#er however you spell that

[mooneln0ne]

due to Tumblr’s 10 image limit for me I have to split this.. Sorry

Au info - pt1 - pt2 - pt3

[ask-the-pioneer]

"I've always been captivated by them. Something about the shiny exterior, how they glimmer when you tumble them around in your hands. My younger self would obsess about them, a childlike fascination. Even back then I instinctively knew they had value. My mom would use pearls I found to pay for a safe passage at scavenger tolls. We tried to bypass those points as much as we could, but sometimes it was unavoidable."

"It's a looong story…. I was found roaming the wilderness by my mentor, who brought me to er, an entity, called an interator. Do you know of iterators? Apparently they are what was left of an ancient civilization that once inhabited these lands. I couldn't wrap my head around it at first. Iterators are massive, absolutely huge, like mountains. Do you see that big structure of a regular, smooth shape?"

[She points towards Five Pebble's can in the distance]

"That is an iterator's «superstrucute». A mountain, the entire thing… is a person. It still sounds crazy when I say it."

"Ah, right, my name… like I mentioned, I got lost and my mentor found me. He brought me to his iterator. If my memory serves me right, his name is «No Significant Harassment», or NSH for short. I recall thinking at that time, «Harassment? I hope he won't be cruel to me». I had no concept of iterator names, their meaning, why it's three or however many words long. It was incredibly confusing to my young mind, though looking back at it I consider myself very lucky. The iterator was, dare I say, «god-like» (his own words), but benevolent. I saw how well he treated Hunter – my mentor – and it made me trust him more, even though I was scared and wary in the beginning."

"Would you believe it if I told you… there are stories written inside the pearls? That those things I’ve been obsessing about all my life are used for storing information? I had many of them leftover from when I lived at a scavenger outpost. One cycle, NSH noticed my interest, and – I wish Hunter had told me about this sooner, but – the iterator shot at my head with something…? And suddenly I could understand everything he said. Not that he said much, because I started crying loudly and ran straight out of there, haha. But before I bolted, he gave me one of his pearls as consolation. I think he felt bad for the scared little me."

"After that, he would eagerly read all the pearls I brought to him. That is how I learned more about the culture of the peoples who were here before me: the Ancients, their customs, why the iterators were built, and much more. It was like the knowledge of the entire world was suddenly revealed to me – to a seemingly insignificant being, a tiny speck in an endless ocean of life. It both made me feel very important, and very small. And, yeah, it has intensified my obsession with pearls beyond mortal limits. What if I could write into a pearl? I could archive the history of my entire species! All the stories my mom told me when I was small? All the places I’ve been to? Or other scugs have been to…"

[Her eyes widen, sparkling with glee]

"Y-yeah… that would be nice… sadly I am what I am – a slugcat. I don’t know how to do this very advanced stuff at all. I have no means of doing this. I once asked NHS for help, but there’s only so much he could guess from my frantic signing. I don’t think he understood me, in the end. But he did appreciate my efforts, and I was given a title – the Pioneer, like a person who is the very first to explore something uncharted. Apparently no slugcat before me thought of reading from or writing into pearls? I find it a little hard to believe."

"This one! This is a very special kind of pearl – it contains an ancient poem from which my name originated. See, my name was a gift from NSH the iterator. It’s spelled: «Mirmyntasseth». The best way I would describe it, is… it’s a name for a feeling, or an experience. The way it was explained to me, is that the word «Mirmyntasseth» is an expression of seeing a marble roll on a flat surface, then hitting another marble. Ah, right, you may not know this – a marble is like, like a pearl, but translucent and even more ornate. I was told that marbles were used by the Ancients for entertainment. They had a game where you rolled one to hit another. I'll admit, I can see the appeal. Throwing rocks is fun, although I image this game was considered a more dignified pastime."

[She tumbles the dark pearl in her hands, admiring its luster]

"The poem inside this pearl, one of its verses spells: «Eight Marbles Cast in Stone». The poem itself is long… very long… I had the iterator read it to me once, and we had to stop in the middle because the rain was coming. Maybe I will ask NSH to read it again, when I’m back at his superstructure with Hunter."

[Her gaze trails off to somewhere far away for a moment, a subtle grimace on her face. She closes her eyes and shakes off the thoughts that cloud her mind]

"So, um… yes… that is why I am called Eight Marbles Cast in Stone, or Marbles for short. I like how it sounds, it has a nice ring to it. And it’s a gift from an iterator, a god-like being. I consider it a great honor."

"…that said, I wonder why he didn’t just name me «Pearl»? Wouldn’t that make more sense? Maybe it didn’t sound cool enough. They’ve used pearls just to store information. I guess it’d be silly to be named «Dirt» because you doodle in dirt, or «Batfly» because you love eating batflies? Hmm…"

[bogleech]

I'm sorry....what??! This can't be true, can it? British people can't really be spelling "uh" or "um" as "er" or "erm" can they? Even in a dialect without the rhotic r I'd assume there's only so many ways to read "er," which all rhyme with however you pronounce "her" or "were!"

[pr0wlerpunk]

Would they love you as a worm?

And how would they react?

(Platonic!)

Gn!reader

Some of these are short and I’m sorry for that, wrote this at 1:am and I didn’t rlly feel like adding or fixing anything ☹️

Warnings: Slight atsv spoilers!!!, really bad British slang(someone please help), idk if the terms I used for hobie are actual British slang or not….nor do I know how to spell them if they are☹️

Earth-1610!Miles Morales- Definitely(but he Misses human you)

🕷️miles would ABSOLUTELY love you as a worm.

🕷️somehow someway you turn into a worm and miles is so protective.

🕷️I’m talkin’ like dude would keep you so safe, with a little terrarium filled with fresh soil and plants.

🕷️feel like he would also spend nights talkin’ to you and just spilling his problems out.

🕷️one time he got scared that his mom threw you out but she had just moved you…yea he almost had a heart attack

——

“Mom, where’s my little jar I had on my window?”

“Oh uhm….I honestly don’t remember where I put it..”

“…”

“Miles?”

And he’s already gone to look for you around the house.

It took him a hour but he finally found you…in a cabinet.

That night he spent singing sunflower to you

——

Earth-42!Miles Morales- Kinda(he had to think about it)

⛓️ miles would have to warm up to you.

⛓️like 1610 miles, you somehow turn into a worm.

⛓️at first he thinks it’s a joke…but as time moves on he realizes you’re a worm.

⛓️he definitely would keep you safe though.

⛓️like he would keep you fed and made sure you didn’t dry out.

⛓️but like he doesn’t do the whole talk thing.

⛓️the only time he talks to you is when he’s checking on you(like twice a day)

⛓️he definitely hides you from his uncle.

⛓️he’s not ashamed he just doesn’t want to explain how you became a worm because even he doesn’t know.

⛓️though if Aaron ever found out I think he would just stare at miles and walk away.

——

“Yo miles, cmon man we gotta do a ru-”

“…” “…”

“Miles why is there a worm on your desk?…”

“I know it looks weird!!, but somehow [___] got turned into a worm..”

“…”

“Yea… we not doin’ no run today…you can just stay here with uhm…yo worm”

“Yo! Unc, it ain’t Like that!!”

But Aaron’s already out the door

And miles is left as heat flushes his now embarrassing face

——

Hobie Brown- Doesn’t care(but yes)

🎸hobie doesnt care, Like literally it’s your life.

🎸but, he is one of them that would carry you in his pocket.

🎸like dude has a full on pocket full of damp soil just for you.(that’s how he keeps you safe)

🎸he doesn’t know how you got turned into a worm, but like I said earlier he honestly doesn’t care.

🎸if you wanna be a worm…he ain’t gonna stop you.

🎸like 1610!miles, he definitely would talk to you.

🎸like full on conversations though.

🎸like he’s asking you questions and everyone’s just staring thinking he’s finally lost his marbles.

——

“So I was tellin’ bloke-”

“Ay hobie, who’re you talking to?”

“Bruva, you’re tellin’ me you don’t see [___] right er’???”

“…no?”

“That’s botched huh luv?!”

Yea they never came back…

——

Gwen Stacy- Not at first(but she does)

🎵she actually thinks you look stupid at first.

🎵she blames however you got like this on you or miles.

🎵she definitely thought you were ugly.

🎵but then she gets to care for you and ends up loving you.

🎵not the best at protecting you but please don’t be hard on her.

🎵she gets mad when someone tries to mess with you.

🎵like it’s kinda scary.

🎵I’m talkin’ bout full on glare, eyebrows furrowed, right nostril flared and lip curved up slightly.

🎵one day she caught a spider person tapping your glass and she got pissed.

——

“Ay!, why’re tapping the glass?”

“Oh, uhm.!”

“Move. This isn’t a zoo”

“Right! S-sorry!”

“…”

“You ok [___]?”

All in all everyone knew not to mess with Gwen and her worm friend.

——

Jessica Drew- Yes(shes basically your mom now)

🤰🏾she absolutely loves you.

🤰🏾plus she thought it’d be easy practice for when she pops her baby.

🤰🏾is the type to tell someone she has a kid and then show them you

🤰🏾she’s definitely always checking on you.

🤰🏾protects you like a mom should.(kinda)

🤰🏾she cried when she lost you.

🤰🏾one day she set you down to grab a drink and when she came back you were gone.

——

“I’ll be right back [___], don’t move!”

5 minutes later…

“[___]?….[___]!??”

“E-excuse me, but has anyone seen [___]??”

“Uh, who?”

“Their a worm, and they were right here!”

She ended up finding you with Peter B and mayday

She realized this was harder than she originally thought…

——

Miguel- No(He Acts Like he hates you, but secretly would do anything for you)

🕸️dude definitely almost stepped on you once or twice.

🕸️Bros the Type of Person to yell at you After he almost stepped on you.

🕸️but like once he warms up to you he’s definitely carrying you everywhere.

🕸️Like Bro wouldn’t trust you😭.

🕸️or for that matter anyone.

🕸️Like one time, he let Peter B watch You And when he came back mayday was about to eat you.

——

“I got it dude”

“Are You sure You can Watch [___]?”

“Yes now go..literally you’re ruining the mood right now”

10 Minutes later…

“I’m back-”

“PETER!?”

“What!, What!?”

“Your child almost ate [___]…”

“…”

“I’m sorry?”

“…Hijo de puta…”

“Yea i deserve that…”

——

Pav- Yes(He wants to keep you forever..)

🪀Bro thinks you’re the cutest thing hes ever Seen

🪀he definitely calls you his little wormy

🪀he would keep you safe in a while mini House

🪀Like Bro made it And Everything

🪀he doesn’t want you to Turm Back Human

🪀Like…Ever 💀

🪀he definitely Rants to you about EVERYTHING

🪀he told you how miles called Chai, “chai tea”

——

“So im sitting there right And he just Says….Chai tea…”

“LIKE CMON MAN”

“PAV WHO ARE YOU TALKIN TO??!”

“NO ONE MAMA!”

His mom thinks he has an imaginary friend now….

Tags: @alisblackgf

[bookwormangie]

Harry and Snape’s Clashing Communication Styles

It's interesting to think that Harry and Snape don’t have longer conversations in the series, but when they do, their communication styles are so different that they often clash.

Harry’s way of communicating is practical and straightforward. He tends to break down complex ideas into simpler terms that he can easily understand. This makes sense, given his upbringing in a non-magical world and his tendency to rely more on gut instinct than deep theoretical knowledge. For Harry, things are usually black and white, and his directness shows his desire to cut through the confusion and get straight to the point.

