#full threaded rod

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

FIXDEX & GOODFIX wish everyone Happy Lantern Festival 2023 🎉

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[innocent-artery]

Kinktober 5th: Goldmine

aka hair pulling with Rodrick Heffley

2k words

Summary: Rod learns something new.

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to the altar is my hips, a spotify playlist by me!

~

"Y'think I should get a leather jacket?"

Your shoulders shook under the weight of Rodrick's arm as you chuckled. "Why, you get an idea for a costume?"

"Absolutely. Even got the name for it." You could see the familiar smirk he wore even as your eyes remained on the screen. Smoke billowed in your peripheral, the smell of his near-finished cigarette long since clung to your clothes.

"It'd be a cute couples costume too," he continued, "you could be Tina Gray."

You turned to look at him. "Oh could I now?"

"Yup." He grinned as he put his cigarette out. "You've got the bedroom personality for it too."

You swung a pillow at his face, but Rodrick easily caught it and tossed it behind him. You huffed in false annoyance, falling back into your spot curled up under his arm.

His hand fell absentmindedly to your hair, gently twirling strands around his finger. The sensation makes your eyelids heavy, getting sleepy as he continued to soothe you.

Until you felt a sharp tug. Your eyes flew open, and you audibly gasped. Your entire body froze, and you curse yourself when Rodrick turns his head. A soft "oh?" leaves his lips, which are curled up into a curious smile. It had only been playful tug, but that was before he knew you'd react like that.

"That's not how you do it," you breathe, ghost of a grin teasing your lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was a condescending lilt. "How d'you do it?"

Instead of speaking, you take hold of his wrist, pushing it towards the back of your head. His fingers thread into your roots and he takes a fistful, tugging slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a deep sigh.

Before your eyes close, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend's reaction. His eyes are wide and full of amusement, and he's smirking incredulously. His brows raise, and you can see the gears turning in his brain.

"That's interesting," Rodrick mumbled, almost more to himself. "I wonder..."

He climbs up over you, legs caging in on either side of your hips. His foot kicks the TV remote onto the floor but Elm Street is long forgotten. His hold on your hair returns, the tingling in your scalp pulling a weak noise from your throat.

"Now, what would happen..." Rodrick's thought trails off as his fingers ghost over your throat, touch only featherlight until the pads of his fingers find your pulse points and press. Your breathing is shaky and your vision begins to blur, but your hands still fly to his shoulders. You might have even been a little embarrassed at how your hooded eyes began to cross if not for the fact that it just felt so good.

"Aw, y'like that?" Rodrick lilts, his face pulling closer to yours. Heat creeps up your neck.

"Y-yeah," you attempt to nod, but you aren't given much room for movement.

"I like that too, baby." He murmurs against your mouth before he kisses you slowly, tasting of nicotine and gum. They were gentle, teasing kisses, but quickly gave way to a more desperate rhythm as his tongue glided over your lower lip. He hummed a deep note when you let him in, when you whimpered as he started sucking on your tongue.

You let out a disappointed noise when Rodrick lets go of you, rolling back to sit but it's forgotten when he pats his thigh. You quickly oblige, skin heated and brain frazzled.

As soon as you're sat on his leg, the friction to your clit has you gasping into his mouth. Almost involuntarily, your hips began to roll against him, so slowly but enough to make your head swim and heat boil in your gut.

"Oh, sweetness," Rodrick murmurs in between kisses, "so needy already? I've barely done anything."

He knows he doesn't need to do much. Just a few words- or a tug of the hair- and you'd be turned into a pile of mush. He knows you too well, and he loves having that effect over you.

Even though he's teasing you, you can't be bothered to care, muttering an mhm and rutting your hips faster. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest, then trail to his thigh to ground yourself.

"Atta girl, keep goin'." Rodrick murmurs in your ear, licking a stripe down the shell of it, planting soft kisses wherever his lips wandered. "'M right here baby, that's it, yeah, good girl."

Rodrick's encouragement was sweet honey to your ear, and a sickening contrast to the hand that hand re-found purchase at your scalp, tilting your head back so that he could teethe at your neck, soft plucks of skin turning into bruising. Deft hands made work of your top, leaving your chest bare.

Your rutting became increasingly frustrated; your thighs burned and you weren't getting any closer to your high.

"Rod... need..." your words were mumbled and breathless, and your brain was too cloudy to be fully coherent anyway.

"Hm? Couldn't hear you, bunny, say that one more time?"

"Need more," you cried, hands pushing into Rodrick's hair when his tongue laved over your nipple.

"More what, baby?" He lilted, cupping and pinching your other tit lovingly. He groaned when your fingers clutched his hair tighter.

"Need you, Rod please..." you sighed, tugging at his wrist.

Rodrick chuckled. "Baby, I don't think I can do that. Might hurt you if I don't get you nice and prepped, yeah? How about we start with fingers?"

"Anything, please," you babbled, nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I got ya. Let's get these off, hm?" He tugged at the belt loop of your pants. They were off in record time, along with your underwear, leaving your entire body bared to him. You felt naked, more than just literally.

Once you were situated on his lap again you tried pulling on the hem of his shirt. "Off," you mumbled. Happily he complied, and you took the opportunity to lean forward and plant loving kisses to his neck, his collarbone.

You didn't realize when you'd risen up off your behind that it gave Rodrick the space to slip a hand between your legs, pulling a squeak out of you, muffled against his jaw.

"Aw, so messy baby. A little hair pulling did all this?"

You knew that it was a few other things, but you were so far gone you gave him a whiny 'yeah' anyway. Rodrick's fingers massaged your entrance, gathering slick and smothering it around your clit, making obscene noises- probably on purpose.

"So fuckin' wet, sweet, y'hear that?" Rodrick presses kisses to your pulse point, up to your jaw, then kisses you deep. Swallowing your moans into his mouth as the kiss turns messy.

