#mail answer

[elletromil]

Made up fic title: blue dragons

See, at first i was all 'oh that fic would be about characters being dragons or some mythology thing'

But then i thought that was way too predictable and decided that you know what? If I was to write this fic it would either have to be a pacific rim style of au, where the characters pilot blue dragons or something

And like maybe i would start this as an non-modern au? Like start writing it as if it's your common handwave medieval/fantasy-ish setting. And people are telling legens of the blue dragons or something. And there is no way to tell its actually a big mecha until you finally get to the full action and realise that oooh, its actually a steampunk-y au! And the characters that were followed for the first chunk of the story were just living too far from the capital. And even then, it would be start of steampunk, mostly it's just the mecha dragons

And oh oh! As i write i keep having ideas

You get a read more because this got away from me 😅😅😅

Ok so story would start with Eggsy living in your run of the mill isolated/poor village in your generic fantasy-medieval setting. You'd get hint of like dragons being those tyranic overlord and you would think 'oh ok, fantasy setting with opressive fantastical beasts as rulers' and you'd hear also about the legendary blue dragons, dragons who are supposed to uphold the law or something and how they were betrayed but they are totally gonna come back to free then from tyrany.

There's even been some rumors about one distant village who was freed recently from tyranic golden dragon Valentine and that they might be protected by a blue dragon. Its only rumors though and Eggsy had never even heard of the village's name before so who knows. Oh, oh and we would learn that Lee was killed when the tyrant dragons first did their coup to seize control of the continent

Anyway, while Eggsy sometimes have some fantasy of getting to work with one of the fame blue dragons (who according to legend only let the most worthy ride them), Eggsy is no damsel in distress. He's not waiting on anyone to save him and his loved one so of course he joined the resistance.

But then one fateful night, the resistance who was either betrayed or not as careful as they should be gets attacked! By golden dragon Valentine himself no less, not just some of his army! He's come to personally squish the resistance and make an example out of them considering the rising unrest and the renewed hope from the rumors of blue dragons being back!!

All is lost and Eggsy is sure to die and his village completely destroy until right at the last moment, bam!

In comes a blue dragon! The day is saved!

Except not really, because the blue dragon gets trashed by Valentine!

Eggsy runs to the blue dragon, maybe in shock, maybe out of stupidity, maybe bravery, who knows, not even himself.

Anyway, he goes to the fallen blue dragon and that's when the description for what he sees becomes mechanical in nature (before the dragons were just describe in size, colors, power and shape), describing debris and cogs and stuff.

He gets to the head and gasp! He finds a human inside! It's James (probably dead, sorry James)! And like the dragon is trashed but there is still power humming through it and Eggsy knows nothing about it but he's done much more stupid things in his life! So he takes James place inside the dragons head and tries to do control the dragon via the neural link (Eggsy of course doesnt know any of this, he just needs to fight and protect and feels himself connect to the dragon and instinctively start to fight Valentine)

And the blue dragon is trashed but it's not destroyed and Eggsy has no finesse, but he's desperate and he manages to hurt Valentine enough to make him retreat!

So yeah, Eggsy manages to drive Valentine away for now and maybe he passes out because he's not used to controlling a dragon? And when he comes back to, it's to a second blue dragon and its rider Harry Hart who asks him how he feels about joining their ranks and overthrow the tyranic dragons?

And like there could be so many wordlbuilding thrown in about what makes the dragon a certain color (their building material mostly and oh wouldn't it be neat if the blue dragons would be made from some kind of meteorite? They were the first made and every subsequent dragon have some of those meteorite because that's what allows a mental link to control such big constructs? And all the other are copycats) and Chester King being the leader of the blue dragons but ending up being a traitor because of course

And oh!! Why were the blue dragons defeated/pushed back? What if its actually a full-blown sci-fi and the blue dragons and their riders come from outer space? And their technology fell into the wrong hands on this planet and only a few could come and help make things right because there is a full-blown interstellar war happening at the same time?

Eggsy feeling like Harry and Merlin aren't telling him everything and yes it's true they aren't, because they're alien and the reveal comes when Harry gets hurt in a way that should kill him but he gets better because of his alien physiology and with the planet liberated from the tyranic dragons, well they gotta go back to space to help with the war efforts and would Eggsy like to join?

And maybe James wouldnt be dead either thanks to that.

And then you get to the space warzone and that's where you get to meet Roxy and Tilde and just yeah

I wanna write this now

I won't

But i wanna

[canisalbus]

I'm currently learning Italian and recently learned that the @ sign in an email address is called "chiocciola" which is the Italian word for snail.

it's just a neat fact. I thought I'd share ♡

C-chiocciola...

