fell, for example, is Ann, but she has a completely different name, and her personality is more patient. She’s calm, persistent yet gentle, she takes no bullshit, and she’s pretty stern, acting as the “mother” of the group. Ann, on the other hand, has evolved from an insecure, quiet, sad shell of a person since living with Fell from age 11, to someone who’s bold, anxious about virtually everything yet still always has something to say, and she’s hot headed and stubborn. Ann’s story will be later as I’m trying to figure out how to make it make more sense ;-;

Ok, now about Fell. Name: Regan Koi Wright (Nickname: Fell)

Gender: Female

Mother: Cadence Kristina Wright

Father: She doesn’t remember

Ok, powers. Yeah, all the AU’s have a unique form of Sans’s power. We have the obvious ones: Bone manipulation (ig they can make them appear out of nowhere) teleportation, and blasters. But they have their own Unique Powers too! Along with their own flame/soul color! Fell’s would be a red-orange flame. I don’t do Dark Red for anyone other than my antagonists :’)

Fell’s Unique Powers: A healing flame and the ability to view the past. She cannot interact with anything or anyone, she would merely be a spectator along with whoever she chooses to bring along with her.

Fell’s appearance! Fell is pretty modest. She’ll wear anything that’s deemed “appropriate” to her. One thing she refuses to take off unless absolutely necessary is her mother’s checkered red and orange scarf. She doesn’t let anyone touch it, but the only two people she trusts with it are Ann and Blueberry. Fell has about shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, a little braid in the front. She is beautiful, but with one flaw. Across her left eye is a scar that healed improperly. She got it from protecting Ann (who was 11) from a horrific event. Inexperienced with her healing power, it didn’t heal without leaving a permanent reminder of the day she believes she failed to fully protect someone. She’s got grey eyes, shes an average height, and when her powers are in use, her eye color becomes her power color, and if she commands it, or feels a powerful enough emotion, the flame will emit from one or both eyes.

Damn, that was long, but I’m glad you were interested enough to stay till the end. I hope you’re as excited as I am to read the story as I am to write it!

[magicalsydney]

December Dramione Drabble

The frigid air whipped around Hermione as she sat at the top row of the quidditch stands. She promised Harry she would watch his final game, and she cursed her loyalty to his friendship at the moment. She placed herself toward the top of the stands, away from the crowd of Hogwarts students hoping to escape the whispers and unwanted admirers.

The wooden bleachers creaked next to her, and she found Malfoy approaching her. He was bundled in a dark wool coat, covered in black from head to toe, except his green and grey scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

“Granger, why are you all the way up here? It’s freezing.” He inquired, sitting next to her.

“Too many people down there.” She explained and moved closer to him, so their bodies were nearly touching. “Why are you here at all?” She asked.

“I happen to like quidditch.” He responded, bumping his shoulder against hers. She looked over at him and threw him an eye roll. She knew the last thing he wanted to do was sit out in the cold watching a Gryffindor and Slytherin match he was not a part of. “I saw you from the castle. You looked lonely up here.” He confessed and scooted even closer to Hermione, the space between them now non-existent.

“No one is paying attention to us. All eyes are on Potter.” He quipped. She could tell by the wrinkle in his forehead and the way his eyes were moving that he was searching for the snitch, his seeker instincts working even as a spectator.

“You know he asked me to invite you to Christmas at Grimmauld.” She declared, moving her gaze away from him and back toward the field, afraid to see Draco’s reaction.

“Hmm, Weasley going to be there?” He asked, his eyes not leaving the sky in front of him.

“No. Just me. Harry doesn’t want to go over to the burrow on Christmas Day. Things are still a little awkward with Ginny and whatnot. So we promised we would be there for each other. Sleep in, watch Christmas movies, make a nice dinner.”

“You didn't think to ask me what I was doing for Christmas?” He questioned, his voice slightly terser than the last time he spoke.

“Like I said, I thought you wanted to be discreet.” She said softly. He placed a hand on her knee, and she looked at him in response. She felt tears begin to form behind her eyes at the thought of spending Christmas without him. This Christmas would be her first without her parents, without the Weasleys. She wanted to be with Draco; she just didn’t want to have to ask.