"Please, Rod..." you're breathless and your pleas are barely coherent, but Rodrick knows exactly what you're asking for. You keel when you feel a finger glide into you, curling up towards your stomach.

"Yeah, good fuckin' girl." Rodrick's grin widens at your reaction when a second finger joins the first. "Always so eager, hm? That's my girl."

"Yeah, 'm your girl," you pant, hips canting to meet his hand.

"That's right," he coos, thumb tracing wide circles over your clit. "So proud of you, my girl."

"Rod," you whine, "need you."

"Hm?" He hums between nips to your collarbone. "You have me."

You shake your head vigorously. "Need you inside."

This gets Rodrick's attention. His fingers slow, while his free hand moves from your hair to his pants. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock out from his boxers. You watch as he takes his fingers, soaked from your cunt, and wrap them around himself, stroking slowly. His head falls back against the couch, lips hanging open and you feel the sudden urge to bite them.

Before you get the chance, however, Rodrick is pulling you forward, lining himself up to take you. Slowly, so slowly, he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick around. You jerk when his head catches on your clit, sending electricity shooting up your spine.

"Rod..." you whine against his neck, "please."

"Please what?" You want to slap him for the knowing glint in his eye, but that was for another day.

"Please fuck me."

And who was he to deny you? Guiding your hip, Rodrick eased you down on him, guiding you but letting you set your own pace. The stretch set your loins on fire, but it was heaven.

Your head kicked back, and you let your voice have a mind of its own as you sunk down on him. Long and pornographic, and Rodrick matched it. You felt him throb inside of you.

"Fuck, sound so pretty." Rodrick started rolling his hips into you, and you cried out at the sensation. "Yeah, that's it. Moan like a fuckin' whore for me, c'mon."

And who were you to deny him? You had the house to yourself, and the name alone sent your brain into overdrive. He filled you up so nicely, and the drag of his cock inside of you made your skin tingle with delight.

"Rod, yeah, oh- just like that, ohmygod-" your voice was caught in your throat when Rodrick, with the usual knowing twinkle in his eye, takes a fistful of hair and tugs you forward into a sloppy kiss.

All of the sensations- that Rodrick was giving you- were sending you closer and closer to tumbling headfirst off of that ledge. The sting in your scalp, his tongue sliding against yours, the sounds of wet slaps and your combined moans. The smell of cigarettes and the heat of his skin under your fingers. The head of his cock piledriving into your cervix again and again and again.

"Rod I- oh god, I'm gonna- oh, so close- Rod please," you pant into his mouth, fingers raking down his chest and leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"I gotcha," he grunts, hand snaking between your bodies to press circles over your clit. You can hear it in his voice that he's holding back. You don't want him to. "That's it, baby, come for me. Make a mess on my cock, c'mon."

That extra pleasure is all it takes to have you diving headfirst into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your eyes screw shut, and all you can feel is Rodrick. Shaky hands rest on his shoulders, holding on for dear life as hot pleasure courses through you.

You're acutely aware of the hot spurts hitting your cervix, and the fluids seeping out of you, but your body is still tingling all over. Your voice has long since become scratchy, but that doesn't stop you from whimpering and crying as he coaxes you through it.

"Good girl, did so good for me, yeah?" His grip on your hair is no longer a grip, but gentle, soothing strokes, almost as if to apologize.

You hummed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder as you breathe. The smell of sex had permeated the air around you, and you were suddenly very aware of how sweaty you'd become.

"Think we need a shower, baby, c'mon." Rodrick nudged your head.

You wanted to, you felt sticky, but your body was on fire, this time with a less-than-pleasurable ache. Begrudgingly, you lifted yourself off of his now soft dick, hobbling down to reach for your clothes and then to the nearest bathroom.

The shower was peaceful, and the water was soothing on your muscles. You both worked in a comfortable silence.

"Well, I was right." Rodrick finally said.

"About what, the hair pulling?"

"Nope."

You turned around to face him, head tilted in confusion. His mouth was curled upwards and his eyes were lifted in a smile.

"You do have the bedroom personality of Tina Gray."

.

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest & @steddie-spooktober.

My Own Version of You

CCF Prompt: Pride & Spooktober Prompt: Frankenstein Friday | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: M | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | CW: Mild Gore, Body Parts, Consent/Ethics (it is a take on Frankenstein) | Tags: Monster AU, Mad Scientist Eddie, His Henchmen, Reanimation, Steve Was Dead and Now This?, Crack Taken Seriously, Spooky Season Fun

Eddie leaves another morgue, another monastery, his bag full of perfect body parts growing fuller every stop. He's going to do this. He can do it. He knows it. 

Eddie hands his spoils off to his assistant.

"Carry this, Igor," Eddie says, slinging the heavy bag over his hunchback.

"Gareth," Igor says, and Eddie sighs.

"Igor Gareth," Eddie says. Yes, yes, always with the full name, but Eddie's not really paying attention to him. He never is. Eddie's too blinded by his own brilliance. Only his own thoughts matter. Not whatever Igor thinks. If he can think. 

This is going to be an innovation unlike any other ever known to mankind. And it has come from his own outstanding brain. Some may call him a freak for even trying, but they'd be wrong.

Because he's a genius, mastering this. 

Well, to be honest, he's never done anything like it before. But he's still certain he's more than capable. He knows his brilliant mind has been stifled by the lack of advancement of technology. That's the only reason he's had an inability to bring things to fruition.

Well, he'll just have to force the world to get up to speed with his brain. He's been working on his contraption for years. Eddie's Ladder. The staff of the castle, working to meet his every whim.

Jefferson and The Freak. Igor Gareth. He's gathered a band of henchmen, and they're there to follow his orders, to bend to his every whim.

If they'll only follow his instructions, precisely and perfectly, Eddie can bring someone to life. Someone that feels as he feels.

