#colour me impressed... and fascinated

[deerspherestudios]

I've been struggling with how to write this out, but the ask box closing gave me an excuse to sit down and make an official attempt at it. Apologies if it's long but I don't think I can compact it without missing some points I wanted to ramble about

I downloaded and played Astronought back in November. I love all its little details, and of course Atom itself.

From the purposefully misspelled title (nought like not/nothing instead of naut like nautical), to how utterly charming Atom is (their general mannerisms, and their laugh… sounds like chittering……), this game is something that has stuck itself in my head

After getting my first ending (route?) it was too late to play a second one & I ended up in the files (wanting to get more of them and this was the easiest way. also curiosity), and THE FILE NAMES? I'M SANE. ABOUT THE FILE NAMES. (Finding out my favorite CG was named "whipped" was very funny, because YEAH. IT TRULY IS, ISN'T IT.) The music that was ALREADY my favorite present in the game AND REALIZING IT'S NAMED "IT SIGHS AND YEARNS AND BEGS TO RETURN" IN THE FILES? YOU REALLY HAD TO DO THAT TO ME, HUH. Very fitting, I applaud you for tugging my heartstrings. At first the SFX named "your favorite" confused me. Until it hit me that it's the lights changing to your favorite colour. ITS THE. AGUHHH. I thought that was a very neat detail and I enjoyed figuring that one out. There's a lot of names in there that I had fun looking over, even if they weren't really meant to be looked at by the average player (?) The game's backgrounds are very well done, too. All of them feel very cohesive :]

Now, onto Atom themselves. Your honour, the worms have unfortunately charmed me. NOT TO MENTION THEY'RE JUST SO FASCINATING? ALL THEIR LITTLE QUIRKS AND EVERY LITTLE FACT. I have a great many questions that I've managed to forget while typing this but I'll try to write them down next time I remember them. However. I love how inhuman they truly are. Their diet is different (THEY can eat kibble, why can't you), their morals are different (murder is okay if it's in retaliation, etc. etc.) HOW THEY CAN GAIN INFORMATION BY EFFECTIVELY CONSUMING SOMEONE? THEY CAN CHANGE THEMSELVES TO BE DIFFERENT MATTERS???? The fact they may as well be buzzing at any form of affection you offer them (They pause when you offer to shake their hand and practically vibrate when you pat them on the shoulder) while still usually being restrained enough to avoid possible issues (it's noted the worms have an odd texture in game, and they don't immediately jump you and instead gingerly wrap a single worm around your finger) is,. oughg I LOVE THE REASON THEY CALL YOU LUNA NOVA, TOO. IT'S ADORABLE Even when they're being a bit more fucked up I still adore them. I got the softer route at first (couldn't say no to them, even if it was a bit illogical in the current situation), and even when I went back for the other route (and by god is that likely a different impression) it just made me MORE interested in it. I could go on.

I went into playing the game knowing the twist, I will admit, but the scene of the reveal was still quite impactful! (possibly quite literally. Atom did take a blunt force hit there) Not to mention how enthralled I got in the escape pod section. It delivered on the tense atmosphere quite well! Each scene was a good build up to the true reveal of what they are and writing this out makes me want to play it again I won't lie to you

Speaking of that general section, Moon Waltz. I got curious and I ended up screenshotting the lyrics it mentions (because I couldn't tear myself away from that moment to look it up right then) and afterwards looking it up (I found it very fitting for it to mention THAT lyric of all of them. think I said something similar out loud). I ended up listening to the song and got it stuck in my head for nearly 3 weeks straight. It's still one of my favorites to this day :]

Even when I tried getting to bed I was still kept up by writing down little ideas I had for them. I do not think I've ever had a game revive my spark of creativity as fast as Astronought did. I still have a lot of those ideas to get to and I honestly hope I do.

Hopefully this wasn't too much, I'm still getting used to telling creators that I love their work and am a bit new to this, but in summary: This game is incredibly charming and has wormed (HAH) its way into my heart. thank you for creating Astronought, and I wish you well on your future game endeavours o/

Aaaa I don't wanan be self indulgent on main but waaaaa aghaaa,

Working on Astronought last year was meant to be a break from writing MO. I think I manifested something when writing for Atom, they're such a goofy obsessive goober with absurd sci-fi logic almost to the point of comical sometimes and I just had fun with it!!

To think someone noticed all the silly little details that were just meant for me to see when it comes to the file names and references and even the title when I was working on it means so much!! This one is definitely a message I'll come back to over and over, especially for a short one-shot game.

Thank you so much <3<3<3!

[sweeterthancandy]

crush

she looks like she works with her hands

and smells like marlboro reds

pairing: farmhand!abby x femme!farmers daughter!reader yeah yeah CLICHE but i yearn to be touched by a big cowgirl sue me

warnings: lotsssss of pet names, fingering, cunnilingus, barn sex?, fluffy mega gay sex idk🐇

youve always held an fascination for abby, the strong girl. stood well over six feet and could pick up a hay bail with ease.

it was a sweltering july afternoon in the heart of texas so you thought youd do her a favour, putting on your prettiest dress and your shiniest boots and going down to make her a fresh glass of lemonade. after making the sweetest glass you could, you began to make your way out the door and on out to greet her.

youd notice her from a mile away, the way her thick forearms glisten with sweat from holding the weight of your horse back as she walks her back to the stable. “hey abby!! you got a sec’?” you almost squeal as you ran up to her. “hey missy, what’cha got for me” she smirks knowing youve got something hidden behind your back.

your grin widens knowing shes caught you already and you wanna give in “oh nothin.. just a freshly squeezed glass of lemonade just for you!” as she reaches to grab it your manicured fingers brush against her rough and dirtied up ones. “awh baby you shouldnt’ve” her words made you almost shiver.

ok so you have a secret, youve thought abby was cute since last summer but you never really thought anything of it. you thought all her petnames and sneaky touches were just a thing girls did, but its all coming to a breaking point now.

“do ya mind if i stay with you for a bit?” you look up at her with hearts in your eyes barely being able to focus on anything but her impressive figure. “course’ya can darlin’ just dont get me in trouble with the boss” she chuckles before placing the toothpick she was chewing on prior to your arrival back in between her teeth.

shit. you forgot she worked for your father.

so how you ended up sitting on the edge of the stall door as abby nipped and sucked at your dainty jaw was a mystery to you both.

“god-cant believe i was able to hold back this long” she muttered along your skin, the thin strap of your little dress slipping down your shoulder as she felt and squeezed along your hips, pushing the hem up slightly as if almost asking a question.

you sat there like this was heaven and shes barely even touched you yet.

your hands rested on her belt buckle trying to hold yourself down “m’abby please” you whined impatiently as you yank her forward. “so cute, ‘course sugar” she planted one last kiss to your lips before nodding down at her hands that rested over her thighs.

you sighed placing your hands over hers “yeah.. want you, all a’you” and so she raised the fabric just above your hips giving herself access to whatever you needed. “really baby?” she chuckles lowly at the reveal of your panties that blankly say across the front sunday in cute bubbly letters and colours. god you wish you could just shrivel up and die- “such a fucking sweetheart huh?” she says through gritted teeth now quickly moving her thumb to graze over your clothed clit.

this drew a soft moan of relief, quickly drawing you out of your embarrassed state, she placed her hand across your lower back to keep you stable as she does so. she does this for awhile just to tease you, and also to see that wet patch on your white panties grow a little more.

“need y’fingers now” she scoffed a little at your plea in shock that youre the one bossing her around, but who is she to say no right? so of course, she pulls them down by the sides to dangle off your ankles and quickly they hit the rotting wood.

i dont think you were expecting the stretch to be this much, when abby pushed her two fingers into you, you began to realize that this was gonna be a challenge. “gosh abby- so big, too big” you mutter with urgency. “nono sweetheart you can take it i know you can” she pumps them in and out at an almost excruciating pace.

her words make your stomach flip and raise your legs to sit around her waist, the pain faded into nothing but need “fuckfuck so deep-go faster please?” you say politely as your hands flew to the nape of her neck pulling her to your mouth.

she tasted like cigarettes and lemonade.

“only cause you used your manners” you felt her smirk on your lips, as you left sloppy open mouthed kisses on her mouth she quickened her pace. the tips of her fingers slamming right where you needed it, you let out a loud moan into her throat. your breathing is becoming unstable, youre too loud now, when she suddenly pulls out.

“wha-no, please abs m’being good” you ramble onto her lips feeling empty, but through your fluttery glances all you see is her tall frame getting lower and lower to the ground. “youre gonna cum in a minute baby calm down..just wanna taste you” she spoke softly onto the wetness of your pussy, leaving sloppy kisses on her.

she began to lick stripes down your slit, the way she moved her tongue youre sure shes done this a million times, at this point you were so close from before that everything felt so good so fast. “moreee” you dragged out with a breathless moan. she took this seriously.

picking your thighs up to place around her neck, she was smothering herself in your dripping pussy, the noises coming from the barn are obscene and the thought of someone from your family hearing or seeing anything is haunting you but none of that matters now.

“ohmy-g’na cum-“ your words strung together like a broken puzzle, she took this as her cue to pull out all her tricks. she sucked on your clit with a steady pace as her finger shoves it way through the tight space. it all just became too much.

you let out a squeaky string if misplaced moans and whines as you came all over her chin, after she licked you all clean she came up for a soaked kiss. “howd i do?” she said with a crooked grin and eyes blissed out.

you could get used to this

[elodieunderglass]

FAQ May 2025

(wtf is #eggs for killie, etc)

Killie / Throw Your Heart Over

okay, so I apologise, because KILLIE is A LOT OF THIS TUMBLR at the moment. but also I don't.

Killie is an original character. he's an angry little racehorse jockey with an unfortunate psychic connection to his rancid racehorse frenemy (O Holy Thunder), a redemption-arc relationship with his nice nerdy boyfriend (Derek), an elusive twin brother (Charlie) and a messy, rambling family of horse-obsessed weirdos who are overly-invested in the fascinating, complex, dirty, problematic and unhinged world of horse racing. he is a short athletic ginger jock like an angry little wet cat, who is always getting injured, and we love him for this. at some point his book (Throw Your Heart Over) will get written (probably). but as I wasn't actually expecting to do this in real life, at the moment, we write comics and AUs and fanfiction about him. yes I know this is backwards, shut up, WE ARE HAVING FUN, and maybe it's actually FORWARDS. (by the way - does anyone know how to write a book?)

@aqueenvictorious kindly and brilliantly did this roundup.

Eggs for Killie

I will have to be UNPRECEDENTLY brave and work VERY hard to write a book about Killie. so I said that if everyone else was very brave with me, and attacked a similarly scary creative project by the end of March, Killie could have an egg (eggs are a treat for him). The intention was to leverage each other's courage and momentum to all make progress together, with accountability and a deadline. to add urgency, Killie was trying to stay fit to (metaphorically) ride in the Grand National, a large UK steeplechase, on April 5th.

I thought we’d have 5 eggs to chase up. There were over 150 eggs for Killie by the time I had to close the inbox. It was an incredible outpouring of vitality that I’m still astonished and impressed by.

