#it must be because he grew that beard

[badoccultadvice]

If you think that astrology is fake because your newspaper horoscope was wrong, remember that Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer. It's not astrology's fault that it got murdered.

[pupucachi]

TOUDEN SIBLINGS PT. IV - DAYDREAM HOUR EXTRA & 5 - RYOKO KUI

Incidentally, the reason why Laios looks so tidy is because at one point he grew out his hair and beard, but Falin mentioned that he was starting to "look a lot like Dad". Due to the mysterious abilities she was born with, Falin was shunned by the other villagers. Cognizant of the role he must serve as village chief, her father got her out of the village by enrolling her into the magic academy. Luckily for her, Falin never really noticed the fear and antipathy the other villagers held toward her. Though she understands the anger Laios harbors toward their parents for expelling her from the village, Falin hopes that one day her older brother and their parents will be able to mend the rift between them.

[mac-tirs]

the not-insignificant differences between the omen twins

so, i saw this picture posted by @amanaci which inspired me to write this rather lengthy piece on the contrasts between morgott and mohg. i decided that, instead of dumping this whole think-piece on their post, i'd make my own separate post and ramble here.

this difference in their height really tracks for how their fighting styles and personalities are like, i feel. i always found it peculiar how different they are despite being twins; i feel like there's a rather stark resemblance between miquella and malenia in their soft-faced features, pale skin, and long flowing hair, and a close resemblance between the carian siblings with their red hair, but morgott and mohg are rather different from each other, only bearing similarities due to their omen nature. i looked a little bit into that and found that there's pretty good reasons behind why.

firstly, morgott is severely malnourished and unhealthy in comparison to mohg. you can see it in his body and how his skin sags, how his ribs and bones show, and how dry it looks. below is a comparison between his hands and mohg's hands.

morgott's hands are dry, almost rubbed red and raw around the knuckles and fingers. it reminds me a little of psoriasis, or some kind of skin discolouration caused by his poor health. it's likely he isn't eating well, or at the very least, he isn't eating as well as mohg. his twin, on the other hand (ha!), has shiny, veiny skin with a healthy colour and gleam to them. it's like he wants to call to attention how well moisturised he is (which, in this case, compared to morgott, he is).

above is a comparison between the twins' horns. the difference is extremely evident to me; morgott's horns are dry, almost seeming brittle, like sun-dried bone that hasn't seen rain or moisture in years. it reminds me of the horns of a very neglected ram, almost, but despite that, the horn growths seem more controlled, less like the wild growths all over the royal omens of the shunning grounds and more controlled as a sort of jutting crown from mainly one side of his head. meanwhile, mohg's horns are shiny, curling wildly to the point of injury, taking his eye in its path of growth. they grew wildly enough to replace his hair altogether, if he ever had any, and give him an even more imposing silhouette with a literal crown of horns (and a beard to boot). beyond this, his horns look healthy, with clearly defined rings to each growth that shine under the light, much like the rest of him. he's oiled leather to morgott's dry hide.

another somewhat interesting detail of morgott is his tail. i know a lot of people see it as soft, and it certainly looks the part, but what i find interesting are two things: the first being that his fur looks quite matted in some lightings and angles but overall looks soft to the touch, and the second being that his tail's horns look much healthier than his own horns on his head. this is in clear contrast to the rest of his body, which looks dry and unassuming with smatterings of coarse white hair up and down his body, and i believe its a matter of the limits to his own self-care. he utilises his tail as another weapon in his arsenal, so he cares for it that it might serve him well in battle, unlike his head of horns, which only serve as a detriment to him with how they must obscure some of his vision, if not most of it. additionally, he likely could bear to look at his tail and care for it, but for an omen that hates his nature more than the average, he probably doesn't enjoy looking at his own face in the mirror enough to properly care for himself.

which brings me back to the sheer differences between these two. morgott, unhealthy and self-loathing, neglects many visual aspects of himself likely because he sees vanity as a luxury not afforded to someone like him. mohg, healthy and self-obsessed, cares and grooms himself to appear very much so like the lord he claims to be, loving himself to a heretical extreme (in the eyes of the golden order). their statures reflect this too; morgott hunches low to the ground, ready to pounce at any given moment but also due to his own shame and humility, while mohg stands tall and proud, though not as tall as he could possibly be due to his upbringing being one of likely having to hunch low to fit beneath the ceilings of the smaller parts of the shunning grounds.