They've had so many dry runs that haven't met Eddie's standards. Dead animals, brought back feral. A heart kept beating for weeks. And they've produced at least a dozen inarticulate, snarling monsters that Jefferson, Freak and Igor Gareth have had to put down and bury on the grounds. It's quite unfortunate that their failings have snuffed out Eddie's dreams before they've become a reality.

He's certain he can create a full-fledged reanimated human. Not just an electrified corpse.

Eddie pets the hair of the head he's chosen as his, hopefully, final subject. He's handsome, this one. A rich kid that died of dysentery. Or something. Eddie doesn't know, or particularly care. But Eddie was careful this time. He didn't just grab any old corpse from the boneyard as he'd done before. No, he selected the best parts from all over the countryside. Because this time, it'll be perfect. 

Eddie will be perfect.

He threads the large needle, and slides it through the skin, carefully stitching together his creation, his monster, his masterpiece. 

He looks perfect. This one, a man.

"Igor, the cap," Eddie demands, holding out his hand.

"Gareth," is the response, and Eddie rolls his eyes, snatching the metal contraption.

"Igor Gareth, yes," Eddie replies. Jesus Christ. Eddie doesn't understand why this kid always needs to be referred to by his full name.

Eddie attaches the electrodes, the cap, and stands back, ready to pull the lever that will control all the electricity that he's certain will be able to jumpstart his, hopefully final, creation to life.

Freak has installed a lightning rod on the tower, and now Eddie must wait for the storm to roll in, reach a crescendo, and then he'll get to finish his life's work this time.

The storm is finally blowing in, and Igor Gareth is stationed in the tower, waiting near the bell. He's to be the final alarm. The go ahead.

Then, it's finally happening. 

Eddie hears the thunder. The rain. The lightning cracking across the sky. 

And then the bell rings out, the loud clanging from the tower his notification to pull, and Eddie yanks down the lever, sending the current through the wires, creating the arc, the spark, to jumpstart his creation, his invention, his monster.

The body jolts, and shakes, and shimmies against its leather restraints. Bucking wildly as Eddie watches, eyes wide, enthralled. 

Finally his eyes open. Golden flecks over brown, and Eddie wonders if he's all there. If he's been able to finally bring back actual consciousness, or if this one's just another in a long line of reanimated corpses destined to exist in a zombie-like state until they're dealt with.

Eddie snaps his fingers in front of its face, and its eyes dart towards Eddie's hand, then Eddie's face. An improvement from the last one at least, for sure.

"What the fuck?! Ow!" his creation yells, and Eddie claps his hands in delight. He's done it. He's really done it. It's alive! It's a real man. 

Of course, he had no doubt he could do it.

His henchmen gather, and look at the naked, strapped down man, who seems very rudely ungrateful. 

"What shall I name him?" Eddie ponders aloud, stroking his chin.

"I'm Steve," his creation says.

"What does he look like to you, Igor?" Eddie asks.

"Gareth," he answers.

"I'm not naming it after you, Igor Gareth," Eddie answers, and Igor raises his hands to his head, pulling at his curls. He's an odd boy. 

"Hmm, other thoughts? Jefferson? Freak?" Eddie asks.

"Jeff," Jefferson says.

"Goodie," Freak replies.

And Eddie shakes his head. It's like these fools only know one word each.

"Perhaps Wayne. I always adored my uncle," Eddie says.

"I'm Steve. You're not naming me anything else, you asshole," his creation snaps, and Eddie just laughs.

"You're a bossy one," Eddie declares with delight, then concedes, "Fine. Steve."

"Great. Now untie me."

Eddie really doesn't want to do that until he can run more tests. Make sure he hasn't made something homicidal. That has happened a time or two. Maybe three.

Four, tops.

"Well, Steve, let's just put a pin in that," Eddie says, and Steve clearly doesn't like that, as he lunges, rattling the restraints. He's a strong one. This one is not feeble of body, or mind.

Or cock, from the looks of it. 

Eddie could work with this, as long as he can tame this pissy creature he's formed with his own two ultra-talented hands. 

"If I release you, are you gonna run?"

"From the mad scientist that's chained me up? Um, yes," Steve snaps, and Eddie laughs. He picked a good brain this time. Feisty.

"Then, I guess you'll stay tied up," Eddie insists, and if looks could kill, Eddie'd be dead. Luckily they cannot, and Steve can't move.

Too bad for him.

Eddie keeps watch for days, feeding him, taking care of him. Talking to him. Getting to know him. Trying to convince him to stay. To be Eddie's. His companion. His second. His lover.

Finally, after days, Steve agrees.

So, Eddie undoes the buckles, one at a time, the straps falling loose, and once the last one around Steve's ankle comes loose, he does just as he'd promised days ago. He runs. 

And Eddie watches in disbelief.

His henchmen will capture him.

They don't. He was too fast, too athletic, for those nincompoops, and now he's gone. 

Eddie rages. He cannot believe his own masterpiece would be so ungrateful. He was dead. And now he's not, because of Eddie. 

What an asshole he made.

He'll just have to try again. Tomorrow. 

When he leaves the castle, his body part collection bag slung over his shoulder, he sees Steve sitting against the gate.

He's relieved. He doesn't want another, he wants Steve. 

"You're still here."

"Where else was I gonna go? I'm naked."

Eddie laughs, he likes this creation. He likes Steve.

"Where're you going?" Steve asks.

"Nowhere," Eddie says, tossing the bag aside, sitting down next to Steve. He shrugs off his cloak, handing it over. "Here. Now you're not naked. You can leave, if you want."

Steve looks at him. Then says, "I think I might stay."

Eddie smiles. He made a masterpiece, the perfect man. 

The perfect Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on all the Seven Deadly Sins, or to offer up your own!

For more Spooktober, pop on over to @steddie-spooktober to follow along with the fun!

Notes: The title and inspo come from the Bob Dylan song of the same name, My Own Version of You.

Eddie's Ladder is a play on Jacob's Ladder. If you've seen old horror/sci-fi flicks, you know what this is. It's that arc of electricity we've all seen a billions times on screen. It wouldn't reanimate anyone, but it sure looks like it could.