[lokutofu]

ur little batman looks like the cute little squid from finding nemo please can we get another 😭🙏?

Hahaha thank you!!!

Ask and you shall receive. Here you go~

[wyervan]

👁️ 👁️ hey. I love your creepy moon

hey. i think he likes you too.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hey can you do more of Aaron x non bau rich fem!reader. Like maybe with jack

ANON!!!! I’m just out here living my rich stepmom life now, okay? Jack is so cute!!!! I swear I’m weak for domestic Hotch | WC: 423

Inside the living room, you sat on the floor, surrounded by colorful art supplies, while Jack busily worked on his latest school project. The grand space, often reserved for elegant soirées and refined gatherings, had been transformed into a cozy art studio for the day, with large sheets of paper spread out, and markers and paint scattered everywhere.

Jack, his little face scrunched in concentration, held up his creation for you to see. “What do you think?” he asked eagerly, showing off a drawing of what appeared to be a dragon, flying over a castle that looked suspiciously like your home.

You smiled warmly, leaning closer to inspect the details. “It’s perfect, Jack! I love how fierce the dragon looks. You’re getting really good at this. I'm sure your teacher will be impressed with your skills and give you a gold star for the fairy tale topic!” you praised, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

Jack beamed at your words. “I think Dad’s going to like it, too,” he said, glancing toward the doorway where Hotch had been watching the two of you quietly, his expression soft.

Aaron’s voice cut through the gentle ambiance. “I’m sure I will,” he said, walking into the room and joining you on the floor. His suit jacket was off, and his tie loosened for the first time all day, but he looked relaxed.

“Dad, look! I made the dragon like the one from the book you read to me last night,” Jack explained, already diving into another story about his creation.

You exchanged a fond look with Aaron, who smiled at the scene. This — these simple moments — they were everything to him. “I think we have a true artist on our hands,” Aaron said, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he sat down beside you, his eyes were full of affection for the both of you.

You grinned, pulling Jack into a little side hug. “I’d say so. I think we'll need more wall space for all of his masterpieces though,” you teased, already scouting which painting you'd have to take down. It made Jack giggle.

Aaron chuckled softly too, his arm slipping around your waist as he looked between the two people he cared for most. It wasn’t the opulence of the mansion or the high-profile life that mattered to him — it was the warmth of the family you had created, the quiet joy of being together, and the love that effortlessly filled the room every time you were together.

[tangledbea]

I drew Eugene giving Rapunzel a shoulder massage bc these idiots won't leave my head I don't know many New Dream enjoyers but ur account comes up frequently when i search thru the tag, so have a gift

LDSFJGKLSJDFGKLDFSG THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! HOW SWEET!!

[soap-ify]

can you do a smut to fluff comfort where simon is overstimulating them and being super degrading and they safeword? Then Simon takes care of them and is basically just super sweet.

this has been sitting in my inbox for so long :( so sorry anon i hope you like it!!

cw — smut at first, degradation, use of safeword, gentle aftercare and lots of comfort.

simon had been frustrated that day, very frustrated after coming back from work. and you felt like trying something new for him.

“fucking slag… look at you takin’ this cock so well.” he spat bitterly, his girthy cock mercilessly ploughing into your tight cunt, his hands gripping your hips in a hard and bruising manner. “too dumb to even speak now, eh? only good for takin’ some cock.”

he had asked you so sweetly at first, if he could take his frustrations out on you, and you had agreed because you wanted to please your boyfriend so badly. plus some crappy porno made you think that rough sex can be amazing. silly reason, yeah.

but right now, all those insults spewing out of his mouth seemed genuine and scary, messing up with your head while your body was all sensitive from already orgasming a few times before. it was overwhelming, too overwhelming — and you knew that if you don’t speak up now, you’ll break down horribly anytime soon.

but god, you felt so guilty. you were supposed to be relaxing him, not turning it onto yourself.

“r-red…!” you managed to choke out, tears sliding down your cheeks as your fingers digged into his shoulder blades, causing simon to halt almost immediately.

“what?” his voice was gruff, eyes still a bit glossy from fucking you, though his grip had loosened significantly and worry was soon blooming onto his face.

“red…” you repeated weekly, lips wobbling as you quickly looked away, not wanting him to look at you crying over something like this.

simon gently eased himself out of you and rolled by your side, his calloused hands cradling your face. “oh, love… did i hurt you? was it too much?” he may have been sounding concerned and still reserved though he was internally panicking inside, wanting to rip and beat some sense into himself.

