#is that a walrus on your face

[oeuvrinarydurian]

Happy Morsestache Monday!!

I present to you “Action ‘Stache”, a.k.a. Mustache in Action. 

I know guns are bad, but the bad guys are worse.

“…like you shot George Fancy…?!?”

Thursday says, “Put him down!”

Jago shot Box and yet I stand frozen with my gun on him as he bleeds. I am unaccustomed to violence. I’m more of a violent thinker and drinker.



Everybody good is alive.

“I’ll be needing a car. A Jaguar. KAN 169 please.”

“I can manage”

[pant--eater]

Forever lamenting that Woody Woodpecker doesn't have a thriving fandom the way Looney Tunes does (and overall it's not nearly as popular in the US the way it's in my area), because I would kill for Mrs Meany x readers

[bulletbilltime]

Been watching Vinesauce's Tomodachi Life playthrough, and I just got to the part where Donkey Kong steals Two-Faced away from Walrus. And honestly? My brain's been braining a headcanon about that whole situation

So Donkey Kong is aware that he's in a game, right? And Two-Faced & Walrus were suspecting some malevolent god was messing with him... Here's my take on what happened:

Two-Faced notices that Walrus has been treated terribly, and Vinésauce kept being pushed on her despite her lack of interest. Maybe she talks to Donkey Kong, and finds out they're in a game. And she draws the line between Vinésauce and Walrus' terrible treatment. So, torn between the love she feels for Walrus, versus the literal universe treating him like a punching bag, she and DK make a show of deciding to date each other, essentially breaking up with Walrus and making him into more of a sympathetic figure.

Sure enough, everything becomes better for Walrus near instantly. And from that moment, she knows that the literal universe is fixating on HER. And isn't that a creepy thought? That the god of your universe is trying to push you into a relationship with its avatar? And punishes those you do decide to date?

[swordshapedleaves]

I feel like even people who are saying they'd be more surprised by the walrus are underestimating the visceral shock of being surprised by a 4000 pound animal. That's the size of like, 20 humans! That is so much animal to be anything but overwhelming, right outside your door! I don't care how rational you are a little sparkly guy is not gonna be more of shock than 4000 pounds with spears coming out of its face

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny’s always thought meeting other vigilantes and heroes outside of Amity would be an event he’d gush about. He’d figured it would be more intimidating. More graceful, certainly. Less humiliating, considering he’s known Val for ages and she’d seen him choke on chili cheese fries in middle school and hack it out like a dying walrus.

Ah, well, at least this time, it wasn’t humiliating for him. Danny Fenton knew when to count his blessings, and this counted for sure.

The sight of the helmeted vigilante laying face down on the pavement for five minutes straight was getting worrying though, even if Danny sympathized with the feeling.

“…You good?”

A pause of deliberation.

“No,” came the muffled reply.

Danny finished filling his gas tank- gah, why did the GAV have to eat so much?- before walking around his car and prodding at the now dozing man. Huh. He smelled kind of liminal. The man groaned.

"Hey, is there someone coming to get you or...?" Danny trailed off. Other than inwardly laughing at watching the infamous Red Hood eat shit on the asphalt, it was probably a good idea for Danny to figure out why the guy was so far from Gotham.

"Ain't your business, kid, get lost." Red Hood made to stand up, only to groan as he stressed his very broken arm.

"Right. Do you want me to sit here with you until your trusted adult picks you up?"

"Oh, fuck off."

Danny grinned. "Here, hold on. I think I've got an arm splint in my car." Without another word, he trotted off to grab his medical supplies.

"That's a concerning amount of medical supplies," Hood's hand- the unbroken one, went to his gun.

"I get hurt a lot. Like, a lot." Danny replied candidly, forking over the medical supplies.

"Red Him! Bizarro come pick up!"

Danny looked up. "Is that... zombie Superman?"

"His name's Bizarro. And he's way better than that blue asshole."

"I'll take your word for it," Danny shrugged. Liminals tended to have better instinct about people anyways.

"Bizarro! Down here, bud!"

"Red him!" Bizarro floated back down to the ground with a thump. Danny saw the little Superman plushie sat on top of his shoulders. "Red her in little trouble!"

"Shit, get me up." Bizarro turned slightly suspicious eyes onto Danny, who just smiled at him.

"Who this?"

"This is... uh..."

"Danny. Retired vigilante." Danny rocked back onto his heels. He'd retired Phantom years ago, taking over the family business and shutting down the portal.

"Huh. That explains a lot," Red Hood considered his arm. "Red Hood. This is Bizarro."

"Skinny him help?" Bizarro asked, visibly worried.

"Sure! Whatcha need help with?" Danny paused. "Can I be something other than skinny him, though?"

"Hey- wait-"

[emmyrosee]

“Do I have a cute butt?”

“Excuse me?” Osamu asks at your question, popping an eye open as he chuckles. You giggle at your matched silliness, gently patting his chest.

“You know.... like, is my butt cute?” You ask again, traveling your eyes to look. Your leg is hooked over his waist, his large hand running along your thigh sweetly.

Osamu sighs sleepily, “is this one of those scenarios where if I answer, you’ll hit me?”

You giggle at him, “depends on your answer.”

“Then I think you have, single handedly, the cutest butt in the world, sweet love.” His large hand travels down and gives your ass a gentle pat, almost like you were a baby.

Well, you are his baby, as he always assures.

Your heart flutters wildly at his words, they always have an effect on you, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his chest further to hide your face.

“Awww,” he teases. “Did I make my angel girl all shy?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, shoving him lightly. He chuckles lowly before shoving his hand under your hip and pushing you up, guiding you to straddle his waist. He gently caresses your sides and thighs, dopey, loving smile on his pink lips.

“I think every part of you is the cutest, my love,” Osamu whispers, making you roll your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” You challenge. “Like what?” He raises his own brows, “everything.” He gently takes your hand in his, “I love these small, sexy hands of yours.” He plants a kiss to each of your fingers before closing them, placing a final kiss to your knuckles. You bite your lip, brushing the fallen locks of hair out of his eyes.

“They’re not small,” you protest. “Yours are just massive.”

“Either way,” he continues. “I love these hips, and these legs that everyone stares at when you wear shorts,” he gently digs his fingers in your thighs slightly, leaving lightened prints before transforming back to your original skin tone.

You avert his gaze, “they stare because my hips come up to your thighs. Tall freak.”

“They stare because you’re hot,” he says, putting extra emphasis on the ‘T’ and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “They stare because somehow, your stunning ass got stuck with me."

“I love being stuck with you!"

“I love it too,” he assures, smiling as you laugh. “That’s another thing,” he says. “That sweet laugh of yours.”

“Oh, you mean the dolphin mating call?” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Osamu shakes his head, “no, you brat. I’m talking about your laugh. Your sweet giggles. Your scoffs. The way it goes silent when you laugh really hard. It the fucking best.”

“No it’s not,” you groan. “You’re the only person on planet earth who could find a walrus being assaulted with a crowbar cute.”

“There’s nothing wrong with finding your little giggles endearing.”

“Yeah, right.”

“But you know what I love most about you?” He asks, cupping your ass and hips in his massive hands.

You quirk your brow, “what’s that, oh Prince Charming of mine.”

“My absolute biggest weakness about you, dollface, is...” he squeezed harder. “Messing with you.”

You can barely process what he said before he bucks his hips up against you, bouncing you up and down. You scream out in laughter, planting your hands to his chest. His own laughter mixes with yours, his thighs continuing to bounce you like you’re a rider on a horse.

“Okay, okay!” You manage between giggles. “I get it!”

“Don’t,” bounce “think,” bounce “you,” bounce “do.” He grins as he stops bouncing, sitting up to wrap his arms around you, pulling you flush to his chest as you both flop back down.

“You’re so bad,” you giggle, running your hands over his chest. Osamu chuckles, planting a kiss to your head.

“What can I say,” he sighs dreamily. “I'm a man of poetic genius.”

"If that's what you want to call it."

Immediately, hands dart under your arms to tickle you viciously, smirking as you shriek and clamp your hands to your sides and laughter pours out of your lips.

It truly was his favorite sound.

[existential-squid]

Reblog for a larger sample size, if convenient.

[vulgarmaw]

Back on the walrus fairy post because I saw another one.

It would be like: which is more surprising?

A stranger knocking on your door?

An internet friend you've never met, who doesn't know where you live, who is at least in a different time zone, has never seen your face, doesn't even know your gender, knocking on your door?

Like one of those is way more confusing and takes way more to understand because it's not just happenstance.

If a fairy knocked on my door it's like "Oh, fairies are real and one of them was near my house." it's impersonal.

If a walrus knocked on my door I gotta know why. I have to know if it's intelligent enough to know what knocking means. Does it have a grudge? How did it get to my house?

Sure someone you essentially know knocking seems like it should be logical, they know you of course they're here. But you didn't invite them, you didn't tell them who you were, you didn't say your address, it's not a random knocking person. This is someone with intent choosing to knock on your door.

The walrus knocking on your door, since you know it's a real creature, would need a reason to knock on your door.

A fairy just needs to exist.

[prod-ddeonu]

UNDER THE COVER | s.jy

MDNI! MDNI! MDNI!

pairing: librarian!Jake x fem!reader

cw/tw: librarian!Jake, badboy!Jake, smut, fluff, mentions of assault and sa, drugs, sex in a public building, pet names, praise, face fucking, masturbation, kissing, mentions of murder (one line)

synopsis: Love was never your goal, preferring to keep your nose in a book while sitting in an isolated corner of your favorite library. But then you met Jake Sim: the quiet librarian who wore sweaters and button downs, the man who treated every book like a treasure, the man that you felt was perfect for you. You knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but who would have known your quiet library crush was the exact opposite of what you'd expected?

featuring: jay and sunghoon (iconic bffs!)

wc: ~6.9k

PART 2

Buy me a Ko-fi!

