#but i'm just so fascinated in how they would have fit in

[the-crooked-library]

Okay I wanted to tell you that I'm literally drinking your posts about Nosferatu, thank you so much for sharing all your thoughts! You're helping me better shaping my own opinions.

And I have another thing that can't leave my mind so I thought to share: Ellen is in perfect control of Orlok, and it's never the other way round.

She is the one that summons him first, and after their first encounters (I got the feeling that they met more than once before her father discovered her and the encounters got unpleasant, but I might be wrong), when she rejects him out of fear and disgust, *he leaves her be*. Okay, he visits her in her dreams, but dreams are manageable, right? In fact Ellen moves on, she tries to build a reasonable life, she falls in love, and Orlok just leaves her be. It's only when she marries that he acts: because the vows of marriage can break the oath they took years ago.

And even if moved by jealousy and rage, even if he is so powerful that he can control animals, weather and human minds, even if he can bring the plague to a whole city, even if he kills and tortures everyone, he can't touch her unless she gives her permission, her consent. He barely even look at her without her permission.

And in the end he knows the dawn is approaching, he knows he's gonna die, he is more than satisfied, more than fulfilled, but she says "more" and so he stays. And he dies. Because she wanted for him to die.

I don't think Ellen is fully aware of her power and control over him since the beginning, because to admit to herself this much is too much for her. A part of her still wants and impossible normal life. But surely she knows. She places her hair in the lock...

And in the end she fully embraces this power, to the extent of her own death too.

I think this is what hit me the most in this movie. How big a role the girl plays in the action of the vampire.

hi - and thank you so so much! I am delighted to hear that you've been enjoying my posts about this film, because, quite frankly, I haven't been able to shut up about it at any point since I saw it.

Regarding Ellen's control of Orlok: this might be just my opinion, but I think it is strongly reminiscent of the dynamic between Sarah and Jareth in Labyrinth (1986)! Sarah's situation is, naturally, less traumatic than Ellen's - but she is the heroine of a coming-of-age fantasy film, rather than a gothic horror, so that comes with the territory. The point is, their stories share the same essential plot beats and deal with a similar subject matter, and Sarah's story is punctuated by her interactions with the Goblin King. Like Orlok, he is ancient and in some ways immortal; he is obsessive, dangerous, and magical in a way that does not fit in with the Normal World - which provides a point of endless fascination for Sarah, who also feels like an outsider in it. As such, the Goblin King both excites and terrifies her, he adores her and menaces her at the same time - and, crucially, he has no power over her. Here's how the story develops:

the loneliness, the frustration with her life

the summons, however accidental

friends/family in danger

at the same time - thrill, excitement, seduction, obsession

fairy tale time limit - 13 hours or 3 nights

confrontation/declaration of love, offer of eternity

the evil is defeated because he isn't actually in control.

The Goblin King begs Sarah to just fear him, love him, and vows to be her slave if she does; Orlok does much the same, insisting time and time again that Ellen isn't meant for the human world - that he would give her the companionship she wanted for all eternity; and the same pattern repeats in a plethora of other media as well, vampire, fairytale, and various derivations thereof.

Just to throw a few examples into the mix - Ellen Hutter, Christine Daaé, Sarah Williams, Will Graham, and Louis de Pointe du Lac all follow that specific dance. Each one of their respective monsters seduces, threatens, adores, coerces, rages - and eventually submits. Orlok is reverent as he stays with Ellen past the sunrise; Erik releases Christine in the finale; the Goblin Kingdom crumbles, Hannibal kneels in the snow and falls from the cliff, and Lestat allows Louis to slit his throat. For the pursued, this is, first and foremost, a story of self-actualization; and a fantasy of being loved so deeply that it supersedes all other possible concerns. None of these characters have ever felt loved by another human being - and so it's not surprising that the thing that wants them so much isn't human. It's really more of a reasonable assumption than a leap.

I absolutely agree that Ellen's actions are often very subtly questionable, in a way that almost feels like reaching; and I think that this is likely the intention - though that could be debated until the cows come home, given a contrary enough group of people. Still, in the film itself, she is indeed torn between Morality and Desire. Lines are inevitably blurred. The locket miniature for Thomas, the perfumed lock of hair for Orlok; a sacrifice for the city, a night of passion for her.

One proper, sane; the other invariably personal, close to the skin - clinging, like the scent of lilacs; and it could be said that this dilemma is best encapsulated by her description of a dream she had in the very beginning of the movie. In it, she is wedded to Death. None of the witnesses survive it. She is horrified, she has never been happier in her life, and it's rooted in the very core of her anguish. Because what sort of thing is she, if the only person that loves her wholly is a monster?..

[buriedpentacles]

Umwelt

I've been reading 'An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us' by Ed Yong - and he introduced a really interesting word/concept that I hadn't really read about in any of my other ethology studies:

Umwelt /ʊmvɛlt/ noun 1. (in ethology) the world as it is experienced by a particular organism. "the worlds they perceive, their Umwelten, are all different"

As written in An Immense World:

"Earth teems with sights and textures, sounds and vibrations, smells and tastes, electric and magnetic fields. But every animal can only tap into a small fraction of reality's fullness. Each is enclosed within its own unique sensory bubble, perceiving but a tiny sliver of an immense world. There is a wonderful word for this sensory bubble—Umwelt. It was defined and popularized by the Baltic-German zoologist Jakob von Uexküll in 1909. Umwelt comes from the German word for "environment," but Uexküll didn't use it simply to refer to an animal's surroundings. Instead, an Umwelt is specifically the part of those surroundings that an animal can sense and experience—its perceptual world... a multitude of creatures could be standing in the same physical space and have completely different Umwelten."

Obviously I've understood this concept previously, but now there's a nice, neat little word to explain it. It is fascinating for me to consider the different senses and experiences of other animals; all the things I cannot see, or hear, or feel. I am infinitely curious about the ocean's secret melodies, and the colours hidden among the wildflowers, and the strange sensation of a magnetic compass in your brain.

Umwelt goes beyond this: it isn't just "snakes can see heat and birds ultraviolet", Umwelt is also the semiotic world of an individual, it includes everything that is meaningful for the organism. Its flexible - it changes as you experience new things, shifting to adapt around you. In this model, the mind and the world are inseparable, because the mind is what interprets the world. Beyond this, your Umwelt is not just you passively experiencing the world, it's taking in the stimuli and building the world around you - we create our perception, and thus our reality.

Our umwelten is wildly different from a dog's or jellyfish's (different - not better, worst, more or less), we cannot comprehend what they may experience because we are bound by our Umwelten. There are things that we KNOW (or assume) are outside of our Umwelten (like ultraviolet or magnetic fields) but we cannot truly experience them. We may be able to understand them, but we will only be translating these other senses into something we can handle.

Then, I thought of how it might apply to my spirituality and to my magic.

Our Umwelt, our bubble of perception, includes how we perceive magic, and spirits or divinity (insert your preferred terminology), and we are bound by that. No matter whether we "see" or "hear" or just "sense" the magic, our understanding is always constrained by what we can perceive. (This fits neatly into my belief system, where Magic and the Universe appear to us in certain ways so that we can understand them, not because that is how they truly are.)