“yes,” you sniffled and nodded, your hands trembling as you leaned into his embrace, soft pants leaving your lips. “too rough..”

“fuck, m’sorry. so sorry, love. got carried away for a second, i-” he paused, his heart aching terribly with guilt and concern as he saw your face all soaked with tears. it soon dawned on him how mean he was being, even if you had agreed to it. he should’ve known that you were probably not used to this, maybe not even into it.

he slowly got up from the bed and helped you off the bed, his burly arms supporting you. he took you over to the bathroom and soon ran a warm bath for you, helping you sit in the bathtub, your little winces making his heart sink.

“i didn’t mean any of those words, y’know…” he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, his fingers gently caressing your head.

“i know…” you sniffled and smiled up at him sheepishly. “maybe i’m too soft for all that.”

simon sighed softly and sat by the edge of the bathtub, not caring about himself at all right now. all of his focus was solely on you, helping you clean yourself and dry up once you were done, dressing you in some comfortable pajamas.

once he came back after cleaning himself up, he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over at you, his once stern brown eyes now soft with love and pain. “i’m so sorry, i mean it…”

“don’t apologise, si…” you gently wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands supporting your hips as he carefully propped you on top of him once he laid down, caressing your lower back.

“i love you… never wanna hurt you, y’know. m’so proud of you for speakin’ the safeword. so proud of you.” he smothered your head with chaste kisses, his breath caressing your skin.

“i love you too…” you mumbled softly, exhaustion soon taking over you. you let his heartbeat lull you into sleep alongside his soft murmurs, feeling safe once again.

[qwantzfeed]

as a kid this was my favourite fantasy, way better than winning the lottery because the odds against it happening were SO much higher.  if it happened people would be like "damn, that person really beat the odds incredibly well.  not in a good way but still: objectively impressive."

[poorly-drawn-bsd]

gives Kyouka a bunny

She really likes him! I don’t think I’ve seen Kyouka make that expression before. -Atsushi

[userautumn]

Just an idea, natalia helping buck with grieving bobby

Buck texts her on a Saturday to ask if she wants to meet for coffee.

She's blindsided, of course, because they haven't spoken for over a year but she's curious so she says yes. He looks terrible when she sees him, like all of that resurrection-light that was in his eyes after he came back from the dead has up and guttered out, leaving a dark emptiness in its wake. They make small talk, catch up on life and then work. He asks about her job, and she asks about his, and doesn't really notice that he doesn't answer the question until his breath hitches when he looks somewhere over her shoulder. It's a man, older, maybe mid 50s to early 60s. He's vaguely familiar, she guesses, with one of those faces that just skirts the edge of her memory. But then he's gone into the coffeeshop and she doesn't think anything more about him. Buck, though... he's still staring at the place the man was.

She reaches out across the table and touches his hand. He visibly startles like he forgot she was there.

"Hey." She tilts her head to meet his gaze. "Not that I don't love coffee as much as the next girl, but are you okay? Seriously."

He blinks slowly, eyelashes damp. "Bobby died."

He says the name with enough gravitas and weight that she thinks she's supposed to know who that is, but she doesn't. She never spent enough time with his family to be able to commit them to memory. She knows the word died, and suddenly a whole lot of things click into place.

"Buck."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't—I really did want to catch up with you, but then I saw that man and he looked—he looked just like him and—"

That man. The older gentleman.

And then she remembers who Bobby is clearly, Buck's father in every way but blood. The man who raised him, and shaped him, who knew him down to the marrow and molecules and everything in between.

He's shaking underneath her hand, a fine tremor that rattles through his entire body. She wonders if he even notices how precarious the thread he's hanging on by really is, one small nudge and he'll come crashing to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

She clears her throat and slips into work mode between one moment and the next.

"When?"

"Two weeks ago. It's been on the news."

Two weeks. Still fresh, then. He looks almost offended that she doesn't know already, which makes a sort of sense, she supposes. The 118 is famous around these parts, even for people who don't work in response. She's seen the subreddits and the tumblr pages and 118-inspired amateur porn on Twitter in the LAFD tag. Which is to say that she should know, probably. But she doesn't watch the news, she doesn't keep up with social media. She sees enough death during her day job than to want to go home and turn on the television and be greeted by another act of violent misogyny, another genocide, another war.

Even she has to turn it off sometimes.

She stares down at the table, thinking, his hand still trapped and trembling underneath hers. "You know, there's this thing people say when someone dies: I'm sorry for your loss. We always shorten it to I'm sorry and hope the idea still comes across. But I've never really liked that much. It's well-meaning until you really sit with the idea of apology, of saying I'm sorry for the inevitable."