“Finals are kicking my ass, man,” Sunghoon stretched his arms above his head as he dramatically groaned.

Jay nodded, his notes every shade of the rainbow from his color coded highlighting method of studying. “You can say that again,” he capped the red highlighter and put it behind his ear.

“Finals are kicking my ass, man,” Sunghoon repeated, laughing when Jay threw the yellow highlighter at him.

The two turned to you, your head falling as your eyes began to shut. “Y/N!” Jay shouted. Sunghoon pressed his finger against his mouth and shushed him. “Piss off, Hoon. We're in a soundproofed study room,” Jay sneered.

Your head shot up, hands flying into the table to catch yourself. “The proper function is forty-four,” you mumbled as your eyes opened. “Oh, sorry. I had a dream I had already taken the final,” you rubbed your eye with your wrist.

Sunghoon put his hand over your forehead. “Y/N, if you don't sleep enough, your score’s gonna be a forty-four,” he said, his tone laced with worry.

You smiled, pinching the bridge of your nose. Sunghoon ran his hand over the ponytail you held your hair in, bringing the hair over his head. “Jay, you think I could work long hair?”

“I don't even think you can work basic algebraic equations,” he scoffed. Sunghoon frowned, sitting back upright.

He looked at his notes before groaning in agony. “I'm done for the night, guys. It's, like, seven at night and I'm tired,” he whined.

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna head home, too. You coming, Y/N?” Jay asked as the two stood, packing their notes and pencils.

You shook your head. “No, I'm gonna get a little bit of reading therapy in,” you smiled, thinking of your favorite character.

The two boys looked at each other with a raised brow. Sunghoon wiggled his at Jay, the other returning the action to create some sort of impromptu language. “Are you sure it's therapeutic reading?” Jay asked tenderly.

“Or is it ‘I wanna fuck that hot librarian’?” Sunghoon finished the point, sliding onto the table in front of you.

Your ears turned red, the mental image Sunghoon painted making you sweat. The two burst into laughter, clapping loudly and pointing at you. “She totally does! Y/N has a crush!” Jay shouted.

You slapped your hand over his mouth. “It's soundproof in here, not a solitary confinement cell! They can definitely hear your walrus laughter!”

Jay faked shock, slapping his hand against his chest and holding the table for support.

Ignoring him, Sunghoon leaned his elbows against the table next to you. “So, whatcha likin’ about this dude?”

You squeaked. “I- um-”

Jay returned to his position on the other side of you, his hand on your shoulder. “Is he loud, badass, smokes a lot of weed and parties all night, muscle tees and ripped jeans, maybe a print-”

“Alright, alright!” You shouted. “Remind me to put some soap in your mouth, Jay,” you wagged your finger in his face. He snapped his jaw at you, following your finger. “He's the exact opposite, actually. He's quiet, really kind, he’s not into the party scene, he doesn't wear anything too showy-”

“So he's just like you?” Sunghoon interrupted, pulling the edge of his sweater onto his shoulder.

You nodded, a cheesy grin coming over your lips. “And how do you know all this?” Jay raised his brow. “I doubt you've hung out with him.”

“I can just tell,” you sighed dreamily. You kicked your feet underneath you in excitement.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes. Because you read minds.”

Jay clicked his tongue at you, crossing his arms. “Y/N, did nobody ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover?” He asked. “What if you get your hopes up, and then you find out that he's some rager that breaks your heart?”

You shook your head. “I don't think so, he seems pretty genuine from the way he looks.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes playfully again, “Delusion is one of your few flaws, Y/N. Your other one is reading for fun.”

You sat with your knees against your chest in a small corner of the library. The seating arrangement in that corner was a long, wooden bench that wrapped around the corner of the room. You liked to sit against the corner, your back to the wall and feet facing the shelves in front of you.

In the book you were reading, the main character had gone out with her boss in order to escape her manipulative boyfriend and catch him cheating. Her boss was icy, tall, and young. You'd barely managed to catch it, but it seemed that he was younger than her. The main character was a happy woman who let her naïvety get the best of her, which her boss had helped her get past.

You were in the scene where her boss confesses to her, but you weren't sure where the story was going. He told her he was falling in love with her, which she reciprocated, but he was holding her so close, and the word “heat” and “member” kept appearing in sentences.

You saw a shadow loom over you, shading your book from the light. A large hand rested on top of the book, tilting it back. “Are you enjoying the book so far?” A deep voice with a thick accent asked.

You nodded, not looking up. “It's really good, I'm just a little confused as to what's happening. I don't know who this member is and why they're so hot, but it doesn't make sense for her to be kissing them and not the main guy,” you rambled.

The person let out a deep chuckle. “Cute,” he said under his breath. “This is my favorite part, actually. If you don't know what all of that means, though, maybe you should skip that scene. It's not really important to the plot, anyways,” he continued.

The dim light above you bounced off of his rings, his long finger tapping on the spine of the book lightly in a fidgeting manner.

“I want to know what it means,” you sighed. “Can you explain it to me?”

When the person didn't respond, you looked upwards. Your breath caught in your throat as you squeaked.

The librarian you'd been harboring a secret crush on stood above you, his mouth slightly agape and his cheeks pink. His eyes grew wider with shock the longer you looked into them.

You turned back to the book, your eyes not really reading any words. “I can figure it out myself, sorry,” you whispered.

The man scratched the nape of his neck, a shy laugh leaving his lips. “No, it's okay, that scene is just…”

“Just what? Confusing?”

“Just not something you'd want a stranger to explain.”

“If you love the book, though, wouldn't you be good at explaining it?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside you.

He took the book from your hands, folding the corner of the page you were on and closing it. “Let me go check this out for you. I'll tell you at the counter, then you can read the rest at home, ‘kay?”

You nodded, willing to do anything he suggested. He walked you to his counter, scanning the book. “That scene you were reading is probably one of the most well-written sex scenes a reader could ask for,” he casually commented, smirking when you covered your mouth. “You can Google the words you don't know, but tell me if you still enjoyed the book when you return it!”

He placed the book in your bag, waving to you and leaning against the counter.

You sound around, mouth open to speak. “Name’s Jake, by the way,” he smiled handsomely at you, nodding his head up once. “I was gonna introduce myself to you properly, but you kinda jumped the gun on that one, miss sex book girl.”

You blushed, looking away in embarrassment. “You don't have to call me that,” you barely whispered.

“Yeah?” He poked his tongue at his lip with a teasing smile. “What can I call you, then?”

“Y/N,” you looked at the floor before spinning around and walking to the door.

Jake waved behind you, a smile still prevalent on his face. “Have a safe night, Y/N,” he called out behind you. “Hope you enjoy your book!”

Oh, you enjoyed that book alright. With Jake’s words looming in your head, and a trusty Google search (turned out, member did not mean another character), you finished the book with a foggy mind and a whole lot of nervous swallows.

Jay and Sunghoon sat across from you at your local cafe, your bag on the table and notes strewn about. “Hoon, I think you should change majors,” Jay sighed, his palm against his forehead.

Sunghoon chewed his straw nervously while the other reviewed his notes and practice exam. “Why? I thought I was good with my pre-med stuff,” he grabbed the paper from Jay’s hands.

“‘What do you call a row of stitches holding together the edges of an incision?’ was the question, Hoon.”

He looked it over. “I don't see what I did wrong.”

You peeked your head up from your notes, reading the question. “You wrote ‘satire,’” Jay deadpanned. Sunghoon cursed under his breath and erased the answer, writing suture in its place.

“Could've sworn I put suture for that,” Sunghoon mumbled. You pat his back reassuringly, a small frown on his face. “I think I'm just burning out, I've been studying all of this for so long. Jay, gimme your card, I'm gonna go buy us a round of espresso.”

Jay swatted Sunghoon’s reaching arm away. “Dude, no! Use your card, I'm not rich,” he scoffed.

“Oh my gosh, Jay, please,” you whined. “I'm so tired, I barely slept last night.”

Jay’s brow flew to the top of his forehead, the corner of his lip lifting. “Is it because of a certain librarian you stayed late to see?” He lightly punched your shoulder jokingly.

You held your shoulder and cried out in pain dramatically. “C’mon, Jay, you owe her now,” Sunghoon waved his fingers at Jay to make a grabbing motion. Jay sighed, rolling his eyes and giving the card to him. “First round’s on Jay!”

Sunghoon skittered off to the counter to order the drinks, leaving Jay to interrogate you further.

He scooted his chair closer to yours, his arms folded over his chest. “So,” he started, “what's the reason you were up all night?”

You squeaked nervously. He laughed, placing his hand over yours softly. “I was reading a book Jake said was good,” you almost whispered.

Jay shot backwards into his seat, letting out a loud gasp of shock and earning concerned stares from the rest of the customers. You shushed him, to no avail. He spun in his chair, calling out to his friend. “Hoon! Hoon!”

Sunghoon turned to face him with a scowl. “What?” He mouthed.

“She got the hot librarian’s name!” He shouted, not caring whose morning he disturbed.

Sunghoon ran out of line, sliding back into the chair across from you and resting his hand against his chin. “Soooo,” Sunghoon dragged out, “what's his naaaame?”

You shrunk into your seat. “It’s, um-”

“It's Jake!” Jay shouted, leaning over the table.

Sunghoon and Jay brought their hands together, ooh-ing in a high pitched tone as they wiggle their fingers. “Anything else happen? Did he hold the door open for you?” Sunghoon swooned at you.

You shyly laughed. “No, he just told me to read this book,” you blushed, pulling it out of your bag. “He told me what some of it meant, and it really helped!”