Snape, on the other hand, has a more complex and layered way of speaking. His language is precise and often sarcastic, which reflects not just his intelligence but also his disdain for what he sees as Harry’s lack of subtlety. Snape’s use of imagery and metaphor, especially when he describes consepts, gives his speech a poetic, almost philosophical quality. He takes pleasure in showing off his superior knowledge and uses this as a way to belittle Harry.

We see this clash clearly in OOTP during Harry’s first Occlumency lesson:

Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, “Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency —” “What’s that? Sir?” “It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind —” “He can read minds?” said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed. “You have no subtlety, Potter,” said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. “You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.” Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing, “Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . .” He smirked. Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind reading to Harry and he did not like the sound of it at all.

For Harry, when Snape mentions Legilimency, it immediately sounds like “mind reading,” which is a reasonable but overly simple way to understand such a complex concept. His quick jump to this conclusion shows his need to make sense of something that feels threatening, but it also reveals his limited grasp of the deeper nuances.

Snape, however, can’t resist mocking Harry’s lack of subtlety. His response is laced with condescension as he insists on the complexity of the mind and dismisses the idea of “mind reading” as something only muggles would think of. Snape’s explanation is detailed and philosophical, contrasting sharply with Harry’s desire for a straightforward answer.

Another great example of their different communication styles comes in HBP when Snape puts Harry on the spot, asking him to explain the difference between an inferius and a ghost:

“Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost.” The whole class looked around at Harry, who hastily tried to recall what Dumbledore had told him the night that they had gone to visit Slughorn. “Er — well — ghosts are transparent —” he said. “Oh, very good,” interrupted Snape, his lip curling. “Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. ‘Ghosts are transparent.’ ” Harry took a deep breath and continued calmly, though his insides were boiling, “Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren’t they? So they’d be solid —” “A five-year-old could have told us as much,” sneered Snape. “The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard’s spells. It is not alive, it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard’s bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth . . . and of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent.” “Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we’re trying to tell them apart!” said Ron. “When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we’re going to be having a shufti to see if it’s solid, aren’t we, we’re not going to be asking, ‘Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?’

Once again, Harry demonstrates his practical and straightforward approach. He gives a simple, clear distinction based on what would be most useful in a real-life situation—whether the entity is solid or transparent. This shows how Harry tends to focus on what’s immediately relevant and actionable, and Ron’s defense of Harry’s answer highlights this practicality. Ron even points out that in a real-world scenario, Harry’s answer is actually the most helpful, contrasting it with Snape’s more academic approach.

Snape, though, dismisses Harry’s answer as too simplistic and mocks him for stating what he sees as the obvious. Snape’s communication is more about the theoretical and precise understanding of magical concepts. He emphasizes the deeper, more complex nature of an Inferius, which, while academically accurate, is less practical in the context that Harry is thinking of. Snape’s disdain shows that he values this deeper, nuanced understanding more than the direct, practical knowledge that Harry offers.

These moments really bring out the deeper divide between Harry and Snape. Harry approaches things with instinct and a straightforward mindset, while Snape is all about nuance, precision, and seeing the layers in everything. Because they see the world so differently, they struggle to communicate, which only adds to the distrust and misunderstanding between them—a tension that echoes throughout the entire series.

[hwasoup]

Tale As Old As Time

Playlist !!

songs to listen along with: the beast, etc..

art credit goes to Marbipa

OMG guys, I literally hat to let this one sit and marinate for a while even though I typed it out like so long ago. AND I JUST REALIZED I FORGOT TO ADD THE SONGS FOR LAST CHAPTER, DW I DID THOUGH. Ugh and I literally also just found out that i had a textbook for a class, i didn't deep dive into the syllabus. AHHHHH regardless I hope you guys enjoyyy !! our favorite characters have finally met!!

like always tell me if you’d like to be tagged !!

prev | ch.4

warnings: wrongful incarceration, bargaining, yelling, really bad british slang, mexican spanish (im sorry y’all im venezuelan ☠️)

word count: 3.3k

Chapter 3: The Beast

After going through the thick woods, trusting Felipe to take her to where she needs to go…

Y/N makes it deep and far in the woods and stops Felipe from galloping when she spots her father’s wagon. She looks at all of the scattered food, items, and even his invention. In worry, she clutches on Felipe’s reins tightly and directs him to keep on going. After riding Felipe some time, the air gets thicker and fog covers the entirety of the forest. She then notices Felipe starting to trot and make his way down a gravel path. She looks around the dead trees and notices the large gates and the grand castle in front of her. “What is this place…” she says nervously. Felipe then starts nickering and anxiously moving as he didn’t want to go inside the gates. Y/N had to get off to comfort the horse and calm him down. After a few moments, she turns around and peeks inside the gate to see her father’s hat. She opens them and she reaches for the hat and holds it tightly in her hands, her worry now increasing for him. “Come on Felipe, we have to go inside” 

She mounts the horse once more and goes inside the gate, going through the garden until she makes it to the steps of the castle. Y/N then gets off Felipe and carefully goes up the stairs, grabbing a large stick from the stairs as a weapon incase if she needs to defend herself. She then makes it to the top and carefully opens the door. Peering inside she walks in hesitantly, as she looks around. 

“Look Jess…it's a pretty girl” 

“I can see that Miles, I lost my hands.. Not my eyes” 

 Miles then peeks at Jess and whispers “but what if she’s the one who’ll break the spell ?” Y/N turns around confused at the sound of whispering “Who said that ?” She looks around to see nobody except for a candelabra and a clock. She quietly approaches the two of them looking at the inanimate figures confused at what she heard. Her thoughts however were shunned as she could hear her father’s cough from a distance. In her desperateness to find him, she takes the candelabra and goes to look for him. Jess looks at Miles being taken and she simply sighs. 

Y/N follows the sound of coughing to a set of stairs, as she gets closer she then peers into a hall that goes up a tower. She anxiously walks up the stairs as she yells out “PAPA ??” She walks up the stairs faster as the coughing gets louder “ERES TU PAPA ??”  Y/N then gets to the top of the tower and gasps seeing her beloved father inside a dungeon. She throws the stick to one side and places the candelabra on a nearby shelf and places it there. Y/N then gets on her knees as she looks at her father in relief after searching for him “Oh papa, que paso?? what happened to you, your hands are ice cold..” she says holding him tightly through the metal bars. Mauricio looks at her in awe and simply says “how did you even find me ?” 

“That doesn’t matter, we need to get you home !” 

“Y/N please…listen to me it’s not safe here, you must leave at once! This castle is alive !” he says in a whisper, tightly holding onto Y/N’s hands. Y/N looked at him confused until she heard a deep growl echoing in the distance. She grabs her stick once more from the floor and looks around the dungeon. She firmly grips onto the piece of thick wood, as she gains the courage to look around and protect herself and her father. “Who’s there, WHO ARE YOU ?”

“Who Are YOU?” 

The voice of a man echoes throughout the dungeon, his silhouette appearing in the distance. “I’ve come for my father..” Y/N says with determination in her voice. The sound of someone coming down the stairs is heard in the dark dungeon. “Your Father….is a thief”. Enraged, Y/N yelled out “LIAR!” The silhouette has now fully come down the stairs and standing before her, his silhouette still only seen “He stole a rose..” Y/N raises an eyebrow appalled at his words “I asked for the rose, punish me not him !” Mauricio looks at his daughter and shakes his head “No, Y/N don’t… he means forever, apparently that’s what happens around here cuando uno elige una bendita rosa” 

Y/N even more appalled turned to her father and back to the silhouette “A life sentence for a flower ?” A loud roar is heard as it approaches her even more, she steps back a little but not entirely to stand her ground despite the small shivers down her leg. “I received eternal damnation for one” the figure said, the growl in his voice becoming deeper. “Then take me instead” The figure growls and looks away and angrily says “YOU-” his expression then softly changes as he was shocked at how willing she was. “Tú....Tú tomarías su lugar?”

Y/N bites her lip and nods a whimper coming from her lips releases in her voice “If I did…would you let him go ?” The silhouette’s voice became a bit softer but still gruff in its dominant position “Yes, but you must promise to stay here forever” he says. Y/N looks down and blinks thinking of what to do next, she notices there’s a light right between them, separating the two from fully seeing each other. “Come into the light” she demands. The silhouette becomes smaller as she starts to see two large paws, she then looks up to see not a man but a beast with the horns of a goat, a thick mane that covered his entire body and crimson red eyes that peered into hers.  Y/N covers her mouth in shock and turns to her father dropping the stick yet again to hold his hands. “No, Y/N to te puedo permitir que hagas esto” 

Y/N kisses her father’s hands and approaches the Beast, her voice faltering to a whisper “you have my word..” The Beast then growls and opens the door dragging Mauricio out and pushing Y/N in, not even letting the two share a proper departure. He then drags Mauricio all the way out of the castle and throws him inside a carriage “Take him to the village” Mauricio cries out to him “SPARE MY DAUGHTER PLEASE!” The Beast ignores him and growls as he closes the carriage door “She’s no longer your concern…” Mauricio cries out to him to let him out, but The Beast was already walking back inside his castle. 

After a moment, The Beast is seen walking back inside the castle on all fours with an annoyed expression on his face. Miles had already hopped down halfway to meet him. “So, Uh Sir ?” 

“WHAT” the Beast growled out. Miles cowered a bit but then adjusted himself “soo uh since the girl is going to stay with us for quite some time, erm umm” he rubs his other two candles together “I was thinking that y’know you wanted too uhh, bring her to a more comfortable room” he says with a sheepish smile. The Beast growls at him and keeps walking up the stairs ignoring what he said. “Or not” Miles says. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Up in the tower after a week ….

Y/N wept as she whispered comforting words to herself. She thought about all of those times with her father, how he told her that home is where the heart is. But she wasn’t home, she was lonely and locked away. Her face drained as she thought of making the tiny dungeon her home, tears kept on spilling out as she thought about her poor father, all alone with nobody to lean onto in her terrible village.

She then sees a shadow loom over her and notices its The Beast. “You didn’t even let me say goodbye..I’ll never see him again..” her tears taint her cheeks that have been stained from the grime of the dungeon. “I-I’l never..see h-him again..” she says in between sobs. The Beast then looks at Y/N and a bit of guilt plagues his mind. He scratches his head and then considers what Miles told him earlier.. “I’ll show you to your room..” he says softly as he walks out the dungeon. 

“My room? But I thought -” 

“You, YOU wanna stay in the tower ?” 

“No..” she says softly.

 “Then follow me..” The Beast says.

The Beast then guides her out of the tower and back into the castle, taking Miles with him along the way so that he could light up the hallways. As Y/N is escorted, she looks around the castle and its statues and notices how dark and lonely the place seemed to be. Her eyes stare fearfully at a statue of a hideous gargoyle and speeds up to catch up with The Beast. 

The Beast heard her gasp and looked behind to see a single tear falling down her cheek, he looked back in his direction as he felt a bit more guiltier. “You should say something to her y’know” Miles says softly. The Beast nodded and turned to her “I..uhh…I hope you like it here” he looked back at Miles to see if it was ok. Miles then looks at him encouraging him to say a bit more. “The castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you would like…except the west wing.” Y/N’s curiosity perks up and she asks “what’s in the west wing ?” He growled out “IT'S FORBIDDEN”. His voice echoed out into the empty halls of the castle. He then takes her to a suite and opens the door for her. “If you need anything…my servants will attend you.” Y/N walks in and looks around the room. She then turns back to him and softly asks “but what’s your name ?” The Beast looks down as he didn’t want to remember his name, as he isn’t human or anything similar to his name. “It’s Miguel..”