"What do you mean?" His voice sounds painfully small.

"I mean, when we're taught to apologize as children, it's always within the context of wrongdoing. Something has gone wrong. We've hurt someone, either through accident or intent. So our ingrained response to wrongness is an apology. But that just means that, when someone dies and we say we're sorry for it, we are associating death with something bad; and something that, more importantly, could have been avoided. But that's not true.

Death is the only thing we can count on in life. No matter what journey you take to end up on death's door, whether suicide or murder or cancer, the act of dying is morally neutral. It's not a flaw. It's not a failure. It's not an accident. It's not intentional. It is one of the only naturally unfolding things in the entire world. Yes, it feels bad for those of us who are left behind. It feels horrendous, actually. But the way we frame it, with an apology and a hope that gets better, like there was something that could have changed the outcome if we'd only been a little bit smarter, done a little bit more, is a cruelty we deal to ourselves and to each other."

There's a memory knocking at the doors of her brain—her grandma's frail, cold hand in hers while her relatives and the EMTs bustled around her. Strange, fleeting hands on her small shoulders saying sorry for a loss she had nothing to do with; the fear and guilt that if she'd checked on her grandma that night instead of falling asleep on the sofa, she would have been able to spot the symptoms of the heart attack before it took her away. But those memories are best left untouched for now.

Natalia watches him carefully. "Your journey is going to look at lot different from here. Your life, all the moments you thought you would have him for, are not going to happen and you will grieve him multiple times for the rest of your life. But that's not different from anything else in life, right? You make a wrong turn and the GPS recalculates. You pursue a different career than the one you studied for and hope for the best. You move out of your home state and pray you're making the right decision. You say yes to a date with someone who will either be the best choice you've ever made or the worst. Every moment that passes, every decision we make is a course correction, a change from where we began until we get to our destination. That's all death is. Why would I, why would anyone be sorry about that?"

"But he should be here. His wife needs him here. His son and daughter need him here. I need him here." His tears do start to fall then, though he doesn't sob. He doesn't stop staring at her face, waiting, wordlessly begging her to give him answers she's not entirely sure she has. "We need him back."

Her voice is soft when she says, "But you can't have him."

It's just five words. They shouldn't hurt as deeply as they do, but they do. Every time. She's given the same version of this speech to so many people she wouldn't even begin to know how to count them all, but each time, these words steal something from someone. She watches the way they land now, each emotion rippling out across Buck's face: grief, anger, despair, loss, love, all wrapped in one, tragic image.

"Every choice Bobby made, every single one, was a course correction that led him to his destination," she says with that same soft voice. "Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it wasn't. But he's there now and you've parted ways. I told you I don't like saying I'm sorry when someone dies, but you know what I do say?" He shakes his head and she squeezes his hand and meets his gaze. "I say thank you. Thank you for sharing your journey with me. Thank you for all the times we got lost together, for all the arguments, for all the large and small ways we found each other, healed each other, rebuilt each other. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for such a unique and irreplaceable love. Because that's what it is, right? No one will ever love you the way Bobby loved you, which hurts now, but god, Buck. What a beautiful imprint to leave on someone's life."

His voice is watery and miserable, his face damp as his tears fall in earnest. He shakes his head. "I don't know how to do this."

"No one does. But we try. Every day, we try just a little bit more and eventually we stumble our way into something like healing."

"The car starts moving again."

Her mouth turns up into a small smile. Her grandmother's smile, her aunt always used to say. You're damn near the spitting image of her.

"Yeah," she says, and she's proud of the way her voice doesn't crack. "The car starts again."

Buck nods. He's silent for a long time as he wipes his face and gets his bearings. Eventually he extracts his hand from underneath hers.

"Sorry," he says after a while. "I didn't mean to get all..." he waves a hand as his voice trails off.

Natalia shrugs. "It's what I'm here for."

"I owe you another coffee, one with less emotion attached to it, but I do have to run. I promised May—Bobby's daughter—I'd help her pack her apartment." He pauses a beat. "She's moving back in with her mom."

Ah.

His face darkens with grief and Natalia lets him have his moment before she shakes her head and waves him off.

"Go do what you have to do. I'm just a phone call away. You know that."

They say their goodbyes and Natalia watches him jog to his car, then watches him pull out and continues to stare at the empty parking space for a long time. She twists the ring on her right ring finger, the gold polished and smooth, in just as good condition as it was the day her granddad proposed to her grandmother with it and lets her grief spill through her body.