Jay flipped the book open to the folded corner, reading a paragraph quickly. He closed the book, furrowed his brows, reopened the book, re-read the paragraph, and turned to you, pointing at the pages as he let his mouth hang open. “He told you what this meant?”

You nodded, blushing. “I was a little embarrassed, but he was super nice about it,” you crossed your ankles and swayed slowly.

Jay shut the book and slid it into your bag, Sunghoon reaching in and pulling it out as he turned.

“Y/N, my dearest, sweetest, bestest friend,” he placed his hand on your shoulder with a smile. Suddenly, his grip turned hard, squeezing into your collarbone. “HE IS FLIRTING WITH YOU!” He seethed.

You swatted his hand away. “Then what do– ow, that actually hurts still– I do?”

Jay peacefully made a tent with his hands against the table. He blew his bangs out of his face, the brunette pieces flying upwards. “You go back there, and you ask him out,” Jay smirked evilly. “And then, you come back and relay everything to us.”

You nodded, saluting and grunting in comprehension.

Sunghoon gasped loudly, causing you and Jay to whip your heads to him.

He slammed the book against the table, scattering Jay’s highlighters and your pencils. “THIS IS A SEX BOOK?!” He shouted.

You blushed while Jay put his hand to his mouth in order to stifle his laughter. Sunghoon slowly turned to you, disgust apparent on his face. “You're such a nerd you read porn?”

“Hey, man. She reads it for the plot,” Jay snickered.

After your embarrassing exchange with your friends, you went back to the library to return the book (and stare at Jake). You held the book in front of you, sad to part with it. Jake had opened a door to a new world that you'd never heard of: the world of erotic romance books.

You blushed at the thought of the genre being his favorite. Swinging the door open, you took in the scent of paper, dust, and the slight hint of lavender you always caught when you walked in. Your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

Jake scanned a book at the counter for a woman, his long, black hair being accessorized by his usual pair of round, metal-rimmed glasses.

You watched silently from in front of the door as he performed such a melancholy task in such a charming way. The sleeves of his blue pullover came to the edges of his palm, his white turtleneck beneath covering his skin. You watched his pouty lips curve into your favorite smile, a slight wink being thrown to the older woman.

The woman slipped the book into her bag, giggling and walking towards the door. Jake’s eyes met your own, a happy wave being sent your way.

You felt yourself begin to melt at the sight.

You waved back, walking towards where he was standing. You placed the book into the counter as he smiled at you. He laughed lightly. “Guess it wasn't your cup of tea, seeing as you're bringing it back the next morning?”

You shook your head, “The opposite, actually. I finished it all last night, I just couldn't put it down!” You smiled.

Jake raised a brow, putting his elbow onto the countertop and resting his chin in his palm. “Yeah?” He asked with a thick accent. “What made it so enjoyable?”

This is the flirting Jay was talking about, you thought to yourself.

You bit the tip of your tongue, looking around the room in thought. What could you say to add to the flirting? You hadn't been in a serious relationship in years, you had little to no current experience.

“I guess I really liked the main character's chemistry with her boss,” you smiled at him, “and how he had a different side to his character that he only showed her.”

Jake nodded, leaning back and rocking onto the heels of his feet. He slid the book across the counter with a low whistle escaping his lips. “You're the first person I've met that tried to find something romantic in this book.”

You mentally facepalmed yourself. “Is that not what I was supposed to do? The writing was really good, I just-”

“Hey, hey,” he laughed. “Don't worry your pretty self over that, I think it's cool that you didn't just admire the smut aspect of the book,” he scanned the barcode on the back cover and placed the book onto a cart.

“I did enjoy that part a little, it just felt awkward to read,” you lied. You actually re-read that section of the book three times after finishing the book.

Jake’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip to wet it with a smile. He walked around the counter, pushing his book cart in the direction of the young adult section of the library.

You turned to walk to your usual corner of the library, ready to surrender this golden opportunity to your awkwardness. You took a step forward, spinning back around quickly as Jake coughed.

You made eye contact as his mouth opened to speak. “Can I have your number?” You blurted out.

Jake’s mouth shut with squinted eyes. Rejection.

“Can you read my mind or something?” He asked.

You shot him a confused look, a toothy grin splayed across his face. “I was-” He cleared his throat nervously, “I was just thinking about how I wanted to ask you to hang out after I close up, sorry if it came out weird.”

You felt clouds lift your feet, making them take even steps before landing in front of him with your phone out. He chuckled as he put his number into your phone. “Doesn't this place close late, though?” You asked.

He nodded. “It closes at nine, but if I'm being honest, fun never really happens until after dark.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking. He was not.

He shrugged, continuing to push the cart. “Just text me your address, I'll pick you up. I'll make sure it's a date that you'll never forget,” he smiled.

Your heart soared. It raced. It pounded. More importantly, it stopped. Time stopped. “Date?” You squeaked out.

He laughed, his ears turning red. “Yeah, I figured it should be a date. Don't wanna waste a good time with a pretty girl like you, y'know?” He scratched the back of his neck.

You nodded eagerly. “It's a date! What do I wear?”

“Just some comfortable clothes, you don't have to do much to impress me. I'll be wearing what I usually do, anyways,” he placed a book onto the shelf, examining the next book.

You walked to the cart, grabbing a book from the other side. “I know it's not very romantic, but can I help you put away the books? It might help you close faster,” you smiled.

He pulled the cuffs of his pull-over off of his hands. “I find it very romantic that you want to do the most boring part of my job with me, actually,” he joked.

That same lavender scent you would get hints of came flooding your senses as the two of you worked closely. You closed your eyes, taking a long breath. Jake smelled like lavender, and god, it made your knees weak.

Jay and Sunghoon, although strongly against the date, showed up to your place at seven sharp to help you get ready for it. “I mean, what kind of guy asks a kind and unsuspecting girl to go out after nine?” Sunghoon asked as he curled your hair.

He looked up into the mirror, eyes locking on yours. “A sex offender,” He released your hair from the contraption, waving the wand in the air as he spoke.

Jay groaned as he laid different outfit combinations across your bed. “For the tenth time, Sunghoon, he wouldn't be able to work at a public library if he was a registered sex offender!” Jay tapped his toes in thought before throwing a red shirt of yours onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor.

“Maybe he's not a sex offender yet,” Sunghoon replied, “but our little Y/N could end up being the body they find in the ditch.”

You sighed as Jay struggled to not throw a hard object at his friend. Sunghoon and Jay had been going at it since they arrived, Sunghoon erring more on the “worried mother” end of the argument.

“Sunghoon, stop worrying so much. He's super cute and sweet, he probably just wants to watch a movie or something,” you smiled.

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. “Let's recall what he said. ‘Wear something comfortable’, because tight clothes cause you to bleed out slower. ‘A date you'll never forget’, because you'll be dead by eleven.”

“‘I just want to have sex with you and then send you home at four in the morning,’” Jay commented. “You make it sound like she's going out with Michael Myers. Don't forget, Hoon, she already agreed to share her location with us in the groupchat.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running his fingers through your curls. “So we'll know what corner of the road her body ends up on, but what about her head?”

“Oh, God, you're going off the deep end,” you pressed your hand to your forehead.

You stood from the chair, doing a small twirl for the two. You had already done your makeup before the two arrived, but you were a lost cause with fashion and hair.

Jay clapped, his lower lip jutting out in an impressed expression. “Wow, Hoon. Maybe you should drop out of college and become a hairdresser,” he commented, earning a threatening jab with the hot iron from Sunghoon.

You unplugged the appliance, taking it from his hands and carefully placing it down. Jay held a shirt and skirt to your body, nodding for the other man to look at the combination.

Sunghoon patted the man on his back, a smile on his face. “See, if I had to send my only daughter off to possibly go missing, this is the outfit I think she'd want to go in.”

You walked out of your door at exactly a quarter past nine, Jake’s text message reminding you of a drunk message from Jay.

Hey um he uh, um out sigh in the blocker period sore we eve this cumster you we're, um using speech to text period

You figured it translated roughly to, “Hey, I'm here, I'm outside in the black car. Sorry if this comes to you weird, I'm using text to speech.” You just couldn't figure out where cumster could've come from.

You giggled as you sat in the car. Your purse clinked loudly with the pepper spray, pocket knife, seatbelt cutter, lockpick, whistle, and body reflectors Sunghoon wouldn't let you leave without.

You closed the door, turning to Jake. You audibly screamed when you saw the man in the front seat. He jumped, looking into the backseat and out of every window. “Shit, Y/N, what's wrong?!” He shouted, equally as scared as you.

You looked at him in disbelief. “Jake? Is that really you?”

The man who was sitting next to you was wearing a black wife-beater and baggy jeans with large tears at the knees, a small book pendant hanging off a gold chain. His body, now uncovered by layers of clothing, was covered by layers of ink. He had a paw print on his inner arm, the name Layla written inside of it, along with many music tattoos and smaller symbols across his arms and chest.

You looked down, noting that it seemed even his legs had art on them. His eyes followed yours, a small gasp leaving his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Guess I forgot to mention all that,” he smiled. “They're everywhere, but they all mean something.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. You may have painted him as a modest man, but you'd be lying if you said the Jake in front of you didn't make you feel butterflies. “They're pretty,” you commented, reading the tattoo on the side of his neck.

“Love is a great beautifier.”

Jake self-consciously ran his hand over it. “It's from Little Women,” Jake smiled softly.

“I love that book,” you commented, continuing to admire his look. His hair had fallen messily over his forehead, his glasses seeming to have disappeared.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Me too, actually. It's what got me into reading,” he looked forward as he put his seatbelt back on. “Look, if you find that I look too weird like this, I can put a jacket on or something-”

“No! I like it, actually. You look… good,” you blushed as you put your seatbelt on.