With incredible kindness and intelligence and bravery and truth, @patheticprogrammingperson took on the task of making the Eggs for Killie tumblr, where you can submit your intention of finishing a creative project/WIP in 30 days. The blog will accept your ask and assign you a 30-day check in, to which you can reply with your progress and receive one egg 🥚 to throw at Killie’s head. Go ahead and try it!

The Leucism Channel (open to other colour morphs)

I have had this tag for over 10 years! I collect leucistic animals, but I am also interested in other colour morphs. Rather than trying to run separate channels, I am now putting non-leucistic animals in this tag.

Horrible things with legs

Apparently this tag is only 8 years old, but I genuinely think that's a mistake on tumblr's part. I think I've been running it since the Palaeozoic era.

what do you like, do?

this is such a good question. here's how I tried to answer it.

Works In Progress

His Delicious Materials - chapters 10/12, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/his%20delicious%20materials

A Weasel Heart in Defiance - chapters 12/20, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/weasel%20heart%20in%20defiance

Swan Comics for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund.

general swan comics.

I am sousverre on AO3 and I have a bluesky.

Sorry, I don't do fundraisers as asks. my fundraiser policy for the past 10 years has been that I'll signal boost for mutuals.

thanks for your time and attention. goodbye.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Aemond, Aegon, and Daemon headcanons - with Male Reader wearing a really elegant dress to a party?? Maybe abt how they react to you being all dolled up ;) Suggestive would be nice too. How they react to Reader with makeup etc.

The Targaryen boys reaction to Y/N presenting as more Feminine At a feast

Aegon

Initial Shock, followed by Amusement Aegon, would initially be taken aback. but his surprise wouldn't be rooted in disgust. It's more like a bewildered fascination. He might chuckle,

Aegon, for all his flaws, appreciates beauty. If Y/N looks genuinely stunning in the dress, Aegon will notice. He might leer a bit, eyes raking over Y/N. "That colour suits you... surprisingly well."

He'd tease relentlessly. "Are you trying to steal the Queen's thunder, darling?" or "Who are you trying to impress, hmm?" But laced within the teasing would be a possessive edge. "Don't go thinking you'll be dancing with anyone but me tonight, dressed like that."

"You're Making This Hard"Aegon would grumble about the dress being a distraction,

The change in Y/N's appearance would undeniably spark Aegon's lust. It would be an undeniable turn-on.

Throughout the feast, Aegon would find himself stealing glances at Y/N. He'd be watching the reactions of others, gauging their shock, and feeling a sense of wicked pride that Y/N is the cause of it all.

Once they're alone, Aegon would waste no time. He'd be rough, pulling Y/N close and kissing him hard. He wants to claim every inch of Y/N

The dress itself becomes a prop in their intimate encounter. He might lift the skirt to gain better access, leaving it bunched around Y/N's waist, a visual reminder of the evening's transgression.

He enjoys the act of undressing Y/N, the silk of the dress sliding over his skin. He might even use the fabric to tie Y/N's hands to the bedposts, a wicked glint in his eyes. The novelty of the attire as a tool for seduction is too tempting to resist.

As he takes Y/N, Aegon deliberately smudges the makeup

Afterwards, sated Aegon might murmur, "Wear it again sometime... just for me." He'd bury his face in Y/N's neck, not wanting to admit how much he actually enjoyed the spectacle.

Aemond

Aemond is initially speechless. He's accustomed to Y/N in masculine attire, and the sight of him in a dress, adorned with jewels and makeup, momentarily renders him utterly captivated.

A possessive instinct flares within him. He wants to be the only one to witness Y/N like this, to know that this side of him is reserved solely for their private moments. The thought of other eyes lingering on his husband ignites a possessive fire.

He makes a point of staying close to Y/N throughout the feast. He's a silent, imposing presence, his hand resting on Y/N's waist, a clear signal to any potential admirers.

He makes a point of staying close to Y/N throughout the feast. He's a silent, imposing presence, his hand resting on Y/N's waist, a clear signal to any potential admirers.

Later, in their chambers, Aemond's control slips. He corners Y/N, his silver eyes burning with desire. "You are magnificent," he whispers, his voice rough with suppressed longing.

He trails kisses along Y/N's neck, his hand gently caressing the exposed skin above the dress's neckline. "Did you do this for me, husband?"

He is eager to peel away the layers. He slowly unlaces the back of the dress, his movements deliberate and sensual. He wants to reveal every inch of skin.

He pushes the dress off Y/N's shoulders, letting it pool at his feet. Aemond's gaze intensifies, lingering on every curve and contour now exposed.

In the aftermath, as they lie tangled in the sheets, Aemond softly kisses Y/N's temple. "Do it again," he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "But next time, do it just for me."

Daemon

He'd approach Y/N slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving theirs. When close enough, he'd lean in, his breath ghosting over Y/N's ear, "Impressive. You wear it better than half the women here."

Throughout the feast, he stays close, his hand possessively resting on Y/N's waist. He enjoys the way heads turn and whispers erupt. He's always relished stirring the pot.

If anyone dares to make a snide remark, Daemon's smile vanishes, replaced by a dangerous glint. A quiet threat, a reminder of his power, is usually enough to silence them.

The sight of Y/N in the dress would ignite a fire in Daemon’s blood. He’d become increasingly impatient for the feast to end, his thoughts drifting towards the possibilities that awaited them in their chambers.

Back in the privacy of their room, the carefully applied makeup wouldn’t last long. Daemon would deliberately smudge Y/N's lipstick with a passionate kiss

The dress might suffer a tear or two in the heat of passion. Daemon wouldn't apologize. Instead, he'd whisper promises of pleasure against Y/N's skin, his words as intoxicating as his touch.

He pins Y/N to the bed, his voice a low growl. "Tonight, you are my queen, and I will worship you accordingly."

Daemon will whisper praises in High Valyrian, celebrating Y/N's beauty and boldness

He doesn't necessarily prefer Y/N dressed this way all the time, but the novelty, the audacity, the sheer captivating beauty... it ignites a fire in Daemon that he can't resist.

He doesn't treat Y/N fundamentally differently. Y/N is still his husband, his equal (or at least, the closest thing Daemon allows), The dress is just…extra.

[taintandviolent]

Devil's Favours - James March x Reader

summary & wordcount: 4.9K! originally chosen as the party favour for James' Devil's Night celebration, reader is quickly snatched away by James March, who would rather have his own fun with her than let the others kill her.

w a r n i n g s: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! dark fic, dub-con, slight non-con, conflicted reader, sexual confusion, mild gore & blood, graphic descriptions, violence, aggression, bodily fluids, mentions of other real serial killers, smut, rough sex,overstimulation, body worship (reader with greek goddess body type), murder, reader death.

a/n: sorry for this, I'm mentally unwell. not beta read, so if it's horrid and clunky, I'm sorry!!! also, I think this is the last taglist I'll be doing, RIP. It's just such a pain in the rear end, and half the time, it doesn't even work.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

After a long day of travelling, sleep was the only thing on your mind. That said, you were in desperate need of a bath, something relaxing. This was, afterall, a vacation. You twisted the ceramic knob on the hot water, and stuck your hand under it. With a hiss, you withdrew your hand – usually, water took a minute to reach temperature. This one? Scalding hot within a few seconds. Dangerously so. You twisted the knob on the cold side, evening them out until they’d reached a less skin-melting combination, and shed your clothes. You’d only been in there for thirty minutes or so before someone began rapping their knuckles against your door. Persistently. Very persistently.

“Just a minute!�� you called from the bathroom, hoping your voice travelled. You reached for one of the towels – meticulously embroidered with the hotel’s logo – and wrapped it hurriedly around your torso. “Hang on!” 

Quickly rummaging around in your suitcase and swearing under your breath that you had packed more, you searched for something to wear. Feeling pressured and running out of time, you settled on a cream coloured silk slip. Hardly modest with your plenteous figure, but the knocking continued and that seemed more important than decency. You hurried to the door, yanking it open with an air of annoyance. The vexation melted away when you were met with a man who looked more like he belonged on a silver screen than he did standing in front of you.

“Good evening.” He said, dipping his head down in a courteous display.

“…Can I help you?”

His lips stayed together, but curved into a subtle smirk. Though it was an unintentional pick; he’d chosen well; your delectable form was as if it was carved by Gods themselves. The look in your eyes told him that you were so alive, so vivacious that any bloodshed that would happen would be akin to art. His eyes were immediately lost on you, exploring your body and face with a fervid fascination. Feeling exposed, you pulled at the silken straps, bringing the neckline of the nightgown higher up on your body. Your cleavage protested, the fabric puckering across the voluminosity of your breasts. 

All this time, he’d been silent, and you arched an expectant brow, wondering just what it was that you were to help him with. This man was… peculiar. From his fancy dressage to the articulate, over-pronounced way he spoke, his idiosyncrasies both alarmed and fascinated you. 

“Indeed,” he affirmed. He’d made his decision; you were the one for the night. And he’d have you, whether you came willingly or not.

“My name is James March — I’m the owner of this impressive hotel in which you now stand.” He paused, expectantly as if that was enough for you to throw your arms up and consent to whatever he was asking. When you didn’t, he added: “I need you to come with me. Urgently.”

You squinted, scanning his motivations. A warm, gentle smile stretched across his lips, framed by his pencil thin mustache. His hand rose, fingers uncurling in front of you. There was something unnervingly come-hither about his gaze. Would he have introduced himself with malicious intentions? Surely not — that could lead to identifying him later on. But he could’ve given you a fake name, perhaps…

Unable to resist his passé seduction and against (likely) better judgement, your hand floated up into his, resting delicately against his palm. His fingers closed around yours, lingering a moment before guiding you out of your room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind you. He began leading you briskly down the hallway.

“I forgot my key, wait I –” 

“Worry not, my dear. We’ll have another made for you, should you need it.” 

Should I need it? You thought. Why wouldn’t I need it? Of course I’ll need my key, I’m walking down the hallway in nothing but a nightgown. 

You trodded barefoot down the halls, listening to the sounds as you passed them. The hotel, you noticed, creaked and breathed with a life of its own. Whether the rooms were occupied wasn’t known, but they sounded as if they were.  

As soon as you two got to a door, only a few down from your own, he reached for the handle and instantly, as soon as he did; something felt wrong. Something felt… sinister and the feeling took over like a gelatinous sludge. You tried to yank your hand away but James sternly jerked you the opposite way — back towards him. With a throaty growl, he wrapped both arms around your torso, holding you fast in a steel grip so that try as you might, you couldn’t dislodge yourself from his grasp. His strength proved too much for your feeble, sleepy muscles.

After shouldering the door open, James carried you inside. In a moment of panicked clarity, you tried to peek around and identify anything you could. The stern way that his hand was plastered on your forehead, holding it against his shoulder, you could really only see the ornate ceiling above you.

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the corners of your eyes. This was it. You’d gone this far in life without being mugged, raped, or killed… today was the day it would change. Your track record would end. Abruptly. Terrifyingly. Your chest shuddered with an uneven, hysterical breath. At least he was handsome. No, shut up. That’s not the kind of thought you want to be thinking. 