This is a well-worn routine they have by now.

She breathes through the pain, through the loss and the memories until the phantom hands on her shoulders disappear and sound of the flatline fades.

In her mind, she says thank you. Thank you for the journey, Gram. It was lovely, and imagines she can hear her beautiful, warm voice saying it back.

Natalia takes a sip of coffee. Overhead, the birds chirp and sing, calling each other home.

[elletromil]

Writer asks - 10

10. what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

Even not counting the ones still in my drafts, the longest have been a few years. And eventually, when i do finish the ones still in my draft, it'll be a good decade (aka i still have some kingsman fic draft from my early days in the fandom i still plan one finishing one of those days)

fic writer asks

[canisalbus]

Hey, so, at the risk of being viewed as a filthy fucking degenerate, when do we see your tastelessly cropped art? I uh... wanna see a priest getting his ass torn to shreds... and I'm not sure if I'm ashamed of that fact...

I'm flattered you asked, but at the time I just can't say for sure. Twitter's downfall kind of paralyzed my willpower to share nsfw art publicly, not that I was particularly active on that front to begin with. The system I had there worked well for me, but now the whole place is circling the drain and I'm trying to find a replacement.

Bsky allows mature content which is great, and their filtering system seems to work well, but they don't have the option to make your account private (and from what I've heard they don't intend to make that a feature). At the moment the idea of any random passerby getting to waltz in and witnessing a priest getting his ass torn to shreds instantly accessing my more risque (and usually deeply personal) works makes me somewhat uncomfortable. I'd like to have at least some semblance of control over who I let into that space, and an effective way to keep some others out.

[impish-baby]

Another question! Okay sorry lol I have another question for the both arms cradle you now fic again! So when you answered my previous ask about our step mother and our step siblings I remember in one of the parts you mentioned that their where more siblings like our dad and step mom had more kids or am I wrong? If I am you don’t have to answer this ask! I was also wondering more about the neglect why did they now realize what they put reader/us through? What triggered their yandere behavior sorry for my so many asks! I just love your blog! Have a good day! And drink water and get lots of sleep!

You are right, I did write that! Thing is at the time I was still unsure of who all I was adding to the story as well as the timeline of events :p so reader now officially has two older stepsiblings and a younger half brother!

Reader was fourteen when they finally gave up on their dad, and moved away with their mom shortly after. They didn't want any contact with anyone from Damien's side of the familly, so the Christmas party is everyone's first time seeing them in years. (Four, since reader is eighteen currently in the series)

The first year reader was gone was a shitshow to say the least

Going no contact with everyone was abrupt, especially since the family as a whole was tight-knit. Paul eventually got a hold of reader's mom (she was ignoring Damien) and got a simple explanation that basically boiled down to 'ask your son and his step kids'

Lizzie is already in boiling water at this point since everyone was freaking out about reader being gone all of a sudden, so when she gets set down for some answers she immediately bursts into tears and confesses (miles is also in trouble, and he quietly confirms and admits his part of things)

After everything is out in the open, Damien is having a crisis. He's also sobbing now because he realizes that not only has he been a shitty dad and lost his kid, but you've been through so much (his baby, oh god, his baby..)

Paul has to leave so he doesn't just yell at them all for hours, but makes sure they know that they aren't allowed in his home for the foreseeable future (you can see that he's still really cold to Damien in 'villian and violent')

You know the saying absence makes the heart grow fonder? Dial that up to the extreme.

Everybody misses reader dearly (besides the step sibs at first), there's always a hope that there will be a phone call, a text, something, but it never comes.

Longing and longing and longing starts to turn into something different, because when reader is back (and they will be) what's stopping you from leaving again? Familly is important, even if you were wronged, how do they show you that you need them?

[alienracist]

hey you might like this drawing

this is MORE hateful than the hate mail i got calling me a retard and a faggot

[domoriu]

merry christmas kiwi :⟩ ! I saw a post about riding taesan and wondered if you have any thoughts about it,, like his face when he looks at you? down bad 4 him fr

- 🐠

merry christmas lovely!!

riding taesan… i think it could go multiple ways but i think for the most part i think he’s gonna have a look like the pic below… (this pic makes me insane btw) he loves watching you get off using him as your personal toy :3

if he’s more dominant, i think he would still sit back and watch you ride him, gets touchier when he’s close or when you start getting tired and he wants you to keep moving on him and then he’ll help guide you on him !!

[sunlit-mess]

If I don't last this semester, just know that I tried ☠️🔥