Jake reached his hand under your chin, lifting your head to look at him. “Look me in my eyes and say it again,” the corner of his lip lifted. “I want to see you say it, don't hide your face from me.”

You mumbled, “You look good.”

“I'll take it,” he smiled fully, throwing the car into drive and pulling into the road. “Just know, I don't let pretty girls hold their tongue around me.”

You looked out the window in an effort to hide your nervousness. Jake turned his radio on, playing a band you didn't know.

He started humming along to the song as it got closer to the chorus. He had a beautiful voice, which only added to your nervousness.

“Where are we going?” You asked, noticing a familiarity in the direction he was driving in.

He tested his elbow against his center console as he drove with one hand. “I figured I could take you to the library after hours, y'know? We'd be alone but it wouldn't be like you didn't know the place. I can show you my favorite spot, too.”

You shot a glance in his direction. “Jake, isn't it closed?”

“Yeah, and?”

“As in, we can't be there?”

“Yes we can,” he smiled.

You rolled your eyes. “If you're trying to break into a building, I think we should call this off.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he laughed, his accent shining through, “it's not breaking in.”

“Entering with a key doesn't count.”

“It does when you own the place,” Jake pulled up to a stop light, wiggling his eyebrows at you before laughing loudly. Your jaw was to the floor, an unreadable expression in your eyes. “I've never made it obvious that I owned it, because it was given to me by my grandmother when she retired, but I've owned it since I moved here. My cousin opens the place on weekdays while I go to college, but I close every night and spend the whole weekend there.”

“You'd have to live there to pull that off,” you rolled your eyes.

“I do,” he responded. “My place is right next to it.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Of course you're handsome, funny, good at singing, and you own a business.”

You felt his hand land on your leg, his fingers tapping rhythmically to the music. You turned to him, your eyes trailing up his arm. “You can continue,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

You lightly hit his arm, pointing to the road. “Light's green,” you turned to hide your blush.

Jake walked you into the familiar building, a small smile on his face as he pulled a projector from the office room. “Come and sit down, pretty girl,” he plugged a handful of cords into the device and turned it on.

You walked past the nonfiction shelves to see pillows forming small seats on the floor, a basket of movie snacks and drinks in the middle. Jake had thrown some last minute fairy lights into the mix, wrapping them around the seating area and putting some candles on the ground. “Jake, this looks amazing.”

He sat on a pillow before laughing and motioning to the other. You ran over, sitting down and immediately putting on a movie.

You didn't watch a single moment of the movie. Although Jake seemed immersed, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. Your eyes took in the slight shine against his skin from the movie, the light in his eyes looking like stars. You didn't miss the way he chewed his tongue when he got focused, or when his hair was blown awry by the air conditioner.

Your brain took a turn for the worse as a more romantic scene in the movie arrived. Your eyes raked over his exposed skin, feeling like a Victorian man who had just been introduced to short sleeves.

You looked at his tattoos, really looked at them, and saw countless music notes with small letters in them, a guitar, small pictures or animals, and a lot of book references. You never expected Jake to have been fully inked up, but you also never expected to find that as a huge turn-on.

You squeezed your thighs together to hide the fact that a simple doodle in perfectly smooth skin had put you in such a predicament. Jake turned to you, wrapping his arm around you and pointing to the screen. “See that actor?”

“Yeah, what about him?” You asked.

Jake let his hand fall onto your lap, turning to you. “Even he can tell you're not paying attention,” he pushed your hair behind your ear. “Wanna tell me what you like so much that you've been staring at me the whole time?”

You gawked. You geeked. You'd fumbled.

Jake slid his hand onto your back, and in a moment he was above you. “Tell me, sweetheart, what's so attractive that it's got you squeezing those pretty thighs so tight?”

You gulped, your thoughts having gone anywhere but where they should. He tapped his finger against your lip, a sinful smile on his face. “Your tattoos,” you whispered.

Jake leaned back, messily pushing his hair out of his face and laughing darkly. “You like my tattoos so much that you're getting wet over them?” He asked, looking down at you.

You nodded. “I like how cool you look, wanna see the rest.”

“You want to see the rest of the ones on me, sweetheart?” He asked in that thick Aussie accent you couldn't get enough of.

With a small squeak, you nodded again, feeling smaller than usual in his gaze. He looked at you the same way you'd assume a predator stared at its prey in its final moments, but you felt a strange sense of safety with him.

He slowly leaned in, his arms caging you in as he pressed his lips to yours. He held your hip with his large hand, his fingers gripping your ass while his palm held you down. He slid his thigh over your core, pressing into where you needed him most.

Your lips parted, letting out a moan. Jake swallowed it whole, sliding his tongue against your own slowly and sucking on your bottom lip. The two of you built a slow rhythm, his thigh grinding into you as you arched your back like clockwork.

His hand never left your hip, holding you in place to keep you victim to his torturously slow lips and thrusts. He loved every noise that left your mouth. Jake pulled away from you, his eyes taking in your wet, puffy lips. The two of you were breathlessly panting to catch your breaths.

His lips parted in thought. “Didn't think you'd be such a good kisser,” he mused. “Almost like you were made for my lips.”

You giggled, pushing him off you as he went to press more kisses to your lips. “Jake, I want to know more about you,” you whined.

“For one, I'm a really good kisser,” he wiggled his eyebrows jokingly as he settled back into his seat. His arms came behind him for support. He seemed to not worry about covering his obvious boner, leaning back and looking at the ceiling.

You hit his arm. “I know that already,” you fussed. “But, like, what are some hobbies of yours?”

He jut his bottom lip out in thought. “I play guitar,” he shrugged, “and there's nothing I love more than getting high and reading a good book.”

You blinked slowly, his eyes coming to yours with a smile. “What does being high even have to do with reading?”

“Makes the experience more realistic. Feels like you're there, you start feeling what the character feels and all,” he sighed. “I like to read romance books, though.”

You bit the back of your lip. “Does that really work?”

“Wanna try it?"

Jake had lit a joint for you, showing you how to hold it and even going so far as to hold it for you while he played with your hair.

The world started to move slower, certain colors waving in your vision. “Do you feel it?” Jake asked, running his hands through your hair. You nodded, looking around the room. “The rest’ll hit soon, just know I'm right here if you need me.”

He put his arm around your shoulders as he took his own hits, resting his head against your own.

He put the joint into a small ashtray, standing with you and grabbing one of the many books he'd brought into the soundproofed study room off a table.

The two of you read through it, laughing when one of you wouldn't be done with the page as fast as the other. Suddenly, the book began to describe a racier scene, one with hands all over the main character's body and kisses being pressed over her.

Jake watched you closely, taking note of how you squirmed in your seat every time the girl felt a new sensation. “What's wrong, Y/N?” Jake asked in a low voice, leaning into you. “You seem… worked up.”

You swallowed hard. “N-No! I’m just cold,” you lied. Jake clicked his tongue, closing the book and holding you by your thigh.

He used his hand to pull you closer, his lips connecting to your own. “Sure, sweetheart. I believe you,” he lied with a smirk. He glanced at your lips again before wrapping his fingers around your throat, pulling you in to continue his rough kiss.

A groan slipped from Jake's own throat, his body reacting before he could. He pulled away, his hand sliding up your closed thighs. “Not,” he continued, connecting your lips again. You opened your legs slightly, giving Jake the ability to use his hand and pry them open.

He ran his fingers up and down your clothed slit, just barely giving you the friction you craved. You felt how hard he was through his jeans, his crotch subtly grinding against your leg. He continued his assault against your lips, never once stopping for air.

You hit his chest, moaning into his mouth as he pulled away. “Jake, stop teasing me.”

“Oh, I'd never tease you, darling,” he responded with a mischievous grin. “Just wanted you to feel how good you're gonna feel with me.”

Jake took his hand off your skirt and brought it into your other hand. He brought his lips to your neck, biting down and tracing the marks with his tongue. You moaned out his name, making him groan lowly into your neck.

“I can't wait anymore,” he said as he stepped back and began unbuckling his belt. “I need to feel your throat around me.”

You stood, walking to be in front of him and pushing his back to the table. His breath caught in his throat as you sank to your knees in front of him. He hurriedly finished unbuckling his belt, reaching his hands to his waistband to pull down the rest of his clothing as you held his hand to stop him.

“Wait, Jake, are you sure about this? We're both high and in a study room in the library, what if the cameras pick up the noise?”

Jake leaned against the table behind him, his hands holding onto the edge of it at his sides. He looked at you with such an intense heat behind his gaze, you could feel the lust of it gathering into your underwear.

He slid a hand into your hair, pulling you to him and smashing his lips to yours. He brought his thigh outwards to catch your body between your legs. Your eyes shut at the feeling, the messy kiss fogging your brain.

“These rooms are sound-proof for two reasons. One, for studying or reading. And two, so I can fuck your throat as hard as I want.”

He released your hair, making you fall back to your knees. He pushed his pants and boxers down to his knees, giving you a grand view of his cock.

It was veiny, thick, and the tip was such an angry red that the precum leaking from it almost screamed for you to lick it all up. Without warning, you grabbed it and took it between your lips.

Jake threw his head back, a moan bouncing off the walls of the room. You heard him suck a breath in through his teeth as you sucked on the tip. You let your tongue glide over his slit, collecting his precum and swallowing it.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so good at this,” he moaned. Your wetness was dripping down your legs, you felt it. You moaned around him as you took more of him in with hollowed cheeks.

He held the sides of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Remember what I said, sweetheart. Wanna fuck your face, if that's okay.”

You hummed on his dick, giving him the go-ahead. He slowly began to thrust into your mouth, not pushing in all the way. When you began to bob your head further, Jake took it as his sign to go deeper.

He added more force and speed to his thrusts until you were taking him whole, each thrust hitting the bottom of your throat and making you gag around him. Your saliva was dripping down his balls and onto his legs as you used one hand to rub your own clit.