We each have our own bubble of perception, both for our physical and magical sense. But so must dogs, and jellyfish, and trees and mushrooms and the wind. Spirits and gods have their Umwelten too, though I'm sure they're far beyond my comprehension.

I'm not sure exactly where to take this post, as there's so many wild thoughts going through my mind about this!! But, I wanted to share and discuss the concept! Though I'm not certain how and to what level I will, I do want to integrate this concept into my practice, even if simply by recognising that I cannot understand everything, I am bound by my perception, I am bound by the way my brain builds my world around me.

Please comment, message, whatever - I would love to hear everyone's thoughts on this!

[magicwhiskers29]

I've had some great new bookmarks recently, so...

Match with Her. Match with Him. - preordereddepression - G - 5.0k

Maria, due to her disability, found good use in all kinds of mobility aids. Amongst them, was a wheelchair.

Shadow grew used to it, therefore, he found no shame when he found need in using a wheelchair of his own.

Unfortunately, when the time came to choose the colour of what went on the wheelchair, Shadow found himself embarrassed with his want of blue. A blue that resembled a certain hedgehog he was enamoured with.

It's a very sweet fic that really made me smile.

Silly Hats and Party Favors - Nebrasska - T - 49.7k, unfinished

The deal with Rouge was simple. All Shadow had to do was go with her to five parties, and she would purchase him a brand-new motorcycle to replace the one he had wrecked on a mission.

Somehow finding himself trapped alone with Sonic at all five of these parties, however, was never a part of the plan.

[Aka, five times Shadow wound up alone with Sonic at a party, and the one time they wound up alone with no party.]

Not quiiittteee finished just yet, but there's only one chapter left, that is coming soon! I absolutely adore the way Sonic is written around Shadow here, and it is probably the best fic of its concept that I've seen!

jumper - redpenship - T - 5.7k

In the shadow of eternity, Sonic and Shadow promise to find each other again.

Something I found the other day wading through the tag, and it's fascinating. A non-linear piece about Sonic showing up in a future where he's not supposed to be keep seeing Shadow, who has to remain. Maybe a little bitter sweet, but it's brilliant.

I'm going to put a cut here for Movie 3 spoilers, but I do have some recs for that hehe

right back where you came - caqos - T - 3.9k

There are pictures too, polaroids of various faces, some Shadow recognizes and some he doesn’t. Sonic is a staple in all of them, a blue tint over one side of each, showing how every picture was taken simultaneously by him and with him.

What his eyes really catch on though, is none of these things.

“You have a guitar.��

Someone finally took Maria playing Live and Learn on guitar and RAN with it. It's very sweet.

titrated, as fury - divisionbell - T - 2.5k

Shadow's gaze is a yawning eclipse, his wrath singular and livid. The consuming force of the black hole that tore through his home, void-like and relentless and hungry. Sonic sees it, feels it, that hunger, that heaving-flanked want of a weapon starved of its use. And Sonic just smiles in the face of it, eyes hooded and teeth bloodied, waiting, goading.

"Or should I make you beg for it?" he asks, voice pitching low, pitching dangerous. "Like the way you begged me to finish it."

Go ahead—finish it!

After it all, the weapon still fits in his hand.

A FASCINATING study on sonadow post-movie. It works with some absolutely beautiful prose to explore the leftover anger between the two of them after everything. (It's also got a first part in the same style exploring some of the movie's scenes!)

recommend me good sonadow fics PLEASE

[misconceivedcapricorn]

fuck I need to write another fic surrounding the ideas of a time loop with the cut characters. Maybe without evil karnak

[leapinarmadillo]

ohhhh. i forgot that people used to say michael was getting surgeries in order to look like diana ross. ugh. i don't think there's anything to that but............ugh.

[bisnes-socks]

This is super interesting!

I know my view of Takavoltti in general is slightly different than how many read it, as i don't really read it as him being made to do things against his will. That's perhaps an unpopular take (if anyone is interested in my analysis, it's in my pinned post) and different from what most fans seem to think, but that's perfectly fine, because I'm also super fascinated by other people's readings and think that multiple readings can be true.

And it's interesting you mention that Kärtsä is more familiar but still not Jere, and it got me thinking if i could imagine him using his real name in music at all. Personally i don't really see it happening, because Käärijä is basically a character, and therefore not exactly the same as Jere. So to me, the speaker on the song calling him Jere would be incredibly jarring, as that is not a name he uses in music at all basically. But interestingly, it would probably change my view of the song completely. If they called him Jere, i'd probably lean more towards the darker reading many seem to have, because it would sort of.. break the fourth wall, if you will, and make it feel like the songwriting doesn't come from the same place as the rest of his music.

But i also think that this highlights an interesting aspect of the Finnish language - sorry to derail here. I'm wandering away from your point, i know, but this all just got me thinking. Kärtsä is not an unusual thing to call him, and he calls himself that too. And Kärtsä, Kärtsäri, Kääryle, Kärppä, etc etc. are also pretty common and so maybe that's why the use of Kärtsä in this song hasn't stood out to many before. Because in everyday conversations of a light tone, it's not at all uncommon to hear people referring to him with almost any words that start with Kä and have an r in them.

And sometimes, it's actually to show disrespect. This was discussed briefly in the podcast hosted by Autiomaa therapist Köpi Kallio one time actually. Sometimes people call him random words to show they don't respect his artistry.

But most of the time, it's affectionate. And to me, other Finns can jump in if they disagree, Kärtsä and Kärtsäri are almost always affectionate. They're not words i've heard used to show disrespect, but affection and familiality, because they follow the same logic as nicknames in Finnish in general. So it's like we treat Käärijä as a real name, and make affectionate nicknames out of it. And within the context of music, where Käärijä is the character and the name that is used, to me Kärtsä sounds familial and friendly.

So like, interestingly enough, in my view of the song, Kärtsä feels like a super fitting name to use, as it is an affectionate and fun nickname for the character, and not the "real name" of the character (Käärijä) nor the real name of the artist (Jere).

i was listening to takavoltti the other day and i’m not sure if this has been said before, but i find the use of the nickname “kärtsä” very intriguing. it suggests a deeper emotional connection for the speaker than using “käärijä”, but it’s still far from “jere”.

i wonder if this is to showcase that while the speaker (who is asking all these things of k) feels like they’re somehow entitled to because they’re asking out of something that is, to them at least, love and admiration instead of plain “i want this guy to do stuff because he’s a circus monkey and due to his fame he owes me”.