above is a picture of an omen from stormveil, which bears resemblance to all the omen you see in the game. in terms of clothing, one of the big ways people set the omen twins apart, morgott is completely naked save for the ragged cloak of animal hides he wears, signifying he is not fit to even dress himself in a shirt or trousers as befits a king, much like the omen pictured. he wears even less than that, actually, since he lacks even the slightest adornment save for the rope that clasps his cloak together. on the other hand, mohg is entirely adorned in finery, wearing a beautifully embroidered, fashionable priest's robe with matching vestments, and beneath that (as seen in the first image) some underclothes, a plain black button up and some pants. mohg's entire silhouette changes with the removal of his robe, while morgott's barely makes an impact once you realise he has only taken off the one article of clothing he had.

then, of course, there are their fighting styles. there's this fantastic video on youtube that i recommend watching of the twins fighting every major boss in the game, and you can clearly tell them apart from their fighting styles alone. morgott is fast, his size making him look deceptively slow only for him to dart out and do sick flips and somersaults and pirouettes that rival even the most flexible dancers, and he fights with speed and almost animalistic ferocity, save for when he conjures his weapon incantations. mohg is slow but strong, capable of swinging that large trident around like it weighs nothing while hitting with the force to knock down most enemies in a few hits, and most tarnished in just one, but he fights with a steady gracefulness in his every move, walking slowly and carefully while casting spells that hurt a lot.

even their phase 2 transitions are markedly different, with morgott's being one where he drops to his knees, vomits, and releases his cursed blood(?) all over the battlefield, causing his weapon to become alight with his curse and for him to fight with more in-your-face aggression, and with mohg's being one where he simply ignores your attacks and begins stabbing his spear into the formless mother for power at your expense, gaining a majestic set of wings that put distance between you and him so he can cast more of his spells at safer distances. where morgott is pushed to his limit and forced to confront his nature, mohg has long since embraced it and enjoys the fruits of his bloody labour with the mother of truth's blessing.

speaking of the mother of truth, even their patron orders are at odds with each other. the golden order was built upon the foundation of a very carefully-guarded lie: that marika is the one true god, which she can't be, with the existence of radagon (as per goldmask, perhaps the number 1 fundamentalist we meet in game). the formless mother is known also as the mother of truth, existing in direct opposition of the golden order's lies and craving the honesty of one of the purest expressions of life: blood. these two ideals would war against each other, with one being dedicated to the upholding of a beautiful, corrupt lie and the other being dedicated to the instillation of a dynasty of raw, pure truths. as such, even morgott and mohg's own great runes reflect these contrasts in faith, though, remarkably, these two great runes are ones that fit perfectly over each other, with mohg's slightly elevated (seen below, taken from the fextralife wiki).

so, where does this leave us? i don't know, exactly. i wasn't really writing this with any sort of ultimate conclusion. i just found it really interesting how different they were, and i wanted to talk about all the noticeable, significant differences between them here. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[lady-djarin]

the ranch manager

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: age gap (legal - 20s/50s), joel wearing a cowboy hat needs its own warning, kinda yellowstone drama vibes, tipsy? sex (joel, not reader)-everyone consenting here!, outdoor sex, piv sex, fingering, edging, mdni 18+

word count: 3.1k

a/n: fun fact- my dad owns a ranch in wyoming so i do have some first hand knowledge lol (except for the sexy ranch manager thing) but my recent visit inspired this as they were gathering cows while i was there. i hope you enjoy!

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

This stupid city was going to drive you nuts. Chicago was everything you wanted when you moved there. The big city was so much better than the extreme quiet of Jackson, Wyoming where your family owned and operated a ranch. You grew up in the small city your whole life, finally wanting some freedom in college but after your 3rd year there it was starting to feel cramped. There is no privacy in the city, everyone stacked on top of each other, too many people, too little space. You needed out, just for a while.