Y/N nods as she looks back to the room and looks around. Miles then in a corner of Miguel’s viewpoint whispers “dinner, go invite her to dinner” Miguel nods and he tries to find the best way to speak to her “YOU WILL JOIN ME FOR DINNER…Th-THAT”S NOT A REQUEST” he says gruffly as he slammed the door. Y/N in shock of his words looked back at the closed door and back to the room. Spotting the bed she runs towards it and throws herself onto the pillows and cries her heart out. She hasn’t even realized that it has already started snowing outside signifying the start of winter.

About a couple of hours later, There was a soft knocking on the door. Y/N who was too busy crying hears it and softly says “who is it ?” She then hears a man’s voice “Its, Peter” Y/N approaches the door and quietly opens it and peers outside. She didn’t see anyone until she saw a serving cart with a tea pot and a small cup. “Oh wow you’re very pretty ma’am” he says politely with a smile. “I thought you would like a small cup of tea” Y/N backs up surprised at the sight and bumps into the wardrobe. Hearing a voice from the wardrobe she looks at it in shock “ooh, watch it ‘ere mate” Y/N backs up to her bed and sits down surprised. “B-but, this is impossible!” 

“I know mate, but ‘ere we are. Oh and the name’s Hobie” Y/N looks around in awe and surprise and just sits, processing the whole situation. The little teacup then spoke, “I told you she was pretty daddy!” Peter chuckles and pours some tea into his daughter “alrighty May, go and hand it to her, gently without spilling” Mayday happily hops to Y/N and waits for her to pick her up. “Why… Thank You” Y/N takes it softly. She then takes a sip of the tea and hums softly, enjoying the taste. “Wanna see me do a trick ??” Mayday then giggles as she breathes in and blows bubbles into the tea. She gets scolded quickly by her father though.

Peter chuckles and looks at Y/N. “Y’know, that took guts kid,” Hobie nods and agrees with him “the whole castle’s buzzin ‘bout it.” Y/N sighs in disappointment “but, I’ve lost my father, my dreams, I’ve lost almost everything..” Peter smiles and gives her a warm smile “aww, don’t worry kid, things always turn out better in the end.” Peter then realizes that he’s still supposed to be in the kitchen “oh crap, i forgot i’m supposed to be helping in the kitchen.. Anyways it was lovely meeting you” he says as the serving table wheels away from her room and leaves.

“Well now, let's get somefink good for youse to get dressed for the old geezer ‘ere.” Hobie then opens his drawers and sees some moths fly out “m’bad dovey” He then pulls out a nice dress for her and says “ ‘ere ya go, somefink pretty for you dovey” Y/N looks at the dress and smiles softly “oh, that’s very kind of you Hobie, but i’m not going to dinner” Hobie then shrugs and puts the dress back inside his drawers “aight then, youse definitely gonna make that geezer more laughable” he says. A small pattern is heard walking inside the room, Jess walked in and took a breath. “Come on honey, dinner’s waiting” she says trying to lighten up the mood. 

Down at the dining table however, Miguel is pacing back and forth anxiously waiting for Y/N’s arrival. He then growls annoyed “What’s taking her so long ....I told her to come down…” He then looks at Miles and a smaller candle who’s named Lyla. “aww come on Miguel, you do realize that she’s literally lost her freedom and her dad like last week” Lyla says, stating the obvious. Miles then nods and says “soo uhh, Sir, Haven’t you thought that this girl.. Might be the one who could break the spell ?” MIguel looks up to the two candles “OF COURSE I HAVE..I’M NOT STUPID” Miles then smiles and says “Then you fall in love with her, sheee falls in love with you, and POOF! We’re human! We should be back to normal by midnight !” he says with a confident smile. Peter on the table however, digresses on the situation. “Miles buddy, it's not that easy y’know… these things take time” Miles then frowns and softly says “but, Peter ...the rose is already starting to wilt..” 

Miguel then looks down and sits on all fours and grumbles “Oh, it’s no use..” he runs a paw through his large mane “it's just that she’s just so beautiful, and i’m well.. WELL LOOK AT ME” he says with a snarl. Peter then sighs and looks at Miguel “aww come on Miguel, you have to help her see through all of that” Miguel then growls lowly “I don’t know how” he says as his ears flatten to the sides. Lyla then grins and pitches in “then how about a quick lesson on how to be a gentleman 101: Sit up and try to be kind.” Peter smiles and also shares a few thoughts “oh then don’t forget to give her a sweet smile, come one show me one Migs” Miguel then proceeds to give the most toothiest and quite horrible smile, even Lyla had to step back a little out of surprise. “Now don’t scare her, charm her” Peter says. Miles then blurted out “Oh, OH and impress her with your intelligence!” Miguel looks at all four of them trying to absorb the information, his mind whirling at almost everything that he has to do, that just seemed utterly impossible. The quartet continued to bombard him with a whole bunch of manners until they all said at the same time “and the most important of all, CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!!!” Miguel wipes his face from the small bead of sweat that was forming. 

Then, the sound of a door is heard opening, Miguel looks up in anticipation but is met with only Jess coming inside. “SO, evening everyone..” she says nervously. Miguel then raises an eyebrow “Well ? where is she ?” Jess takes a deep breath in, just knowing how Miguel is definitely going to react “soo, she’s…yea she’s not coming”

“WHAAAAAAAAAAT ??!!!!”

Outraged, Miguel leaves the dining room and runs as quickly as his legs and hind legs could take him, all the way upstairs and into the east wing. Peter yells out “Nononono, WAIT MIGUEL !” 

Miguel manages to outrun them and make it to Y/N’S door and basically smacks it as hard as he could “ I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO COME DOWN FOR DINNER” y/n behind the door responds to him “I’m not coming” she says with a little huff in her voice. Miles, Lyla, Peter, and Jess just facepalm and shake their heads in disappointment. A sigh was even heard from behind Miguel from the huge letdown. “YOU BETTER COME OUT, OR I’M- YO VOY…VOY A ROMPER LA BENDITA PUERTA !”

Miles whistled and just said “so, just a quick suggestion , but uh….that really isn’t the best way to impress a girl..” Jess nods and sighs “Miguel just for once, can you actually just be polite to her?” Miguel gestured to the door “But, she is being so DIFFICULT”  Peter then comes beside him and softly says “gently Miguel, you’re spooking her..” Miguel groans and lowers his tone at the door “Will you come down for dinner ?” he closes his eyes hoping that she would say yes to this tone in his voice. “No!” Y/N says. 

Miguel’s eyes widened and his ears shot up in surprise and he gave a look pointing to the door as he tried to prove his point to the servants. Miles then says “suavemente y gentilmente…” 

Miguel then takes a deep breath and tries again, “It would give me a great pleasure, if you would come out and join me for dinner.” He looks up to the door slightly hoping that she would come out this time…although his temper is starting to boil. 

Jess coughs “COUGH- we say please- COUGH” 

Miguel rolls his eyes and softly says please

Y/N simply says “NO, THANK YOU !” Everyone watching the interaction watches in shock as they know he’s going to blow. 

Miguel then belts out “YOU CAN’T STAY IN THERE FOREVER”. 

Y/N on the other side of the door yells out “QUE SI!”

Miguel snarls and roars out “FINE THEN GO STARVE FOR ALL I CARE PINCHE DESGRACIADA”

He looks down to his servants “IF she doesn’t eat with me, then she doesn’t eat at all” Miguel then growls out and runs off away to his room into the west wing. He opens the door annoyed and just grumbles to himself “I ask nicely but she refuses, like que quiere?? que yo hago? BEG ??” In a flurry of rage, he goes to a table where the enchanted rose is encased in a glass dome. Beside it is his magic mirror that was gifted by the enchantress. Miguel then grabs his magic mirror and looks into it “ensename la niña” 

The mirror then glows a greenish blue color and shows him y/n sitting in bed being comforted by Hobie. “Aww come on Dovie, the old bloke ain't so bad..” Y/N however was sitting in bed dejected and not too convinced. “I don’t want to though...I don’t even want to do anything with him!”  Miguel, shocked, puts down the mirror as he feels that same familiar feeling of hopelessness takes over his mind “who am I fooling…she’ll never see me as anything other than .... than a monster” he says as his voice shakes. He looks at the rose and sees a petal that slowly fell down and wither making the castle shake and crumble a bit.

“It’s hopeless…”

taglist: @cupcakeinat0r , @miguelhugger2099, @mcmiracles, @xxsugarbonesxx,@codenameredkrystalmatrix,@deputy-videogamer,@lxverrings,@miguelzslvtz,@itsameclinicaldepression,,@ricekrisbris,@loser-alert , @thedevax, @uncle-eggy, @m4dyy, @freehentai, @synamonthy, @razertail18, @s0lm1n, @badbishsblog, @faimmm, @opalwitchart,

[i2sunric]

Heyyy, could I please request a smut inside the dance practice room with Ricky after dancing for a long time and they decided to take a break and do the *coughs*? THANK YOU ALSO I MISSED YOU SO SO MUCH

right here — s.ricky

wc: 2.4k

warnings: minors dni (explicit smut). blowjob, semi-public sex, ricky is being brat. pet names (princess, angel, baby, slut), mirror sex <33, unprotected sex, breeding kink, degrading kink (if you squint), oral sex | not proofread

hana’s notes : HELP ANON IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAITING 😭😭 hope you liked it <33 sorry for having disappeared mwah, kinda proud with how it turned :3

“i told you, this step is not right.” ricky nagged for the nth time of the afternoon, making you click your tongue. you were already tired from having worked the whole morning and now you were kindly helping your boyfriend out with a new choreography he wanted to show to his fans in the near fanmeeting. he was stressed, clearly stressed and frustrated, not much to you but more to himself; however you did not like the way he was treating you “i’m telling you this step looks cooler, can’t you listen to me once?” i raised an eyebrow

“i don’t remember giving you the permission to change the steps.” he raised an eyebrow back at you “seriously ricky, i’m just trying to help you, if you want to work alone, then do it.” you groaned, now having reached the limit of your patience. not minding ricky anymore, you walked over your belongings and started closing the bag, ready to leave. a wave of guilt washed over ricky’s expression, just remembering that you had also been busy with your studies and, instead of relaxing at home after your exams, you had to deal with his moody behaviour for more than two hours

“baby, hey..” he murmured, walking over to you and taking your wrist, making you turn around to face him. your eyebrows ere knotted, an expression of annoyance on your face. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have taken my stress on you, i’m very grateful you’re helping me.” ricky looked at you with his gaze, his two eyes staring deep in yours, almost putting a spell on you. you sighed, looking down “you’re a jerk.”

“i know,” he smiled softly, his hands wrapping around your waist “but i’m your jerk.” ricky winked at you, making you scoff at his poor - but successful - attempt to make you feel better “let’s stop practicing, yeah? i want to spend some time with you.” he said with a small pout.

your gaze went down to stare at his lips, making them turn in a cocky smirk “i missed you so much, angel, i know you’ve worked hard recently.” he connected his lips to yours, the kiss was tender and slow, you two were savouring each others’ taste. his hand went to place on your cheeks, gently caressing it while your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. as time passed, the kiss got even more intense, ricky’s hands now wandering all over your body, touching everything they could while his teeth grasped at your bottom lip, making you suffocate a moan.