You were so close, but you wanted to wait until his cum was pouring down your throat to finish. “Such a good girl for me, so sweet for taking my dick down her throat,” Jake hummed, his eyes never leaving the sight. It all felt so good.

Jake’s legs began to shake as he let out more moans. Jake was not afraid to be loud, nor was he afraid to speak his mind. He constantly praised you between his little moans.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “‘M so close.”

You moaned against him again, his hips jolting forward. “Gonna make me cum down your throat like that, bet you want that don't you?”

His tip slammed into the back of your throat, his thrusts growing erratic. With each thrust he gave to the back of your throat, you circled your clit faster. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he groaned.

His hips stuttered to a halt, warm liquid spilling into your stomach. “Taking it so, so good,” he sighed, his hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. “Atta girl, my girl, so beautiful with my cock down her throat.”

You moaned as you felt your orgasm take over you, moans spilling around Jake’s cock and slightly overstimulating him. He thrusted one more time into you, a lazy smile on his face. He pulled out of you, watching bits of spit and cum dribble down your chin.

You looked like an absolute wreck, your hair messy and your mascara running with spit down your chin. Jake loved it. You looked stunning to him.

“Y/N, that was amazing. Thank you,” he pulled you up to sit you in a chair. He ran out of the room to get water for you, as he'd told you when he walked out.

Your eyes darted around the room. You opened your phone to see four missed calls from both Sunghoon and Jay.

You dialed Jay’s phone number, a groggy smile on your face. “Hey, what's up?”

“Y/N, are you still with Jake?”

“Yes, why?” You asked, stretching in the chair.

He sighed over the phone. “We've been waiting outside the library for half an hour, get the fuck in the car.”

“Jay, I'm capable of bringing myself home-”

“Y/N. Get out of there, now,” Jay said, his tone cold. “I don't know how to say this, but-”

“Jay, you can't control me. I'm an adult,” you rolled your eyes, pacing around the room. “If you're so uncomfortable with me dating someone-”

Jay interrupted you, saying a sentence you'd never think to hear about anyone, much less the guy you sucked off less than three minutes ago. His words had you quickly grabbing your belongings and running out of the building, hoping Jake didn't see you go.

“He’s wanted for murder, Y/N.”

notes: MURDER?? oh boy.. didn't see that one coming ;) expect the next part to be... Eventful. Originally, Jake was supposed to be a camboy, but I figured that possible criminal Jake would be better LMFAO. I reccomend listening to Arctic monkeys or chase Atlantic when you read this series.

tags: @heesitation @vizstars

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, and thank you for reading! stick around for part 2!!

[littlealienproducts]

AI and PDF Crochet Patterns

AI generated images can be great for inspiring projects, but most of the time it's used online to generate revenue for scammers and the like.

Just scrolling through Etsy rn looking for crochet patterns, I've come across several listings (some with false 5 star reviews to boost engagement/trust) where the patterns and images are clearly AI generated and people, unfortunately, have fallen for the listings.

Some of the images might look totally obvious to you, but to the untrained eye they can be convincing.

SOOO, how do you spot AI crochet patterns?

Look at the stitches. Are there pieces that don't seem to stitch into one another? Are the lengths and sizes inconsistent? Some are more obvious than others, but AI fails to replicate consistent textures.

Lighting and saturation. AI images often are vibrant and cartoon-ish. Especially the eyes of projects - usually this is a pretty good giveaway. Additionally, is the image smooth? What's in the background? Does it make sense?

Limited photos on listing. Most legitimate shops are going to have multiple photos of the finished project on the listing - AI is fairly advanced, but not the best at recreating exact images. Does the listing only have one photo? Does it have multiple but with variants between projects (that are meant to be the same)? Are there any videos?

Is it even possible? This can be tricky if you are new to crochet, but as above, take a moment to look at the stitches and the overall shape of the project. Does it look plausable? Especially if they projects say 'no sew'. Additionally, if you have already purchased the pattern - does it tell you how much material you need, and does it make sense? Does it tell you crochet hook size?

Legit photo but AI generated pattern. Sometimes the images are real - but they've been stolen from another creators account and the scam shop has simply asked AI (such as ChatGPT) to write up a crochet pattern. These are less obvious at a glance, but most reputable shops will have social media, consistent themes of crochet projects and reviews with pictures of finished products uploaded by customers.

6. Ok, but what if they use AI but the reviews seem legit? Crochet Baby Duck - this is an AI generated picture and pattern, and while the shop has posted several pictures of the finished project it is clear that it does not match up with the AI generated duck pictured in the listing. The hat, feet, and bill are all different sizes and this is even noted in some of the customer reviews. While this isn't as scammy as straight up using AI generated images/patterns without showing how the finished project looks - it is still taking away from legitimate pattern makers. Being able to design and execute good patterns is a skill, and the prices of legitimate patterns often reflect this. Why does the shop even use AI pictures if they post the real life projects anyway? Cus it drives traffic, and lets be real - the real life plush dolls look no where near as good as the AI images.

This is the same as the walrus - AI generated image and pattern, this is even endoresed by Etsy so you cannot rely on 'Etsy picks' being legitimate as they choose profits over morals.

These patterns are not just limited to Etsy, they are often on Pinterest or websites for 'free' to generate traffic and collect data (asking for your e-mail for the free pattern). Such as this Peacock Crochet IRL figure by u/Echo-o_0 on Reddit.

This is not just limited to crochet, I've seen it in sewing, knitting, and any other PDF downloads that you can purchase or get for free. Unfortunately, it is a simple way for people to make a quick but and face little to no consequences as their store *might* get deleted and even then, they can just start a new one up.

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[eveningalchemist]

Black Sails ended in 2017. Vine died in 2017.

Coincidence?? I think NOT!!!

[Video Description: a compilation of clips from Black Sails, with the audio replaced by Vines. transitions are a ship, the Walrus, exploding. a full description of each Vine is written beneath the cut. end ID]

I think we're gonna be friends kazoo kid vine over Silver and Flint in the we might be friends by then scene.

Screaming kid good morning vine over Joshua trying to jump scare Gates.

Don't fuck with me vine over Jack Rackham fighting for his first prize with another pirate captain.

The fuck this shit I'm out song over Silver watching Flint beat Singleton to death. Silver jumps overboard after.

The when will you learn vine over Max shouting at Eleanor during their break-up scene.

The yeet vine over Flint tossing Richard Guthrie's wig off the boat.

The free your mind vine over Vane's speech before he fights the logging camp leader. Fast-forward though the fight to Vane getting his face kicked in.

Sail! vine over a beautiful opening shot of the Walrus. A crew member shouts. Cut to the Walrus being blasted apart with cannon-fire.

Today I will be playing Mozart vine over Miranda about to play on her clavichord before being interrupted by Flint collapsing at her door.

Kitty! I want to sing you a song vine over various scenes of Randall and Betsy, the ship cat.

Do you ever want to talk about your emotions vine over Gates chastising Flint outside in Nassau, cut with Billy interrupting.

Gimme your fucking money vine over Eleanor arguing with a pirate crew, followed by Vane throwing Ned Lowe across his cabin, cutting to his warning sign that reads, I angered Charles Vane

Saw you hanging out with Katelyn yesterday vine over Billy confronting Dufresne about his betrayal, with pirates reacting in the background.

I am the sand guardian vine over Flint and Silver on the beach after the Walrus is wrecked, cutting to Dufresne walking away from them.

It is Wednesday my dudes vine over the island's Puritan priest practicing his sermon in a field looking distressed, overlaid with the scene of Miranda seducing him.

Barbecue sauce on my tittles vine over the scene of Gates and Flint drinking during the storm, with Gates giving a solemn speech. Cutting to Flint laughing drunkenly.

Welcome to Chili's vine over Anne going to Max's room, interrupted by Jack appearing while they are in bed.

Harry what's for dindin vine over a crew member walking up to Silver while he's giving his goings-on report. He punches Silver in the gut and Flint makes an 'oh' face.

Bop-It! vine over quick cut scenes of Jack, Anne, and Vane, including various fuck-you jack moments.

Welcome to my meet or greet vine over Colonel Rhett of Charlestown welcoming Flint into the city, unfriendly.

Dad look, it's the good kush! vine over Vane rolling a cigar, cutting to Blackbeard standing in his tent looking tired.

It's an avocado vine over Woodes Rogers receiving Eleanor's embroidery attempt.

Do you have any ice? vine over Thomas Hamilton explaining his plan to pardon the pirates to Flint, who looks baffled.

Somebody left an ice cube on the ground vine over Silver walking into Nassau's tavern to call-out the pirates for taking pardons. He hits Dufresne with a mug.

Get on top of the fridge vine over Flint yelling at Billy during the storm. Cut to Billy clinging onto a yard as the ship nearly capsizes.

Look at this graph vine over Silver trying to use navigation instruments and explaining them to Madi. Madi looks increasingly concerned.

Road work ahead? vine over Jack in Roger's carriage as they are approached by pirates on horseback. The carriage crashes.

You should get the orange soda vine over Eleanor and Max talking in her office after Eleanor's return from London. Eleanor is the orange soda woman and Rogers is the waiter.

Two bros chillin' in the hot tub vine over quick cuts of scenes of Silver and Flint, including sitting on the beach after the doldrums, staring at each other across a gap, and Madi in between them giving Silver a pointed look.

Release all of those sounds that are trapped in your mind vine over Vane talking to Eleanor while he's in prison. Cut to Eleanor screaming in the corner.

The fuck is in the air vine over Jack arriving in Boston and complaining about the snow.

I love you, bitch, vine over Vane getting punched by Eleanor, then getting a noose slipping around his neck as she watches.