​what i mean is that just because you ask someone to do something out of love and admiration doesn’t mean you’re better than someone who asks out of pure need to be entertained, because although your motivations are different, you’re equally failing to see the real person behind the stage persona.

the speaker doesn’t understand that calling him “kärtsä” is hardly better than “käärijä” because it’s just as far from “jere”.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

listening to my Tideturners playlist was a mistake because I am having SO many feelings about the Sidewinder again.

she's not just any AU of Mai Trin; she's a version who's endured the absolute worst case scenario and lives every day in fear of losing everything all over again. but her story flips the entire narrative of Guild Wars 2 on its head; it's all a matter of perspective, and hers comes from an entirely different angle than we're used to.

what is a monster? as they say, to a bird, a cat is a monster.

the Sidewinder's monster is the Commander.

the first Commander she ever met was a tyrant who set the world on fire just to watch it burn. nothing could stop his rampage until there was nothing left to destroy. he made Scarlet Briar's war look like a playground scuffle; in fact, he did it by killing her and seizing her army to do it with. the Sidewinder doesn't have to wonder what a rogue Commander is capable of at their worst. she KNOWS.

and she also knows that if even a single one knew about her outpost, about her, about her people, and decided they were a threat to get rid of, there's absolutely nothing she could do to stop them. the most she could hope to do is be enough of a speed bump that the rest of the Turnabout can escape and make her sacrifice worthwhile.

she's spent decades building up a new world, a new society, and a new identity-- and in a split second a single person could bring it all crashing down. that absolutely terrifies her. it's all so fragile.

a major part of the Sidewinder's personal arc has to do with overcoming that dread to find common ground. because, truth-be-told, much as she'd insist otherwise? she's not so different from the Commander herself. she's fought long and hard to become someone worthy of the trust and respect that so many refugees from so many, many different worlds have placed on her. it's not enough to have it, she wants to DESERVE it. and even if she'd claim she's not there yet, most would agree she's succeeded. she's the beating heart of the Turnabout; none of it would exist without her. she's given all of them the hope that the heroes of their own worlds couldn't.

Mai Trin never wanted to be a leader or a hero or a politician. but as the Sidewinder, she's become all three out of necessity. she had no other choice. no one else was left alive to do it in her place.

so she puts on her mask, and she steps onto the stage, and she talks big, but deep down she knows that if the worst case scenario came back, there was nothing she could do to protect them, not on her own. the only thing that might stand a chance is another Commander, and is she really prepared to take a risk like that? is she willing to put it all on the line to fight for a future without fear?

and even if they are the right choice, even if they do agree to help in spite of it all... can she put one of the last good people at risk, knowing just what horrors they'd be up against? facing someone who's killed others like them a hundred times over, allowing them no rest even in death as their shambling corpses are conscripted into his undead army? how can she, in good conscience, expect anyone to face something so horrific with stakes as high as THAT? which is worse; that they turn against her, or that they trust her and die, adding another force of nature to their enemies' ranks? the Sidewinder doesn't know the answer to that question, if there is one.

there's so much weight on every choice she must make, and the consequences of every wrong move are unfathomable. she might not be the Commander, but that, at least, is one thing they have in common. the decisions they make will decide who lives and who dies.

all the Sidewinder can hope is that when she finally does make that leap of faith, she'll be ready to handle whatever results lay in store.

[tojigasm]

I'm imagining how Logan letting you see his claws up close for the first time would go and like not to be too tmi, but I do think Logan's claw slits would be soooo sensitive.

I could imagine him not really holding hands with you or letting you get too close to his hands in general until the two of you have progressed past something superficial.

The first time he lets you even get near his hands is when the two of you are lying in his bed. Your back pressed to his chest and his chin resting atop your head.

You've got one of his hands held by both of yours, running your fingers over his blue veins and tracing the divets and scars of his skin.

"How'd you get this one?" You ask, running your thumb over the rough line of skin, tilting your head up against his chin some.

His other hand momentarily stops its path where he'd been smoothing it down the soft of your arm.

"Think I was cutting up an apple," he jokes.

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles and he presses a kiss to the side of your temple, moving to speak before he's suddenly caught off with a moan so low you almost weren't sure what it was at first.

Logan doesn't even seem as though he's noticed as his brows remain furrowed and his body relaxed beneath you.

"What was that?" You turn to him, brows arched. You know he can already read the scheming expression written over your features.

Wordlessly, he pops his neck as he moves his hand upwards towards your face, pulling your hands along with it.

Balling his hand into a fist, he turns his knuckles towards you.

Your eyes catch on three small slits between each of his digits, only about half and inch or so long.

Cautiously, you run the tip of your finger down the length of one, earning a shiver from the man beneath you.

"Does it hurt?" You say quietly, nearly a whisper. Almost as if speaking too loud would startle the riveting atmosphere of the room.

You feel him shake his head 'no' behind you before he says gently, "feels good."

You give a slow nod at that, eyes glued to his knuckles.

"Can I touch them again?" You ask after a quiet moment passes.

Logan hums from behind you, "Go ahead."

You're careful in the amount of pressure you apply as you gently stroke the tips of your finger down each slit, relishing in the soft hums earned by the man behind you.

You can feel Logan's eyes watching you – as if equally enthralled with your newfound fascination of his mutation.

He lets you enjoy the delicate nature of it. A man so brutally threatening and deemed almost wild for the majority of his life subdued by something so seemingly trivial about the very thing that labeled him dangerous in the first place.

It's sweet to him.

"D'like it?" Your voice pulls him from his haze.

He seems to mull over his response, unfurling his hand to flex all five fingers in a spread palm.

"S'okay," he offers before unsheathing his claws, letting you look them over.

The lights from his room add a sparkle to their sharp tips, and for a moment, he finds his loathed despotion for them to be almost futile.

"They're pretty." You comment, meeting his hazel eyes in the metallic reflection of them.

He scoffs, "That's just cus' you're lookin' at yourself in 'em."

You feel him reach towards his beer on the nightstand. "I mean it." You click your tongue.

It's a sensitive topic for him, you know that.

Logan takes a swig of his beer, taking another look at his claws. He turns his hand back and forth before retracting them with a 'Shing!'

"Well, in that case," he flicks your temple with a chuckle, "Thank you."

"Can I see them again?" You pull his hand back into your own.

With a sigh, Logan unsheathes his claws for you again.

He takes another swig of his beer, mumbling "Brat."

[envy-of-the-apple]

Fun Sized

Dark!Fairy!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You save a tiny fairy. Gojo Satoru decides that you and him belong together, regardless of how little he is and how little you think of him. 

(Warnings: Yandere, not many warnings in this one ngl)

The fae are a dangerous bunch. You've heard more than enough stories to be spooked. Sirens will sing beautiful songs before dragging you into the depths. Dragons will burn you to a crisp before a second's thought. Nagas would make sure you were alive until the very end as they feast on your organs. Centaurs would use their powerful legs to stomp yours to mere twigs. Driders would suck your blood until there's nothing left but a husk of your body. 

You've never heard anything about fairies. They didn't live in your region. Their lands were high in the mountains, where humans rarely traveled. Also, they were so tiny, according to the books. The biggest seemed to be barely the size of your hand. They were harmless, you concluded. Harmless to humans. Harmless to you. 

He had been harmless. At first, you thought it was a cluster of leaves in the stream, but as the current drew it closer, you noticed tiny arms and a tiny face. He was unconscious; you didn't even know if the poor thing was alive. 

The Fae are a dangerous bunch, but saving one tiny fairy couldn't hurt, right? 

Your guest quickly proved to be a bigger hassle than you initially thought. 

When you brought him to your cottage, he laid in a basket of warm linen, asleep for hours near the warm fireplace. The blueberry pie was still hot when you turned around and caught him staring at you. 

It was silent for a while, and then you said: 

"Do you like sweets?" 