“fuck baby,” he said, pulling away from the kiss, his lips swollen and panting “let me make it up to you.” ricky reconnected your lips, this time your tongue danced together. his kisses slowly go lower while he keeps tasting you. his lips reach your neck, and as they do he starts moving his lips upwards towards your ear “i’ve been such a jerk, haven’t i?” he says softly and gently starts kissing your neck, making you make small noises. his breath is still heavy, as if he’s intoxicated by this moment

“ricky..” you moan, your fingers grasping his blonde and styled hair, messing it. ricky gave your neck a small bite, not adding too much pressure and licking it right away to calm it down, just enough to make a bruise appear later. his experienced hand goes to tuck your bra, removing it with so much speed you didn’t even proceed it until his cold fingers teased your nipples, making you gasp.

with a move, he turned you around, your ass pressed against his clothed hard length. you could see the shadow of his hands under your shirt, you moaned at the sight of yourself in the giant mirror. ricky smirked, removing his lips from your neck “looking so beautiful, princess.” he whisper quietly in your ear, his voice so low that it made you shiver “ricky, please..” you murmured, feeling that uncomfortable stickiness in your panties

“please what, pretty?” he asked, his hand still playing with your breasts “use your words.” you bit your bottom lip, staring at him through the mirror “need you,” you breathed out “need you so bad.” you moved your hips so your ass could press even more on ricky’s bulge, making him groan

“need me, angel?” he whispered “need me so bad?” you nodded frenetically “so bad, please.”

“how can i refuse when you’re asking so politely?” ricky placed another small kiss on your neck before his other hand went down the hem of your sweatpants and panties all in once, feeling how soaked you were “damn baby, you’re dripping.” he smiled, your juices flowing on his fingers. he started making slow circles on your clit, making your head jerk back instantly, a shaky moan escaping your mouth as your back arched

he kept drawing small circles on your clit until he wasn’t satisfied by the movements anymore, quickly pulling away his hand, making you moan in complain

“on your knees.” ricky ordered and you obeyed, it was almost pitiful the speed with how you fell onto your knees, right in front of his hips. ricky pulled down his pants, his throbbing length poking from the boxers. you patted it from the outside, making ricky shut his eyes “baby don’t tease.” his voice was deep and hoarse

you smirked and quickly pulled down his boxers, his hard and angry red cock bouncing on his chest, making you drool at the mere sight.

you stroked it, pre-cum already dripping from the tip which you kissed, lips dirtying with it. you swallowed his whole length, maintaining eye contact with ricky as you started bobbing your head, stroking where you could not reach.

out of ricky’s lips escaped moans and low groans, his fingers grasped at your hair, pulling it into a very messy ponytail. his eyes shifted from the reflections of your sinful actions in the mirror; you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth

“so good,” he moaned “your mouth was made for me, yeah? sucking me off so well.” he started groaning, gripping on your head with both of his hands, starting to facefucking you. you gripped on his hips, tears rolling down your cheeks whilst you tried to stop your gagging reflex, the room filling with disgusting sounds.

“fuck fuck fuck.” his moans went louder as he started thrusting even faster “you’re such a slut, went on your knees— on your knees so fast for me.” your throat started to burn before a hot liquid shot down it, ricky cumming inside your mouth.

he thrusted a few more times before pulling out, helping you up, your legs shaking and knees sore but you didn’t mind. he kisses you deeply again, tasting his own seed, whispering in between “i love you.” he dried your tears with his thumb, his other hand grasping on your waist again, pulling you closer and closer, almost wanting your bodies to become one.

“let me take care of you now, mh?” he smiled at you, making you turn around and pulling your pants down, you gasped when the cold air of the room hit your aching core “ricky.” you breathed out

“yes, princess?” he asked, holding your body firmly with one of his hands as the other went down to tease your clit “what do you want?”

“please ricky, need you inside of me.” you pleaded, head resting on one of his shoulders “be a good girl and look at the mirror for me.” you raised your head and looked at the image in the mirror, ricky’s deep eyes staring at yours. his hand — the free one — went down to your clit, rubbing circles, making you moan.

as embarrassing as it seemed, ricky became hard again just after hearing your pretty noises, you could feel his bulge poking through your ass cheeks, he rubbed himself between them while he kept massaging your clit. his grip on your body tightening when your legs started shaking.

“ricky please.” you cried out “fuck me, need you so bad.” ricky seemed reluctant “baby we don’t have a condom.”

“i don’t care.” you looked into his eyes from the mirror, biting your bottom lip “want you to come inside of me, make me full.”

“fuck.” he cursed under his breath, your words almost making him cum there and at that moment “you want me to fill you with my kids, uh? want it so bad?”

“yes!” you exclaimed “please.” you felt your hips rolling against ricky’s fingers, needing more than what he was giving you.

ricky was quick to remove his hand from your clit to stroke his dick, your juices serving as lube before sliding inside your pussy from the back; you gasped at the sudden intrusion. after bottoming out, he pulled away and slammed inside you in a forceful thrust, your walls hugging his cock.

you felt lightheaded, only moans escaping out of your lips as you squeezed your eyes in pleasure “nah ah.” you heard and ricky’s fingers grasped on your chin, forcing your head to raise “look at yourself, look how pretty you are while you take my cock.” he whispered in your ear

“taking me so well, such a good girl.” he groaned, increasing the speed of his thrusts, your boobs bouncing under the shirt with no bra to contain them.

“ricky..” you moaned, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach “please ‘m so close.” ricky kissed your neck, his hand going back to trace circles on your clit, trying to make you feel even more pleasure

“cum for me, pretty.” he whispered “cum all around me.” and it was enough to make your legs shake, creaming around his cock with a loud moan, clenching. your eyes shutting in pleasure and head resting on his shoulder.

you felt sensitive, ricky knew you always were after releasing, so he gently kissed your neck, holding you with both his hands. he presses his hand on your stomach, feeling his dick poking on it “can you feel me right here?” he asked, thrusting deeper “fuck i’m close.” he started thrusting faster, the sound of skin slapping filled the room

“ricky.” you cried out again “too much..” he massaged your body “i know,” he whispered “i know baby, just a little bit more.”

he came shortly after, filling you up, making you gasp at the feeling of his hot cum dying your walls.

ricky kept moving inside of you at a slow speed, riding you and him down your orgasm. he pulled your head to the side, tilting it so he had free access to your lips, kissing you tenderly

“you’re amazing.” he murmured on your lips “i love you so much, i’m so sorry y/n.” he pouted and you pecked his lips once more “it’s alright ricky.”

ricky gave you a small smile before pulling out, watching as both of your liquids dripped down your thighs “now, let’s get you cleaned up and go home, i’ll spoil you today..” he glanced down again “and also buy plan b, perhaps.” you hit his chest lightly, chuckling

[hbmmaster]

one interesting quirk of english spelling in braille is the use of the letter [⠬] (ing). according to the standard rules of Unified English Braille, [⠬] is equivalent to the latin letter sequence ING, regardless of pronunciation, for example in "ginger" [⠛⠬⠻] (G-ING-ER) and "stinging" [⠌⠬⠬] (ST-ING-ING).

however, for unclear reasons, the letter is not used word initially? so like it's not used in "ingot" [⠔⠛⠕⠞] (IN-G-O-T). this is weird because there are other characters corresponding to sequences of multiple latin letters that are restricted to certain contexts in english braille, but all the other ones like. mean something different, in the context you're not supposed to use them as a letter. like, you can't use [⠖] for FF at the end of a word, because it's also used for an exclamation point so using it as a letter at the end of a word would be ambiguous. but as far as I can tell there isn't a different meaning that [⠬] has word initially in english braille, it just isn't allowed to be used there.

then what's really bizarre is that there's a bunch of common words that are respelled to be abbreviated, and even though these abbreviated respellings make use of multi-latin-letter characters sometimes, as in "herself" [⠓⠻⠋] (H-ER-F), they don't use [⠬]? like there's "perceive" [⠏⠻⠉⠧] (P-ER-C-V) and "perceiving" [⠏⠻⠉⠧⠛] (P-ER-C-V-G), spelled with a [⠛] (g) instead of with an [⠬], even though it doesn't make the abbreviation any shorter. weird, huh?

[guyfieriii]

We’re going out in style, babe (I)

God, it’s been a WHILE. I really lost all zeal for writing for a little while, until recently I watched the tv series ‘Mr. & Mrs. Smith’ (it’s so so good, you guys!! everyone go watch it) and it got the ol’ wheels turning. This was supposed to be a one and done thing but I got carried away and I lack the stamina to write a big whole thing so this’ll be a two-parter.

Anyway. This is my little version of it with Price. Angst and some stuff. The usual business. Haven’t written anything in months so please read this with the lowest possible expectations. Ya girl’s rusty.

Pairing : John Price x F!reader

Trigger warning : Explicit Sexual Scenes

It’s almost romantic.

The sight of husband and wife lay bare, broken and bloody. Look closely enough to see past the gore, past the ugliness set in a halo of ichor to see a sense of deliverance. The gift of release knowing they’ve met their end, and they’ve met it together.

Well, almost.

You choke out a wretched cough seeped in blood. One you’d feel rip into you, bullet holes and all, if you just weren’t so tired. You can taste it, though — coppery and astringent.

Punctuating.

This is it, you think, feeling the curve of your spine slacken at the relief of what’s coming.

I’m sorry, John.

The words spume against your lips, the only sound making it past them is a wet gurgle.

You’re grateful, for once, for the tears mar your eyesight. They keep you from seeing the true extent of his pain. You can feel it though, his agitation, his helplessness simply in the feather-light brush of his fingertips against your own. It can’t be easy, watching his wife slowly bleed to death beside him while he does the same. Seeing the way your lips turn ashen under a cochineal film of blood, watching the space between each breath lengthen gradually until all that’s left is the in between.

It’s slow. Painful. Each passing second permeated in struggle.

But better him than you.

Let me be first to go, you think in your typical manner of self-service.

It’ll all have been worth it, if only you’re the first to go.

“Oh,” It’s the first thing you can think to say,

“You’re English.”

It’s not the first thing you notice about him, though. No the thing that catches your attention at once is his eyes. Clear, calm and oh so blue. The sheer depth of them, though. Stare into them much longer, and you might not be able to find your way back out.

“Disappointed?” The question is dipped in jovial cadence. Thank God. He’s not offended.

“No. Not disappointed. I was only expecting—.” You pause, uncertain on what expectations you had starting out. Whatever they were, you can’t really remember now.

“What were you expecting, love?” He asks, simply and you know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s sincere. It echoes in the resting timbre of his voice, in the sharpness of his gaze which is dulled only slightly by something you might confuse for affection if you didn’t know any better.

You can only stare in response. Wait for the punchline that never comes.

Jesus Christ. He really does wants to know.

It’s unfamiliar territory for you to be in. To hold someone’s concern in your grasp the way you do his. However, as hard as it is for you to accept, it seems just as easy for him to simply give it away.

The weight of it makes your heart beat faster. Harder. Suddenly your mouth is too dry and you fight the urge to blink and break the spell. If he notices your discomfort, he says nothing about it.

An odd thing, really. That the two of you were matched.

“I’d like for our first day of marriage to not be a complete disappointment.” He prompts, still expecting your answer.

“Listen, uh—”

“John.” He supplies with a tone that makes you think you’re missing out on a joke.

Yeah, it’s a fake name. Haha. I get it.

