#i desire him sexually

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price promo still for The Bat (1959)

[dreamerdrop]

My issue with writing Julian POV is that I don’t think Julian is actually self-aware enough to realise how mind-blowingly attracted to Garak he actually is, no.

I think he would be in denial about it conciously, because Garak is a dangerous Cardassian who may or may not be a spy. Julian would filter his attraction through whatever justifications he can for why he’s not ~really~ attracted to him. (While blushing and being flustered by Garak’s overt attraction and flirting back like his life depends on it for reasons he will conveniently brush over in his head.)

But you see, I cannot conceive that anyone could ever, ever look at Garak and not immediately be overcome with lust that makes them dizzy. I can’t imagine having someone who looks like that approach so blatantly flirty and not just immediately following them back to their store to do whatever the fuck they tell you for as long as they want.

So it’s very hard for me to write Julian not being immediately on his knees for Garak because it baffles me that he didn’t just throw himself at Garak over the table in that replimat to begin with.

Maybe it’s my bizarre taste in men talking but how did this scene not end with Julian following him back to his store and being like “Yes, sir, what do you want to do with me, sir”.

[icepopsandghoststories]

He makes me SICKKK

[mikkeneko]

This is just my own interpretation, and I very much do not say that other reads are wrong or that people shouldn't write romantic/sexual qijiu fic, which I've read plenty of and is great, but

I think it's also valid to read Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu's relationship as being neither romantic nor sexual

they are still 100% each other's most precious person but in an entirely platonic way. This read to me mostly comes from the fact that their bond -- which was so strong that the splintering of it kicked off a sequence of events that led to the downfall of their sect and arguably to the end of the world -- formed in their childhood on the streets, before either of them had gone through puberty. And, critically, although they met again when they became teenagers and then adults, their relationship never advanced in any kind of positive direction after that.

I don't think Shen Qingqiu was Yue Qingyuan's white moonlight, or the one he got away. I think he was the one he couldn't save, and the inability to save him hollowed Yue Qingyuan out. It was a wound that was inflicted early enough that it took up half his world, and only grew as he did. I think you don't have to be romantically or sexually interested in someone to love them enough to be willing to die for them.

I think you can get a valid read of the situation that Yue Qi and Shen Jiu's relationship was never romantic, let alone sexual.

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe, This is the full original image:

According to the Tumblr post I originally snagged it from, it's an early piece of promotional artwork, meant to depict Keith as the series's central character. Shiro is shoved into the background, presumably to illustrate that he was intended to fulfill a Doomed Mentor role.

[heliianth]

aspec killugon... save me aspec killugon.............

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price guest stars -

Riverboat; Witness No Evil (1959)

[that-ineffable-devil]

I think the only thing about Edwin's first interaction with the Cat King that really breaks my heart is how he reacts to TCK's innuendo.

Despite TCK interpreting the reaction as offense/disapproval, what I see is fear.

Edwin doesn't react with disgust or even anger.

He starts backing away. His face drops. He looks scared.

((And then I went and had a full sad revelation in the notes but it's staying there.))

[serenityofwitches]

oh spencer reid how i DESIRE you.

[eph-em-era]

if yall don't include chet in your polyhells big multi-ship things you're COWARDS

COWARDS

i see fics that are like fearne/ashton/orym/dorian/imogen/laudna and it's just like - where's my boy chet???? where's chet?? you know he'd be in on that if he could

[shadowgale96]

Okay, but IMAGINE Hua Cheng freaking out internally because he was NOT prepared for what an absolute freak in the sheets Xie Lian turns out to be.

[grapejuicegay]

Sometimes I just start thinking about this moment - paired with Maddie's "I just think that maybe you're not sure of your own feelings yet. And if there's something that you need to tell Eddie, you will. Just, in your own time" - and then don't stop thinking about it.

Maybe I'm just reading into it but the way this moment moves. Eddie steps forward, Tommy steps up to exactly where Eddie was, Buck turns to look where Eddie was, doesn't find what he was looking for but still finds something good. It's not just ep 4 and 5 where the focus on Eddie blows me away, it's also this.

[hauntingofhouses]