Suddenly, your body dropped forward and you were spun around harshly, his grip still tight on the fleshy meat of your arms. Then, as though he was a lover and not your soon-to-be-murderer, he eased your back against a wooden chair with one hand, delicately, suddenly concerned with hurting you, like you were some kind of easily-bruised fruit.

“Good girl, sit there.”

At his praising words, your core twinged, tightening. No, no. Stop it. Clenching your teeth, you quashed the thought before it went any further.

His right hand snatched something from a nearby table before holding it proudly, stretching it out for you to see; rope. Unconsciously, your head began shaking back and forth. As the realisation sunk in, your heart rate picked up, thudding against your ribcage.

“N-no, no… no please.”

With the rope still in hand, James got to one knee in a familiar pose. His lightless eyes floated up to yours, staring into them deeply. Now in front of you, his cock twitched within his trousers, a carnal instinct tugging like an incessant child. He brushed the pads of his fingers along the smooth curves of your knees, your calves, your ankles… 

Damn. You – obviously – were a woman with needs, so his feather-light touch awoke something deep within your core again. This time though, it didn’t take you reversing the arousal. The shiny tip of his shoe knocked your feet apart, lining them up with the legs of the chair. She clenched harder.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tensely. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He paused to answer, straightening up. “Securing you, my dear. A struggle is inevitable.”

“What!? Inevitable for what?!”

He didn’t answer. Hastily working, his large but nimble hands wrapped the rope around the smallest part of your ankles, knotting the rope against the chair. Your wrists came next, and those were tied much tighter; the fibres of the rope ground against your soft skin, already causing a burning friction.

With a sudden, powerful pull at the bindings, testing their security, James was finished. He was confident in his knotting, you wouldn’t get away. Humming to himself, he dragged the chair through an archway, into another, much larger room. You were facing a table – it was ornately set with a large contraption in the middle. You recognised it as an absinthe fountain, the bright green liquid in the container seemed to glow. You didn’t want to be a part of whatever this was, even as attractive as that man was.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, I just… I want to go back to my room. Let me go.”

“Let you go?” James echoed in a mockingly high tone. He seemed offended that you’d even desire such a thing. It was a pleasure — a privilege — to be invited to his dinners. “No…. You’re staying with me. Right here.”

He pat your thigh  before moving to the head of the table. For the first time since you’d been brought in, you took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings instead of him. Immediately, you whimpered in disbelief — met with such a visual that you almost immediately thought you were hallucinating. You blinked away the tears and sniffed, pressing your lips tightly together. 

It was truly bone-chilling to see all of the worst eyes on you. The eyes that had seen the most foul crimes and atrocities in human history were now looking at you; the bound beauty with her sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to your forehead and fear in your eyes. John Wayne Gacy, Richard Ramirez, Jeffrey Dahmer….

“She’s shakin’ like a god damn leaf!” Aileen Wuornos howled, before finishing off the rest of her beer. She slammed it on the table, the clatter made you jump. She doesn’t want me, you thought. I’m not her enemy. Still, you knew that you’d been sat at a table full of people — true monsters — who even if they didn’t want to kill you, they’d take great pleasure in watching you writhe in agony as the others stole your last breath from your lungs.

Though they were all equally terrifying, you were most horrified by Richard. He sat directly next to James, picking absently at his nails. His sunken, snake eyes followed every move you made; watching you with a hunger that made your skin crawl. Considering the circumstances, it was laughable to say that one made you feel unsafer than the others — but he did. Logically, how he preyed upon women must’ve played into your distaste for him. He held your gaze, peering into your thoughts with a vicious lack of consent, as he behaved with every woman he came in contact with. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve waited long enough, Jimmy — can we kill her?” He said, sucking something out of his rotting teeth. He made a move as though he was going to get up.

You snapped your head to James, brows knit together in pleading. The visual surprised you. He, like the rest of the dinner party, had been staring at you, but instead of the feral, blood hungry gaze you expected, his eyes had gone glassy. He sucked his cheeks in, deep in thought. Beneath the dark fabric of his dress pants, heat blanketed his groin. You captivated him; the way your precious little eyes flitted back and forth in terror like a deer, the way your pulse thrummed in your neck, beating like a drum. He wanted you for his own — and only his own. Keeping his motives hidden, James stood up, smoothing out the fabric of his suit jacket. 

“No,” he crooned. “No, we can’t. I’m afraid I’ve had a change of heart… this one… belongs to me.”

You jerked your head in confusion, while grumbles of disappointment bounced off the walls. Ramirez said something sickening and Gacy let out a horrible, guttural chuckle. You strained against the rope, somehow trying to put more distance between you and them. James sliced his hand through the air to silence them both.

“Miss Wuornos,” he abruptly purred. “Go find us a dashing young man keen to join our party!”

“Ohohoh…. Lil’ ol’ me? Find a man? I’m gonna’ be frolickin’ in the fuckin’ daisy fields with this one. Be back!”

“Pl-please.” You begged. Your lips parted, allowing desperate promises to fall from between them. You wouldn’t tell anyone, you’d never come back here, you wouldn’t remember anything, you promised, you would never speak a word of this to anyone… You looked to James, who regarded you affectionately, but patronisingly, his lower lip jutted out in a faux-pout. He’d heard all this before, and it was of no concern to him. He’d made up his mind. It was his god damned birthday and he was going to have you all to himself.

Your begging fell on seemingly deaf ears, nobody bothered to entertain you. Your teary, burning eyes flitted to Ramirez, who was smiling his ugly, decaying smile at you, leaning forward in his seat. “I dunno’, she promises, Jimmy… maybe we should let her go.”

You shivered, grinding your wrists against the rope. Anger blanketed you. “Fuck off, weirdo.”

“Who you callin’ weirdo, bitch?”

“YOU!” You barked, straining. “I can smell your rancid breath from here. Had to kill all those women just because none of them would ever come within ten fucking feet of you!”

“Now, now… manners. She’s a lively one, isn’t she?” His mouth bent in a proud smirk, James looked to Richard, who was still bristling from the comment. He really wanted to kill you. Delighted at the fact that James had seemingly given you immunity, you wiggled happily in your chair, fighting the urge to stick your tongue out. You didn’t want to test him, though, and so you remained silent, watching instead. 

Silence was broken as the door opened. With a little thrashing, almost as desperate as your own had been, Aileen shoved a man — couldn’t have been more than 30 — inside. It didn’t take her long to find someone. In fact, it was like she opened the door, spotted him meandering by and dragged him back inside.

The guy noticed you first. Second, he noticed that you were tied to the chair so tightly that red marks on your wrists and ankles had begun to develop. Thirdly, he noticed the others, his eyes drifting slowly and visibly disturbed by who sat at the table. 

“Woah… what the fuck is this?” He asked.

“A good fuckin’ time is what it is.” One of them said. You didn’t care which. Blisteringly hot tears streamed down your face, stinging your cheeks. What were the stages of grief? You felt like you were cycling through them in rapid succession.

“Fucking let me go!” You howled, thrashing your torso back and forth, which did little to relieve anything. With a distressed expression plastered upon his face, the guy looked from you to the other guests and back, before nervously putting his hands up, taking one step back towards the door. “Hey, is she okay?”

“N—!“ James was suddenly behind you, cupping his hand over your mouth, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into your cheek flesh. His lips moved quickly, whispering hotly into your ear. “Hush now, don’t spoil the surprise for him. Let him find out on his own.”

“She’s fine, the hors d’oeuvres didn’t agree with her.” Aileen barked, towing the guy towards the table. She shoved him down into the only unoccupied seat.

“Dinner… is served.” James said. 

In unison, they all stood up. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in your head. Like syncronised swimmers, they all descended upon him, armed with whatever weapon they’d chosen. You hadn’t known the guy, but he had enough sympathy for you to make you cry at what was happening to him. He’d had a life, family… feelings. None of which mattered to him anymore, or perhaps that’s exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps your entire life really did flash before your eyes before you died. 

You let out a scream that burned on its way out. It ached and tore and ripped its way up your windpipe as the shrill, bloodcurdling sound filled the room. It was louder than his, and louder than the sounds that were currently coming from the gaping, gargling hole in his throat.

Gacy moved from his side, allowing you a brief glimpse. Torn flesh hung from his shoulders and blood had almost completely covered the front of his body. You closed your eyes and turned your head away, rolling your lips inward and biting down. It was fucked up, and you weren't going to absorb any more of it.

“Sweet dreams, my little pet.” James said, in front of you. You turned your head towards the sound, but were met with blackness. 

A dull throbbing on the side of your head was what eventually pulled you awake, forcing your cinder-block weighted lids to peel apart. You looked around; an odd, minimally decorated room. Dark. Your head wobbled as you turned it left, then right, met with the same visual — your arms suspended high above your head, and rope again, at your wrists. You licked your lips and tasted metal. In your blurred vision, you noticed red flecked along your breasts. The ache on the side of your head was more than just an ache, it seemed.

Your consciousness ebbed, fading in and out. Sleep was comforting, the idea of it cradling you in its arms like a baby. You wanted so badly to sleep… just for a moment. Somewhere inside, you heard authoritative voices, advising against sleep. Concussions… sleep… sleep is bad… keep the individual conscious. And so you fought against the cool, towering shadow, turning your head away from nothing in particular. You couldn’t hear anything outside of your own laboured breathing, and the creak of the rope every time you decided to move. Nothing. Not even the muted voices of the monsters. 

Time meant nothing, you lost track of how long you’d been hanging there when you’d finally heard the creak of a heavy door. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly before wrenching them open. You weren’t sure if the crushing weight you felt was the looming weight of death as it shrouded you, or merely the physical strain of your body being suspended for hours. You knew people could eventually die from suspension. Their lungs caved in or something. The tips of your toes barely touched the floor, your big toe grazing the cold, concrete floor every time your body swayed softly.

With your head hanging between your shoulders, your muscles quivered as you lifted it, just in time to see the door in front of you shut. James, standing in front of it, reached for a black leather apron that hung on a hook. Before slipping it over his head, he flashed you a charming smile, pleased to see that you hadn’t expired yet. Reaching behind him to tie it around his waist, he approached you. The light from the wall sconces reflected against the fabric dully.

“Ah, there you are.” He crooned. 

You intended a scream, but could do nothing but whimper. You swallowed repeatedly, a feeble attempt to wet your dried out throat. James drug a single finger along your soft jawline, trailing it down your neck, and along your collarbone. You were drenched in sweat, streaks of it descending your face and neck.

The sudden ferocity in which he gripped your face made it sting, his thumb and forefinger digging into the bone of your jaw. He quirked a brow. You opened your mouth and although your throat was already raw, you finally screamed. You screamed again, angrily, and held his cold, black gaze. Your ragged shrieks filled the room over and over again as you tried, desperately, to wrench your hands free from the ropes.

Regrettable, James thought as his soulless eyes hungrily took in your form as it quivered and thrashed around. You were built like a Greek goddess, soft curves in all the right places, begging to be touched, worshipped.

“Aaaah,” He exhaled, frustratedly.  “You’re almost too pretty to kill.”