“Jane.” You reciprocate, awkwardly.

“I’m Jane. And you’re perfect — er, John.” You declare with a sharp inhale only to be met with the scent of him. A bonfire is the first thing that your mind puts up front and centre. A bonfire doused out by a the lightest drizzle, so the smell of smoke still lingers. Along with it, the wafting aroma of cinnamon. Chocolate. All things warm and inviting.

You decide, in that moment, that you really really like the way he smells.

“Starting off with perfection, am I? At least give me till our silver year to really nail it.” He states, yet again, with such utter sincerity you almost miss the joke entirely.

“Till our—? Oh. Right.” You glance away, sheepish.

“This is yours; I believe.” Through your peripherals, you see a ring dangling at the top knuckle of his little finger. A delicate gold band. Simple and suited to your style. You glance at the finger right beside and see that he’s already worn his.

Right. Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.” You reach out to take it, but he curls his finger back into his palm.

“Oh no, darling. Let me.” With the utmost care he grabs hold of your wrist, his thumb closing around your pulse — which much to your dismay is racing. It looks so slight, enclosed in his grip — which is paradoxically unyielding and yet so unbearably soft. A cushioned cage you might not mind being held captive in. You can’t bear to meet his eyes, so you keep your gaze downcast, intently focused on the way he slips the ring on your finger.

It’s not supposed to mean anything. Just work. Practicality more than something romantic. You’re spies and being married only makes it less likely that one of you will defect.

But for some reason it doesn’t feel that way. A moment shrouded in solemn intimacy. A promise. It feels that you’re bound to him, a stranger , just with the simple decent of a golden band down your finger. A covenant not meant to be entered into lightly — it’s an undeclared forfeiture of your life into the hands of another. So no, it’s not exactly romantic.

It’s something so much more.

“It’s official, eh? Mr. And Mrs. Smith.” Your hand still rests against the back of his and he makes no movement to release it.

You don’t much seem to mind.

You sleep in different beds, of course.

A habit formed with some difficulty, you’ll admit. There are times when you’ve parted ways in the hall like two men on the opposite ends of a duel — fingers curled around the trigger, waiting on the impulse to pull it. You’ve never given in but you’ve come close.

That fading post mission adrenaline leaves you pliable to your baser instincts, and you find yourself imagining all the ways he could make it better.

All the ways you could.

One night, in a hotel room in Verona, you found yourself skirting the precipice of giving in, with nothing but a 6 inch wall between the two of you.

You pictured it. Some other version of you, ready to take the plunge. This other you having the privilege of indifference in a make-believe realm wherein consequences don’t matter, and you tried to swallow the envy that rose up your throat like bile.

Tried and failed.

Your hands seem to move on their own accord as they slip between your thighs, your mind fabricating the illusion of his own taking their place.

A practiced dance of your imagination and dexterity that takes place often. More than you’d ever admit, even to yourself. You’d brand yourself in shame the morning after, and yet at night, all alone, you come at the thought of all the ways he’d take you.

He’s big. You know it.

You’ve caught glimpses of the outline of his cock in the bugle of his briefs like a voyeuristic pervert. He seemed big enough when flaccid, and you quivered.

You imagine the girth of him, hard and throbbing, promising all the ways he’d make it fit.

You use three fingers, push them deeper still and try to mimic the ways he’d fill you. You’re certain you fall short. He’d stretch you till your cunt had no give left, and then he’d stay there. Let you mold yourself to him, so he’d never feel the need to go elsewhere.

Knowing he’s within an earshot, you’re louder than you normally are. Much to the dismay of the men you’ve slept in the past, you were never vocal in bed. You’d reach orgasm, nearly mute and theatrics for the sake of male ego was something you couldn’t spare the patience for.

Tepid — that’s what they called you, disappointment oozing from each syllable.

You just couldn’t bare to disappoint John.

You put on what can only be considered a barefaced performance for the pure interest of his attention, expressing desires aloud you wouldn’t even dare admit in the privacy of your own self-contemplation. It spurs you on to climax, a fortissimo of vulgarity spewing from your lips.

In the aftermath you lay there breathless, caught unawares by just how far you took this little experiment of yours. Granted, it was all for John’s benefit but somewhere in the middle of it the pretence washed off you to reveal a gleam of authenticity.

Reeling from it, you’re unable to sleep a wink.

“Sleep well, then?” He asks you, the morning after.

“Uh huh. Some of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in my life, John.”

He looks at you like he’s about to call you out on it. Never does.

You resume your compartmentalized way of living soon after. Other than a shared fake name, your home, and the covert particulars of your questionable line of work, you two don’t share much.

Until a mission calls for it, you’ve managed to keep to yourselves a fair amount. You usually cross paths at mealtimes, which you never complain about since he wordlessly took it upon himself to do all the cooking, only letting you help clean.

Quaint domesticity at its finest.

“Safe to assume you chose high risk work as well.” He’d said over breakfast on your first morning there. “Why?”

You’d entered the kitchen to already find him there frying some eggs over the stove. You notice the little dining table to the side already set for two, a glass of orange juice poured for the both of you and toast points standing in their rack in the center of the table.

He gestured for you to take a seat before serving you a duo of over easy eggs and cup of coffee before taking his seat across.

Well, then.

Maybe there were some perks to this life of married domesticity after all.

“I thought I could use a challenge.” You offered him a half answer, as close to the truth as you could.

“And what was it that you did before this?” He asked

“Should you really be asking me that?” You countered.

“I think so, given that you’re my wife.”

My wife.

Enjoying the bit a little too much, aren’t ya John?

So were you, if you were being honest. But honestly never was your strongest suit.

“And why did you—?” You questioned him back in an effort to evade, “Pick high risk, I mean.”

“I’m ex-military, love. Figured I’d choose what I’m used to.” He answered you almost immediately, with not a hint of discomfort or thought of reserve. Either he was a fabulous liar—

Or he trusted you already.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

“I like my eggs scrambled, by the way.

“Glad to know you feel comfortable your preferences for eggs with me, Jane.”

“Small steps, John.”

Six months in, and aside from a few close calls, you and John seemed to make a good team.

You’ve found that while he’s quick to improvise. Almost always, there’s a wrench thrown in the works, and while you might grapple over a changed course of action, he’s already adjusted to the new circumstances.

You’ve also found that he hates being separated from you in the field. You used to think it to be a manifestation of suspicion, to constantly have an eye on you.

Not that you’d blame him if it was. You weren’t exactly a fountain of knowledge when it came to sharing things of a personal nature. It would only be natural for a little mistrust to brew between a set of spies.

Married, or not.

You were disabused of that theory all too soon.

“Status update?”

“Made it through. I lost them.” You wheeze out, just barely.

“You good? You okay?” The fear in his voice is palpable through your earpiece as you stumble through to an alleyway and try to catch your breath. With the adrenaline waning off you finally feel the bullet that grazed your shoulder.

Flesh wound. You’ll live.

“Jane, fucking answer me.” He rasps, urgent and desperate. Like his sanity depends on your well-being.

It pisses you off, sometimes. Just how deeply he cares. Would you dare call him out on it, though? Now that you’ve been fed on it for months till your belly was ready to burst, like a stray turned house cat. Would you survive without it?

“I’m fucking winded, John. Just need to catch my breath. I’ll be better if we could get the fuck out of here and go—”

Home.

“—back.” You say, instead. “Let’s rendezvous at—”

“I’m coming to get you. Just stay put, yeah?”

“Jesus C—” You hiss through clenched teeth, pressing down the base of your palm into your shoulder to help slow the bleeding down. The pain of it shoots down your arm like veins of lightning, only adding to your irritation. “I’m not a child, for fuck’s—”

“Jane.” The tone of his voice shuts you up. There’s not an ounce of anger or annoyance in it. Only supplication.

Well, shit.

You knew from the very first day you met him — John was a man rooted in conviction. Hard to sway, even harder to deny.

“Fine. I’m waiting.”

He finds you hunched against the wall not 10 minutes later and you can see him visibly sag in relief. The moment he turned the corner and his eyes fell upon your own, his contracted brow-line receded, the rigidity in his stance eased, and the look on his face—

If the deities could speak to a man’s worship, you thought, this is what they would talk about.

“How bad is it?” He offers you a hand to help you stand, the other immediately seeking to find the wound hidden under the crimson blotted front of your shirt, tugging slightly at the neck of it to get a better look.

“I’m sure you’ve seen worse.” You suddenly feel all too shy at the thought of a little exposed skin in front of the man who is your husband. When his thumb grazes the underside of the wound, an unsuppressed flinch jostles you in his hold and his grip tightens.

“You’ll need stitches.” He murmurs, his movements now zephyr-like, fingers mindlessly wandering across the span of your collar bone. You can’t help but imagine the way he’d help you undress, fingers caught at the bottom seam of your shirt being gently lifted. His thumb hooking underneath — maybe just to unassumingly graze against the skin of your abdomen. Maybe to see what the rest of you would feel like against the warmth of his touch.

You’ve caught him staring — whenever you’re dressed bare in nothing but a tank top and loose pair of shorts, the lace hem of which dances so gently across the smooth expanse of your thigh. You’ve witnessed him stop in his tracks, his gaze trained downward for a moment too long to not be considered improper and just then you find it. The effervescent unsheathing of his jealousy, towards a garment of all things. It doesn’t stay long; you could blink and miss it.

But you don’t miss much.

So, when he helps you undress, later that night, and tends to your wound—

Would he stop there, you wonder?

Would you maybe want to find out?

The first time he does fully undress you, is on the eve of your first-year anniversary.

You’re greeted with a gift — a bottle of Laphroaig, 40 and garment bags with a little something for the both of you. Enclosed within an envelope is the note:

Congratulations on a successful first year of marriage.

“Be a shame for rest of it to go to waste.” You say, when John immediately reaches for the bottle. His thumb swipes across the label in an appreciative caress while he tips the cap in your direction as a way of asking drink this with me?

“Keen to dress up for me, love?” He unzips your bag to reveal a hint of luminescent satin — deepened cerulean, to match his eyes.

“I—”

“Because I am.”

You see it unfold before you — the extent of his imagination. Unfurling like an iris in bloom. His eye-line coasting across the length of your silhouette, pausing at slight intervals — the slope of your neck, the curve of your breasts, the pliable swathe of your abdomen. His fists clench in a trice and you feel the pulse of it hammering in your core.

A building reservoir of desire you’ve held back behind a dam of logic that strains beneath the weight furthermore.

He makes you feel at a loss — seemingly unpulsed by this conspicuous display of obscene want. Hunger for what is continuously denied.

Either he takes it on the chin like too good of a sport, or he simply hides it better than you do.

Either way—

You might as well try to even out the playing field.

With a rapid maneuver fuelled only by provocation and guile, you crook a finger along the collar of his button down, the palm of your other hand placed securely over his chest.

“I will, if you will.”

This was it — the fracture in the levee holding back a year’s worth of self-deception. With the curtain drawn on every enciphered impulse, you could finally meet him on equal, honest footing. The kindling that lay bare now set alight and you can only hope you aren’t scorched by it.

And if you are—

You pray it consumes you quick.

The rest of the evening just kind of blends together — three finger pours, a little music, some dancing, if you could even call it that.

John’s generosity with the scotch turned you sloppy, with all your past attempts at decorum now semi-liquid — like a condensed pour of honey out the jar.

“Dance with me, Jane.”

“Just want to get your hands on m’, don’t ya? Clingy fucker.”