That's how your tentative friendship with the other kind started. Gojo Satoru (you later learned his name) was a boisterous thing. He did in fact like sweets, which helped bribe his friendship. You're surprised that he ate so much despite his stature. Did all faires have black holes for stomachs? 

He healed up rather quickly. At first, you were afraid that his wings had crumbled due to the prolonged exposure to water. But after stuffing himself full of the blueberry syrup, he smiled widely before flitting out your window. 

You thought that would be the end of it, but then he just came coming back. 

Apparently, your baking skills left an impact on the small creature. He didn't visit often, but when he did, you would always make sure you had something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, or that blueberry pie he was so fond of. Anything was good enough for Gojo's taste palette. 

"In the fae lands," Gojo said when you prodded, "sweets are too sweet. Yours is just enough."  You weren't too sure what he meant by that, but you took it as a compliment. You were sure the fae wasn't something who'd give praises so easily. 

It's not like you were upset at providing food for your tiny friend. Quite the contrary. You loved it when Gojo visited. You found him fascinating, the way he could fly miles and miles above your head. How tiny he was. The amount of times you had to hold yourself back from squishing him between your fingers because of how cute he was scared you. 

And you hoped you were fascinating enough to entertain Gojo. You had to be; you don't know why else he'd keep coming back. Even after gobbling down your cooking, he'd lounge around your home, entertaining you with his stories. You learned of the other magical creatures he was in contact with, the students he taught, and how fond he was of them. You don't know why he was so open about sharing his personal life with you, in the stories fae hated humanity, but you would never complain. 

It doesn't click as to why Gojo's so invested in you until he comes out and says it himself. 

"Instead of me coming back and forth like this, why don't you just come live with me?" He says, "I would cut down my flying time by a lot." 

You stare at him in amusement, sure he's joking. "I'm not sure how I'd fit in your house." You tease. "I'd probably crush all your furniture." 

"I can make my house bigger." He announces. "Don't worry 'bout it, just say yes." 

You stare at him, slowly realizing that he isn't as amused. He's still smiling, but there's no joke. 

"No," you finally say, "I'm not doing that." 

He cocks his head surprised as though he's never had someone reject him before. 

"What?" He asks, "Why not?"

"Well." You clear your throat. "For one, I'm human, and you're a fairie. I don't think Fae would appreciate a human wandering around in their lands." 

"Who cares about all that?" Gojo waves his hands around. "You'll be with me, anyways. It'd be fine." 

"I don't get why you're so fixated on the human realm." His mouth turns into a sneer. "It's all so boring. Nothing ever happens. And our magic is much more advanced than yours." It's true. You can't disagree with that. Satoru didn't wear clothes made out of leaves or vines, unlike the common fairy stereotype. His clothing looked much more advanced compared to your loose cotton dresses. A black shirt with intricate buttons and long sleeves. Along with black trousers. You wonder what material could make his suit so shiny. 

You laugh at his disgust. At that time, you saw Gojo as a tiny child clutching their mother's skirts, a cute puppy. You hadn't yet taken Gojo Satoru as the threat he was. 

"It's because I am human." You say, not offended by his remarks. "So I like being near other humans." 

He groans as though your logic makes no sense. "Yuji and the others ask about you all the time, though. They've been dying to meet you." 

"You talk to your students about the giant that cooks for you? I'm flattered." 

"You're dodging," he warns. You roll your eyes. 

"Satoru, I'm not coming to live with you. It'd be too much of a hassle." You finally say. "Besides, you're not my type." 

"I'm everyone's type." He argues. 

"Not mine." You smile, and then you make your first blunder. 

"I like my men a little taller." 

He stiffens, and you know you said the wrong thing. Your smile fades as does the cheery energy in your cottage. He says nothing, but he's zipping out your window before you can apologize. 

He doesn't return for the longest time. You count the weeks. Guilt weighs on your shoulders, heavy and burdensome. Every day you bake something even tastier than the day before. Not even that is enough to coax him back. 

You think you've lost him forever, when he returns on one sweltering summer evening. 

"Hi." You blink. He's watching you, sitting idly on the window, kicking his tiny feet. 

"Hi." He smiles. 

You're happy enough to grab him with one fist and hugging him to your chest, but as always, you stop yourself. Instead, a shy smile rests on your face. 

"I'm sorry," you say, "I really am...will you accept an apology pie?" 

He grins wider, and you relax. 

He eats, and you're grateful. Something you once cherished in your life has finally come back to you. You might not return Gojo's feelings, but you still care for him. You'd rather die than ever hurt him again. 

"No, you're right." Gojo surprisingly concedes when you apologize for the third time. "We're too different. It'd never work out. Not as the way you are, right now." 

You nod, grateful he's so understanding. "Exactly." 

He's finishing up when he announces he brought you a gift. 

"I've been working on it for the past few weeks," he cheerily says. "It took a while, but it's finally safe for human consumption." 

He takes out a tiny glass bottle filled with something swirling and blue. When he asks you to bring a glass of water, you acquiesce. To your astonishment, when the elixer is poured, the entire water becomes a swirling mass of a color comparable to none other than galaxies. You're so mesmerized by the color, it's enough to stump your voice. 

"For you!" He declares. "You've always been cooking for me; thought I might return the favor, just this once." 

"What is it?" You ask, amazed by the color. You admire the glance, unaware of the glint in Gojo's eye. 

"It's kinda like the wine you have in the mortal realms, but a little less poignant." He gives when you glance at him. "Go on, tell me what you think?" 

You're too trusting, and so you make your second blunder. 

Once you start, you can't seem to stop. The taste is otherworldly, addicting. You drink and drink, not wasting a single drop. You're breathing heavily once the cup detaches from your lips. 

"Amazing." You say before looking at him. His eyes are too wide, but you're too distracted by the taste still on your tongue. "Seriously, what was that? Can I make it here?" 

He scratches the back of his head. "Not really, the ingredients are pretty hard to find." He shrugs. "Besides, it's supposed to be a one-time use." 

Your eyebrows twist, and then the world sinks. 

You're falling. You think you are. You don't really know. Everything feels like it's stretching. The walls of your tiny little cottage get higher and higher and higher. The floor gets more and more warped. You're sinking, sinking through the air. When you scream, nothing comes out. You feel like you're choking because you can't breathe, and then your vision grows black. 

The next time you open your eyes. It's still dark, and to your horror, you realize you're buried underneath something. 

You panic, clawing and tearing your way out. The material gives away easily. It's fabric. Cotton. But there was so much, an undying ocean of fabric. You lift yourself up from the pile and that's when you realize you're completely naked. 

The mountain of cotton you just climbed to the top of was your old dress. 

Everything was gigantic—the table, the chairs. The windows seemed endless. The ceiling looked miles above you, and you know what happened, but your brain can't formulate it because it can't be—it just can't be.

There's a flutter of wings. You always thought he was so quiet before. Now, he's all you can hear. Immediately, you wrap your body with the cloth. It's hard to keep still; your body is buzzing with nerves and you still can't understand. You have to force yourself to look at him.

You don't know why you expected shock, guilt, something other than the pure manic glee on his face. Satoru towers above you, head tilted. He bends down, cupping your trembling face in his hand because he's big enough to do that now. 