The Poor Corroded Coffin boys. Eddie didn't know any of their names, lol.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

A foundation paper pieced wallhanging with autumnal blocks depicting two leaves, corn, pumpkin, and an apple.

Made using scraps leftover from previous projects, this measures 15x57 inches. Machine quilted with white thread, and a hanging sleeve on the back. The hanging sleeve is great for a rod to hang this from, but it also lays flat. You can hang this on a wall, door, or lay flat on whatever surface you put it on.

Machine wash cold and tumble dry low or hang dry to give this a long life. Keep out of direct sunlight to prevent the colors from bleaching.

If you cannot afford to pay the full price upfront, I accept 50% to reserve this for you, and monthky payments thereafter. When the final payment is received, I'll ship this off to you.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Medusa and The Blind Woman

Part I

~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~

She crashes in on an easterly wave. 

One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood. 

Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam. 

It's all become so painfully predictable. 

Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress. 

A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.

The grip of her spade reminds hers they mean nothing to her morning, to her unforgiving schedule that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting on the intruder's horizon. 

She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.

Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—

A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.

"Gods damn it all!"

Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return. 

She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore. 

Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…

Or. Captor.

The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild. 

In its place is a boat. 

A rather pathetic boat, Lexa notes at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side. The sight of its paltry build makes her frown, her lips slackening in shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance. 

Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"

Well.

This is certainly not what she had expected. 

Because…

She's blonde. 

Her apparent assassin is blonde. 

And a woman.  

Altogether a decidedly less muscular figure than Lexa had become accustomed to seeing her would-be heroes in the making that washed up on her shores. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.

In fact, this assassin is downright dainty.  

~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~

Read on AO3

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - lots, just LOTS

I thought I would be pretty lean reporting for Oct 2023 but then (for reasons relayed here) the weeklies got saved by a drunk avenging hacker in a hotel room.

Oct 2023 Wk 1

Except I still can't watch IFYLITA, because I use my other computer for it.

Gotta say though, watching tese mostly all in one day (for travel reasons) is beyond even my BL superpowers. I did my best tho.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - Sailom, sweetie, Kang is never sleeping alone again. It wasn't really translated, but Kang's way of speaking in that opening stinger was VERY cutsie. Also the gay sheets have made another appearance. I do have to say that "rich kid problems" is not my favorite story arc, but I still think this is a great Thai BL.

Naughty Babe (Sat YT) ep 6 of 8 - I love that they are finally talking to each other but Yi’s whole personality is shifting. Honestly, this pair is great at kissing and casual touches, but the friendships are the best thing about this franchise. Also Mr Chenne remains my fav character. But where did Diao's baby superhero team come from? And why? This show is very confusing... It’s also not very good.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) You Are My Soulmate ep 7 - This was the one of the series I was looking forward to the most, because silly, pretty, and v BL. It is, in fact all those things and nothing more. So I'm enjoying it, of course.

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 2 of 12 - I like it, but it feels like it's gonna be so sad. I'm having Promise and Dew the movie flashbacks. Plus 12 eps seems too long for this narrative thread. I am worried.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) 6 of 10 eps - This show is so slow it's hardly worth the bandwidth, but we attained "baby is a floppy drunk" and thus a finger bite frustration scene, which was nice.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 9 of 10 (not a BL but I'm watching it anyway) - Ray is so mean to Sand. The not-a-thing with Sand & Nick was cute. I’ve had several experiences like that. All my queer friendship groups tend to be incestuous, but sometimes they're just too much of a sibling and trying to sleep with them is the most unsexy thing in the universe. To be fair, I’ve also been in Ton’s position (this ep). Jojo sure makes queer shizz. But also, Ton must have a magic rod with everyone wanting a repeat. (I'm so glad they put Neo in this role, no one else at GMMTV could play him as complex or sympathetic.)

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 5 of 10 - now officially known by me as "I'm too sunshine for this seme" where our boss is being hella obvious but our cinnamon roll is just too ooey-gooey to notice. Al.though, baby boy, he takes you home, sleeps on top of you, feeds you cookies (IN HIS BED) and keeps you in his space? Surely even this sunshine is catching a few rays of truth?

Gaga's *unintelligible gay murmuring* is my favorite caption EVER.

Also the name of my new ASMR YT channel.

Bon Appetit (Korea Weds iQIYI) 3-4 of 8 - ah gay panic, also what is Korea's obsession with 7 year separations? Is it only true love if you wait 7 years? Dohoon is SUCH a flirt, it's kinda great! Also, since it's Korea, we got us a bit of a love triangle with 2 hyung romances, so I (of course) am torn. Either way Dohoon is going down. I do love how much time we are spending with the food in this drama, finally one that lives up to its name. On an entirely different note, Korean camping is the most bizare thing to me. It's SO damn civilized. There will be NO DIRT. They pack blow torches. And full dinner sets. Every time I see it in a drama, I'm amused.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - OMG these 2 are so in love with each other, and so ridiculous about it. They're tiny idiots but I love them.

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 5 - from MBS a live action adaptation of Kubota Maru’s manga ‘君となら恋をしてみても. Amane has stopped loving people due to trauma until he meets Ryuji. At first Amane just wants to play with Ryuji but… feelings.

I like the odd Japanese mature-childishness in this one. Plus a broken sunshine who is out in a kind of aggresive way and an instinctive caring seme. What's not to love? Well, it's Japan I'm sure it will surprise me one way or another.

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 3 of ? - the cray cray step brother quazi incest is a bit much for me. Why does VBL just suddenly get so unhinged like this?

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 9 of 13(?) - resumes next week

It's Airing But...

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Fri grey) ep 8 of 12 - I will try to watch 8-12 and do a series review when I get back in November but... not sure I will be able to. Fingers crossed.