“Then — DON’T! Fucking let me GO! AaaarhhhH!” You yanked at the ropes again, thrashing around until a deep pain in your shoulder began to burn. You cried out, letting your body go slack. 

With a deep breath, you mustered up all your strength again, finding every drop of it within your tired body, and leaned forward to scream directly in his face. The result? He was wholly unphased by your screams. If anything, it seemed like he enjoyed them. Each one sounded a little more desperate than the last, and it only fuelled him further.

You decide to try a new, last-ditch tactic. Sore mouth contorting into a scowl, you gathered a mouthful of saliva and blood, hot and irony on your tongue and lunged forward, spitting it at him. The glob hit him square in the face, dripping slowly down towards his jaw.

“What, is it hard to focus?” You croaked. Your words were slurred, messy with the pain of the head wound.  “Didn’t think you’d want to fuck me as bad as you do, huh?”

James’ dark eyes narrowed, the muscles underneath twitching faintly. He had in fact picked you, and therefore had to accept all of your fiery little quips as they came – but that one… that one had caught him off guard. 

“You…” You narrowed your eyes, the fibres of the rope squeaking as you leaned towards him, your lips inches from his face. “…want to fuck me so bad, you can’t think. Look at you. You think your apron hides it?”

With brows raised, James glanced at his groin. Had he really been betrayed by his own body, so early on? Though he felt the warmth and stiffness increasing between his legs, there was no visual indication. James calmly brought his hand to his face, collecting the bloodied spit on his fingertips. With a reticent gaze, he brought them down between your legs, harshly knuckling the nightgown out of the way.

He smeared them roughly on your cunt. Your own fluids. The ones that you had just spit at him. Not only that, but he proceeded to tease your sensitive nerves with his fingers, pulling a confused gasp from your throat. Part of you had been bluffing, you weren’t entirely sure that he had wanted you —

James pulled back an inch to look at you again. Aside from your luscious body, your complexion was mottled with exhaustion, lips dry with fear, hair frazzled and bloody on one side. To him, it was a horrific sculpture of divinity. One that he had created in such little time with such little effort. The perfect, ample curves of your breasts were dotted with crimson, having dripped from the gash on your head. They jiggled delicately with each desolate shake you gave.

With his free hand, he took hold of your round, plush hips, his thumb working the softness like dough. He swung you towards him, pressing the pillowy tops of your thighs to his groin. Quickly, he identified a growing obsession with your body.

He loved it. All of it. In fact, he hadn’t seen a body as marvellously breathtaking as yours since his wife’s. Of course, it had been many years since he’d seen hers in any such manner, so the flames that licked at his desire were deprived, hungry ones. His mouth found yours, lips crushing against yours. His tongue, hot and strong, slipped in and beckoned yours to engage in an erotic dance.

He pulled your body closer, pressing it tightly against his. Though constricted by his trousers, you felt the bulging heat beneath his apron, and rubbed your thigh against it, teasing him. He groaned deeply in response, bucking his hips against you to force friction. After a few moments, James broke the kiss, panting heavily over your tender, swollen lips.

“Pl-please… don’t kill me… please…”

The back of his hand whipped across your mouth, hitting you so hard that the world sparkled when you opened your eyes again. Your face burned with the contact.

“Enough of that now! Say it again, and I’ll do just that!”

The harshness in his voice stunned you. Up until that point, he’d been using his syrupy, serenading voice — the one he had used to charm you into coming with him. Now, he bellowed, an unexpected violence. Silence hung heavy between you as he waited, baited you to beg for life once more. You didn’t speak again, but your sobs continued. 

Finally, his hand dropped between your legs again. Your clit ached, burned with the way his fingers fondled it, but he didn’t stop. Your poor, exhausted body trembled beneath his touch, doing all it could to express arousal. Salty droplets streamed from your hairline into your eyes, stinging as they absorbed.

“Would you rather die?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Wh-what? N-no… I d-don’t want to die…”

“That’s not what I meant, my little ember. I meant… would you rather die than be pleasured? I, of course, can arrange that.”  

You hesitated a moment, but finally, shook your head. 

At this thoughtful confession, James angled forward, plunging a single finger inside of you, past the knuckle. The digit wiggled inside of you briefly, before sliding back out slowly. He held it up for you both to see. “Oh,” he growled.  

His finger was generously coated in clear slick. Your body had betrayed you. 

Wordlessly, he untied the apron, tossing it carelessly to the side – it hit the floor with a heavy flop. Then, those same nimble fingers began unbuttoning and unzipping, until they gripped his rigidness, pumping it slowly for further stimulation. His chest heaved with wanton, desiring breaths as he stared at you, hanging there, with your warm, ample body for his taking. James lined his dick up with your leaking slit, and pulled you harshly onto his cock, showing no mercy for how exhausted your body was. 

Your cunt swallowed his cock whole, hungrily and desperately. His head fell back between his shoulders, a throaty groan coming from his open mouth. He began thrusting, slow at first. The ease of thrusting fascinated him; your body hung limp on the ropes and all James had to do was tug you forward, tug you in the direction he wanted you to go. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a woman like this before - suspended in the air,” he said, breathily. “Exquisite.” 

You mewled in response, snot dripping from your nose. 

Soon, the room was filled with wet, slick thrusting and the thudding sound of his torso as it met yours. You came repeatedly, coating his thick, pale cock in fluids you didn’t even know your body could make. At one point, during a particularly vicious thrusting, a warm, watery liquid splashed down over your thighs. You screamed like he was killing you, though he felt better than any man you’d ever been with, pleasuring you in ways that left you feeling breathless.

Still, your body persisted with its aches. So far, you’d been successful in appealing to his sexual nature, and decided to try again.

“….please…. Let me down… I’ll… d-do anything you wa—

Suddenly, he backed up, pulling the head from your cunt with a slick pop. You panted; fragile, pitiful breaths, barely enough energy to lift your gaze. With his rigid cock bouncing in front of him, James untied your hands, allowing your heavy, enervated body to fall into his arms. You couldn’t help but cry into his shoulder as he carried you to some sort of surface, laying you carefully down atop it. Some streak of mercy had captured him, and you mouthed words of gratitude. Your entire body buzzed with relief, your muscles aching in a funny, tingling way.

James wasted no time in fucking you again; the tip was nearly scarlet, hungry for release. His hand compressed on your soft stomach, pressing down into it to increase the pressure of his cock as it drove deeper and deeper inside of you.

“You know how this ends, my dear.” When he spoke, it sounded far away. But you did. You knew. There was never any end to this besides the one that you’d envisioned fearfully. He leaned to the side, retrieving a small, but very, very sharp blade from a nearby metal table. You watched numbly as James lifted the knife above your neck.

His hips pumped rhythmically, bringing you both closer to the fiery edge of ecstasy. Pulsing veins massaging your silklike insides, and another orgasm galloped towards you. Your body quivered, cold sweats taking over. 

James whipped the knife across your perfectly warm neck, and instinctively, your hands went to the laceration. Bright crimson gushed out from the spaces between your fingers, and you felt a gushy warmth press against your digits. The inner workings of your throat, you realized. The gore of your own body, pressing back against you in its heat. James laid one hand over yours, seemingly just to feel the blood as it spurted. With a deep, guttural moan, his cock twitched inside you just before it released, coating your insides.

She gasped, a wet gurgle. The light left her eyes, gradually, but beautifully. The pulses of blood eventually ebbed to a dull trickle. As his thrusts slowed, he expelled a long sigh – killing both excited him and depressed him. On one hand; it brought exhilaration, delight and sheer unadulterated arousal. On the other however, you only truly got to do it once. Certainly, you could kill a ghost a million times over, but the effect wasn’t the same.

For a moment, James’ expression contorted into one of regret; when you returned in your new spectral form, you’d likely not want to spend time with him. Yet another woman who loathed his presence roaming the hallways, avoiding him. But perhaps, he still wouldn’t mind having you stuck with him for all eternity, if only to gaze upon your perfect form whenever you’d let him. With matching wounds, at that. A true romantic.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur / @feefymo / @evpeters87 / @lacucarachapisser / @stveharringtn / @fear-is-truth

[erebus0dora]

ok so i promised you a rant on Eric Bogosian, and i pinky promise i'll try to keep the story short (those beautiful people i've already privately spewed my fascination at deserve peace and love 💜)

TL;DR: Eric Bogosian is a good researcher and judge of human nature, which honestly shouldn't be surprising given his experience, links below

it is easy to google Eric (i'll call him that not out of disrespect, it's just shorter) and get to a conclusion he's just a slightly awkward old man who had extremely weird youth and gives off a powerful bi vibe just for shits and giggles; which is fair, given the wild way he handles most interviews

but hear me out, i'm not an expert, i'm just a book kind of girl. so i sought out the books, and into the books i looked.

back in 1988 he was nominated for Pulitzer's for his "Talk Radio", and i count that as one of the first cases of him using a real story to weave a (semi)fictional one. it is a powerful play, and a gut-punching movie, but I am mentioning it not because of its ehhh artistic value. in my book, it's a proof of the way he tends to critically re-imagine the things he sees and analyses.

keep that in mind when you google his "Operation 'Nemesis".

he initially started looking into the history of Armenian genocide as into the material worth developing into a plot for a movie. but, in his own words, and i quote, "I wrote this book because I had no choice. The Nemesis story required more attention than a simple screenplay."

he is still not a scientist, mind that - and his book reads as a work of fiction. say, there's no way one can look into the head of a deceased person and know their feelings, but one can guess; and Eric guesses, of course. but the fun part is that he makes educated guesses. nearly for each presumption there's a source. a footnote. a quote.

what really strikes me is that he looked into ONE plot line and fished out a complex slice of history, dripping with CONTEXT. White Russian emigration? it's in there. early stages of oil industry? check. the colourful background of Europe in early XX century? all there.

there's no wonder he spent seven years on this book.

i repeat: SEVEN. YEARS.

call me sapiosexual, but that was the moment when i stopped and thought: ok, THIS IS HOT.

what also impresses me is the way he speaks of his past. he admits he's done wild shit, and adds that the best part was the moment he understood he didn't need to be high to be creative. it's the underlying power of "yeah, been there, got better, SO CAN YOU" that gets me.

to keep things short, i'm adding links:

here's a vid where he speaks of the book on Armenian genocide (i had personal reasons to tear up a bit while listening, ngl)

and here's a vid where he speaks of acting, writing, and improv, that basically broke my art block, for which i am going to be grateful for fucking ever, i guess

(if you got to this point of my rant, you deserve a hug and a respectful kiss on the mouth if you're ok with that. go have a lovely day 💜)

[jinuaei]

So this lowkey might be a lil depressing but rn im batting a recurring ed rn i was just wondering your how would write for tarn if his favourite human had an ed or anything you with him being a cybertonian he deems nothings wrong with you but somehow everything looks wrong in your eyes, would he be like gentle or a stern yandere when it comes to not eating, sorry im craving some comfort sooooo baddddd 😭😭😭 OH! Also I really like the way you wrote tarn, and would you ever consider rodimus LOLOLOL

I'm always so scared of writing for stuff that I don't personally have since I don't want to offend anybody so uh I hope nobody kills me if I say something wrong/offensive here.