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." He coos. 

You can see him now. His skin isn't pale, it's borderline translucent. His canines are sharp and pointy. And his eyes. Oh God you've never seen eyes so terrifying before—an endless mass of blue, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He wasn't a cute little fairy. He was anything but that. 

"Gojo..." You start, heart squeezing. "What did you do.." 

You know. He knows. That's why he ignores your question entirely. 

"I'm surprised it worked." He says, mainly talking to himself. "Shoko said it might be a dud, and she was so sure of it, that I mostly believed her." 

"But now look at you!" He roughly pinches your cheek. "You're the perfect size now." 

"Stop." You blubber, pushing his hand off of you. "Don't touch me. Change me back. Change me back." 

He frowns. "Why would I do that? You being human-sized was always such a hassle. Lumbering around. Way too loud. Don't get me wrong, I adore you either way." He proclaims like it's something benevolent. "But this has its charm."

He leans forward, and you scuddle backward in fear. His grin widens. 

"So, am I tall enough for you, now?" 

[butchtwelfthdoctor]

prev re: who is clara oswald you can read all those tags if you like lol sorry i know its a lot but i think the best way to explain it is this uquiz which is called 'who said it? a diehard clara hater or a diehard clara fan?'

she’s cringe. she’s cooler than you. she’s so so smart. she’s the biggest dumbass you’ll ever meet. she’s got mental illnesses the dsm hasn’t even got a name for yet. she’s fine she’s fine she’s great actually she’s the normalest girl in the world. she’s hurt so many people. she regrets it so much. she wants to hurt people again. she’s the most neurotic loser you’ve ever seen. she’s the most confident composed competent member of the team. she lies until she doesn’t know what’s real. she’s even bisexual. i didn’t say her name but she popped into your head didn’t she

[aplaceforstellasscribbles]

Y'know, the plot of WATW relies heavily- you could say is constructed entirely- on the idea that everyone wants to see themself as a good person. No one is the villain of their own story.

Which can be super interesting when writing an unambiguously "evil" character, seeing how they justify and twist things around to frame their actions as morally correct.

It's also interesting when writing a character that isn't unambiguously "evil" or "good." When this person isn't deceiving themself into thinking their actions are good, when they're doing what they were taught is right, when they feel good about what they're doing- they think they're a good person because of course they are, look at all the good things they're doing, look at how kind and generous and thoughtful they are!

And then, maybe, you show them that their actions weren't as universally good as they thought they were, you show them that they hurt people.

What do they do then? How do they move forward from there?

[werecreature-addicted]

werewolf boyfriend that never shifts back from his wolf form- he doesn't want to. people stare, in horror and fascination as this 8 foot tall beast walks beside you, holds your hand, speaks to you so gently. they wonder how you tamed him.

i don't know where to go with this the sex is also nasty and awesome

You'd long since gotten used to the odd looks you got and the whispers you'd hear when you were out with your boyfriend. Most humans spent their childhood learning how to spot werewolves and monsters in their human forms, so to see a werewolf fully shifted going about his day-to-day was a shock, taken as a sign of aggression.

It was ridiculous the way that mothers would yank their children out of your way as if he was going to gobble them up right here in broad daylight. Or the way that people would cross the street as soon as they saw him. Your boyfriend was a sweetheart and wouldn't hurt a soul not that anyone cared, they only saw his towering frame and sharp teeth and jumped to the conclusion that he was a dangerous werewolf. But just because you were used to the attention didn't mean you didn't hate it.

"Honestly it's rude- it's just Rude I don't know what goes through people's heads sometimes to say something like that to you-" you huff as you storm into your shared home, and your werewolf boyfriend follows after you, nodding solemnly as he listens to you rant.

"Babe it's fine." he purrs lowly trying to soothe you "-well it's not fine he was an asshole. but I'm fine sweet thing," He amends running his clawed hands over your shoulders trying to soothe you. You felt a little guilty. He was the one hurt and here he was having to calm you down.

"Sorry baby, i just wish there was more i could do to help," you mumble.

"Well if you want. There is something you could do to make this day better," he says. You perk up instantly. You're so blinded by the idea of making your boyfriend happy you completely miss the innuendo in his voice and the way his eyes darken.

"How?" You ask eagerly and a split second later you're on your knees gagging on his thick cock. He's not even fully hard yet and you can feel his dick stiffen and grow with each bob of your head. He's so big you can only fit half of him down your throat, the rest of him you manage with your hands.

He cups the back of your head with a clawed hand and pushes you farther down on his cock groaning in satisfaction when you gag. "see how could i have a bad day when I've got this pretty mouth to fuck hmm?" he groans before pulling you up and off his cock before pushing you down on the living room floor.

"Come on babe don't be shy baby spread your legs for me" he growls. he doesn't even give you a chance to comply before he forces your thighs apart and pushes your knees to your chest. He growls as he pushes his cock into you. it's such a low sound in his chest you wonder if he's doing it on purpose or if it's just the way his body reacts to being inside of you. Then his cock hits that spot inside of you and your brain shuts off and it's hard to think of anything other than "good" and "more".

He must be a mind reader as well as a werewolf because he did give you more. fucking you hard and grinding you into the floor, the thick tip of his cock pushes up making your stomach bulge as he fucks himself into your tight heat.

"You like that? you must you're making such pretty noises for me babe, moaning like a fucking whore, tell me how much you like getting fucked like this" he growls. You try to comply, try to verbalize how much you like his dick but all that comes out of you is a broken whine. that's okay, it's as good as any praise in his mind.

"Gonna knot you, baby, you want that?" he asks knowing you won't be able to answer and again all you manage is a breathy moan that gets close to words. if he had to guess it sounded like a yes, please.

His hips jut forward one last time sinking his knot into you as he cums you cry out beneath him as you reach your climax too. You're so pretty like this, flushed and heaving, sweaty and fucked stupid. He'd keep you like this forever if he could.

The werewolf leans down and kisses your forehead before wrapping you tight in his arms as his knot throbs inside of you. It's not such a bad day if he can come home to his sweet mate and fuck you as stress relief.

[these-lovely-monsters]

Tentacles Under The Bed - Part 3

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: gn!tentacle monster x f!reader

Content: tentacles, eldritch monster

A/N: Here is part 3 at last! It started to get a bit long so I decided to break it up into 2 parts. This one is just fluff (no smut), but don't worry, I am posting part 4 with more tentacle shenanigans at the same time so you won't have to wait!

Since it fits, I'm also tagging this for #10 Tentacles from @ozzgin's Monstertober 2024 prompt list

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

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The next morning you wake to the bright sunlight streaming through the open window of your bedroom. Blinking open groggy eyes, you stretch your sore muscles with a groan. You smile to yourself at the memories from last night as you admire the bright red circular marks that cover your skin. You realize then that the tentacle monster is no longer holding your hand.

Leaning over the side of your bed, you peer under it but there’s nothing there. You sigh in disappointment and get up to grab some clothes from your closet. Just as you finish pulling them on, a soft rustling sound comes from behind you and you turn in excitement.