So you found yourself back home, at the ranch. The sprawling space on the property made you feel more at peace than you ever felt in the city. It was your second day back home when you met some of the new staff working for your dad. Tess was kind of like a supervisor for the younger guys who did the day to day work. Tommy and his wife Maria were kind of doing a little of everything; ordering, organizing and even some cowboying.

Then you met Joel, the ranch manager. He was broad and imposing in the best way possible. The salt and pepper beard framed his plush lips that rarely curled into a slight but striking smile. His hooked nose looked like it would brush all the right places and you longed to run your fingers through his dark waves. While he looked to be in about his late 40’s or early 50’s, he was built and honestly sexy as hell.

You knew you needed him.

Because of his initial grumpy demeanor he did intimidate you at first but his soft brown eyes gave away his true nature. Over the few days you were back in town you had been around Joel a lot more, you ended up helping out with small projects on the farm. You were cleaning out some of the horse stalls when you heard him.

Joel was carrying bags of feed into the tack room as he barked orders at one of the workers. Both hands were full as he passed by the stall you were in and you knew the door he was heading to was closed. You knew this was your chance to be with him alone. You knew the moment you met Joel you wanted him, despite the fact that he worked with your dad and he was almost as old as him too. You rushed over to grab the door handle before he reached it, holding it open for him.

“Oh thanks darlin’,” god and his voice. It was deep and rough and it slid down your spine like honey. His southern drawl was rich and it made him all the more alluring.

“No problem, need any help?”

”Actually could ya’ help me get the bags into the bin?” He handed you a box cutter, signaling for you to cut open the bags so he could refill the bin. As you finished your task, Joel came over to take the box cutter back.

God he looked good, he always looked good. You could smell his cologne as he came closer and suddenly it felt like the temperature rose 10 degrees.

Little did you know Joel was eyeing you the whole time, watching the way your legs looked in the jeans that were practically skin tight. The way your hair was messed out of your loose braid, falling around your face in a halo, always drawing his eye.

“Thanks for the help, sugar,” his drawl made your panties wet.

“Sugar?” you licked your lips, unable to look away from his.

He looked sort of panicked for a moment, like he thought he overstepped. You loved it. He saw that you loved it. He must have decided it’s too much of a risk as he stepped away from you and stuttered a response before pocketing his knife.

“Uh… thanks for your help darlin’,” he mumbled as he backed away and out of the tack room and he kind of tripped on his own feet. You felt a little guilty liking the way you made him nervous but it was such a rush. To reduce this larger and older man to a mumbling mess was a huge ego boost.

You followed him out, closing the distance until you were just a few feet away. You saw his eyes widen as he watched you come closer and you felt that surge of satisfaction hit your stomach again.

“Of course, anything you need Joel. Anything.” You tried to sound as seductive as possible and it must have worked as the tips of his ears turned a dusty pink.

“Th-thanks darlin’… I— uh I’ll let you know if… if I need anything else,” his voice broke as he tripped again and tried to put distance between you two. Even though it was obvious he was trying to politely decline you, he was still tempted. His gaze fell to your lips, then your chest and further down until it bounced back to your eyes.

When it looked like he was about to pass out you finally relented.

“Ok Joel, see ya!” You sounded chipper and giddy as you skipped away from him and he finally let out a breath he was holding in.

He needed to control himself but he had a feeling that was going to be difficult with you around.

~

The next time you saw Joel was the big day on the ranch. It was the day the cows were rounded up and tested for pregnancy. By 7am the vet was already set up and the ranch hands along with Tommy and Maria were gathering cows into the corals. You ventured outside to find your dad and Joel standing at the fence watching the crew work.

“Hey kid, how’d you sleep?” Your dad looked tired himself but Joel on the other hand, he seemed nervous.

“Pretty good, I forgot how quiet it is here at night. In Chicago it’s always loud.”

You looked over at Joel who was on the other side of your dad and he looked like he was ready to jump in with the restless cows just to get away from this conversation.

“Why aren’t you out there Joel? Don’t they need you?” You tried to sound innocent but by the look in his eye, he knew you were trying to see how much you could push him.

Your dad laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Oh the old man here hurt his back so he has to sit out.”

“Two old men… how do you two get anything done?”

Your dad looked at you with a fake hurt expression. “Woah… I’m not the one with a hurt back!”