guys cmon. be ffr please. akemi did Not love taigen. the only reason why she was desperate to search for him to the point of putting herself in danger is because she didn't want to get married to an abusive man (which she believed at the time that takayoshi was). when seki tried to dissuade her from running off, her reason was not "but i love taigen and wanna be with him 🥺" it was because she refused to be controlled and have her autonomy taken from her; she literally says "i won't be locked away in edo married to a stranger." and when seki still tries to argue that getting married to the heir of the shogun would be better than getting caught by brigands, she then says "that kind of man"—referring to takayoshi—"treats women like animals. they say he's a tyrant." and when seki chuckles and says "what man isn't?" her response is "you." she doesn't even talk about taigen. she is using him as much as he was using her. they both see—or, well, saw—each other as means to an end. for taigen he saw that marrying into the tokunobu clan would elevate his status and wealth. for akemi she wanted the right to choose who she married, and she wanted that person to be someone kind. that's it! neither of them loved each other. but since they were courting of course they acted sweet to each other, and they do still care for one another, especially due to their romantic history. but let's be real! akemi is a boss bitch who dropped taigen and forgot all about his ass as soon as she saw takayoshi was a nice guy. because duh? not only is takayoshi a better lover (it's implied their lovemaking lasted a long time) but he's also kinder towards her and presents her with an opportunity to claim power and freedom, which she would not have if she had married taigen, as she would have still been stuck under her father's thumb. so literally why should she settle for taigen's stupid ass! she may be a little naive at times but she's still incredibly intelligent. she would not do something stupid for the sake of "love." you know who would though? taigen.

[wellhalesbells]

Writing game: post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.

tagged by @wolfspurr! thanks for thinking of me, ladybug!

this is just... not gonna make any sense and it's not even close to the last line i've written of this sterek fic, just the last line i've fiddled with (i'm having a love affair with the magic in it, what can i say)

He pulls and pulls and pulls, his hands growing slick with his own blood, sweat pouring down his back, spitting glass and pink saliva, until he’s yanked the last of it from the ground and the plant stutters, reshapes, and a woman is lying on the ground.

tagging (i'm not gonna do every word 'cause i am a run-on sentence nightmare, as per yooj, but uhhh): @piratefalls, @andavs, @alocalband, @kikiroo, @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else who wants in!

also, uhhh, context below if you're curious (stiles is fine, i swear) :)

He had expected a hallway, some pathway between one place and the next, but instead he’s in a room with rich, heavy curtains, a gold thread glittering through the — no, endless open windows looking out onto a vast — an overstuffed greenhouse, sprawling with — a moth-eaten pool hall, the click of — a stable so dilapidated that he can feel drops of — a corner wreathed in shad — Stiles grabs his chin and pulls it low so Derek’s wide eyes meet his.

He murmurs softly, “How ‘bout I take this one, big guy?”  Derek blinks at him.  He doesn’t understand the request but he doesn’t understand most of what’s gone on today.  In the same tone, Stiles prompts, “You remember what we’re looking for?”

And the second Derek does, there’s a snap that’s not so much sound as it is the rush of air settling and the soles of his boots sink into soft peat.  The wet scent of moss and mud and still water overwhelms him and a bout of light-headedness threatens to level him.  He takes a step with the express purpose of planting his feet and opens his eyes, not remembering closing them.

Branches crowd them overhead, one mere inches from the top of his head, the gentle rustle of its leaves in the barely noticeable breeze tickling along his every sense.  He can’t see the pond or bog or marsh but he can smell it.  Instead there’s dirt and trees and petals and seeds and slithering, clomping sounds in heavy underbrush.

“Wh — ere are we?”  His voice is croaky, feeling the intimidation his squared shoulders are fighting back.

Stiles steps lightly through the growth.  “Archives,” he says, his voice fading as the buzz of a dragonfly drifts closer for a moment, “I thought you were all about silent observation?  Only said it right in front of your face.”  He stills a moment, tuts, and then looks down at his feet.

He wiggles his bare toes against the soft mud, bends down to roll up his jeans midway up his calves.  He sniffs.  “Better.”

“What—”

Stiles glances back at him, brow furrowing.  “Tell me you weren’t expecting… what?  File cabinets?  Licenses and bureaucracy?  It’s fucking magic, Broody Butt.”  He looks up, pulls down something globular and doesn’t hesitate to take a bite out of it.

His hair flutters as though caught in a strong storm, his eyes flare a color Derek doesn’t have in his vocabulary, and his toes dig into the dirt.  He tosses the fruit Derek doesn’t recognize over his shoulder.

“That was — ”

“Pure magical energy,” Stiles says with a nod, as though that was what Derek was going to say.  “The registry, it’s not too Big Brother or too worrywart about it these days so most mages participate without any civil servants having to knock down their doors.  The consequence to using unregistered magic is punitive enough that it’s worth the few hours of answering a fussy librarian’s questions and giving a little light show.”

Derek considers that, ducking under a branch after Stiles.  He reaches towards a bush, pulls off a few berries and rolls them between his palms.  After a few revolutions, he crushes them flat, but what escapes isn’t juice, it’s steam.  He breathes it in, taking it deep into his lungs.

He exhales it out, the smoke forming a scythe in the air in front of him.

Derek watches Stiles for the verdict, which is given in the form of him simply turning and moving on.

For some reason, Derek is hesitant to voice it but — “Your own magic is here then.”