To your delight, you see a few tentacles peeking out from under your bed, gently feeling around on the sheets as if looking for you.

“You came back!” You exclaim as you rush over to it.

“Of course, my sweet. I will never leave you,” its deep, cosmic voice echoes in your head. Before you have a chance to wonder at its statement, it continues, “Did you rest well?”

“Yeah.�� A small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, “Thank you.” Biting your lip, you tentatively ask, “Will…will you come out so I can see you?”

The monster is quiet for a beat before saying, “I do not want to scare you.”

How bad could it really be? 

“I won’t be afraid, I promise.”

“I am not like your kind or anything that lives in this dimension.”

This dimension? Now you’re really curious, but you decide to table those questions for later in favor of coaxing this monster out from under your bed.

“I know,” you say as you take a step forward. You’ve already jumped way past the line of sanity by letting it fuck you with its tentacles so you might as well dive into the deep end at this point. “But you’ve seen all of me and I want to see all of you in return.”

It doesn't say anything for several moments and you wait patiently. “Very well,” it finally replies.

You watch with bated breath as the tentacles begin to slide forward. Soon there are dozens spilling from beneath your bed, squirming and writhing as a massive shape begins to form. Within moments, the monster has fully emerged and is looming over you, nearly blocking out the light from the window.

You gape in awe at the creature before you. Amidst the sea of tentacles that writhe from every side, is an amorphous, dark mass. You can’t quite tell what it’s made of but it looks almost like goo. When you take a step closer to get a better look, you can see that the surface is not actually black, but rather a deep shade of dark purple. The color appears to shimmer in the daylight as it gently undulates under your gaze. You also notice that it’s slightly transparent since you can make out the faint outline of your desk behind it.

As you stare at the creature, trying to drink in all the details, the tentacles begin to shift along its body so that a blank space forms on the side that’s facing you. Without warning, dozens of eyes suddenly blink open in front of you and you yelp in surprise. When a wide slit appears below the eyes, revealing two rows of black, razor sharp teeth, your breath catches in your throat and you take a half step back.

The tentacles droop at your reaction. “See? I told you that you would not like what you saw.”

“No!” You hurry to explain, “I was just startled, that’s all.”

“I will change my form to better suit your liking.”

You watch in fascination as the tentacles begin to melt into the dark mass until they are all gone. The eyes and mouth close and disappear as well. Its body then begins to morph, rippling and shuttering as it reforms into a roughly humanoid shape. Amazingly, the surface also flickers as the color lightens to a soft pink.

Two of its eyes blink open again in the approximate location of where human eyes would be. Except that one of the eyes is a bit too low, looking as if it’s melting off. The mouth also reappears, much smaller this time, but still with the same deadly teeth. When the monster stretches its mouth wide in a gut-churning imitation of a smile, you grimace.

Now this is utterly terrifying.

Swallowing the bile that’s trying to climb up your throat, you manage to choke out, “No—no that’s ok. I like your normal form just fine.”

“Are you sure? Would this not make you more comfortable?”

“I’m sure,” you say with a pained smile. “You can change back.”

“Very well then.”

You sigh in relief when the monster quickly shifts back to its original shape. When it first appeared, you thought it was beautiful in its own way, with its shimmering surface and gorgeous dark purple color. But now, after seeing the monstrosity of its “humanoid” version, you find that you quite like its true form.

“Much better,” you say with a genuine smile this time. Your grin only widens when it wriggles in obvious pleasure at your words.

“Hey, what’s your name, by the way?” You ask, realizing you never actually had a proper introduction.

“I am called *garbled noises*”

Whatever name it just gave you is completely unintelligible to you. “Umm…sorry, what?”

It repeats the same unintelligible noises again and you wince, knowing it will be impossible for you to grasp, let alone repeat. “I uh—I don’t know if I can pronounce that. But the beginning kind of sounds like ‘Karl’. Would it be alright if I called you that?”

“You—you would give me a name?” It asks in a stunned tone.

Worried that you may have offended it, you try to backtrack a little, “I don’t have to! Only if you’re ok with it, I mean. I just—”

“I would be honored to be named you,” it interrupts you, its voice reverent.

Sighing in relief, you grin. “Ok then. It’s nice to meet you, Karl.”

“Kaaarrrlll,” it says, dragging out the sounds as if testing them out. “I shall be Karl from now on. Thank you very much for this gift, I will cherish it for eternity.”

Reaching out a tentacle towards you, Karl curls the end into a ball and holds it there. You stare down at it in confusion, blinking a few times. “What…what are you doing?”

“Is this not what humans do in greeting?” Karl replies, reaching down to grab your opposite arm with a tentacle. It wraps around your hand, manipulating it until your hand is in a fist. Then Karl lightly taps its balled up tentacle against your closed fist and says, “Sup, bro?”

You continue to stare in utter confusion for a moment until it dawns on you that Karl just tried to fist bump you and you burst out laughing.

“What is so amusing?” It asks in a mildly affronted voice. “I have seen many humans greet each other this way. The ones who throw around the big orange ball do this a lot.”

“That’s not…” you try to reply through wheezing gasps but you’re still laughing too hard. After a minute, you finally settle down and catch your breath. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… that’s how friends might greet each other.”

“Are we not friends?”

“Well…” you hesitate. “We could be. But since we…Uh... Since we were intimate… That’s not how lovers would greet each other.” You manage to stumble through your explanation, hoping Karl understands what you’re trying to say.

“Are we…” it pauses, as if mulling over the word, “lovers?”

“I mean, I guess?” You hedge, not quite meaning for it to come out as a question.

“And how do lovers greet each other?”

Laughing awkwardly, you rub the back of your neck. “They…would kiss each other.” You can feel your cheeks flaming at the thought. This monster literally fucked you senseless twice and here you are, blushing like a school girl at the thought of kissing it.

“Kiss?”

Oh gods. Your cheeks manage to grow even hotter. Taking a step closer so that you’re only a few inches from Karl, you take a deep breath.

“Yeah, like this,” you say as you lean in and place a soft kiss on its now closed mouth.

Karl is quiet for a moment before demanding, “Do it again.”

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

taglist: @blushycadaver @pearlofrose @gothicsugarslvt

[thinkinonsense]

Having a fascination with Logan's hands. Particularly on you, or in you, being the subject of many fantasies. But, you're super shy about it, until Logan mentions that he can smell you, during one of your daydreams while you're staring at his hands.

—daydreams l.h.

at first, logan thought he was making things up. his mind playing tricks on him yet again. during meetings and missions, late at night alone, he heard this angelic little voice in his head. like a devil on his shoulder, you shared in detail how much you craved his touch. his hands were so big and strong, rough and veiny with thick fingers. you wanted them everywhere on you; from the tip of your tongue to the inside of your velvet walls.

logan thought he was going crazy until one day, the two of you are sitting across from each other during a meeting. unbeknownst to you, your powers were sending your personal thoughts about logan's hands and what you wish he would do with them into his head. you knew this was apart of your mutation but you've trained to control how you share your powers.

once the meeting was over and everyone filled out, logan followed you upstairs to your room, following the sweet scent of your arousal leaking out of those cute white panties.