Pot, meet kettle, you think to yourself.

Drunk or not, at least you’re self-aware.

It’s in the middle of the night when you jostle awake, with a dry mouth and a hammering in your skull that you feel in your teeth. Somehow, you made it to bed. Still dressed.

You smooth a palm across the creased satin encasing your body, bunching the fabric into your fists absentmindedly.

“Couldn’t bare to take you out of it just yet.”

You’re caught off guard to find John lounging in the chair in the corner of your room, your dulled senses inhibiting the reflex to reach for your gun.

“Never sneak up on a spy, John. Could’a shot you dead if I wasn’t this fucking hungover.”

“Thank God for small mercies. You’d make an awful widow.” His tone bleeds irony but there’s an undertone to it. It’s one you don’t recognize.

He’s since rid himself of his jacket and cufflinks, with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed over his chest that rises and falls with every deliberate breath he takes. The picture of nonchalant inertia to the unknowing eye.

Not you, though.

You see the simmering thirst in a man who has been parched for too long, the certainty set in his eyes in search of an oasis—

And something else. An offshoot growing from the root of brackish resentment you can’t quite place.

And maybe, just maybe you worry you’re about to have your heart broken.

Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Fuck you.” You mutter, indignantly, massaging the bridge of your nose in an effort to ease the ache.

With lithe and measured movements, John approaches you. Through your peripherals you watch his feet get closer and closer with every step, until he’s inches away. With a firm-handed pull at your chin, he forces your gaze towards him— that indescribable tincture yet staining his features.

His head tilts imperceptibly, eyes narrowing in determination while he decides….what?

Whether to fuck you? Whether to leave you be and maintain the suffocating, acetic undercurrent you’ve maintained for an entire year in keeping your hands to yourself?

Whether to—

You stop your deliberations straight in their tracks as his hold on you tightens ever so slightly, his thumb disengaging from the rest to glide across your bottom lip.

Pulsing headache aside, you feel your entire being throb in anticipation.

“John—”

“Hush,” He takes advantage of your parted lips, probing the seam of them a little deeper. “Let a man savour a moment, for fuck’s sake.”

Seconds dissolve into minutes, as you wait with bated breath. Each lungful heavier than the last under the stifling pressure of a singular moment being pulled taut beyond belief.

“Jane, darling?” His voice is a mere whisper.

“Hmm?”

“How badly do you want to be fucked right now?”

A sizzle of defiance erupts deep in your belly. The urge to impugn stings the tip of your tongue when you see it. That look. That look that pummels down any defence you could even hope to construct. It demands sincerity, even when you can barely muster it on a good day let alone hungover and painfully aroused.

So, in the place of a rejoinder that would leave you both sexually frustrated and teetering the edge of combustion, you say the truth.

“So fucking badly, John. For months. Possibly from the moment we met.”

What hits you in that moment is disconcerting mixture of emotions: part relief at the unburdening of long-held truths, part self-consciousness at the ease in which just you’ve confessed them.

The latter dissolves almost immediately when you watch the resulting smile that etches itself across his face. A smile that screams pride. Absolution. The kind you’d find on a man who finally reached the peak of his dreams.

You were his Everest. Finally conquered.

“That’s my girl.”

His words leave you breathless. It’s not the first time he’s called you his, so it isn’t the novelty of the statement that floors you. It’s the fact that for the first time in a year, you recognize it to be true.

You’re his — been his for some time now.

The epiphany goes to your head like strong drink — and right on the heels of your previous state of inebriety, it’s all too much to take.

“Fuck, John. Just—” Whatever you might’ve said next is devoured by him in an abrubt dive to kiss you. It’s fervent and messy, all tongue and teeth leaving the viscid traces of saliva across your lips, jaw, and neck.

It’s an unremitting onslaught of his lips and hands — him touching you, tasting you at a pace you couldn’t dream of outrunning. Sometime in the midst of it, he’s managed to strip you both down without missing a beat. I’ll take care of it, my darling, he’d said when you protested to the number of layers that still lay between the two of you.

That was the thing about John. He’d not let a single demand of yours go unsatisfied. A depraved part of you wondered how far you could draw it out, test his endurance. Find the limit and shame him for it.

Needless to say, you never did.

Not out of decency, a trait of which you were always found deficient. It was only out of the fear of having had something unattainable only to eventually lose it. Fact of the matter is, there would be no limit to what you could ask of him.

Onto to simpler requests, then.

“Fuckin’ need you inside of me.”

His cock fills you up just as you’d expected— stretched to capacity, the head of his cock grazing against your cervix with a couple of inches to spare. You hiss through your teeth, your nails digging into his back to recompense for the building pressure.

“Shit, John. Fu—uck—” You pant, lungs convulsing beneath the strain of his weight pressing down on you, skin meeting skin at every possible junction.

“Should’a let me work you out first, then.” He grunts, lips latching on to the shell of your ear.

He forced an arm between the two of you, his fingers find your clit, drawing gentle circles. A direct juxtaposition to the shallow quick paced thrusts, while his other arm snakes around to border the crown of your skull. A preemptive measure for a good and thorough fucking.

Eventually the burn at the rim of your cunt subsides and you take more of him than you could’ve ever imagined. Right to the hilt. He draws back out, just halfway and looks, as if to admire his handiwork before slamming back in with a reverberant so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ good or some variation of the praise over and over.

A year’s worth of raked up want comes cresting over this one night— he fucks you once more with the privilege of leisure the second time around. When you’re fucked out, slack-jawed with a raw cunt dripping cum, he croons with self-satisfaction and promises you’ll take him again.

You do, naturally. Drunk on the smell of sex which weighs down the air in the room, obedience comes easy.

He’s gentler this time, softer in the way he touches you. Fingers raking over flushed, sweaty skin. His tongue gliding over every inch of you, twice over, like he means to really savour it. Catalogue what every part of you tastes like should this be the only chance he gets. He fucks you slow and deep, a litany of indebtedness perpetuating every movement.

There are things about him you commit to memory, as well. The lingering taste of his last cigar that glides across your tongue when he kisses you. The flickering pulse in his brow when he’s close. The weight of his cock sheathed within you, the sting that comes with it.

When the haze of prolonged unfed lust unfurls with a yawn of satiety, you find all that remains is a sense of premonition.

Of a tragic and bitter end.

[sneverussape]

severus gasped and flinched away from lord riddle’s — tom, call me tom, your mother and i were housemates, merlin how time does fly? — touch. the man’s skin was uncannily cold, despite it being nearly summer. like a fish…or a snake.

there was a momentary panic as severus was convinced that the glamour he had painstakingly applied had failed, and he would have to explain his battered face to lucius and cissa. it would ruin the entire evening! fortunately, a cursory glance at one of the many mirrors that lined the hall showed him that the glamour had thankfully held.

but then…how…?

“it was well applied, i must congratulate you on that. very impressive for someone as young as you are.”

severus threw tom a look that was almost defensive. “i’m fourteen. i’m not that young.”

“of course,” tom looked amused. “i didn’t mean to offend. i merely wanted to recognize talent when i see it. you wouldn’t have been able to learn that until…hmmm…NEWT-levels perhaps?”

severus flushed. “it isn’t—” he found himself stammering, “it really isn’t that difficult. jus’ need to be resourceful. i made it for me...”

he bit his lip before he could speak any further and bury himself deeper into a hole. but it seemed tom had caught on well enough.

“I know that pain,” tom said quietly. “I’ve had to hold my own more than once a child.”

“you have?” severus couldn’t help asking. he couldn’t imagine tom having been in his place, at the bottom of the pile that had potter, black, lupin, and pettigrew up on top. he straightened, remembering his manners. cissa would cuff him mightily if she caught him slipping. “begging your pardon, sir. i did not mean to pry. I apologise.”

to his great surprise, tom laughed, wide and open, with his teeth glinting in the firelight.

“oh, severus, you remind me of myself when i was young,” he said. “i daresay brax was right about you.” at severus’ confused expression he explained further. “im a…teacher for…further studies you see. lord malfoy has been generous enough to send a kind word in about you.”

severus coloured for the second time that night. “he has?” he squeaked. he had rarely met lord malfoy but the little that he knew from lucius’ stories was enough to put a liberal amount of fear in him of the powerful wizard. he decided to add with haste, “lucius of course has been teaching me since I arrived in hogwarts, and narcissa too…”

“lucius is a worthy heir for the House of Malfoy, as narcissa is for the House of Black, but you mustn’t discount your own abilities, severus.” tom’s eyes seemed to flash red as he held severus’ awed gaze, but it was gone in the next moment. “you have determined simpler but more effective ways of doing level 6 potions. you’ve invented charms your own professors couldn’t have dreamed of. you can break down spells into their most basic elements and refashion them for your purposes. your excellent glamour is proof!”

tom leaned down to his eye level, and severus held his breath.

“you have the potential to be one of the greatest wizards since merlin, and believe me, i don’t say that lightly. you are utterly brilliant, severus snape. i see your wonderful mind and your desire for knowledge, and i would be glad for you to be my pupil.”

“oh yes!” severus nodded before he could stop himself. his heart was thudding hard against his chest. “is it…er…is it for the summer hols?” his gut churned as he realised it might even have a fee. shite. “and…i’d have to ask mam and my da in case there’s payment…”

to his surprise tom waved him off. “there is no payment, you don’t need to worry. all I need is a willing heart and a brilliant mind. also im afraid i only start taking in pupils once they’ve reached the age of majority.”

“sixteen?” severus’ face fell. that was years away!

“if you would still be willing by that time, I’ll be happy to have you,” tom said. “i can save you a spot. mind that you keep learning, however. i won’t accept anything less than your best. and you must keep our conversation a secret. it isn’t my habit to hand out personal invites.”

“of course!” severus felt almost smug. he could wait two years. “you won’t regret having me.”

tom’s lips curved upward into a wide smile.

“no, i don’t believe I will.”

—

au/hc where severus meets tom at lucius’ leaving party at malfoy manor.

fun fact: the painting behind them is the missing carvaggio, Nativity (bit of a heavy-handed symbolism but i couldn’t help it lol). it’s been missing (from the muggle world at least) since 1969. 😎 guess lu has a not-so secret hobby.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Random realmslore I enjoy:

Gunpowder and other explosives exist in the Realms, but the god of innovation, Gond keeps them magically inert because inventors kept blowing themselves up trying to play with it. Gond did however teach the gnomes of Lantan an alternative in the form of smokepowder, and now the gnomes have guns (spelled gunne, in the Realms). -

While trying to win a drinking contest against a dwarf is an obvious way to end up in the morgue, trying it against an elf or gnome will also land you in the ER. Elves drink wine with every meal, and their wine will put humans and halfings on their ass. Gnomes can keep up and Dwarves think elven wine is basically funny tasting water. (Do not get drunk with moon elves, or you will have nobody but yourself to blame for whatever hedonistic chaos ensues. Do not drink with rock gnomes either, for similar - but probably more explosive - reasons.) -

Dwarves used to not like druidry, then they found a bunch of dwarves had become druids and immediately demanded to know what in the hells all this tree-hugging elfy shite was. Turns out it was apiculture, and that honey is great. Dwarves fucking love honey so much they've invented giant bees. Bees the size of small ponies to ride into battle! Anyway, bees and honey are important in the mountain homes. -

How strict a punishment being False or Faithless is varies by writer. According to Ed Greenwood, the only way to get judged Faithless is to actively piss off every single god you're compatible with. Otherwise the god whose portfolio your life best aligned with is the god who picks your soul up. -

Elven music concerts would be familiar affairs to the modern Earthling. They have the big screens and the fancy effects (via magic); elven vocal chords can do weird special effects; their instruments are capable of sustain and they're in the early stages of inventing rock music, they just haven't invented the electric guitar yet.