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 8fin - I will complete and drop a review in Nov.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - 4th installment in this series (1st series, 1 special, 1 movie prior) about a lawyer who lives with his boyfriend, a hairdresser, and cooks for him. I find thie series more fun to binge, som I'm waiting until it completes its run.

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. 

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office.

In case you missed it?

Crazy Handsome Rich (Sun Gaga) Apparently ended its run I DNFed this at ep 3. So no review from me.

My Beautiful Man: Eternal AKA Utsukushii Kare Eternal (Japan movie Viki & Gaga) - Play it again Sam, only I'm kinda tired of this song. I was v dramatic tho. And it's always nice to be reminded JBL can kiss when it puts its mind to it. 8/10

Next Week Looks Like This

Upcoming October BL

10/31 SHADOW (Thai VIU ????) - this is a horror BL featuring ghosts and other paranormal elements in a high school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all, but if it must be done in BL let Japan do it). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools.

10/? Bump Up Project AKA Bump Up Business (Korea ????) - BL staring OnlyOneOf that released(??) as a movie in July but is now being recut and reissued as a series. Stars NineMill and from Idol Romance bulled as a love story between a trainee who is about to debut and a celebrity from the same agency (based on a webtoon). OnlyOneOf have been auditioning for this since Libido IMHO. You can watch me chronicle their BL MV work in this post. Idol Romance will do sad but can do good kisses (Wish You, Nobleman Ryu, Once Again, Kissable Lips, Poongduck 304, Tasty Florida, Tinted With You) but I don't think we will get any in this. After that OmegaX Shoulder bullshizz buisness I am very wary of this show.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I've seen this Chinese drama like... no wait... okay it's like EVERY Chinese drama ever.

(both Mr Cinderella 2)

I only got to watch this scene and the bath, but bot were pretty darn good! I Feel You Linger in the Air

There's only one bed but they slept together on the floor anyway. One of BL's oddest tropes.

I do love a finger bite. (both Venus in the Sky)

Good advice

(Naughty Babe)

(Last week) 

[artingabout]

Boromir's bracers from The Fellowship of the Ring

Behind the scenes:

This was my first venture into real leatherworking so there are a lot of basics included in the materials list, but now that I have them, I won't run out for a while :)

My materials:

2mm thick scrap leather

a full basic leatherworking tool kit including metal thimble, skiving knife, edge-trimmers, diamond punches and burnishing tools

leather needles

waxed thread

swivel knife for cutting the pattern in

rubber mallet

cutting boards

leather dye and scrap cloth for applying it

sewing pony

contact adhesive

four buckles

nickel studs

I'd made the bracers before, 10 years ago, for a costume party but had made them out of craft foam because lack of time/space/money for leather-working.

Since I had some time to kill over the holidays, I decided it was time to give things a go. First stage was redrawing my original pattern then cutting the leather to shape/size:

Next up was marking out the patterns onto the main body of the leather. Lessons have been learned. I foolishly decided to freehand it. It still looks nice, but now I know how I could have done it better.

Once both sets of patterns were down, I tooled the leather with the swivel knife. Learned very quickly that I should have got a slightly thicker leather to make the pattern stand out more, but for a first attempt, very happy.

Punched the main stitching holes and then did the staining to get the red-brown colouring. Took a couple of layers and several attempts to get to the right and consistent shade.

Once the dye dried overnight, burnished the edges of the smaller piece to make them smooth and shiny, then attached the two sections together with contact adhesive and started the stitching (ow my fingies)

The trickiest part of the whole thing was adding the buckles and trying to work out the best length for both of them, taking into account that the bracers are meant to be worn on top of several layers, including a quilted arm-guard.

Thankfully, I found a lovely batch of buckles that also had the pin on a separate rod from the rod that the buckle loop went around, which simplified putting it all together. I've done buckles before, but never with material this thick.

Once the straps were on, fastened with stud and stitching, it was just a matter of giving the entire thing a polish with beeswax to give it a smooth sheen all over and then adding the silver details. I did attempt foil, but it ended badly, so I switched to silver paint instead.

My Boromir-by-installments is coming together, little by little :)

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

fasteners from china fixdex & goodfix anchor bolt manufacturer

[triforce-of-mischief]

@ailesswhumptober day 7: field medicine

Summary:

He had a few options. One, he could drink the potion now and probably have to deal with a half-healed, infected wound. Two, he could clean the wound then drink it, but he didn’t have enough bandages in case it kept bleeding. His hand landed on one of his newest dungeon treasures, a short rod with a red jewel inlaid at one end. …Or, he could burn it closed.

Contents: blood and injury, moderately graphic descriptions of violence, cauterization, trypanophobia

Words: 700

AO3

Please reblog to show your support! Likes do nothing.

Breathe, Link. You can’t heal yourself if you don’t breathe.

His own reminder rang in his head as he held his right arm tight to his chest, careless of the blood staining his green tunic. Link had worn the thing through the Light and Dark Worlds both, and it resembled an oversized rag more every day. He didn’t carry needles and thread in his small bag; he didn’t even know how to sew. Whenever his clothes tore, he would bring them to Uncle-

Link choked on a sob. Uncle wasn’t there, and he knew that he could never bring himself to use a sewing kit in a different way. It would have been so much easier if Link could close his own wound without a second thought, but even the thought of a needle near his skin made him feel like he might pass out. The deep gash running from his wrist to his elbow wasn’t getting stitched, but it sure wasn’t resolving itself either. He was still bleeding a lot, and he was running out of time to find a different solution.

He dumped the contents of his bag on the ground, sifting through what few supplies he had. Two bottles, one full of water and one with a few measly sips of red potion. Link never had enough rupees to get by, especially running all over Hyrule like he was, and he had been testing the effects of potion if he only drank a little at a time. If the cut on his arm was smaller (much smaller), the potion may have been enough but right now…

He had a few options. One, he could drink the potion now and probably have to deal with a half-healed, infected wound. Two, he could clean the wound then drink it, but he didn’t have enough bandages in case it kept bleeding.