It's finals week vine over Silver scenes across all seasons, from pleading his innocence in season 1, to getting his leg removed, to trying to save Muldoon from drowning, and then pulling a gun on Flint in the final episode.

[cursedmoon-doll13]

If It Serves You.

(Headmaster!Severus Snape x Reader)

Cw: Non/Dubcon + Aftermath, Afab Reader, Dark-ish Snape, Unprotected Sex, Powerplay, Sex as Bargaining, Facefucking, Crying, Fingering, Creampie, Begging, Degradation (use of slut) and Praise, Reader calls Snape ‘Headmaster,’ Former Student Reader, Mentions of Torture/Child Abuse, Denial of Feelings.

READ WITH CAUTION

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: As a professor of Hogwarts, your past ambitions, your fragile hope and unrelenting diligence have all led to nothing. Now, you are powerless beneath the rising force of He Who Must Not Be Named and his army of Death Eaters. The only thing left you have to give is your pride; your weak and vulnerable body.

Or, you beg the new headmaster to show mercy to your students in exchange for sexual favours.

Dividers by @/saradika

Of course, there was no pressing need to check and recheck the potions’ storage. Certainly no need to catalogue it twice. You did almost it out of instinct, or force of habit. Yes, It’s healthy to maintain a routine, including routine inspections, just like- just like-

“Professor ___,” comes a gruff voice from behind. In your nervous state, you imagine it is a Carrow, and freeze in panic. “Why are you here?”

You whirl around. No. It’s Professor Slughorn.

“Oh,” you straighten your robes. “Horace. I was just taking inventory.”

“Were you? I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” He says brusquely.

“Of course, of course you can.”

Your voice carries the same placid, appealing tone with which you’ve used to calm your pupils. You wince at the sound of it. Then, his expression loosens. Not immediately, but little by little, settling into the creases and wrinkles of stress and age. His walrus moustache droops into a familiar frown.

“I’m… I’m very sorry, ___,” he says. “Whenever I leave my storage unattended for too long, I take this terrible notion that some very bright and brilliant student is going to brew a polyjuice potion. Heh.”

His laughter rings rather hollow.

“Yes, those were my thoughts exactly,” you concede, heaving a sigh. “It would be so simple. Not for all of them, but some of our best could do it. And then they would make a reckless attempt at escaping, or even try to impersonate one of those Death…”

You stop yourself, and peer carefully into his face.

You’ve noticed how Horace has visibly deflated, how he has lost his colour over the past few months. How could you not? You would never accuse the Slug of being slovenly, but you’re well aware that beneath all the powder his eye-bags are as sunken as yours.

“It is unfortunate that one of my… One of our best…” It seems that he cannot finish his sentence. Nonetheless, you know who she is.

“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” Professor Slughorn mutters idly. “Very unfortunate…”

He’s fiddling with a ring on one liver-spotted finger. His lips purse periodically, as if a throb in his temple is threatening to burst.

“Horace, It’ll all be alright,” you try to reassure him, knowing you cannot guarantee this.

The only response you receive is a distant nod. He does not stop fussing over his ring. Then, he turns abruptly stony again:

“Well, then,” he says. “You’d best be on your way.”

He dismisses you as curtly as he would a student, but you don’t protest. You know that when you leave, he will pacify his anxiety with a sleeping draught.

As you exit the dungeon and traverse the silent halls, the early winter chill rattles straight through your bones. It seems that Hogwarts grows colder each passing day; colder and emptier. Even when teaching, your classroom is as quiet as death.

Alchemy has never been a popular elective, and now you are down to very few students. Some had also disappeared completely over the Summer, mostly those without Pureblood status or families to support them… You try not to ponder too deeply on it. For their sake - and perhaps also for your own - you keep it together.

Yes. You must stay stubborn and strong. Especially considering what you are about to do now.

You shiver in your thin robes outside of the Headmaster’s office. The griffin sentinel glares haughtily down at you, and for a second you fancy it alive, judging you guilty for some crime. Thinking this, You glance this way and that, wary of onlookers. 

But all of the students are asleep; or at least, they should be. Most of your coworkers have also retired for the evening. You here stand alone. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Sugar Quill.” Your voice echoes eerily. 

The griffin does not budge. The new headmaster has changed the password, of course. You suspected as much, but it was still worth attempting.  

“Amortentia,” you try next. No response. 

You shift, acutely aware of how ridiculous you must appear; a Hogwarts professor stumped by a statue. 

“Polyjuice. Veritaserum. Bezoar… Asphodel.” 

Nothing. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you huff, already spiked with tight, uneasy tension. “It was so much easier when Dumbledore…”

A low, heavy rumble breaks your train of thought as the spiral staircase emerges. You quickly mount it and climb upwards, boots clattering on the rising stone. It gives way to a large study lined with bookshelves.

You’ve made it into Dumbledore’s office. 

Except it is no longer his. You must remind yourself of this fact often, and each time it stings, like a tiny pricking thorn ingrown into the heart. The study is far draughtier than you remember; devoid and bereft in the absence of Fawkes.

No, Albus is not here. Instead, what scowls over at you from behind the Headmaster’s desk is the unmistakable face of Severus Snape, and he does not appear pleased to see you.

“Kindly inform me why you are in my office.” His voice is slow and measured, but you can sense the venom lurking underneath. 

“I don’t remember ever giving you the password,” he continues, alighting from his chair. “Or have you picked up that nasty eavesdropping habit from one of our pupils?” 

He spat that last word as if it was a curse. 

“No, Severus,” you say quickly. “I guessed it.” 

Severus. Or Professor Snape. But now…

You think you catch him pale ever-so-slightly, or perhaps that is the dim lighting of the room, casting dark, creeping shadows across the floor. While there has never been a cordiality or warmth to your relationship, you recognise that you have been spared the worst of his barbed hostility.

Before now, that is; now, the distance between you is far too great. 

“Did you now?” He sneers.

In response, you draw up, mindful not to appear challenging as you tip your chin. 

“I’m here because I have a proposition for you,” you announce clearly. “I hoped you would be reasonable and hear me out.” 

Snape’s eyes narrow icily and suddenly you are in his Potions class again, overseen with strict authority. One wrong move, and the concoction will spoil and poison you. His black robes billow as he approaches, expanding like the hood of a cobra. 

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me,” he says, folding one shrouded arm over another. “And so there is nothing to discuss. Leave.” 

Your nerves are strung so tight, you can’t help but object: “The Carrows are far too cruel in their methods! Too brutal. The students-” 

“Are very fortunate to have been granted mercy by the Dark Lord,” Snape interrupts, and you swallow thickly. Of course, you could not have forgotten the festering dark mark that now itches underneath his robes, writhing and serpentine.

“But it isn’t enough,” you say, throat sandpaper dry. A rush of urgency floods your system. Now. It needs to be now, before you lose your courage. 

(A gash on the cheek, a row of dark-purplish bruises and welts, a swollen eye, whippings and burns, scars from chains, all so frightened, but brave still.)

“If you agree to grant my students your protection,” your voice falters. “I will give… Myself to you.”

The silence that follows is agonising. His expression is indecipherable; taut and stiff. You’re beginning to think that maybe you weren’t transparent enough. 

Your trembling hands drift towards your top buttons, and you start to undo them bit by bit. 

“Stop,” Snape orders. 

At this, you freeze. Your heart plummets starkly into your intestines. Oh. You hadn’t even considered that he would - or could - reject your offer. You fear you may have tipped the bubbling cauldron over and left it melting through the carpet. As you linger numbly, Snape’s tongue darts between his lips. Light flashes behind his stern black eyes. 

Perhaps he’s considering it, perhaps… 

“Come here,” he says sharply. You obey. 

Shuddering in the winter chill, you watch the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, the twitch of his lids as his gaze dips steadily downward… Snape’s forefinger comes to brush the fabric from your shoulder, his knuckle grazing your collarbone, and your pulse quickens anew. 

“I’ll do anything,” you plead. “Please, Severus.” 

“You will refer to me as ‘Headmaster,’” he corrects.

“Headmaster…” 

You suck in a shaky breath. Standing this close to him, you can make out the lilac rims of his sunken eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

He’s tired… The thought springs to mind, unbidden. 

The hand that tends to the rest of your buttons is not rough, but the coldness of his touch makes you flinch. Snape pulls down your outer robes in one swift motion, and you can’t help but gasp. Your nipples perk from the chill, skin prickled with goosebumps. Underwear was unnecessary, and though you knew that from the start, you are stripped so quickly it still leaves you cringing. He moves to fondle your breasts, and your breathing shallows. You stare desperately towards the floor, towards some old, faded tea stain.

“Fall on your knees, ___,” he tells you. 

You kneel quickly in front of him, and he moves to cup the nape of your neck. You don’t need to be instructed; you do your best to steady your hands and unfasten the button over his crotch. You nudge out his dick, and see that he’s already half-hard. 

Before he changes his mind, you spit into your palm and use it as lubricant as you get to work jerking him off. You can feel him watching you, silent and still. This situation is completely wrong, all wrong, but the awkwardness of it is almost juvenile. 

“___,” he calls above you. You stiffen. You know that cautionary tone. “If you have enough cheek to wag your tongue at me, you can also use it for this.” 

You nod faintly, licking your lips. Of course, you should have prepared for this, too, but you have barely even steeled your nerves. Hesitant, you lean forward and run your tongue along the shaft, tracing a vein. Your movements are practically mechanical; dispensing small, kitten licks over the tip, continuing to stroke him. This is now a kind of out-of-body experience for you, the sort of bizarre circumstance you can only encounter in a very strange dream. 

But then, Snape decides your next course of action for you, clutching your jaw and muffling your whimpers as he sinks into your mouth. 