“Are you doubting my love for rule-following, Derek?”  Derek opens his mouth because, for once, he hadn’t been seeking to insult Stiles but he grins back over his shoulder, revealing it had been a joke he had meant to share.  Oh.  They didn’t really do that and he can see the way Stiles’ grin strains realizing it.  They’re not him and Laura.  They’re never going to be.  He still gamely adds, “I might’ve needed my door knocked but, yeah, it’s here.”

“What does it taste like,” Derek asks, not certain why he’s curious, only sure that he is.

Stiles pauses, a thoughtful expression on his face.  Derek hadn’t thought he would answer, and that if he did, it would be flippant and throwaway.  Instead there’s care and concentration to his words.  “Kind of… barren.  But not — not empty, more… expectant?  The way flat landscape can host tornadoes or lightning storms or pouring rain or a stampede.  It’s that second before it rushes in on your tongue.  It tastes like raised flesh and hot blood and leaping stomachs.”  He blinks, losing the glaze over his eyes.  His tongue darts across his lower lip, soothing.  “That’s what it tastes like.”

And Derek wants to taste… it.

Stiles swallows, breaking eye contact, plaid overshirt billowing with how hastily he turns.  Derek follows carefully after him, cataloguing each body part to reassure himself he has control over them since that had felt precarious in a way he can’t quite articulate.

Stiles burns a feather whose smoke twists into letters, plants an acorn that explodes in a cloud of confetti which rearranges into a map of some podunk water park in Arkansas, and digs at roots that dig back at him.

Derek waves a hand at the gnats buzzing in a cluster too-near his ear.  “I thought we only had five minutes?”

Stiles snorts.  “Which is why I’ve made us so hard to find,” he jazz hands with his fingers, crouches down and pops a buttercup into his mouth.

Derek slams into him, hard, not having expected the way he’s frozen.

The scent of blood is a sudden and thick aroma surrounding them and Stiles turns, a cheery pink (artificial) blush on his cheeks and gobs of red dripping from his mouth, over his chin and dribbling down his neck.  He opens his mouth on glass shards that have the spongy look of petals.  Something flickers and it’s so fast Derek can’t catch it, doesn’t know if it was his eyes or his face or just a shadow, but—“It’s her.”

Before Derek can react, Stiles has spun around and is tearing up the entire root system growing the buttercups.  He pulls and pulls and pulls, his hands growing slick with his own blood, sweat pouring down his back, spitting glass and pink saliva, until he’s yanked the last of it from the ground and the plant stutters, reshapes, and a woman is lying on the ground.

“What the—”

“Name,” Stiles snarls at her.

She’s carefully getting to her feet from the prone position she’d reformed in.  She’s in her thirties maybe, attractive, with short curly hair and red lips and a thick waist.  She smooths a hand down the back of her overalls, as though checking for dirt.  She shakes a leaf from her boat shoes.  “Delia Pritchett.”

Stiles eyes her coldly.  “Information.”

She ruffles her hair from the bottom, stands up a little straighter.  Her eyes aren’t focused on Stiles, they’re resting somewhere in the middle distance as though the prompt is coming from an unseen source.  “Formerly of the Lafferty coven, because who can take that seriously?  Current member of the Craven coven.”  She half-laughs.  “Hard to beat that.  Alliterative and established.”

Stiles slices a hand towards her and it slides right through her neck, vanquishing the image as he says, “Enough.”

Derek opens his mouth — 

Stiles lets out a depthless yet somehow mostly silent scream.  “We don’t even know them!  Craven?  They’re upstate, rural, why the fuck — why would she — she had no reason to kill her,” his voice has risen to a crashing crescendo and birds Derek hadn’t even heard were there take off from the treetops.

“We need to leave,” Derek says sharply.

Stiles stares at him as though Derek is speaking a different language.

Derek snags him by the bicep, squeezes.  “Stiles, we need to go.”  Stiles is gazing through him now, his eyes visibly trying to pin down a motive, something that will make sense of the answer he’s gotten, restringing his mental murder board into some semblance of order.  Derek shakes him, roughly.  “Stiles.”  He says it slowly: “You haven’t stopped bleeding.”

Stiles blinks up at him.  Opens his hands palm-up.  They’re torn to shreds.  Blood keeps gushing up to cover his lips.  He looks up at Derek again.  “We don’t even know her.  Our territories are nowhere near one another’s.  She had no reas —”

“Stiles.  I understand.”  He’s still speaking slowly, carefully, trying to make Stiles see past the immediate disappointment to the more immediate life or death situation.  “Do you understand that your blood is not clotting?”

He flexes his fingers.  “It’s magic,” he says, with a little shrug as though none of this matters, not compared to the reality that a woman they have no reason to know killed someone who meant more to them than words could describe, not to gain anything or settle some score but because she could.

So she did.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price

[stars-and-the-sky]

my mom used to buy me this russian book as a kid but she had to stop cause the pierre would make me go crazy and hurt myself and others