“I’ll be there.” He confirmed.

“Thank you.” She whispered, giving him a small smile, and they both went back to watching the match in silence. After a few minutes, Hermione shivered from the cold wind. She felt Draco moving next to her and noticed him unraveling his scarf from his neck. Before she could protest, Draco leaned over and wrapped his scarf around her tightly. After he finished, he leaned in close to her, taking her face in his hands; he whispered, “Fuck discreet.” and kissed her.

Loud cheers from a few rows below broke out, and Hermione and Draco pulled apart quickly to see what caused the commotion. Hermione and Draco thought the snitch had been caught, but they found a group of fellow 8th years staring back at them, cheering.

“I knew it!” Neville yelled.

“You owe me twenty galleons.” Theo cheered, pointing at Pansy.

“Go, Hermione!” Luna hollered.

“I guess all eyes weren’t on Harry.” Hermione giggled, smiling at Draco as he threw his arm over he shoulder and pulled her in close.

Fin.

[the-little-cookie-corner]

Can I request some caregiver DE hcs since you mentioned DE being a caregiver in pomegranate's hcs? Curious how she would be with Littles! And if she caregives for any of the other cookies of darkness if they regress.

Care-Giver Dark Enchantress HeadCanons

⚫: DE would learn about regression helps to red velvet pet regression. At first she didnt really get it before she didnt find out Pommy was doing so as well. 🔴: After Pommy's explanantion as to the concept DE felt nothing but sympathy, let alone to her right hand. So with the expectation that there could be more (and with much pride) DE desided to be there Care-Giver! ⚫: first few times was pretty new to her, not to mention it was her first time she did take care of littles. But even so, that dosent stop her from trying. 🔴: with time she has learned which regress and which dont (depending on your or anyones headcanons anon). And for the ones that do, she would always memorise which little has which needs.

⚫: for example, Pommy always likes to be held by DE. So while DE Spectators on earthbread for any changes (or what the gingerbrave crew are up to) she would hold Pommy close to her. 🔴: keep in mind DE would also het Pommy brush her hair, she dosent really know why but Pommy seems to be adamant on doing so.

⚫: for Licorice praises are a must, so DE would have Licorice do some small and easy tasks so he can be praised after doing them. the face of Licorice after getting praised gets her everytime. 🔴: He mite also show some cool magic tricks with Poison Mushroom, so DE would be considerd a #1 fan of these magic tricks. ⚫: Red Velvet is known to both age regress and pet regress, so for DE to know in which space he is in, She gave him a collar for pet regresson and a neck scarf for age regresson. if he is in his normal space, she instruct to wear non. 🔴: its rather known that Red Velvet sometimes likes to play Tug of war when being in his pet regresson space (a dog space ofc), so when no one is here to do it with him DE offers to be his play mate. ⚫: for Affogato its always recommanded to give him some sweet treats every ones in a while, but not to much!

🔴: He's aso known to be rather imaginative when it comes to his little space, so DE would often see Affogato play dress up.... just make sure he dosent touch any of her make up

⚫: Earl Grey is known to help her with so many littles in her care, so not only did she gain an apprechiantion of his help but also of him taking care of the choco twins while doing so. it... really must be some full hands. 🔴: Choco werehound brute and Bat Cat are also known to reach a hand, but DE instructed that the 2 keep watch manly on Licorice and red Velvet while Esterházy mainly watches over Pommy and Affogato

⚫: As on now, she started doing this after Drak Choco got out of being in the DoC, but... she does wonder if he would have been a regressor if he still was here. 🔴: She also dose not know for Lobster Cookie, as she would only see him when spectating the whole earthbread. ⚫: To this day, she still wonderd what she missed when it comes to Matcha... 🔴: But at the end of the day, she would always take pride in her littles being all satisfied and happy. To her its just more of a reason to rule earthbread. If she can take care of so many littles, she can sure take over the entire earthbread.

Finally... i did it! heres you DE headcanons with many little hits of others sprinkled in! so yeah, sorry for the whole wait. hope you enjoy it Anon