"hey, logan." you smile at him once you noticed the shadow behind you. "do you need something?"

he watches your gaze fall down to his hands again. you weren't sure what kickstarted this fire in your tummy when you saw his hands flex and his veins pop out. maybe it was the danger they held. his claws always made you wet. watching them come out during missions always made your brain a little fuzzy. similarly to how your brain felt right now.

—wonder how they would fit inside of me? they're much larger than my fingers. bet he'd know exactly what to do with them. maybe he would put 'em in my mouth for a bit.

"hey, dollface." logan smirks, lifting up your chin to look him in the eye. "i think you're the one in need."

"w-what?" you blush, trying to look anywhere but logan's pretty face. "i don't need any..."

the words disappear into thin air as logan uses his thumb to play with your bottom lip. he can hear your heartbeat pick up as you try to keep yourself contained. your thoughts now filled with fear that logan's figured out your dirty little secret.

"hm, i think you do..." he taunts, getting even closer.

"logan, someone could walk by." you babble against his thumb with big dark doe eyes.

"that shouldn't bother you. probably already projected your thoughts to them too."

you couldn't have been more mortified. how could this happen? what did logan know? he watched with a smile as panic rushed over you, taking the opportunity to open your door and shove the two of you inside.

"wanna explain your daydreams to me, dollface?" he asks, towering over you intimidatingly.

"i'm s-sorry, logan." you pout pathetically. "didn't mean for you to hear me."

"aw, but i think you did."

logan's big frame covers yours entirely. his index and middle finger tap your lower lip until you let him in. the sound of spit and struggle fills the room as you suck on his thick fingers.

"that's it, sugar." he praises. "get 'em nice and wet for me."

the tips of his fingers hit the back of your throat in a way that makes your tummy warm. a groan falls from logan's lips when he looks down and sees you drip his wrist to keep him in the back of your throat until he pulls away. a thick string of saliva connects his fingers to your puffy lips.

the two of you walk towards the bed, where you straddle his waist, messily making out full of desire and neediness. teeth clashing as logan rips your underwear off from under your skirt. you gasp against his lips, making him smirk.

"she's just leakin' for me, babydoll." logan groans finally feeling you the way you've been craving. his fingers slide through your slick causing little moans to leave your lips.

"please, don't tease me lo.." you whine, feeling him circle your entrance, barely pushing in. greedily you clench down on the tips of his fingers.

"shh.." he coos. "she's tryin' to talk to me."

gently, he pushes his fingers into you. a loud squelch fills the room, like music to logan's ears. your nails dig into his shoulders as his fingers hit that gummy spot inside of you. a small cry falls from your lips as logan starts to bounce you softly with his other hand on your waist.

"c'mon, sweetheart..." he teases. "ride my hand like you showed me in your daydreams."

that was more than enough motivation for you to grind down on him until you've set a steady rhythm. logan leaves a trail of hickeys on your neck and down your chest, along your breasts.

"s-shit!" you moan, throwing your head back in euphoria. " 'm close."

in the blink of an eye, logan rolls the two of you over with ease. once your back made contact with the mattress, he starts drilling his fingers into you with passion, needing to get you to your high. logan keeps you legs as far apart as possible and a hand firmly on your hips, holding you down as you cry in pleasure.

"lo!" you gasp, feeling a knot form in your tummy. "p-please."

"atta girl." he smirks, placing a soft kiss to your hip bone and his thumb on your button, circling quickly.

unbeknownst to you, logan was grinding into the mattress for some sort of release. too caught up in the image of you soaking his hand. your nails claw at his wrist as the tightness inside of you finally snapped.

"that's it, good girl." logan marveled, watching your face scrunch up.

once you've come back down from your high, you don't hesitate to reach for logan's slick drenched hand and putting his fingers into your mouth. swirling around the digits in a way that made logan grow impossibly harder.

"f-fuck, you can't do shit like that to me, dollface." he groans, watching you release them with a small pop.

"love these hands." you babble, still slightly fucked out.

"if you love these hands, you'll love what else i have in store for you."

[ennn]

Let's appreciate how complex Agatha's relationship with Billy is

GIF credit to @isagrimorie

The genuine emotion brimming from Agatha in this moment is very interesting and I really want to break down all the layers of how Agatha is relating to Billy—because it is truly not as simple as Agatha feeling sentimental or motherly to Billy.

There are a few layers at work here (and I also want to give a shout-out to @trickofthelights for her excellent recap points):

Billy reminds Agatha (enough) of herself

There are two driving forces at the core of Agatha as a character. We know this because her characterisation has been incredibly consistent throughout the show and Schaeffer has talked about them, which is: (a) Agatha is self-serving and (b) Agatha loves powerful witchcraft.

Billy is a powerful witch who did a horrifying thing in order to survive. He's been lying to these wonderful parents. He also just tried murdering three people in a fit of rage, provoked by Agatha no less.

Would Agatha care if he was less powerful? Would Agatha care if he didn't have a dark side? If he hadn't shown to be duplicitous and dangerous and subject to his darker impulses?

If he wasn't alone and without a coven, a possible outcast even among witches because of his unusual origins and power?

I'm pretty sure the answer is no, she would not. She would have dismissed him the same way she did his "Teen" persona. Agatha doesn't care about witches, Agatha cares about powerful witches –because that's who Agatha is and what drives her.

And we also got hints of this with Agatha and Wanda (hello consistent characterisation). In Schaeffer's words:

There is respect and almost affection inherent in [Agatha's interest in enormously powerful witchcraft], as indicated by how she felt about Wanda. She was mean to Wanda, but really she was fascinated by Wanda and admired her and wanted to hang out with her. 

And if this wasn't clear enough, what Agatha tells Billy shortly later about breaking the rules and being a true witch just screams projection (more on that in my next point).

I was delighted that Agatha really did bounce back from the attempted murder – but it's not because she's forgiving. Oh no, I think, Agatha was testing her theory by poking the bear (calculated move, bad at math) and she's glad she was proven right.

I mean, she not happy about the attempted murder but her curiosity wins out. You see her poking at Billy and trying to figure him out in the rest of this scene.

Agatha also hates self-righteous moralising and searches out for the darkness in people – delights in it even – because she knows people and she knows her own darkness.

Billy is different but also not so different from Agatha, as much as Billy or his mom would hate to admit.

Agatha is dealing with her childhood trauma

Yes, Agatha is projecting on Billy, but she makes a choice about it. We hear her telling him what she would have wanted someone to tell her: that they shouldn't be afraid or ashamed of who they are or what they did to survive, that they are part of a community.

Don't you dare feel guilty about your talent. ... That's what kept you alive. That's what makes you special. That's what makes you a witch.

She's trying to be the person she needed when she was a child, because she simply doesn't want someone else – particularly a younger witch – going through what she did.

She doesn't want anyone to go through what her mother put her through. And that's a choice.

Because there are a number of ways a character can deal with trauma: they can lash out and bring others down, wanting others to experience to the pain they went through, or they can realise that what happened to them shouldn't happen to anyone else in their position.

There's something beautifully self-serving but also selfless in that, because this is a way for Agatha to heal from her trauma. She can tell Billy things she may not be able to tell herself.