But as a being that really only capable of changing their frames/colours with another bots help, he thinks humans are fascinating, especially when humans are capable of changing their body shape through natural means (aka consuming food or exercising). He thinks that you especially are the most gorgeous being that he has ever seen, he never sees weight, he sees just you, whatever you look like in different weight, hair colour, outfit, he just sees...you.

And it breaks his spark seeing you dislike yourself just because you don't see your body as enough, because all he sees is perfection, or as close as perfect as a being could be. I don't think he'd be a stern yandere when it comes to not eating since he doesn't want to force you and make you hate food in general (It's essential to life, and you are lucky enough to have food in abundance especially when energon rations has been low due to the war).

I think he's the gentle type, cooing at you and telling you how good you're doing whenever you eat a bite of food, it might not be much but he's happy that at least you're eating 3 times a day (he researched that humans need to eat 3 times a day! And he'd absolutely make sure you do!) Ough I also think he'd reward each bite with a kiss <3 <3

He might not be able to consume human food but he will learn what you like and what you don't like and perhaps kidnap a personal chef for you to make sure that your food will always be to your liking. He'd be like Gordon Ramsey cussing out the chef when they make something wrong LMAO. (I picture a 30 foot Tarn with a chef hat hovering over the chef like a disappointed father)

I also see him wanting to caress parts of your body and even tell you why he likes them so much. You're human, so whatever your weight is doesn't matter to him because he can pick you up without problem. Honestly I also think he'd enjoy feeding you if you have a hard time feeding yourself, think one of those sexy servants that feed the king grapes LMAO

And for Rodimus I really don't know how to write him as a yandere(Aka I don't see any traits that I can Yanderefy)!! He is so loser coded to me though like he'd embarrass himself so much trying to impress you (I keep getting second hand embarrassment every time he says 'Till all are one!' Lawd) But @/xaythefreak has their version of Yan! Rodimus and I think you'd like him!

[brainrotbabe24]

Ooh what about Thorins company when reader has dyed hair?? Like makes their hair dye out of plants/flowers or something and every week or so has a new hair colour and like one where you can TELL that its dyed like pink, red, purple, etc

Hi! I'm sorry for not getting back to you sooner! But I had so much fun writing this....It got me out of a writing funk hehe! 🤩💖

Balin: It will always make him chuckle. Balin would regularly compliment you, admiring the bold style. He loves the wild colors and the free spirit you have. 

Dwalin: Dwalin finds it helpful when he looks for you in a crowd. It makes him feel safe and secure when he knows where you are.

Óin: Oin is Impressed with your skills. "It takes talent and determination to achieve those gorgeous colors!' He would remake. He would often ask about your technique and what materials you used. 

Glóin: Unlike Oin, Gloin is not impressed. He doesn't approve of it. He is more traditional and thinks you're ruining your natural hair and natural beauty. What a party pooper, lol!

Bifur: Bifur adore the colors! He would insist on braiding your hair, wanting to see the colors blend together. He would also add some decorations to add extra pizzazz to it!! 

Bofur: Bofur is so sweet! He would want to have matching hair colors! "Come on, let's have pink hair; it would be perfect!" he would say with an infectious smile. He's always full of ideas for new colors, and you find it hard to say no to his charm.

Bombur: Bombur is fascinated at how quickly you can transform. He loves how you can change your style and look so different. He swears it's some kind of magic! 

Ori: Ori is your go-to for color advice! He knows exactly how to make the colors pop. He has tips and tricks to make sure the color stays and would also go out of his way to find rare plants that would make some crazy cool colors for you!

Dori: He finds it to be a little improper. He cares deeply about appearance, so the colorful hair almost gives him a heart attack. But after a while, he would slowly come around to liking it and would want to match his outfit to the color of your hair. 

Nori: Oh, Nori would tease you relentlessly. A mischievous smirk would creep onto his face each time he saw you. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you're trying to catch my eye with all this blue hair." he would say. He honestly loves the bold colors…even if he doesn't say it outright.

Thorin: Thorin wouldn't openly tell you his thoughts on your hair, but his lingering gazes tell you everything. He tries to make his stares not obvious, but you catch him a few times and can tell he is captivated. 

Fíli: Fili loves your colorful hair! He can't stop touching and playing with it! "It's like I'm touching a rainbow," he would murmur. He would be so excited to see which color you would have next.

Kíli: Kili is your biggest supporter! He's always on the lookout for new ingredients so you can get new shades. He is determined to get you to every color in the rainbow. "Here, let me help you with that," he would say, holding the bowl as he mixed the ingredients and gently applied them to your hair. What a good helper, hehe! 

Bilbo: Whatever color you have, he will try to find a food that matches. So, if you have blue/purple hair, he'll bake a blueberry pie. If you have red hair, Bilbo will bring home strawberries. If you have yellow hair, he will make honey cake. It's a fun little game you guys play! 

[lisbeth-kk]

Easter Egg Prompts (2025) Day 3

Did we know this about Mycroft Holmes? I sure didn't...

Stamps

Whenever Mycroft is travelling abroad, which is quite often, he sends postcards to his niece. This tradition came to life after a weekend she spent with him and Greg. Rosie is a curious girl, and her fascination with Mycroft’s stamp collection, took him by surprise. Greg wasn’t the least bit interested, and Sherlock never had the patience for it when their grandfather had introduced them to philately.

Mycroft frequently despairs over the receding amounts of letters, cards, and stamps in the modern world. Even the traditional Christmas cards are dwindling. Official letters seldom have stamps nowadays but are imprinted instead. It’s hateful!

“You are an endless source of astonishment and light, my dear,” Mycroft told her when Rosie leafed through his stamp albums, occasionally squealing when she caught sight of a particularly enticing one.

To his horror, his eyes temporarily blurred with moist.

“Such a softie, you are,” Greg whispered and kissed his cheek.

Mycroft blushed furiously, utterly mortified that the girl got exposed to all this sentiment. Upon closer inspection, Rosie didn’t even shrug when she looked up from the album filled with stamps from Asia.

“No need to be embarrassed, Uncle Myc. Daddy and Papa kiss all the time. It’s love. I’d be more worried if Uncle Greg smacked you on the head with a frying pan.”

“Christ, Ro! Where do you get such ideas?” Greg exclaimed.

“Where do you think, Detective Inspector?” Rosie asked, deepening her voice to impersonate Sherlock.

***

“You know you don’t have to cater to my brother and his philately if you don’t want to, right?”

“Excuse me, but do you know me? At all. Since when did I do things, I don’t enjoy without making a fuss? Name one. I dare you!”

John’s laughter is kind of evil in Sherlock’s opinion, and Rosie looks at her father with a satisfied smirk.

Time for a sulk, Sherlock decides, and flops himself dramatically onto the couch, and pulls his dressing gown tightly around himself.

None of his Watsons try to pull him out of it, for which Sherlock is eternally grateful. They know, from experience, that an interrupted sulk can cause all kinds of unpleasant experiments. Only Rosie, as a toddler, was able to coax him out of his mood without severe consequences. 

Nowadays, she doesn’t bother, fully knowing her Papa still loves her, despite his demeanour.

***

Rosie leafs through her own stamp album, showing Nana her favourites, once attached to several postcards from her uncle.

“Did you know the Vatican City in Rome has its own post office?” she asks the elderly lady.

Martha Hudson nods when Rosie points at a stamp, Easter-themed with a stained-glass window depicting Jesus’ cross and a fallen figure.

“A bit gruesome,” she remarks.

Rosie just huffs and tells her Nana that finding fingers in the sugar bowl is far worse than a tiny picture without even a tiny glimpse of blood.

To divert the landlady’s attention, Rosie shows her a colourful stamp from the Isle of Wight of Robin Hood’s hat with a swanky feather attached to the hatband.

“Uncle Greg sent this, actually. Papa scolded him for weeks for the unoriginal choice of stamp.”

“I can imagine,” Mrs Hudson replies dryly.

“This one is my absolute favourite,” the girl says.

The stamp is indeed a thing of beauty. A quilled paper heart in every colour of the rainbow, from the love collection, issued in Dallas.

“I think Uncle Myc sent one to Uncle Greg as well.”

Going by the impressive eyeroll Martha Hudson displays, her goddaughter deduces that her Nana finds that story highly unlikely. 

Rosie sighs. She knows that her uncle will always be a thorn in the lady’s side. That said, Martha Hudson takes great pleasure in the sumptuous hampers Mycroft Holmes gives her for Christmas and Easter…

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(Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[inkdemonapologist]

Way back before we got the BatDR trailer I had this wild theory -- basically, that the reason they couldn't show any concept art/trailers/etc was that BatDR was gonna pull a wizard of oz and suddenly be in colour partway through. So then that's why we were getting teasers like "look, its a model of A SHELF," because all the actual interesting stuff would've obviously been in colour and spoiled the surprise.

Part of the reason I thought this would work really well was that I assumed Nathan's acquisition of the Bendy IP and "revival" of the franchise in-world would be thematically relevant, rather than just... an excuse to have a second game. Like, Bendy is in new hands now, the cartoons are essentially being rebooted, and there's a LOT of thematic potential in that concept of Old vs New or the good and bad aspects of Change, and the idea that reviving Bendy in the real world would impact the ink realm was a fascinating concept to me. Now that we know the main thrust of the story........... actually I still think this could've worked with it? The sepia-toned Memory of Joey's Regret and the evil of the Ink Demon lingers over the studio and corrupts this new colourful world, while Wilson, the Man Who Killed The Ink Demon, is the one trying to forcibly extinguish these old stains and make the machine useful again.

Geez, you could tie Wilson's motivation in pretty directly actually if you dropped the ENTIRE thing where he says he's trying to BETTER THE WORLD THRU THE POWER OF THE MACHINE or whatever and instead just make him an actual janitor whose dad just gave him this bottom-tier job at his company. Give Nathan one audiolog about how his son is neglectful at work and its hard to find a job he can actually do or some such, and then you have Wilson as someone desperate to prove he deserves more. He sees his father's idolisation of Joey is naive, is able to realise the memory of Joey may be literally corrupting the business through the machine, and wants to eradicate that -- including Audrey, the most subtle infiltration of Joey Drew's influence. He's essentially the force of the New applied with no respect for the Old -- and then you could still give Wilson ties to that psychedelic neon ink from the Shipahoy battle; in fact, you could probably lean into it more: colour taken to the extreme, colour taken too far, something just as destructive as Joey's monochrome obsession.