His hand landed on one of his newest dungeon treasures, a short rod with a red jewel inlaid at one end.

…Or, he could burn it closed.

He felt sick at the very idea, but it wasn’t a paralyzing fear like stitches were. This was going to suck, this was going to hurt, but somehow Link could make himself do it. He didn’t have any other choice, so he hurried to arrange his supplies before he could overthink it.

He didn’t really need much. The water, the potion, the fire rod, and what few bandages he had. He uncorked the first bottle and carefully poured water over his arm, flinching and hoping that anything nasty washed out before he burned it in.

Oh gods, was he really about to do this?

Overthinking. He couldn’t do that. He concentrated a tiny amount of magic into the fire rod, enough to make it burn with dangerous heat but not send flames shooting at his face. He held it above his arm, hearing the mix of water and sweat and blood sizzle and evaporate.

His left hand was shaking. He was breathing too fast and he needed to do this before he lost his nerves or passed out.

Link pressed the fire rod to his forearm.

It hurt, oh Golden Three and spirits and whoever else was there it hurt so bad. Link tasted salt and copper, the dull sting of a bit tongue nothing next to the searing agony coursing through his arm. He prayed that he had been right in assessing that there were no monsters around because nothing could stop him from screaming. His entire body and mind felt weak as he burned all the way down his arm, then set the fire rod aside and reached for the bandages. He whimpered as the raw flesh protested, wishing desperately for a salve or something to soothe the pain. Belatedly, Link remembered the red potion and clumsily drank it, finally able to take a real breath as his arm felt just a little bit better.

He wouldn’t be surprised if he removed the bandages to find an ugly red scar, stretching across half of his arm as a permanent mark of his own stupidity. He didn’t really care, in this moment. Link was stubborn and resourceful and he wasn’t going to lose, not here, not now.

[cantheykillmacbeth]

So, if a man of woman born tries to have some other being or force kill Macbeth on his behalf, then the prophecy will thwart that, yes? How far does this caveat go in your eyes?

Let's assume the prophecy works by manipulating probability to make anything that can go wrong in one's plan to kill Macbeth fail, such as your gun jamming if you try to shoot him, because it doesn't exactly seem like Macbeth has any supernatural abilities of his own.

Now let's add in our hypothetical man of woman born, let's call him John Faith. John Faith has the supernatural power to see all the threads of fate and probability at once, and understands every consequence and butterfly affect for every action done. Additionally, let's make it so John Faith can rewind his actions to any time he has been alive before that moment, and that he can freeze time to give him additional room to think on his omniscience. And finally, John Faith is fully immortal unless Macbeth dies of unnatural causes, and John lives within the universe of Shakespeare's play Macbeth.

John Faith's one goal in life is to cause Macbeth's unnatural death so that John himself can finally die. However, John is a man, born through a standard vaginal birth, with his birthing parent being a woman. John, knowing all potential futures, is aware of Macbeth's prophecy, but he decides to try and find a way to arrange Macbeth's GUARRANTEED death, prophecy be damned.

Given enough rewinds and all the knowledge of potential futures and full understanding of the butterfly affect, could John Faith from @localtransvamp 's Macbeth AU hypothetical KILL Macbeth?

If I'm understanding what you're trying to say... then I think John Faith would need to get someone else to kill Macbeth for him, assuming this second person would be able to kill Macbeth (woman, c-section baby, child of trans man, etc.). He could potentially hire a hitman for this, or, with his power, could see exactly what actions he would need to take to culminate in someone else killing him via the butterfly/domino effect.

As an example of that second one: John Faith puts a lightning rod on a tree next to a road. Thunderstorm hits, lightning strikes tree, tree falls onto road, road is blocked. Sir Caesar Section, a wanted anti-monarchy criminal on his way to Somefuck City, now needs to take a detour through Dunsinane via Birnam Wood. Not happy about it; already very irritable today. Goes to Dusninane (probably running into several other frustrations planted by John Faith along the way and getting a bunch of sticks in his hair), can't keep a low profile, gets put in Dunsinane jail. Breaks out, rampage, Macbeth caught in cross-fire and killed. Congratulations, John Faith has fulfilled his life-long dream of killing Macbeth (kinda).

Now, sometimes, we've had situations where Person A using Person B to kill Macbeth wouldn't work, but that is almost always because Person A is possessing Person B, essentially using B's body as the murder weapon (see: Emperor Belos). But in the case where Person A gets Person B to kill Macbeth via hiring them or stringing them along, the murder is still attributed to Person B instead of Person A (see: Rube Goldberg Machine).

Uh. Thank you for your submission?

[sleepy0s]

Doll grian headcannons

- his eyes look like buttons but aren’t, if you tapped them they would just be solid blocks

- looking into his eyes there’s hints of purple and the Evo logo (he doesn’t let anyone look into his eyes long enough to réalisé * no one wants to look at them long enough)

- He has painted on freckles all over his body

- On his back is a seen in Evo logo (like a branding to show who’s doll he is)

- he has dark purple stitching all down the sides of his body and around his joints.

- he’s full of Stuffing!

- The hermits have tried constantly to understand how he sees even when someone covers his “eyes”

- He claims not to feel pain but he does, they made sure to include that sense when creating his body

- He can swap bodies! If he claims another ‘body’ no matter what size he can stay in control of it (not many hermits are aware of this)

- when controlling a body some traits are taken with such as: the purple hints and logo in his eyes, any stitching turns purple and the evo logo is imprinted onto the doll- but only when he’s possessing it.

- when swapping bodies he will just go limp due to the dolls not having supports

- if he’s possessing a doll and he falls from a large height he is thrown out and forced into his usual doll (can panic some hermits when Grian falls and then doesn’t wake up)

- There’s random stitches on his face from where he’s gotten ripped.

- (if you have respawns in your au) When respawning the only thing that happens is any wounds are stitched up but they don’t disappear- hence all the stitches on him.