“Ok dad but you’re also not the one out there on a horse so…”

Joel now patted your dad on the back. “She’s got’cha there buddy.”

Your dad stood between you both and swiveled his head back and forth. “You guys suck…” He conveniently found someone who needed his attention and left you alone with Joel. You both stood at the fence and watched the organized chaos as the ranch hands and vet work on each cow.

“So how long y’here for?” Joel's voice seemed a little nervous.

“Well… I’m not sure. The longer I’m here the less I want to go back.” You turned to find him already looking over at you. “It’s just so… peaceful here.”

“I hear ya’,” he adjusted the cowboy hat sitting on his head. “Well except on preg-test day.” Just to prove his point, a cow screeched and tried to run from the herd right towards the two of you. Just as it reached the fence Joel grabbed both of your shoulders and pulled you away, right into his chest. You stumbled a bit but he held you until you were able to keep yourself upright. You look up to find the fence completely caved in, if Joel hadn’t grabbed you, you would have been bleeding on the floor by now.

“Tha—thanks Joel.” Your voice made you sound way more shaken up than you intended. “Jesus, damn cows.”

“They really do hate this vet stuff. Let’s go inside, I need another coffee.”

The two of you went into the ranch office, starting another pot of coffee knowing the cowboys would want more later. When the mugs were full of steaming caffeine, you sat down at the table waiting for Joel to join you.

“You ok, cowboy?” You looked at him up and down, his nervous demeanor evident in his stance.

He flashed that crooked smile as he sat next to you and removed his hat, placing it on the table upside down. You each sipped your coffee and you thought to yourself how kind of sweet it was that this big bad-ass rancher was reduced to an anxious mess by your hand.

The silence was too much to bear and needing a reprieve you picked up his hat and tried it on. It was way too big for your head as it was fitted to him, so it slipped down your forehead. Before you got a chance to adjust it, Joel tipped the brim up above your eyebrows. When he did, your eyes met and for once he was the one making your heart skip a beat. His deep amber eyes were locked on yours and his enticing lips framed by that gray-speckled beard were making you short of breath. All either of you could do was stare at each other, unable to break the spell. Suddenly you realized he was still holding onto the hat brim, then he slid his fingers down along your cheek as a sigh escaped your lips.

“Y’know darlin’… fuck, this is wrong,” he was breathless, like the air was stolen from his lungs.

“What… what’s wrong, Joel?” You were baiting him, making him say the words.

“It’s wrong how much… how much I wanna kiss you.”

Fuck, he was making you weak.

“Why don’t you?”

That suddenly shook him out of his trance, moving away and settling back into his chair, he looked more angry now, maybe in himself.

“I can’t… we can’t. It ain’t right.”

“Why?” You tried not to sound upset so as to scare him away.

“‘Cus, I’m too old and your dad would murder us both,” he looked wrecked. His pupils were saucers and his breath was quick. He looked out the office windows like he was looking for your dad, expecting him to be watching through the glass.

“If you want to talk more… I’ll be down at the lake tonight. midnight.”

And with that you walked off, a saunter in your steps and his hat on your head.

~

The lake on the property wasn’t large but it was somewhere you often felt peace. It’s a good way out from the house so it’s always quiet, the only noise now was the quiet hum of bugs.

You wore a light sleeping dress and robe over it and of course Joel’s hat. It was still pretty warm at night so you were more than comfortable. As you laid out on the blanket in the grass, you thought to yourself that if Joel doesn’t show, you know your answer. You checked your phone for the time; ‘12:07pm’ flashed across the screen. Maybe that was your answer.

“Darlin’?”

Your heart skipped. He came.

You turn to find Joel breaking through the trees, his broad shoulders stretching a dark sweatshirt and hips hugged by those damn jeans.

“Wow, I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

He now looked surprised. “Well someone took my favorite hat.”

“That’s all you came for? The hat?” You faced him as he came and sat down next to you, very close to you.

“Maybe not all I came for…,” he gave you that dazzling smile that’s so rare for him.

You did notice something different, he’s more relaxed, more fluid in his movements.

“Joel, are you drunk?”