A teardrop falls softly onto your chest, and it only occurs to you now that you’re crying. You gag out a sob as the tip of Snape’s cock hits the back of your throat, unable to prevent loose spit from dribbling down your chin. Above you, his breath hitches. 

“Open your eyes,” he demands. 

You didn’t know you had closed them; squeezed them tightly shut. You peek up at his pale face. 

His pupils are blown wide, almost entirely black. Snape forbids you to keep eye-contact with a firm grip over your head, and you gag again as he rocks his hips. You clutch his thighs for purchase while he fucks your face, tears streaming down your cheeks. For distraction, you try to focus on him, and his pleasure-stricken expression lulls you in like hypnosis; the tightness of his lips, his dark brows slightly furrowed, the minute twitches in his jaw. 

Snape’s thrusts begin to stutter, but he tightens his hold on you and forces you to take all of him. He drags in a sharp intake of breath, and warm, slightly bitter cum pools onto your tongue. 

“Swallow it. All of it.” 

You gasp for air, gulping it down hastily. 

“You'll be getting used to the taste of me. Stand.” 

Snape urges you up and steers you over to his table. Before you can blink, you’re whirled around and caged against his desk. The edge of it cuts harshly into your naked thighs, and you yelp. You can feel his long black hair sweep over your neck, a sensation that is almost ticklish. Snape yanks down your robes and they fall limply around your boots. Now, you are truly exposed, shivering and naked. The only source of warmth is his body heat pressed into your back, the starched, dark fabric of his clothing. 

His cool hand dips around and feels down your stomach, and your breath hitches as Snape unexpectedly plunges several fingers into your pussy. You shock yourself with how slick you are, mortified at the way he tsks behind you:

“Little slut. Is this what you’ve always wanted?” Snape hisses into your ear, spreading the pads of his fingertips over your labia, teasing your clit. 

“Yes!” You choke out. 

“Yes, Headmaster,” he pinches your clit warningly and it feels like an electric shock. 

“Yes, yes Headmast- ah…!” 

He starts to rub in rough, merciless circles, and you immediately try to stifle a cry against your wrist. Snape rips it impatiently from you. 

“Don’t even try to deny it. I can feel how wet you are.” 

It’s surely not the truth. Surely, you tell yourself... 

One long, deft forefinger slips into your slit and pumps steadily in and out. You let out a soft moan, unable to resist the quivering thrill that coils in your abdomen. You didn’t realise he would even try to prep you, and, against your will, you feel some of your fear dissipate. 

“You think I didn’t notice, did you?” He scoffs. “Always so desperate for my attention, always clamouring for a better grade.” 

Memories of your seventh year at Hogwarts resurface and spiral dizzily in your head. The newest, youngest professor, but strict and competent, and— 

Dark, sweeping cloak, black hair, black eyes… 

I even once wished I could brush away the strands…  

Then he retracts his fingers, slowly, torturously, You hate how you yearn for his touch in its absence, how you crave the buzz to smother your discomfort. 

Snape bends you cleanly over the polished table, your still damp breasts pressing into the hardwood. He traces a long, thin finger down your back, tracing languidly across your spine; you could almost believe his touch is tender. Almost. Instinctively, you try to turn your head to face him, but he denies you with a firm hand gripping the base of your neck. You whimper as he lathers cold precum on your thighs, positioning his straining dick over your entrance:

“…Or was it praise you were hoping for?” His voice is low and subdued. Snape’s breath fans over you, and for a moment you falter.

No, of course you don’t expect— 

No, not from Professor Snape. Only your best was acceptable. To elicit a nod of approval, or even a commending glance, you couldn’t possibly hope—

“Headmaster, I— I only ever wanted you to…” 

“Beg for it,” his tone sharpens again. 

Snape slips the tip of his cock inside your folds. But then, he stops, and does not move. You are trapped between his desk and him, left pitiful and squirming. 

“Headmaster,” you say weakly. “Please.” 

“Please what, ___?” 

You grit your teeth, still bristling at the indignity of it all. But you know that, whether he’s enjoying himself or not, Snape has the patience to wait this out. 

“Please, fuck me!” you plead.

You gasp as he grips your thighs and slides himself in further with a lewd, wet sound. Your walls stretch around him as you adjust to his length. He groans softly and rolls his hips, sinking deeper into your cunt, until you’re utterly full of him.

Despite it all, it feels sinfully good, but his movements are so sluggish that you can’t help but whine pathetically into the wooden table. 

“And what exactly is it that you’ve always wanted?” 

What I always wanted, when I was in Potions class… 

“For you to p-praise me, Headmaster.” 

In an instant, you realise this is true. Deep down, you have always hoped for his sole attention… And now he’s invading that dark, primordial world in between, spurring on those secret and forbidden desires you should never have conceived. 

Snape slowly pulls out, dragging every inch of his cock, and then snaps his hips back in, briefly hitting that sweet, sensitive spot that has you seeing stars. 

“Please!” You add, letting out a shrill moan. 

“And do you? Do you want this…?” 

He mutters so quietly, it almost sounds like he’s begging you. Snape’s pace is set now, rocking powerfully into you as you fill the air with loud, desperate whimpers. 

“I do!” You breathe, mind-numbingly uncertain. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore if you want it or not; the sensation is so overbearing and so ruthless, unforgiving and unfair, just like him. You’re barely cognizant of the arms that curl around your naked waist, almost embracing you, until they provide cushioning against the sharp desk. 

“You take me so well,” he murmurs, “So well.” 

Your head spins, threatening to give up on you completely. You could never have predicted such a drastic change in demeanour. The way he’s treating you now is so different from his earlier cruelty; his affectionate caresses might be almost loving. 

“So tight, so good for me…” He groans again, heavily, and the vibrations thrill up your spine as he spears you on his dick. “You’re doing perfectly.” 

He kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, sighing blissfully. You can feel the spiking thrum of Snape’s heartbeat, the soft touch of his lips on your neck, kissing reverently over your shoulder blade. You wish you could just see the expression on his face, if you could only see Severus for one moment…

“Headmaster,” you pant, craning your head. 

“Don’t,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t look at me.” 

Snape doesn’t relent, forcing you firmly in place with a hard squeeze on your shoulder. There’s something thick and vulnerable in his voice that you can’t place, but all you can respond with is a needy cry as he speeds up, angling his thrusts just right. You can feel the familiar shock of pleasure coiling up in your belly now, surging from how deep he reaches. 

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I?” He snaps without warning, bursting with emotion again. You can only nod frantically in response.

“Yes, yes, Headmaster!” You sob, your eyes stinging with tears again.

Snape’s movements only grow stronger, his breathing heavier and huskier. His fingernails are digging small, half-moon indents into your skin. You don’t try to stifle the wanton moans that spill from your lips anymore, clawing for purchase at the wood. 

“___… When you cum, you cum for me.” 

Uncontrollably, you arch into the table. Your leg is cramping up from the exertion, muscles pulled taut, and you’re going to, you’re going to—

Your orgasm drowns the rest of your thoughts in static, white, hot bliss that smothers you. Snape shudders and moans as he buries himself to the hilt, pumping you full of his seed. His black cloak sweeps over you as he pulls out, far too soon, leaving you quivering and dripping with his cum.

The last, mangled strands of lucidity swim hazily in your mind. It takes a moment for you to remember why you were here at all.

After a few seconds, he releases you from the confines of his desk without a word. You bend down and hoist the ring of fabric up past your hips again, though your skin is sticky and damp. After a deep, shaky breath, you dare to glance at Snape. 

There’s a thin sheet of sweat beading his forehead. Snape helps you pull your robes over your shoulders. He silently fastens your buttons back up again for you, and his touch is surprisingly gentle. You don’t rebuff him. Your hands are trembling enough as it is. 

“Promise me that you’ll…” You halt.

Your vision is still blurry, but you could swear he looks like the old Severus. Not the figurehead or the professor, but the man. The Severus you once knew. 

There’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t understand, and maybe you never will. 

You’re so dead tired you can barely drag your feet back to the staff’s living quarters. You wake Minerva— or, no, she is already occupied by her usual routine of restless pacing, tugging at her tartan dressing-gown. While she does interrogate you a bit crossly, you can tell she empathises with your ‘insomnia.’

After that you gulp down a contraceptive and stumble into bed, boneless and weary. You don’t cry at all, though you feel that you probably should.

In a way, you’re glad that Minerva doesn’t appear concerned or worried for you. That means she hasn’t found out. There was a persistent paranoia in the back of your mind that she had, that Minerva had seen or heard or sensed it somehow.

You wonder if she’d feel disgusted, or if she would simply pity you. Maybe that would be worse.

You flick your wand and flush out the light.

No. No one needs to know what you’ve done.

A month passes. The grip of winter releases its hold, and spring emerges in its wake, fresh and pure. It’s as if you can finally breathe again.

You hope that you do not imagine the way your student’s faces regain some semblance of warmth. You hope you do not imagine the unmarred bodies, mercifully free from wounds. You also hope that it is not their own schemes or plans that embolden them.

They should leave those matters to you.

Somehow, it feels like the nightmare is almost over. But not yet. Not yet. You still await your orders, and nurse lofty dreams of freedom in your heart.

When night falls, you strip off your underclothes and climb the spiral staircase once more. It is not excitement that tightens your chest, but it is also not dread. Perhaps something else you also do not understand, and cannot afford to think of now.

Headmaster Snape is standing by his desk. You realise he’s been waiting for you. He has that strange, mystifying look in his eyes again.

He offers you a hand.

“Come here,” he says.