- you know when you get like like string and pick at it till all the threads are fluffy? That’s his hair (sorry I’m rlly bad at explaining)

- It’s quite hard for him to express emotions in his main body due to no eyes

- Not many hermits know this, but he’s an excellent tailor! (Making bodies and clothes pays of)

- He’s very silent! Being made of stuffing means the loudest noise he can make without accessories is a quiet thump like dropping a teddy

- he makes himself woolen wings, (using copper rods for supports) so that he can fly! ( for all you avian grian lovers)

- Elytra’s are usually much to large for his dolls and the lack of bones means he gets thrown around in the air- which is why he makes himself wings

- he’s usually around 1 block tall but likes to walk around in larger dolls

- he has a room of dolls. That’s it.

- yes, Ariana griande exists- he’s very proud of her design

- the hermits have never seen him die from a wound, only from hits (such as the iron golem in S8)

- he tries not to die very often around hermits as if it’s a wound then stuffing goes everywhere

- If you are near his body whilst he’s respawning you may notice eyes

- He can in fact go ‘afk’ and just hover around but he needs to make sure his body is safe first.

[writingwenches]

Freeform From — Beginning

notes: am I writing an original story that just shoves Targaryen royalty into it so I can have a fun audience while I write? Well, anyways, there's the last 500 words I wrote this weekend

I tried my hand at re-starting the story, tried to lead with "in the action" and explain a bit about the characters' friendships while keeping it interesting and engaging meh meh meh The map above is where the story takes place, in the cold swampy neck area, on the shores of The Bite, the bay that holds the The Sisters islands.

🤷🏻 here we go lets begin 🤷🏻

There was a boat that she carved by hand, from a sleeping cypress tree they felled together, a harvest moon past. Lyn had worked many nights and her arms showed her exertion. She no longer needed aid to carry stones and bushels of hay. 

Root said she looked a huntress, the fierce womanly warriors from her home tribe. In the orphanage, where they all rest their heads, Root was called Piety, a more proper name for a young lady, the Septas said. Root was the name of a wild thing that lives amongst the creatures and mud. Young ladies were allowed to sleep in beds, shielded from the cold night winds with warm blankets of fleece and wool. 

Root stood at the helm of their punt of a boat, a lantern held true to see their way down the spider filled hallow. Lyn was at the rear, her guiding pole pushing them along the swampy canal bed. The flickering candle of the lantern shone against the water’s surface, countless lights reflected back mirroring the creatures’ eyes. White eyes mean food, the frogs perched on the muddy bank. Red eyes mean danger, and teeth, and horror, pulling into the water and under, never to return again. 

“We should turn back,” Hanna worried, her eyes never leaving the darkness that moved behind. 

“We’re basically half way there,” Root promised.

“You said that hours ago!” Hanna yelled in a hushed tone, only to be shushed by the party. 

Hanna and Lyn had been wards of the orphanage since before they could remember, they had grown up together, much like sisters, but very much not. Hanna was a stickly girl with bones so tiny, Lyn was surprised when stormy winds didn’t sweep her away. Hanna was skilled in precise things, like brewing ale and sewing buttons back onto shirts, she could even embroider just as fine as some noble ladies. 

Lyn was her opposite, sunrise to Hanna’s sunset. Lyn’s cheeks were full when Hanna’s were hallow, they ate the same food but Lyn grew bigger every passing moon and Hanna seemed to fade into the slim figure others complimented. Hanna’s hair was yellow and as fine as the finest silk threads. Lyn had hair that coiled in and around itself, a crown of dark hair with the underglow of gold, to Hanna’s veil of soft blonde whispers of grain that blew in the sun. 

Lyn’s back was strong and able to carve a boat from a log with the sweat of her hands. Hanna could understand maths and write her name. 

They were two halves of one whole, Root would joke. Together they could form one grown woman, and apart they are simply each little girls. 

“Did you hear that?” Root asked, lowering the light.

“It’s a Karien-Bird, obviously,” Hanna answered, she had not yet offered aid the entire journey.

“Not that, dummy,” Root kicked her resting form. “That.”

They all listened.

The three were nearly woman grown, another year or two and the Septas would have no choice but to force them out of the orphanage. Root begged for that day, though Lyn was sure the Septas could find a reason to keep her around. The Septas did not like young ladies who misbehaved, and Root was everything and that. 

Root had been found, washed up after a hurricane, many years ago. The Septas took her in, whether she wanted their aid or no. Root hailed from a tribe of Crannogmen that made the swampy shores of The Bite their home. The rods and reeves that held their floating islands together broke apart and Root was separated from her tribe by miles. She has been trying to escape back to them ever since.

Lyn and Hanna had agreed to help her. Lyn had always wanted to go on a proper adventure, and Hanna had stolen Septa Glaedis’s carrot tart a few moons past and Lyn was going to hold that blackmailed knowledge over her for the rest of her days. Hanna had assured Lyn it had been worth it.

notes: WELP that's all I wrote in the first bit so hopefully I can have muse to write again tonight! If the muse so takes you, ask whatever questions you can think of! Or come chat about your stories and characters, get the muse flowing together LOL

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Made using scraps leftover from previous projects, this measures 15x57 inches. Machine quilted with white thread, and a hanging sleeve on the back. The hanging sleeve is great for a rod to hang this from, but it also lays flat. You can hang this on a wall, door, or lay flat on whatever surface you put it on.

If you cannot afford to pay the full price upfront, I accept 50% to reserve this for you, and monthly payments thereafter. When the final payment is received, I'll ship this off to you.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Medusa and the Blind Woman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come to me, my love

Across fields full of lilies at night

The stars shining overhead 

Are witnesses to our love 

As bright as the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Coming sorta soon to an AO3 tab near you)

She crashes in on an easterly wave. 

One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood. 

Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam. 

It's all become so painfully predictable. 

Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress. 