(I've always loved the idea that Wilson isn't actually an artist and just stole the Shipahoy design while janitoring, which works great with the Shipahoy Monstrosity at the end being part crab because he couldn't actually create an isolated model to feed the machine... in this current era of The Threat Of AI Generation, the idea of wilson introducing a lot of mechanical innovation and incompetently dumping artwork into the machine to make new, too-colourful horrors in the interest of impressing his father while destroying all the old things these cartoons were first built on feels apropos lmao. obviously AI wasn't a huge talking point while BatDR was in production, but "ppl who assume more technology automatically makes art better while inadvertently destroying its heart" is extremely not new)

So the ink realm could be partially in colour (a world changed by the new cartoons), partially sepia (the infected memories of the old studio), and partially glowy neon (wilson's overzealous renovation). It'd be neat if Audrey became a bit of both -- partially colour, partially sepia -- and represented the new cartoons' ties to the old. Learning about the horrors that befell her father's old studio and the Gent technology that Wilson is now using are both relevant -- Joey's exploitation of actual artists who care was bad, and so is Wilson's complete disregard for the heart of these artists' work. The memory of Joey can't fix it because he is part of the problem -- he and the demon are the source of the monochrome infection -- so you have to be the one to bring heartfelt colour into this world, a power none of the others have; find a way to heal those trapped by old wrongs and restart the cycle in a better direction. Then, when Audrey says she wants to create a kinder cycle at the end, we have an idea of what that means and that she can do it b/c there's simple symbolism associated with it -- the new, colourful world that's neither corrupted by festering wrongs nor torn apart by Wilson's machines.

anyway. thats my half-baked idea. i still think its a shame that there WAS colour in there for like 2 seconds and they did NOTHING WITH IT!!!!

[macabremayhem]

"– People are obsessed with love, looking for it and not getting what they really need. Fragile, stupid creatures. You consider love as a magical tool that can change the world and then you go around in circles. But your eyes are clouded with illusions. You think: if this love didn’t give me what I need, it is not "real". You are fascinated by the myth of true love. You think it would last for the rest of your life, understanding and healing everything. But love is just a myth.

Ilya looked up, his lips trembling.

– What am I looking for? I don’t really know, Quaestor Valdemar. But I know that you are... incapable of love. I know this and I have come to you willingly.

Quaestor is answered:

– You came to the sacrificial fire. Frankly, I’m impressed by your deep, desperate masochism. It’s attractive – how can predator be attracted to the easy prey. You came to me because you can no longer look for something in people – something they want too and can’t give you. A kind of the truth. However, perhaps you intuitively tried to give it to them.

You understand what I am. You’re not making any illusions about my personality. You’ve seen what I can do. Others have deceived you. But you still hope. Dum spiro, spero is your unfailing credo.

Valdemar went quiet for a while and then added, looking into Julian’s eyes:

– And like all men, you still worship love as a god. Funny. But… Nec deus intersit."

Text: Lunatic Sun

Art:

Sketch: chilledoutbeast

Colouring: wasteofplace

previous fragment:

[hotheadedhero]

hellooo!! I’ve never done this before. So I’m hoping I did it right.

can you please write a one shot rise Donnie x mystical user (preferably yokai) reader? Where Donnie feels like he’s constantly competing against the reader, and is always down playing mystic. To the point where reader confronts him :>.

AN: Hello there! I'm so glad you trusted me with your first request. It was really fun to write 😋 I hope it does the job <3

Science vs Mystic

Donatello x Reader

Warnings: angst, arguing, I didn't proof read, kinda made Donnie an ass in this I'm sorry

Donatello’s disdain for the mystic arts and magic alike has always been well known. Ever since he and his family came across the strange world hidden beneath New York, this distaste has only grown. It continues to grow with every adventure involving such, which is becoming a more regular occurrence than he’s comfortable with. 

Then, you came along. You with your inexplicably, aggravating abilities. He had hoped that after the day was saved and the trouble was dealt with, that would be the last of your affiliation. Quite the opposite, it turned out. A permanent friend was made out of you that day, which meant frequent team-ups and visits by yours truly. In his mind, he’s tried to put aside the differences, he’s attempted to let bygones be bygones, but you always manage to steal the spotlight with your ostensibly fantastical displays.

Perhaps it's jealousy. His brothers are always so enamoured by your mystical mastery, showering you with compliments after each fight you assist. They just won't shut up about how cool you are. What's "cool" is how he has been able to make his inventions in a sewer, how he’s turned a bunch of scraps into the glorious creations they are now. Sure, he may need to commandeer the odd chemical from time to time but what he does is leaps and bounds more impressive than your flashy little magic shows. Illusions are based on principles of physics and mathematics. There is objective evidence for it all. The charms that your kind uses to blend in with humanity? Simple. Like how military operations will cater technology to make their vehicles appear invisible, it’s a matter of deflecting light around an object. This same premise can be applied. Rather than deflecting the light, your charms can refract it and make a person appear to be someone they’re not. Mere cloaking devices. In fact, he’s been working on something similar for himself and his brothers.

If not that, chemistry plays a fundamental role, at least. So what if you can shoot sparks of light from your sleeves? Fireworks. That’s all it is and those are just ignited gunpowder with various metal compounds to create different colours. You can make plants grow from the ground at inhuman rates? Poppycock, he says. Ever heard of auxin? Cytokinin? These are just a couple of the plant growth regulators that are so ordinarily used by modern man. Even then, you probably dabble in the use of mutagen to make it seem more impressive.

Scratch the jealousy. There’s nothing to be envious of. He knows that science is superior. It always has been and always will be. He can hardly say he's surprised by his family's fascination. They aren't as intellectually adept as he is. Unfortunately, that commentary doesn't provide him with the closure he needs to feel that much better about it, which is why he resorts to jabbing at your abilities with passing comments, whether they be snide, sarcastic or just downright mean.

You aren't an idiot. You can feel his malice towards you before he even has a chance to open his mouth. At first, you merely thought it was a feature of his persona - that it’s in his nature to berate what can’t be explained by science. That was a misstep in your thinking. His entire deal is that everything can be explained with science. Try you may to convince him otherwise but it’s always the same song and dance: you curate something with your magic and he shuts it down with a zealous drone that is starting to grate on you. 

If you were to ever meet someone outside of your home, you were always taught that there would be an indifference to your powers. People often either shun what they don’t understand or change the scriptures to what they’re familiar with so they can understand it, even if it means they’re wrong. You have always sworn to be the bigger person and not stoop to such levels of belittling pettiness but it’s getting harder. There’s only so many times you can bite your tongue before you start bleeding from the mouth. As waining as it may be on your patience, there are civil ways of going about this. You have been practising the conversation in your head for days now. Everything to want to make peace with has been rehearsed over and over and over again. With your head held high, you march right over to the garage and there he is, tinkering away at one of his many inventions.

“Donatello,” you declare, making your presence known. “Can we talk?”

Without looking, he hums and flails a dismissive hand in your direction. He doesn’t even bother to wave his real hand, opting for the use of a bionic limb so that he may keep his focus on his work. You bite your tongue like you have so many times before and tread closer. You had hoped that your irregular hardiness would be enough for him to realise you mean business but nothing. He fails to turn his music down even, so you take the liberty of doing it yourself. His lack of respect is already urging a rise out of you but you keep your mantra in mind: remain peaceful, aggression leads you nowhere. 

You breathe deeply to settle yourself and start your case, “Why do you always make such a point of overruling my abilities with science?”

“It’s not an overruling,” he retorts blandly. “I’m merely giving you the facts.”

“What you think are the facts,” you correct him.

"Please. Science is unquestionable.” Still, his eyes are glued to his device rather than paying attention to the situation at hand. “Atoms make the very backbone of everything that exists, etcetera, etcetera. Need I go on?” There’s that grating tone in his voice again; snobbish and agonisingly vain. “You can't seriously tell me that ‘magic’ has a constructive place in the world nearly as much as science does."

"I can if it's what I grew up believing," you object, more stern but remaining the peacekeeper where you can. “How would you feel if I tried to pick apart everything you believe and tell you it means nothing?”

He scoffs, “As if you could.” 

“Excuse me?” you ask through your teeth.

The tips of your fingers dig into your palms. By now, your blood is boiling. It’s one thing to throw out the odd comment but now it feels as though he’s making a straight mockery out of you. Keep a steady pace. You can do this. It’s becoming increasingly difficult but you know you can see this through without a violent fit. 

“Science is everything and that is the objective truth. Magic is just-”

“Donatello,” you attempt to gently interrupt him lest he anger you further but he takes no notice.

“- a childish way-”

“Stop.”

“- to view the world in fairy-like wonder.”

“Oh my stars, just shut up,” you cry out, "you arrogant, condescending, self-bloated ignoramus!” 

You throw your fists down at your sides and the very ground beneath you shakes. Where he was so absorbed in his creation, he failed to realise how worked up you were getting. You undeniably have his full attention now. If your outburst alone wasn’t enough to shut his mouth, the large cracks around your feet certainly are. There’s a wide, unfocused glow in your eyes and you’re heaving for air. He sits up, prepares to say something but his lips lock back down when yours open again.

“I am not just talking about stories or fairy tales or made-up fantasies from a child’s daydream! This is my life!”

Another loud shriek erupts from your chest, seizing the fragile floor and destroying it further. Luckily, it isn’t enough to permanently harm the infrastructure but it makes for a harrowing sight: your crumbling emotions devastating that which surrounds you. Silence follows, though not completely. Stray pieces of broken brick clammer around you two. 

In the short seconds that you try to regain your breath, Donnie stares up at you. Once shadowed over his hunched frame, your body is now slumped and weary. Your eyes point up at the ceiling in an attempt to stop crying but to no avail. In the end, you decide to just cover them with your hand.

“All you're doing is trying to convince me that my life is a lie,” you shakily whisper, “and if that’s how it’s going to be then I… I just can’t.”

You walk out before he has a chance to consider a response, leaving him in his stupefied state. His gaze follows the largest crack from the floor to the ceiling until it falls back on the doorway. By no means had he ever intended to make you doubt your livelihood. He was just… he was… he doesn’t know what he was doing, actually. Have his unappetising quips really led you to such turmoil? His face slowly morphs into a frown and he finds himself lying back on his shell. Then, his lips scrunch together and his throat groans in frustration. He shouldn’t feel bad for handing out the realities. He shouldn’t harbour guilt when you’ve been stealing his brothers’ attention all this time. 

Oh. 

The back of his head taps back into the ground. Gosh darn it. Jealousy. That’s the kicker. It has been this whole time. He’d like to leave it at that and continue with his previous task but he knows his family would start asking questions. His heart doth protest against his logical brain too much. With another long lament into the open air, he pries himself onto his feet and readies his venture to retrieve you. Such fun. Not only does he have to help a mystic user but now he has to traverse the very land from which you came. 

It doesn’t pan out the way he initially thought it would, however. The time he has to himself whilst he scavenges - the time he has to think - is time enough for him to go over your words. More so, the look on your face. He hates to admit it but his short-sightedness led him astray and hurt you. Whilst he doesn’t put much thought towards mystics, you are still a valued friend of his family. You’ve aided them so many times in their missions. You’re a person of great power even if that power comes from something he disagrees with. His brows furrow and he grimaces. Okay. He’ll admit he was out of line. That can wait, however. He still needs to find you first.

Donatello searches high and low across every surface of the mystic lands as he prowls further, faster. He always forgets how big it is. New York is an impressive feat but this realm could be worthy of putting it to shame on size alone. His efforts almost seem fruitless but, finally, he spots you atop a hillside, sitting with your legs pressed into your chest. The sight of your dimmed spirit tips him further into shame. He hates that fact but he supposes it’s the least he deserves. 