[cherry-blossom-qf]

On August 6th of last year, I drew concepts pictures of Magolor being blind during the road trip to visit my stepgrandma.

And uh..... since my birthday and his anniversary are like... 3 days apart, I wasn't fully prepared to make him an anniversary picture.

HOWEVER!!! I did make something for him!!!

THANKS RIGHT BABY!! MAGORANZA IS CANON IN THE BLINDOLOR AU!!

Remember that Blindolor has a spell where he can see through other people's eyes by holding hands with them? Well Taranza has 6 hands and 8 eyes, so I was like "damn, that makes this ship even MORE romantic"

They do a lot of activities together, like gardening and playing video games (Taranza gets the control er while Blindolor watches through the spider's eyes), and super cute and SHJDLSUSMFAAAAAAAA!!!

Also! The reason why Taranza ha little bell around his horn is for Blindolor to hear him coming! He hears the little jingle, and he's like "OH! My bf is nearby! Yay!!"

I hope you like pic! And happy anniversary to you Blindolor!!

AU info HERE

[sunseed-fandump]

Not Every Hand

Had a scene for the Liar's Circus AU pop into my head so I decided to write it out rq.

It's when Gingerbrave meets Dark Choco! Enjoy!

Gingerbrave wandered the dark halls alone. This was the palace the Enchantress had claimed as hers. It was kind of old and in need of a lot of loving care, but if he tilted his head just right, squinted his eyes, and imagined really hard, he could see how this would be a beautiful place again someday!

For now though, it was rather dark and dreary. Don’t get him wrong, Gingerbrave wasn’t afraid of the dark. There were plenty of dark places inside the Circus, after all. However, the tent felt a lot… Safer.

The darkness there was cozy, like a perfect summer’s night under the stars. The darkness here felt like it held malice. For who or what, Gingerbrave wasn’t sure, but he sure did hope none of it was directed at him.

Maybe he should have stuck with Strawberry and Wizard instead of going off on his own. If he was sensing this ominous feeling, then no doubt they were feeling it too. Ah, but Wizard Cookie had gone off to prove Licorice Cookie wrong about some sort of spell. Meanwhile Strawberry had taken to showing Poison Mushroom Cookie one of her games. Then there was the Ringmaster…

He’d been talking to the Enchantress for an awful long time by now. The two of them had shut themselves out on a balcony to discuss something important and haven’t emerged yet. Well… Nobody said making the world a better place would be easy. They were probably talking about all sorts of plans! Just thinking about the complexity of it made Gingerbrave’s head spin--

He bumped into something.

It felt as hard as a brick wall, but as he stumbled backwards he realized it was a cookie. He sort of recognized this stranger from when they had all been gathered earlier. The name escaped him, but Gingerbrave remembered him by his one striking red eye and the scar down the side of his face.

A hand caught his arm before he could go toppling over.

“Careful,” Muttered the stranger who helped Gingerbrave back to an upright position.

“Whoops! My bad…” Gingerbrave rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish grin, “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going! Thanks for the help. Er…” His smile faltered. The name was on the tip of his tongue...

“Dark Choco Cookie…” The stranger grunted, standing up straight. He seemed rather wary, but about what, Gingerbrave wasn’t sure.

“Thanks for the help, Dark Choco!” Gingerbrave’s sunny smile was wholly out of place in this dark castle. “I’m Gingerbrave, it’s nice to meet you!”

Dark Choco Cookie fixed the boy with an odd look. “You do not… Recognize my name?”

Gingerbrave took a moment to really think on it, his face scrunching up in a way he felt made him think better. After a beat, he shook his head. “Nope! Sorry. Should I?”

A bitter chuckle escaped the dark prince. “No, I… Am rather glad you don’t.” He wouldn’t be surprised if his father had stricken every record of him. “Plus, I suppose you would be a bit too young to have experienced it. Someone who’s only a decade old would not have been around for--”

“Wait, do I really look like I’m ten?!” Gingerbrave cut him off with surprise. Dark Choco faltered and took a moment to reassess the cookie before him.

For all intents and purposes, Gingerbrave looked and acted like a child around ten years of age. Unless, he had been distanced from normal society for so long he was starting to lose track of how proper aging was supposed to look…

“My apologies. I should not have assumed.” Dark Choco said instead, “How old are you?”

“Well… Let’s see…” The boy took a moment to do the math in his head, then redid it while counting off on his fingers to double-check his work. “I’d say… About a year? Year and a half?” When he looked back up at Dark Choco he was met with an astonished expression. The fallen prince’s eye was blown wide and his jaw had gone slack.

“But… There is no way that could be…” He muttered before realization dawned on him, “Unless… Were you baked by a Witch?” He whispered the word Witch as if afraid the shadows would hear him.

Gingerbrave nodded, “My friends Wizard Cookie and Strawberry Cookie were baked around the same time. Sooo, they’re around the same age!”

“I… See…” Dark Choco took a moment to regain his composure. He had heard legends of cookies baked by Witches hands. How they either had strange destinies or were gifted unique powers. The tales and whispers never stayed the same between storytellers, but one thing remained the same: they were forces to be reckoned with.

And yet this child seemed so… Innocent. So kind. His eyes lacked any form of shadow or guilt. Dark Choco couldn’t help but be ever so slightly jealous.

The sword at his side felt heavier.

“Allow me to offer you a piece of advice…” Dark Choco Cookie let his cloak fall closed. “Keep the knowledge of your origin close to you. There are many who would seek to abuse it.”

Gingerbrave fidgeted with his gloves and bounced on his feet. The boy seemingly couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Fitting for - if Dark Choco recalled correctly – an Acrobat.

“Yeah… The Ringmaster told that to me too. Something about how some cookies might want to hurt us or study us or something…” His distracted look turned into a warm smile a moment later. “But, you seem nice! So I trust you.”

Trust… Trust was the last thing Dark Choco Cookie felt like he deserved.

“Not every hand that is extended to you, is a kind one…” The fallen prince grumbled, but he knew it was probably falling on deaf ears.

“I… Don’t understand…” Gingerbrave’s brow furrowed.

He scoffed. Of course… “I’m saying, evil has many faces. Some harder to spot than others. You would be best to learn the difference between an ally and an enemy.”

Gingerbrave thought deeply on this advice for a moment. He still didn’t entirely get it. Bad guys usually did… Well… Bad things. And they liked doing the bad things! And they didn’t really help others so…

“Do you wanna be friends?” The question caught Dark Choco, who had begun to walk away, by surprise.

“… What?”

“You helped me not fall down and gave me some good advice!” Gingerbrave concluded with a confident nod, “You’re a good guy. So let’s be friends!”

He almost wanted to laugh. A good guy. If he was such a good guy then why did the weight of his sins threaten to crush him? Why was he here instead of anywhere else? Why had he betrayed the trust of everyone he had ever known?

Dark Choco did not believe he was a good guy.

And yet… Something about the boy’s innocent declaration made a small part of his frozen heart thaw. That small part of him who wanted to escape this nightmare, who wanted to leave his dark path, who still dared to hope, stirred at the thought that maybe… Just maybe…

He stomped on the emotion before it could turn into anything else.

Dark Choco Cookie didn’t respond. He turned his back and began walking away.

“Uh…! Okay! I guess I’ll catch you later Dark Choco Cookie!” Gingerbrave called after him. “You should come watch me and my friends practice later! It’s going to be cool! Bye!”

And like that the boy was gone, having taken off in the direction he had come.

Dark Choco Cookie sighed, suddenly feeling wound up. He changed his course to the training grounds, hand already itching at the hilt of his sword so he could let out this pent-up energy.

Just a child walking down a fool’s path… He wondered if his father had seen him the same way.

[elmuvahva]

let me talk about leo and donnie’s matching clothes pLEASE

plus a lil bit of mikey and raph near the end :>

so we all know the obvious ones like in ‘repairin’ the baron’ and in ‘man vs sewer’

but i want to talk about the little things hehe. starting with the two mentioned above anyways lmaooo

yes they’re matching but i love the little differences they add on. leo wears a blue undershirt, fully going ride or die with his blue theme, while donnie goes for a white undershirt for a more classic look.

i think that says a lil but about their characters and how they thought to present themselves to april’s mum (who they thought they were meeting). they both wanted to look good hence the stunning matching outfits, but leo also wanted to be himself (hence the blue undershirt), compared to donnie who wanted to appeal to april’s mother (hence the more classic look with the white).

in man vs sewer, they are both wearing the singlet and board short combo, however leo opts for simplicity and ‘laidbackness’ keeping the bare minimum and keeping his shirt loose and untucked. donnie on the other hand goes further and adds the extra decorative shirt to really hammer home the ‘i’m not a useful member of society’ and the holiday/break vibes he’s trying so hard to feel. he also chooses to tuck his shirt in, which i think is just a personal stylistic choice, one which extenuates and shows off the board shorts more and one which mirrors his belt that’s a part of his usual outfit.

now onto snow day :>

at a brief glance it doesn’t seem like they’re matching but you’d be wRONG! they’re wearing the same shoes, pants and scarf, however they choose different jackets and headgear according to their personal tastes (i also wanna point out how donnie’s pants are more boxy/puffy at the bottom to fit with his whole rectangle theme, while leo’s are tucked in firmly, providing a more angular/triangular look).

leo chose a sirius black looking leather jacket bc why wouldn’t he lmaooo. it very much screams leo in the sense of his faceman attitude and his ‘confidence.’ he also chose a beanie which provides a more hippie, laidback and cool vibe.

donnie, ever the nerd, matches his jacket and headwear, as they both have the light purple fluff. donnies jacket is also much more practical and feels like something you’d see skii-ers (how tf do you spell that), hikers and snow-bikers wear. he’s also wearing the ugliest fucking hat /lh that’s reminiscent of what those occupations also wear.

so what we can take away from this is that leo will look cool whatever the weather and donnie will dress for the practicality of the occasion.

now in the clothes dont make the turtle there are A LOT of matching outfits, not just from donnie and leo, for example, in the images above, all the boys are wearing classic black suits with white button downs, however they all style them differently.

i’d also like to note the slight differences on the collars of the suit jackets (leo and donnie’s are matching, mikey’s is more rounded with a lil point and raph’s mirrors his spikes).

they all style their suits differently by using different ties. leo goes for a black and blue striped tie, which i think showcases his sense of style and his playfulness in comparison to raph, who decides to play it safe with a classic one-toned tie.

mikey goes for a cute bowtie bc why wouldn’t he he’s adorable, and it also fits in with him being the youngest and ‘the baby’, as bowties are most commonly worn by kids.

donnie decides to completely forego the tie altogether bc he doesn’t need it, he’s already stunning 😩 lmao but i actually think he’s just really playing into his emotionally unavailable bad boy image.

there’s also these matching monstrosities for god knows what reason

and it’s not super matchy, but raph and leo also both rock the singlet under the open button down shirt (though the colours are swapped and leo pops the collar causes he’s an idiot /aff)

and lastly!! these outfits. now at first glance, you’re probably thinking ‘elva what the fuck are you going on about’ BUT just hear me out!!

they both have ripped aspects to their outfits, leo’s at the shoulders and donnie’s at the waist. it’s obviously not an intentional match but i think they just subconsciously did it :>

they’re also both wearing head accessories, though in totally different styles (leo with his backwards cap to look ‘cool’ while donnie adorns a beanie to complete his LA hipster vibe)

ugh i’ve met the image limit for this post so here’s the link to the post that continues my rambling lolol

[deliriousdesserts]

Empty Wallet [Pt.1] // Boothill x F!Mechanic!Reader

Summary:

After tending to a certain cyborg cowboy's screwed up Synesthesia Beacon, you find yourself faced with a dreadful situation you've only found in your nightmares: Your client has not a bill nor a single coin in their pockets. However, they make an offer that you can't find yourself refusing. Or: Boothill can't pay up for your maintenance on him so he puts sex on the table. Like you've got endless money to pay rent with, you take the offer like a dolt.