[yeyinde]

oh my god, i was just rewatching mandela catalogue when i remembered you were into horror. and adding to my brainrot, i just had the biggest (worst?) idea shoot straight into my head, and i thought:

what if— doppleganger/skinwalker au! for the 141?

a mix of horror and just that feeling of are you truly who you say you are? or is it just another trick in your mind when he touches you oh so carefully, saying sweet nothings but the look in his eyes says otherwise?

goddddd i love analog horror! i haven't seen the Mandela Catalogue, but i'm huge fan of LOCAL58 and Midwest Angelica so i'll def add it to my list!

i really love this idea!!! i could do something similar to the concept art for Toothsayer by Tanya Tagaq—a walrus with a brain floating above it's head, attached by these tentacle-things. you're the only one who can see it, though. this mass clinging to them like a leech. but then the thing— the brain, the mass—opens its eyes and stares at you.

but i've also been kinda wrapped up in the winter soldier au, so maybe a doppelganger version of that would be fun!

like, maybe they go missing in the mountains and you mourn them, visit their empty graves. but on the anniversary of their disappearance, you visit the mountain they went missing on, staying in a hunter's pass/cabin.

the forest is strange. it makes you uncomfortable. you close the curtains over the windows and pretend it's just to keep the chill from getting in, and not the prickle on the nape of your neck that sometimes rears when you know you're being stared at. odd things. unexplainable things, but you make excuses for them, anyway.

until there's a sound in the dead of night. a familiar smell on your pillow. you call out into the dark, but nothing answers you back. just the muted rustle of bushes in the opposite direction of the wind. another excuse: elk. moose. bear. you close the door but it has your voice now.

(you try not think about that. why did you think about that? the thought is foreign and wrong in your head, and you can't deny that it doesn't sound like your own. it chisels in like a pickaxe, something else whispering into the hole—)

there's a knock on the door next. something says not to answer it. leave it. hide. run—

you move to the sound like a moth to a flame, and pretend there's surprise when you see that it's him.

he doesn't speak for a long time, just stands there and stares. but when he finally does, you wish he hadn't because what he says is this:

"did you miss me?"

but it comes out like a cartoonish ransom note. cut up words from a magazine glued down on the page. strung together in sequence but they don't belong. something is missing.

did you. miss me. it's said in three different tones. terror. fear. anger. a recording spliced together.

and that—

that scares you to your core. chills you to the bone.

but it's him.

and when he says let me in—firmer this time, sounding more like himself now (excuses, excuses—he was missing for so long; he's thirsty, he needs to something to drink—)— you step to the side and let it (him him him) pass.

he's back, after all. he finally came home. grief and shock and the cold are all just getting to you. you just need to lay down, he wants you to lay down with him. tugs you toward the bedroom on fawnlegs, stumbling around the room like he forgot how to walk. come, he says. sleep, sleep—

everything will be fine in the morning.

(just ignore the way he walks. talks. and how he stares at you sometimes with a naked, primal hunger on his face like he's trying, with all his might, not to tear you apart—)

[yearningaces]

As someone who is a sucker for different styles of courting between monsters and a very oblivious human I'll provide a early morning thought

Say you've moved to a new town that's more supernatural than human, you quickly gain a good friend out of a large selkie named Gale.

Gale is a bit of a big guy, soft and warm with a healthy layer of soft fat to keep him warm in the colder climate of the town. Dark scruffy hair and dark eyes but when you told him he's your favorite person to hug cause he's always warmer than most and he's soft? Oh the brightest blush. See, you've essentially told him you think the most of 'him'. That he specifically makes you comfortable and 'Warm'.

Warmth is a big thing for selkies. Their seal skins are the only thing that keeps them warm. Even in human form with the seal pelt wrapped around them it somewhat keeps them warm. Most selkies are chubby or fatter than other species as that's what keeps them the warmest given the cold nature without their pelt on. So you telling Gale that he makes you warm?? Well... How were you supposed to know that's what a bonded pair of selkies would only say to one another... And he doesn't even realize you don't understand you've essentially told him one of the most important things selkies might confess to each other.

So imagine your confusion once you wake up in the early of the morning and he's outside of your little home, hammer and nails and a few stray boards, leveling the next wooden board he's replacing. When you ask what he's doing he just looks up to you with the brightest smile, saying that he had some spare wooden boards and your porch needed some replaced.

And you thank him by making breakfast and bringing it to him, sharing food... Another thing you're unaware are important to courting and eventually bonding with a selkie. And Gale is so excited for food in a way you haven't seen him before but you give him a hug, not noticing how wide his smile is or how warm his face is.

Or how on another morning you go down to the shore to see a large walrus lounging on the shore, when the walrus sees you it shuffles over, hopping somewhat, happily so. And you know this is Gale, you've seen his other form before. Happily you sit down as he shuffles over and sets his head in your lap. Careful to now crush or hurt you with his tusk.

After some time of lounging he looks out to the sea and moves into the water. You're watching the cold waves from your spot in the sand until Gale comes back to the shore, a decent sized fish in his mouth and he brings it to you. And another one. And another one. Eventually you devolve into a laughing mess at this giant walrus bringing you fish after fish.

Gale for his part might have forgotten you can't eat lots of raw foods, or have no way to prepare the fish to your liking on the shore, but the sight of you laughing so happily makes it all worth it. And he's seeing this as you accepting his next courting step of proving he can provide, after showing he can keep your home safe and comfortable.

It all comes to a head when you invite Gale over for supper one night. There's a new horror movie, a trilogy of the series and you both decided to watch the entire series that night. He comes to your door with drinks and a gift and a bright smile, greeting you with a big hug first.

Cooking is fun as always, you begin and he quickly tries to help and it ends up with him trying to do it all for you if you don't smack his hands away. It's a back and fourth and ends with good food.

While you're getting the plates and drinks ready to bring to the living room, Gale sneaks away to fix up the couch.

When you go to the living room, tray in hand, he greets you, taking the tray and setting it on the coffee table and showing the very cozy setup he's very proud of. Gale has found almost every pillow and blanket and has made the softest arrangement for the two of you to lounge in. To you, this is a sweet gesture.

To him? This is his way of proving he can keep you comfortable and safe and Warm.

So his elation when you're both bundled up is a bit confusing but sweet, you don't mind.

You both enjoy the food and the movies and you're bundled up, full and settled together.

Gale finally wraps an arm around you, slowly pulling you closer with a happy little sigh once you're settled against him. And of course you lean into his larger form cause he's warm and is good to hug and cuddle.

Eventually though, in his quiet mutterings you realize he's saying very sweet things, sweeter than what a friend usually would. Which sparks you to ask what he means, which begins the conversation of 'did you not know I've been courting you??' Verses 'what in the world are you talking about?'

Once actually calmly having this discussion he explains all of the things he's been doing, both cause he likes helping you and seeing you happy, also because it's something of an instinctual situation for him to want to prove to you that he can keep you happy, fed, safe, comfortable, and emphasis on Warm.

Gale has been courting you, in a romantic way, wanting to see if becoming a bonded pair would be possible with you. Neither of you realized each other's species has different ways of handling romantic courting.

Knowing this though, and knowing how you feel about Gale, quietly you ask him to lean down towards you.

Hesitantly he does with a confused but hopeful expression.

And really as soon as you pressed a kiss to his cheek did you learn just how bright red his face could blush

[bogleech]

i keep wanting to draw anthro maggots but they end up looking like beetle larvae instead- any ideas on how one might stylize a maggot person to make it a little more distinctly A Maggot? it's especially hard to me bc maggots are like THE MOST featureless insect larvae.... which i suppose counts as a defining feature in and of itself- but i dunno. im mostly just curious to hear your approach!!!

Yeah beetle grubs, caterpillars and a lot of other insect larvae have armored heads with complete jaws structures as well as six little legs, plus they often have a defined looking "top" and "bottom" with ridged and wrinkles almost like they got soft armored down their back

But maggots are weird! They streamlined EVERYTHING down to where they have no legs at all, not even vestigial ones, and their body segments almost evolved towards something like radial symmetry by being the same all the way around!

Then there's the fact that they sort of lost most of a "head." Not only is there no exoskeletal cranial case (bug skull) to protect it but there are no jaws and never any eyes; there's just a little hole for drinking liquefied food, a pair of tusk-like hooks for gripping surfaces, and a pair of eye-like knobs that are actually chemosensory (noses)

The weird, tiny walrus-face is totally unique! They don't have any chewing mouthparts because they only need to "drink" the particles of rotting matter they live on, and like adult flies, they help this along by secreting digestive enzymes!

Maggots also have these very distinct, furry looking bands at every segment, which help them grip surfaces like a tire tread or the sole of a shoe. If you compare this photo with the one above you'll also notice how the segments can retract in and out like a telescope!

The last special thing about common maggot anatomy is that they are technically semi-aquatic animals, because maggots evolved to be buried head-first completely in their own food as much as possible and rotten corpses are WET. In order to breathe, maggots have a pair of breathing spiracles on their rear ends, which they try to keep exposed to the air!

There are exceptions to all of this, though; there are species that can be fully aquatic, fully terrestrial, herbivorous, parasitic or predatory, and some ancient fly groups (including mosquitoes!) whose larvae still have fully armored heads and even eyes. Everything above is universal to the maggots you find in rotten stuff though, so what most people think of when they hear the term :) When I designed a hybrid human and blowfly maggot for the Mortasheen setting I deliberately made it look like a doofy cartoon Walrus, and I gave its segments large spines that can be seen in some parasitic maggots, including botflies:

And when I made a maggot character for my webcomic Awful Hospital I designed her like a little spacesuit or a parka (the resemblance to Kenny was an accident)

Actually I don't think I ever shared this most recent "main artwork" of Maggie. I don't know what idea inspiration any of this might provide but basically a maggot is a prickly living sock with fangs. Or I guess from a design and engineering perspective, a maggot is a biological drill. The tiny end starts a hole, the rest of the body is just a flaring cone perfectly equipped to keep making the hole deeper.