Before he knows it, he’s standing beside you. He didn’t realise he had gotten here so quickly upon finding you but here he is. You just about look up at him but your eyes quickly fall back onto the luscious landscape. There’s no telling what he plans to say or even why he’s followed you this far. You can’t say you have the energy to argue further, nor can you find it in yourself to tell him to leave. You can only hope he chooses his words carefully whilst he’s in the centre of your home.

“I don’t really know how to go about this,” he admits. “I…”

He blows out a breath and sits down beside you. For all the time he took to find you, he thought he would have at least thought about what he wanted to say. It isn’t that he lacks the capacity to apologise but admitting he’s wrong is a whole other kettle of fish he struggles to reach into. The whole crux of this is that he couldn’t admit to being wrong, he couldn’t allow your very being to defy what he believes to be the sole truth and the only truth. If there’s ever a time for trying, it’s now.

“I’m sorry. This has all been blown wildly out of proportion.” Donatello holds his hands together and his mouth curls uncomfortably. Part of this may involve revealing what he wishes to keep a secret but if it stands any chance of helping the situation, it may be his only resort. “I suppose it just seems unfair that you can make all of these things happen with the wave of your hand whilst I work so hard to accomplish the same.”

His head falls between his legs and yours lifts to properly look at him. Had he tried to illustrate this earlier, the whole ordeal may have been avoidable. Better late than never, you suppose. You never meant to feed into whatever inferiority complex he’s dealing with but that still doesn’t excuse the way he’s acted towards you. You want to get mad again and tell him just that but his shrunken stature speaks for you. Guilt is the moral emotion of a man who realises that they have compromised or has violated universal moral standards and bears significant responsibility for that violation - he who knows he has done wrong. That alone is a start to pave the way for what you had longed for. It’s a shame it came to this to begin with but beggars can’t be choosers.

“It was never my intent to upset you,” he continues when you stay silent. “Would you please come back to the lair? My brothers enjoy your company, so…”

“I’ll come back on one condition.” You turn back to the view but an invisible string tugs at your mouth. “You don’t have to agree with everything I stand for but can we at least put our differences behind us and be friends?” you ask and the upward lilt in your voice gives him a hope he hadn’t anticipated to be so easy. “Who’s to say science and mystics can’t co-exist?”

You outstretch your hand with a coy, friendly smile. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you were to give him an earful about his behaviour but this is far better. It’ll be a good chance to at least try and make up for all the awful things he’s said. If not for his own gratification then for the sake of his family in keeping an ally around.

One of his robotic limbs goes for the shake only to stop. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it properly. His fingers sequentially tap against his palm before he reaches out and clasps your hand. Your smile brightens and, in turn, his cheeks rise above an apologetic grin. Even if he has his quarrels with your powers, what you stand for, he doesn’t need to hold issue with you as a person. Who knows? This could be the start of a wonderful friendship. Jeez, though, remind him to never get on your bad side. He still needs to repair those damages to the garage.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Ok crock pot anon here one more time (I definitely sent you a third one last night and completely forgot to say it was me, I was so damn excited, apologies). Now that I can rewatch on Hulu today, I can…. watch this scene 8x in a row! Lol. So- perfect barbacoa in 8 hours, eh? 8 hours = 8 seasons? Except Buck is saying heyyyy no, it can be done a little early! "Recipes are just a guideline" and "to Helena Diaz, they're gospel" I am side-eyeing you SO HARD. "First family dinner in the new house. It better be fork tender." "Slow cooker is never wrong!" I am lOsInG mY aCtUaL mInD. And, AND. Helena doesn't even eat any, which, first of all, why, it's probably amazing, but second, she grabs quick, easy takeout, the easy way out!!! The relationship metaphors!!!! Doing things the quick easy way versus slow cooking a relationship (romantic or parent-child), dkjfksdja;s

Hey crock pot anon

I always love seeing you've popped back into my inbox - I assumed the flailing kermit was you - which is why I added the same gif to my last reply keep being excited - I'm loving it and I am also very excited about it 😎

rewatching to pick up all the goodies we missed is always so much fun isn't it - I've been at the Cricket all day - rewatching on my laptop as the game was going on - thats how I ended up down a chess spiral, but anyway yes yes yes to the 8 hours = 8 seasons - and I just answered another ask about the 11 minutes to go of the 8 hours - so 11 minutes before the end of season 8. I've also got another couple of asks that have come into my inbox as I was writing this reply talking about fractions and how that therefore means episode 14 or 15 depending on which way you round the numbers, so perhaps we'll be lucky and that will be the moment of Buddie canon!

The Helena v Buck of recipes is endlessly fascinating to me - Helena stuck in heteronormativity while Buck has started experimenting with recipes and making them his own - his 3 tries to get the lasagne right and his baking experiments - in the same way he is now exploring his sexuality. Hell, if you think about it he tried twice/ three times with tommy - depending on what one counts as a 'try' and if it was the third time that it was right or if it took 3 attempts and the fourth one was the right one - either way on both fronts - it implies that the next time he's going to get it right - as in with Eddie!

the first family dinner in the new house it better be fork tender really is making me feel a bit feral - the potential foreshadowing of a first family dinner in a new Buckley- Diaz family home and it being a dinner full of tenderness 🥹🫠🥰 I will be a puddle!

the 'Slow cooker is never wrong' line literally made me gasp and cackle - slow burns are never wrong - they are always the best love stories - this slow burn rollercoaster we've been on for the last 84 years is not wrong - we buddies are not wrong - just like that slow cooker! I love it here 🥰🤡🌈

Helena only eating the take out - not even trying what Eddie had lovingly made - and the face she pulled when she lifted the lid on the slow cooker - she did not like it and wasn't impressed - its making me think we might be getting a homophobic Helena to some degree in our future - you know just to add to her other really great qualities!!!

and yes yes yes to your last line 'Doing things the quick easy way versus slow cooking a relationship (romantic or parent-child)' - that is the crux of it isnt it - slow burns take time but they are infinitely better (nutritionally and taste wise) than a takeout meal alternative - slow burns are made with love and will leave you feeling content and satisfied, while the easy take out option contains little to no love and will leave you feeling either over full and uncomfortable or disappointed and hungry 5 minutes later!

all roads (crock pots, colour theory, chess, ballroom dancing, couches etc) lead to Buddie canon and I feel insane about it! feel free to spiral in my inbox about crockpots (or anything else) whenever you like 💜💜💜

[sitp-recs]

the sun between us by @eleadore (E, 7.4k)

Draco Malfoy, an omega. It was laughable until he was right in front of you, smelling like he was one shaky step from tripping into a heat.

How could it be? Not him, with the cold eyes and mean mouth, and all his sharp edges—every edge, no respite—nothing soft to him, nothing to draw you in. (…) He's not pretty, with his pale, pointy face, all washed of colour and full of spite. Haughty and unfeeling. Cold, Harry thinks, even in the grip of a heat, he'd be cold. Who would want to fuck him? Who would want—who would—

I finally got the chance to read this fic and I knew I was gonna write a rec for it the moment I read the quote above (I’ve actually combined my two fave quotes up there). Then I stared at my tumblr draft for about 10 minutes before I remembered how to actually write a rec lol it’s been over an year since the last one and god knows how long it will be until the next, so thank you kindly @eleadore for fueling my Drarry feels once again!

What a delicious read. So viscerally raw and thick with tension (not only sexual, which makes it even more compelling), this put me at the edge of my seat, brimming with anticipation from beginning to end. I don’t usually read a/b/o and it takes me a bit to get into it but my god, they’re so mean and so horny that I felt the UST punching my bones and was salivating from the moment Harry first sniffed Draco 🔥

This is not only an impressive masterclass in tension building within 7k (insanity!), but also a refreshing take at omegaverse and a fascinating dive into Harry and Draco, who are SO intense even when they say nothing at all: rough around the edges, unable to differentiate fighting from fucking, desperate to appear smooth when in fact they’re about to burst with want. I love how they are so attuned to each other, the desire to hurt/touch/help/hurt too strong, the wistful memory of that one day in 6th year colouring the “enemies to lovers” dynamics. It was so much fun to see this stone-cold, mocking, demanding Draco through Harry’s increasingly wanton eyes, the unrelenting banter taking the “fucking your enemy through their heat” trope to a whole new level.

Speaking of - and being a good smut champion as always - I just want to highlight how incredibly hot the whole sequence was: that unhinged frenzy of a/b/o sex, all biting and no softness, the post-nut clarity replaced by the hazy confusion of losing control and accidentally knotting your omega boyfriend enemy. Peak Drarry moment 🤣 reading this felt like a fever dream that made me eat it up in one sitting, so if anyone hasn’t had the chance to check this series yet (oh yes, there’s a sequel!!!) run don’t walk! Happy Wednesday :D

[vinylfoxbooks]

July 11 - Essential | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 2121

Part 7 of Medium!James AU

Previous Part | First Part

“It’s essential that you only stir thrice clockwise after adding the moonstone.” Regulus says, watching James take down the instruction in a way that their brain can comprehend it, “Otherwise the moonstone won’t react and your entire potion will be useless. Nothing will happen.”

“Including an explosion.” James hums, writing down that note, “So if it doesn’t work, I probably messed up the moonstone stir. If it explodes…”

“Tough luck.” Regulus hums, “Now, after that, you should add your beetle eyes. Don’t stir afterwards, just place them evenly apart in the cauldron.” He waits until James stops writing, “After about five minutes, the potion should turn a deep purple colour and smell of peppermint. Then you’ve done it correctly.”

James writes down the result, nodding and humming once they’ve pulled their quill away, “Alright, I think I got it. Now I just have to… do it.”

“It’s alright.” Regulus shakes his head, “I don’t mind helping you, and I know that you struggle with it.” 

“Which is where you struggle.” Regulus notes, “Hopefully with your own notes, you’ll be able to do it better. I’ll test you on this and the venom antidote before you do it in class.”

“Thank you so much, Reggie.” James breathes, “You don’t understand how much this helps me. I just… I don’t know why I get things so mixed up.” 

James nods and is silent for a moment, just watching the ink on their book dry before closing it, “I’m going to be doing a spiritual banishing spell to hopefully help with the spirit that’s been harassing me.”

“Still the one from the other day?”

They nod, “He keeps showing up and won’t talk to me. Cleansing isn’t working so I’m hoping that making a proper banishing spell will help. Would you want me to teach you how to make one?”

“Is it similar to what we do in our classes?”

“Not really,” James shakes their head, “It’s much more simple and I think it has more effect on the afterlife and divinity than what we learn here. Hogwarts teaches practical magic, not spiritual magic.”

“It fascinates me that you practice two different magic systems.”

“That’s what happens when your family marries muggles that practice pagan witchcraft.” James winks, gathering their stuff and standing up, “You get two different magic systems and the ability to see ghosts.” 

Regulus smiles, putting his own things in his bag then standing up while slinging it over his shoulder, “Lead the way then.” James hums and starts taking Regulus up to the Gryffindor tower and into their dorm. 