"Oh darlin'.." 

Salaciousness was never your defining characteristic. Sure, you can get down and dirty when it was appropriate or even when it wasn't entirely necessary. Though you draw a clear, bold line at workplace seductions: those ladies and gents who purse their glossy lips when they open up their weightless wallet may think they're so slick but you've heard it all before. You've been warned a fair deal by your bosses as well which brings up a concerning idea that Penacony folk are entrenched in stereotypes. 

The idea of mechanics who wear mini shorts and a suffocatingly tight shirt bending over as they do their arduous work of looking sexy; you could honestly roll your eyes at it. 

Staring at you intently now was a man, mostly built of the most robust metal you've seen, who had earlier tasked you with fixing his Synesthesia Beacon.

It was forever night in the Golden Hour but you did have a set time to check out of the workshop. Around that time, you got a call from your superior that your coworker had a medical emergency so they couldn't take over the next long shift. After much begging and pleading from both sides of the phone, she got your shift reduced to two hours, after which it would ready to be taken over by a different coworker, and you got a extra bit of cash. However, it was quiet so most of the first hour consisted of you doing random stuff around the workshop. Obviously not cleaning, your bosses paid you extra just to be here, nothing else. Just a bit of organizing your stuff.

In the midst of that, a peculiar man had walked right in. Peculiar for the way he swung words out of his mouth with the intention of cussing.. but "cutie" and "baby" were rather odd choices. When you finally got to him, his predicament was made clear. A malfunctioning Synesthesia Beacon. Though, when you were fixing it up, you realized that he blatantly lied to you. This thing was definitely tinkered with, no ordinary little accident could've screwed up with the settings so.. specifically.

Whatever, the reason wasn't your issue. Your focus was entirely on making sure they were set back to their default settings.

And maybe on his body. It's not your first time seeing someone made of metal. However, Intellitrons are vastly different from cyborgs, for they are not part man part inorganic material. So you're curious as one would be.. because that's the only thing that piques your interest in this man. Nothing from his mischievously sharp grin nor his vocal twang captures your attention. 

Well, if that were the case then..

"Apologies, 'fraid I didn't fill up my pockets before I came over 'ere. How 'bout I make you a deal, little lady? I know I haven't proved myself to stuff my wallet full but I'm mighty good at filling up other things."

..Why are you seriously considering his ridiculous request?

"You're going to have to get specific," you say, finding yourself playing into his clearly obvious trade.

"I'm sayin' I can offer up a good time as collateral, hun." He flashes his teeth in a shit-eating smile, something that spells danger for the heat that's starting to swirl in your abdomen. 

You stay silent for a hot minute, something that clearly starts to piss him off after a while. Daring to stare up into his eyes may or may not have been a mistake. You've never seen such strange eyes, something you attribute to him being a cyborg. Black with a white ring and a red dot you would call a pupil if it didn't remind you so much of a sniper dot. Alluding to that was the ammo earring that hung a little heavy on his ear.

Wow, he really came straight out of a black and white cowboy film just to get your work ethics in a twist, huh?

"Silence ain't somethin' I can take as an answer, little lady," he grumbles, placing his hands on his waist like he'd grown so very impatient with you. Like you'd taken your sweet ass time with a silly little question akin to what your favourite colour was.

Then, an idea clicks in your head clear as day.  -!- hi hi!! the rest of this fic is on ao3 as there's a really short character limit on tumblr and i can't split this fic into 5 parts in good conscience <3

[yuinterrobangapologist]

Giving Tim Drake random food quirks I myself have (since we know he has horrible tastes)

No pasta. No pasta in no ways. Pasta itself is gross, regardless of how you cook it. The noodles are just bad tasting, it's not more complicated than that.

Celery is best when dipped in soft drinks. Dark soft drinks like Coke, Root Beer, or Dr. Pepper, though "yellow" ones like Mellow Yellow and Ginger Ale work too. Dick likes this as well.

Salads are better deconstructed. It is better to just several leaves of lettuce, some cherry tomatoes, some radicchio leaves, and some broccoli than to mixed it in a bowl. (this is consistent with him like cukewiches)

Sushi is good (an objective fact), but the best sushi by far is Unagi (eel) and Tako (octopus). But of the common sushi you can buy at like Kroger or Speedway, escolar (its called white tuna but that is very inaccurate) is the best. One time Tim eats way too much escolar nigiri, and Bruce walks in and grimly tells him that escolar is banned in Japan because it causes dysentery when eaten in more than 6oz at a time. Tim misses patrol.

Rare meat does taste good, but it makes him sick to his stomach 20 minutes later. It is the way to be throwing up over and over until the acid causes slight bleeding in your throat. Bruce breaks down the bathroom door and sees blood on the toilet seat and goes into a panic. That's a very embarassing ER visit

I absolutely hate cheese 9 out of 10 times, but I'm not mean enough to curse Tim like this. But we will say that like me, Tim prefers Fontina to a ridiculous degree to other cheeses. When Tim uses Fontina on his Tacos Jason's heart murmurs

Speaking of Tacos, I hate tortillas of any kind, soft, hard, hate 'em hate 'em hate 'em. Again, I won't curse Tim with this blood malediction, but I will make it so Tim exclusively eats Whole Grain tortillas. Steph steals a bite of his burrito and immediately feels disappointed.

Like me, Tim loves loves quinoa. Like me, Tim did not know any ethical controversies with quinoa for years. However, Tim learned when he was like...17, so his teenage egoism and privilege guilt makes him immediately feel rotten. But luckily Tim is very rich so he invests in Gotham starting its own quinoa farms, and WE oversees so they the most ethical farms on the East coast

Tim is allergic to hibiscus. If this was the 80s like when Tim was introduced, he would probably not know this until he was in his 40s, because hibiscus was not in anything in America until like 2015.

Tim absolutely thinks Mixed Peppercorns are superior to Black Pepper and literally never buys Black pepper again. Kroger's Private Selection brand has made a whale of him (affectionate and derogatory)

Cherry Coke is Tim's lifeblood outside of Coffee. If you offered Tim a prime rib or a Cherry Coke he would take the Cherry Coke every time, it is one of his favorite flavors ever

And in contrast, Tonic Water is Tim's most hated thing of all time. It doesn't make him gag or anything, but the flavor is his least favorite flavor.

Tim likes grapefruits a lot. But grapefruit screws with the medicine he needs, so he can't have it. He stares longingly at the ruby reds in the Kroger produce section. When will they return from the war.

Tim prefers soda in glass bottles, both for ethical reasons (glass doesn't downcycle and isn't toxic like microplastics are) and because he thinks it tastes better. Tim, a man of science, will die on this conspiracy.

All coffee is good. Starbucks $8 pistachio frappes with coconut milk and olive oil? Awesome! Black quintuple shot espressos? Awesome! Dollar General "French Roast"? Awesome! $40 a cup imported Colombian coffee? Awesome! Mushroom coffee? Awesome! Kroger instant coffee? Objectively awful, but with enough powdered creamer and Splenda, it can be fine too!

Tim exclusively uses the spellings "Catsup" and "Doughnuts." That's how he was raised to spell them, he spelled them that his entire childhood, and he's not interested in making any attempt to stop (my dad learned it from living in Germany and supposedly Germans who learned English in school used those spellings, and I could see Jack Drake having that same experience (no I have no idea if that's actually factually true my dad's had dementia my entire life))

Tim has a decent spice tolerance, habanero is about his max, but not a whole lot of food made for regular consumption goes beyond that, so its not a big deal. But, Tim doesn't actually like the flavor of most hot peppers. (I personally think jalapenos are kinda gross), so a lot of people think he can't handle hot food when its just that he doesn't like a lot of the mainstream hot stuff

Chili is in the top 5 of the grossest smells Tim has ever smelled and he is not exaggerating. Rotting carrion and skunk are less offensive than the smell of a pot of chili. He doesn't know if he likes the flavor or not because the smell makes him too sick to even notice a taste.

There are almost zero fresh fruit or vegetables that Tim does not like. Like, a very small number, like both categories fit on one hand.

Tim's favorite apples are the yellow ones and he will not take criticism.

Marshmallow artificial flavor is absolutely amazing, but its pretty rare for Tim to ever actually just eat marshmallows. Marshmallow flavored candy, coffee, sodas, creams, those are good.

Tim loves cotton candy flavored things too, like Cotton candy flavored cupcakes or gum or something. But his favorite is Cotton Candy Faygo. But Faygo is pretty rare in Gotham, so instead he just putts cotton candy into his Sprite or Sierra Mist

Speaking of Sierra Mist, Tim thinks it is vastly superior to Starry

Tim loves white brats. They are the best meat on BBQs, superior to steaks, ribs, hot dogs, fish, poultry, veggies, burgers, none of it can compare

Tim does like bitter foods. Cass sees him eating chocolates and doesn't realize its 82% dark and grabs one then immediately shrivels into a lump

Upon learning all of this Duke constantly makes fun of Tim for having the whitest taste buds, but finds Tim likes quite a bit of classic Black Americana soul food, and Duke feels some respect. Then he sees Tim snacking on kale chips and it immediately fades (btw remember Tim is Blasian in all of my posts from now until I die)

Tim loves Worcestershire sauce. Supernaturally. Bruce sees 13-year-old Tim take a shot of a dark liquid and is immediately furious, and Tim has him take the other one and its straight Worcestershire. Bruce gags so hard he hurts his ribs as bad as a punch from King Shark.

Tim likes sprinkles. Alfred fucking hates this. Tim puts sprinkles on his pancakes, one his lattes, on every pastry and ice cream ever. But then Alfred sees Tim make fairy toast and he's reminded of his mom, and making it himself for his daughter, and lets it slide.

Duke sees Tim scowl and pudding, and ignores it. Duke sees Tim eat a plain hotdog, shivering at any idea of mustard, catsup, or mayonnaise. Duke sees Tim cringe when he puts ranch on his salad. When probed, Tim replies "I don't like anything with that boogery texture" and Duke is immediately too grossed out to finish his salad

Tim had an entomophagy phase, for sure. "It's so good for the environment guys, if humans started eating ants we'd never run out of food, world hunger would be solved in weeks." They're watching a movie and Tim pulls out a small plastic bag, pulls out a centipede and eats it casually. Dick lunges for a trashcan and Damian flinches like he'd been slapped.

Tim prefers 1% milk to whole, skim, or 2%. He also really enjoys acidophilus milk. While Jon's over playing with Damian, Jon asks what that means and Tim says "oh they put more bacteria in it," and Jon starts X-Raying Tim to see if he has like legions on his lungs or something, and when he sees Tim doesn't have a spleen he cries and tells Clark the milk is eating Tim inside out