And it's interesting because as a self-serving villain, Agatha could just be jealous of Billy's power. But in this moment at least, Agatha's empathy and compassion – as buried as they usually are – prevail.

And yes, Agatha was fond of kid Billy

This is what Schaeffer touched on in her interview answer and it makes sense, with the insight that Agatha – like any good actor – does invest a bit of herself in every role she plays.

Agatha does have feelings (as much as they might make her vomit) and I do believe she has a soft spot when it comes to kids, given her experience with her son and her own childhood trauma. And that kids don't have the level of hypocrisy and darkness that adults do.

It makes sense that Agatha would have some level of care about the Scarlet Witch's magical kid Billy. And that is a fondness that has carried onto teenage Billy – who is powerful and a survivor and has a potential for darkness in a way she can relate to.

There are layers and they intersect and it all ties back to how Agatha is incredibly complex and yet consistent as a character.

[dante2045]

Accidentally transforming my boyfriend into my football coach

John and Aaron had been dating for a little over a year. The men had met in their freshman year of college during football tryouts and had become fast friends. Over the following years, their friendship had gradually deepened and become something more, much to their surprise. Neither of them had ever been with a guy before but were unable to deny the chemistry between them, eventually giving into their desires after a late night gym session. Though neither of them were ashamed of their relationship, they had kept it a secret as they'd been afraid of how the rest of the team and their Coach would react.

The two would often linger in the locker room after football practice, waiting for the rest of the team to head out. When they were finally alone, they would press their muscled bodies against one another for a makeout session. They had mutually agreed to take things slow, both men inexperienced at gay sex and unsure of what position they would be. Lately, their hookup sessions had escalated to sucking and jerking eachother off.

One night, as their last teammate left the change room after practice, John approached Aaron with an unusual request.

"Would you mind wearing this?" John asked Aaron, unzipping his backpack and retrieving a pair of black boxers.

"Uh...yeah, I guess I could," Aaron replied, reaching out and taking the jockstrap from John's grasp, "Why?"

"Truth be told, I swiped it off of Coach Ryerson, and I kind of have a huge crush on the man," John admitted, blushing as he looked down at the floor in embarrassment. "I thought it would kind of be hot if you wore it and we roleplayed as if you were Coach or something. It sounds kind of stupid now that I've said it out loud."

"It doesn't sound stupid; I'm just surprised. I didn't know you were into roleplay," Aaron winked playfully. He slid down his football trousers and jock, revealing his hardening 6-inch cock. Aaron kicked off his cleats and slid the boxers up his legs and over his genitals. The boxers were a little baggy on him, loosely hanging around his waist.

"Damn, babe," John growled in arousal, tossing off Aaron's football jersey so he was wearing nothing but the ill-fitting boxers.

"I guess Coach and I aren't the same size," Aaron observed with a laugh, looking down at his toned, muscular body and the oversized boxers he was wearing.

"Just relax, you look good," John whispered, gently pushing Aaron up against the lockers and giving him a passionate kiss. John's jersey and trousers quickly came off, leaving him in a pair of tight white compression shorts.

The men continued to kiss and thrust up against each other, lost in the throes of lust. Aaron felt a sudden surge of power flow through him, originating from the boxers. His crotch started to tingle, the electric feeling quickly spreading out through his torso and limbs. He let out a small involuntary moan in pleasure from the sensation.

"You okay, baby?" John asked in concern, pulling back from their embrace; he could feel Aaron's body tensing up.

"Yeah, I'm feeling fucking fantastic," Aaron grinned, spinning John around and slamming him against the lockers. John was a little surprised at Aaron's sudden aggression; usually he was gentle and slow during their romantic encounters. John was almost sure that Aaron's shoulders were a bit broader than usual, though he assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him.

As Aaron continued to thrust up against John, he started to grow taller. Aaron had been a few inches shorter than John, but was now taller than his boyfriend by nearly half a foot. His already impressive quads legs began to bulk up and thicken with muscle, while his feet expanded from a size 9 to 11, thick dark hairs sprouting from his toes.

John had noticed the changes and was filled with panic, pushing Aaron away from him. He watched as his boyfriend continued to transform, feeling a mixture of fascination and horror.

"What's happening to you, babe?" John asked, his voice quivering.

"I don't know... but it feels so fucking good," Aaron moaned, his voice deepening as his adam's apple grew more prominent in his throat.

Aaron's pecs ballooned up with muscle while also gaining some fat, his previously tight pectorals now drooping slightly over his abs. Speaking of which, Aaron's washboard abs smoothed over as he packed on some additional weight around his midsection, bulging into a small round belly. Aaron’s shoulders broadened, his arms inflating with thick muscle, his tendons and ligaments developing. His toned biceps and triceps grew even larger. Thick dark brown hairs grew across Aaron's entire body; he went from smooth to hairy in a matter of seconds.

Aaron reached a hand down and stroked his cock through the boxers as it grew longer and nearly doubled in thickness. His balls dropped lower as they also expanded, filling with semen. His tight firm ass rounded out, plumping with fat and muscle.

Aaron's stylish light blonde hair shortened into a crew cut, darkening to salt and pepper. His jawline grew more pronounced, a well trimmed beard forming along his chin and lips. His facial features began to age rapidly, wrinkles appearing as Aaron went from his early 20s to mid 40s. John couldn't believe his eyes; his boyfriend had changed into a completely different person right in front of him. Standing in front of John in nothing other than tight boxers and sporting a rock hard cock was his football coach, Coach Ryerson.

John stared at Coach Ryerson in disbelief. The boxers that had been loose on Aaron were now skintight on Ryerson, showing the outline of his 11 inch cock. Coach Ryerson grinned at John as he continued to stroke his shaft through the boxers; John found it difficult to tear his gaze away from Coach, feeling almost mesmerized by him.

"What...what the hell is going on?" John asked, slowly backing away from his Coach. Ryerson was standing between him and the exit, making an escape difficult.

"I'm assuming you swiped this from my gym bag?" Ryerson asked, gesturing towards the boxers he was wearing. Reluctantly, John nodded in affirmation. "I've had three pairs of underwear go missing in the past month from my office," Coach explained. "I knew that someone must have been stealing them, but they were impossible to catch. Luckily my husband is a bit of a wizard, and he offered to put a spell on my boxers. He promised that the next time it was stolen, I would be able to identify the culprit. I didn't realize that this was what he had in mind, but it's more creative of a punishment than I could've thought up," Ryerson laughed, glancing downwards and checking out his own body.

"It's not fair for you to punish Aaron; he was only doing what I asked!" John protested. "I was the one who actually stole it."

"Maybe you're right. I suppose you deserve to be punished, as well," Ryerson agrees with a wicked grin.

Ryerson grabbed the rim of the boxers and slowly slid it downwards, exposing his hard dick and balls. He stepped out of the underwear so he was now completely nude, holding the boxers in his hand while he maliciously approached John. John's fantasy of having an intimate encounter with his Coach was coming true, John realized; it was just not exactly what he'd had in mind.

(Author's note: This is a revamped version of a story I wrote a long time on CYOC. If you're interested in reading the original version and ensuing branch, it can be found at https://www.cyoc.net/interactives/chapter_175724.html)