There’s no one else in there when the two arrive and James makes quick work of walking over to the desk and conjuring some boxes. Opening the boxes, they reveal two of them are full of small vials filled with things with little initials on top, one is full of candles, and one has several small crystals, and the final one has empty vials. They also pull a leather-bound book out of somewhere and opens it with an impressive display of wandless magic, making it flick to a certain page. James smiles and turns to him, “Come on. Our first thing that we want to do is pick jars. A lot of this is the same as what we learn in our classes, but a bit more intimate and cautious, I guess.” 

Regulus hums and steps towards them, “Will any of these jars work?”

James gestures to the box, “Of course, but I always like to look in the box and pick the one that calls to me. There will be one or two that your eye keeps going back to, even if it looks the same as all the others, grab that one.” They hum and their eyes flit around the small glass vials for a while before they reach and grab one from one of the corners. Regulus does the same, though it takes him a lot longer for him to find one that ‘calls to him,’ which James explains is normal for someone not as attuned to doing things like that. 

James reaches forward and grabs an incense stick from the bowl of salt they’ve got sitting on their desk and Regulus takes the opportunity to ask, “Is that why Sirius complains about you taking too long to grab crystals when you do potions?”

“Mhm,” they light the incense stick with their wand before sticking it in the jar and waving it around, then doing it to the outside, “I believe that even the type of magic that you’re used to is more powerful if you’re more attuned to the ingredients you’re using. So picking what crystal sticks out to you or is calling to you. Take this,” they hand him the incense, “And do what I did, put it in the jar and get it smoky, then move the incense stick around it while thinking of positive things, keep your energy high and focus on the feeling of protection. You can say affirmations outloud or just think of it.” Regulus does so, thinking about how the feeling of James’ arm pressed against his own makes him feel warm inside, and the way that they’re smiling at him while he does this. 

“Alright, that’s good.” James smiles, taking the stick from him and brushing their fingers together, then ashing it in the salt again, “Now, we’re going to be doing basically the same thing for all the ingredients.” They start picking up some of the filled vials and pulling them out, bringing out two small spoons as well, “I’m going to tell you what each of this ingredient is doing for our spell and you’ll ask it to do their jobs as you put them in your vial. I’ll say it outloud so you can hear what it sounds like. Just follow my lead and think what I say, or you can say it out loud. We’ll do this with every ingredient.” 

“You keep calling it a spell, what do you mean? Aren’t spells verbal?”

James hums, their fingers brushing over the cork tops of the jars, “Yes and no. Witchcraft like this depends more on intuition and your energies, it relies more on the world than our magic does. What we’re making is called a spell jar.” They shrug, “It’s kind of hard to explain. But the witchcraft that you’re used to is more… physical, while this is more mental and spiritual.”

“I suppose that tracks.”

They hand one of the spoons to Regulus and open a jar, “This is cinnamon, it’s going to give us blessing and protection.” They take a spoonful of the cinnamon and pour it into their vial, telling the cinnamon what it’s to do. Regulus does the same, though he keeps his demand internal. James guides him through the rest of the ingredients--Comfrey for binding, juniper for defense, mugwort to avert danger, myrrh as an offering to the afterlife, sandalwood for clarity, black salt from their salt bowl for absorbing negative energy, blue lace agate to dispel fear, smoky quartz to ward off negativity, and amethyst for spiritual protection--at one point explaining that they only put their ingredients in alphabetically, not for any particular reason. 

“Now that everything is in there. We’re going to close the vial and…” They take out one of the half-burnt black candles from the candle box, lighting it with their wand, “Seal it with this wax. Black candles are used to banish and absorb negative energy.”

“It’s insane to me that some of these ingredients have such different uses between the magic I’m used to and this witchcraft.” Regulus hums, “I can only figure why you have such a hard time doing potions when you’ve been doing this for longer.” 

James nods, “It does get a bit… confusing. And I never need to stir these. Plus, they’re not strict. If I spill something or forget an ingredient or put too much of one, it doesn’t matter all that much. Potions is so demanding.” They take up the black candle and slowly drip the wax over the cork and some of the glass, ensuring that it’s sealed, telling the black candle what they want it to do for the spell. Then they hand it off to Regulus and he does the same thing. When he’s done, James takes the candle from him and blows it out, letting it sit out for a while before starting to clean up the vials and vanishing the boxes, “Now, you can put this anywhere near where you usually are or a common place for your energy. I’m going to be putting this on my nightstand near where I put my glasses at night. I also carry some in my bag.”

“Would my bookshelf work?”

After a couple seconds, James nods, “Yeah, that would actually be a really good spot for it. Your books hold a lot of your energy, and I imagine you spend a lot of time there. Oh! I wanted to give you something else!” They rush over to their nightstand and dig around it for a while before pulling out a ring. It’s of an amethyst wrapped in wire, “Here. I figured that your favourite way of wearing this would be in a ring. It’s blessed by my spirit guide and can help with anxiety, spiritual protection, and it’s a calming crystal. Which you probably know but…”

“Also, did you say spirit guide?”

Regulus takes the ring gingerly and puts it on, “It fits perfectly, thank you. How did you know?”

James flushes, “You left your ring here the other day when you were talking to Sirius so I wrapped it based on the size of the ring…”

“Yeah, it’s my grandpa.” They hum, “A spirit guide is something that’s watching over you, an ancestor, an angel, a deity, a ghost. They’re here to help you and guide you, after I learned that my grandpa was dead, I learned that he was my spirit guide. He breaks my jewelry to communicate with me.”

“He breaks your jewelry?”

They nod, gesturing to their earrings and necklaces tucked under their shirts, “The charm will break off, the lobster claw will stop working, the balls of my earrings will come undone. He messes with my earrings and I have to figure out why he wants to warn me or what he’s trying to say. That’s why I made you a ring, if it breaks there might be something wrong.”

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.”

James frowns, “I’m not weirding you out with all of this, am I?”

“No!” Regulus starts, maybe a bit loud, “No, sorry. It’s just that I'm getting a lot of information at once. Do you know if there are any books that I can look for to understand a bit better?”

The older laughs, “Of course you want to read about it. I’ll owl my mom and ask her for a list of the books that she taught me with and some recommendations for you. I’ll get back to you after that.” 

“Thank you, James.” Regulus offers them a soft smile, looking down at the ring, “For teaching me this, for trusting me to talk to me about your witchcraft and spirit-seeing abilities, for… for showing me a bit of your world.”

And because he’s looking down, he doesn’t see the way that James’ cheeks go bright red, “It’s… it’s no problem. Thank you for humoring me and not… not thinking that I’m looney.”

“Oh I still think you’re looney, just-” He clears his throat, “Just not over your beliefs.” He takes one of James’ hands with his own that has the gifted ring, finally looking up at them. 

James looks back, makes direct eye contact with him and their smile… it’s so gentle, soft… dare Regulus say loving.

“What are you two doing in here?” Sirius asks, pushing the door open and making both of them jump. He’s got a grin on his face like he knows exactly what he interrupted--what did he interrupt?--but he moves around the room like nothing was happening between the two.

“I was teaching Regulus a spell and giving him the ring I made him.” James explains, their smile making their way back onto their face--but is it different than the smile they gave Regulus or is he seeing things?--as they pull away from his body. 

Regulus leaves soon after that when Sirius kicks him out of the dorm because he wants ‘James time’ and James sends him an apologetic look. When he gets back to his dorm, he places the now-filled vial on his bookshelf next to his favourite books and leaves the ring on his bedside table.

Next Part

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Happy New Year! I've been writing too many recaps lately so this will be brief. Anyway as usual, spoilers and opinions below, read at your own risk.

QL - Currently Watching

🇹🇭 Caged Again [9/10] - I don't think the poachers escaping and going after them again was necessary, and it certainly wasn't well executed.

🇯🇵 Call Me by No-Name [1/8] - I love the visuals, it's all very deliberate, with the lighting , the colours and all the lines. I'm intrigued about no-name and the scheherazade of it all. She must be running from something, or someone. Probably the second. 🇹🇭 Fourever You [15/16] - I don't know why I'm still watching. I really don't.

🇨🇳 I'll Turn Around This Time [1/6] - Very nice production, I really like the visuals. The first episode spanned 3 months so it was a lot but I think it was well paced. Time loop has begun so I expect a lot of heartache. Curious about this one. 🇯🇵Miseinen [9/10] - I think some of the changes they made from the source material really didn't help the story in the second half of the show. And this last episode just felt like they were more focused on continuing the visual metaphors than to actually move the story forward in a way that made sense. I'm kinda disappointed tbh.

🇹🇭 Ossan's Love Th [2/12] - I'm having so much fun. Smitten Mix is my favourite Mix, and I'm loving seeing Earth do something different. I actually like the Boss, I think the show is doing a good job balancing the more excentric side with the professional. That moment on the roof when he and Moo went from fighting to professional mode was well done.

🇹🇭 Perfect 10 Liners [14/24] - I adore them.

🇹🇭 Sangmin Dinneaw [3/8] - This show just went full on bonkers. I mean, this whole episode was crazy. I don't even know what to say. The hotel manager is not funny, I can't stand her. The mains are cute but I don't know if I'm gonna stick with this one.

🇹🇼 See Your Love [11/13] - It's like watching two shows in one. On one side we have the most endearing couple. They are completely in love with each other and helping each other through their individual issues. And the other...I don't really know what's happening.

🇹🇭 The Boy Next World [4/10] - Ok, so we all agree that Cir is just more than a little insane, like probably because of that mother, and not really from a parallel universe, and has probably been stalking watching Phu from afar since that day in the classroom, right? Great.

🇹🇭 The Heart Killers [9/12] - I'm still watching quietly.

🇹🇭 ThamePo [7/12] - They are so charming and earnest. And Est is too beautiful for this world. But also...

🇯🇵 When It Rains, It Pours [1/7] - I'm very curious. I really like the setup, it feels grown up. Also I'm curious if the gay couple, is actually a couple, or if maybe they were once but now they stayed together for convenience or some other reason. We'll see.

🇹🇭 Your Sky [11/12] - Hia and Real need to get on with it. Lee and Ghlai need their own show. Teerak and Fah continue to be the most lovable couple in all the land.

QL - Finished

🇯🇵Love in the Air Koi - I appreciated the condensed stories, with less filler and the parallel kidnappings. And I preferred this version of the second couple.

🇯🇵 Love is a Poison - I adore them. Shiba is such a fascinating and original character. The actors did an incredible job, and I could watch them be battle husbands for 5 more seasons. Oh and the succulents. I will miss them most of all.

🇹🇭 My Stand-In - Final thoughts here.

🇹🇭 Spare Me Your Mercy - It's interesting in the context of euthanasia but not much else. The crime part of this was messy and the romance was practically not existent or otherwise not believable.

Others - Watched

🇹🇭High School Frenemy | 🇨🇳Fangs of Fortune | 🇯🇵Lion no Kakurega |🇰🇷 Squid Game 2

Coming in January: 05/01 - 🇹🇭 The Boy Next world 06/01 - 🇹🇭Ossan's Love Thailand 09/01 - 🇯🇵 When it Rains, It Pours - 🇯🇵 Call Me by No-Name 15/01 - 🇹🇼 Impression of Youth

I've finished my yearly recap by country. Korea | Thailand | Japan. I hope you all have the most wonderful year. As usual my ask box is open. 💜