A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.

The grip of her spade tightens as she reminds herself they mean nothing to her morning, to her schedule, that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting quick on the intruder's horizon. 

She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.

Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—

A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.

"Gods damn it all!"

Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return. 

She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore. 

Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…

Or. Captor.

The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild. 

In its place is a boat. 

A rather meager boat, Lexa notes to herself at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side. 

The very sight of its paltry build makes her frown. Her lips drop open shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance. 

Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"

Well.

This is certainly not what she had expected. 

Because…

She's blonde. 

Her apparent assassin is… blonde.

And decidedly less muscular than she'd become accustomed to. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.

This assassin is downright… dainty. 

Dressed in a simple white shift in place of the bronze and pounded silver chest plate that Lexa is used to, stands a woman with sun laden ribbons of spun gold hair, bare of the usual swords and shield expected of such a journey and instead grasping a rather pathetic looking stick. Her face is cloaked in a curtain of wispy strands of gold, darkened by sea spray and the looming cliffs above as she fiddles with a satchel tied to her hip. She tussles with the strings, fingers awkward as she struggles to keep hold of the long spindle stick while fighting a losing battle with a knot that ignores her angered muttering. 

Lexa watches from the safety of the shadow's edge as the intruder goes about her various tasks. She watches her reach out and smack the end of the stick in her hand along the ground in sweeping thunks. Watches her do a slow sort of pirouette, a kind of turn here and there as she taps each stone and rock around her in a series of dull clicks. Her steps seem timid, calculated in the way they shuffle and pause and then go again, as her head twists slightly at every creak of the trees that bend toward the skyline, every crash of the tide, every chirp of a bird that follows. 

She watches the woman zigzag a line away from the wreckage of splintered wood and sails, weaving her way in measured footsteps and the incessant tapping of her stick. 

Lexa glances toward the two beady eyes staring at her and gives an equally mystified shrug. 

It's only when she comes close, dangerously close to the ridge cut in the cliff face that leads to the well worn path inland that Lexa finally finds her voice. 

"Who are you?"

The peculiar tapping stops on the sharp cut of a startled scream. "Hades in hell!" 

The hand not brandishing the stick clutches at her chest as she takes a half spin, the stick coming up in a wild arch like a sword apparently ready to slice the air in battle. 

Lexa frowns from the safety of her shadowed nook at the ridiculous display below. "If you wish to keep your life, turn back. Now."

The woman makes another half turn in her direction, face lifted and eyes screwed shut. "Where are you? This place is like an amphitheater."

"Your search is in vain! I said—"

"Give me a left or right, lady," she cuts her off impatiently, the stick shaking but still held vaguely menacingly aloft. "Clap or something so I at least know I'm not talking to a tree."

"Leave," Lexa booms with all the might of her weary bones, feeling her words reverberate against the stone embankment and echo into her chest. Power courses through her as she watches her idiotic, would-be killer startle and stumble back… only to right herself and throw her hands up in a huff. 

"Fine! I'll just shout at whatever, since apparently that's what you do here!" The stranger slams the stick down on its point, burying it deep into the sand and leans her weight against it, wobbling only slightly with a heaving sigh. "Listen. Just relax a minute and listen to me."

Only the crashing waves and panting drags of her breath echoes in the silence.

"Alright," she says as Lexa seethes and looks on. "My name is Clarke. I'm not… one hundred percent sure where I am, but if I am where I should be, I need you to know that I was sent here by my people, okay? I didn't choose to be here—"

"That does not matter!"

"I know that!" this woman, this Clarke, snaps right back. "I know you're pissed, you've made that abundantly clear, but what I'm saying is, whatever you think I'm here to do, believe me when I say, I am not."

"I think you're here to kill me," Lexa says in all but a growl.

Clarke throws the arm she's not leaning on into the air. "Then it's a wonderful thing we're having this chat, because I'm not."

Lexa's jaw aches with how hard she grits her teeth at the snark soaked rebuttal. "Then what are you here for?"

"I already said I didn't have a choice. I was just shipped off here and told to—." Lexa watches the woman swallow down the rest of her words, blonde hair swaying with the shake of her head. "Look, it doesn't matter what I was told to do. I'm not interested in fighting anyone else's battles right now. All I plan to do is squat here for a few weeks, work on my tan, fix my gods forsaken boat, and get out of your hair… Or uh, not your— The, with the— I'm assuming, if you are— If you're —"

"Why shouldn't I strike you down where you stand?" Lexa calls over the pathetic bumbling of the woman below. "I stay to the shadows for your safety, grace you with an opportunity to flee for your life. Why should I not step forward and let you see the face of your end?"

All Clarke does is snort. "Yeah, good luck with that."

Fingernails digging into the weathered bark of the tree does nothing to soothe the surge of anger that rises in Lexa's chest. She watches as the stranger seems to sigh to herself. The stick gets yanked from where it'd been buried in the sand and shook off.

And then the damn tapping starts again.

"What is that you are doing?" Lexa calls in a huff.

The woman flops a careless hand in her general direction as she calls back, "Playing a real fun game called trying to not break my neck. You can't tell?" and taps the stick against a hip sized boulder along its side and up the top, and then moves on to it's sister to the right in a few series of clicks. 

Lexa watches her repeat this process several times over, wandering in short bursts until finding another object of interest before starting the process all over. She watches that face turn up, eyes still shut tight, pausing and leaning and listening to every roll of the waves, every rustle of wind, every minute chirp of birds.

It's only when a head butts her temple and black beady eyes slip closed and stay closed, when the tip of Clarke's stick finds the gnarled roots of an upended tree and the woman chances a feel with her hands along the rough bark that it all finally makes sense.

"You're blind."

She says it more to herself than anyone, long since used to the lack of audience that can talk back, but the astute observation still earns her laugh. One topped with a tired smile from that unseeing face as she eases down onto the overturned tree for a rest. 

"Whew. Nothin' gets past you."