He had a kind of spacey look on his face and a twinkle in his eye that shone when he laughed. “Well darlin’, I had one…a few. I was a lil’ nervous…” He looked a little ashamed at his admission.

“That’s ok. Got any more on you?” To your surprise he pulled out a half empty flask from his pants pocket. He opened it for you and took a sip then handed it to you, his eyes drawn to how your lips wrapped around it and whiskey escaped the sides. “Thanks cowboy. What’s got you so nervous, huh?”

He looked at you bashfully as he took another sip before clearing his throat. “Well don’t y’think it’s a little odd for an old man like me to entertain a young pretty thing like you?”

You were so close to him you could smell the soap he must have used mixed with a smell that’s uniquely him. He smells woodsy and manly and inviting and mixed with the feeling of having him so close led you to be bold. He froze as your lips connected, the split second before you melted into each other was one of pure bliss. His lips were softer than you expected and his tongue even softer, both working to take you apart at the seams.

You pulled apart, catching your breath and taking each other in now.

”You— you think I’m… pretty?” Your voice was horse and laced with desire.

Joel’s laugh was fuller now, a deep rumbling thing that made you shiver. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” While he was definitely bubblier than usual, he was deadly serious about this. His deep brown eyes were all the comfort you required and they conveyed his truth; you were everything he could ever want. “I have to ask you darlin’, are you sure you want this? Y‘not just doing this to stick it to your dad or nothin’?”

You smiled at his genuine concern, a sweet gesture from a man who doesn’t want to harm you.

“Joel, ever since I’ve met you, I couldn't get you out of my mind.”

His twinkly eyes widened a bit as a shaken breath escaped his lips. Before he had a chance to respond, you were on him. You straddled his thick thighs and clasped your hands in his dark curls, drawing his mouth to you. The two of you moved together in sync, like you were made for each other. The sparks flying higher as you ground in his lap, trying to create any friction to soothe the ache settled low in your belly.

Joel’s callused hands skimmed your skin, the roughness a stark contrast to your nightgown sliding across your body. He is all man and it was making your cunt throb, you knew you needed him inside you.

“J-Joel, please,” it came out more as a whine.

“Just hol’on darlin’,” he shuffled you around so you were draped on the blanket in the grass and he hovered above you. His nimble fingers pushed under your nightgown, hooked around the thin fabric of your panties and pulled them off your legs. His eyes never left your skin as more was exposed to him, his chest expanding with a deep inhale.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He was mostly speaking to himself, like he was not sure you were even really beneath him.

“P-please I…,” your pleas were cut off by him prying your legs open and sliding two fingers through your gathered wetness. “Oh God…”

To say this man blew your mind would be the understatement of the century. His fingers moved in a way that drew out the deepest pleasure and moans that rival a professional. Thank goodness that no one was around and you could make as much noise as you wanted. He worked his fingers into you with passion and brought you close to the edge.

“I’m c-close. You’re gonna make me cum,” you were delirious with lust. Just as you were about to fall off the edge he pulled away. The noise that left you surprised both of you, sounding more like an animal than human.

He was just as eager as you, unzipping and lowering his pants until he was free. You caught a glimpse of him and knew he was not only enjoying the way you writhed on his fingers, he was preparing you.

“I wanna feel you cum on me, got it darlin’?”

He stroked himself a few times with your arousal, slicking himself as he notched the tip at your entrance. A groan escaped both of you as he slid inside, the stretch of him was almost too much until it dissolved into the most blinding pleasure you’ve ever experienced. You fit together better than any puzzle or lock and key. You were already so close to the edge before but now he was hitting a place inside you that no one else ever had. The coil was winding tighter with every push of his hips, his lips devouring you from your neck to the tips of your breasts. Every move he made felt like heaven and he felt like your god.

“J-Joel… I’m-I’m gonna— gonna cum,” every word was cut off by a moan.

Suddenly he sat up straight, keeping up his movements as he brought his hand down to where you’re joined and circled your clit. The sharp movements shot pleasure through every limb, making you writhe in his lap.

“Cum for me baby… I wanna feel you squeeze my cock darlin’,” his voice was rough like gravel, rumbling through his chest into yours.

That was it.

The command was all you needed to push you over the edge. Your back arched as the tidal wave of pleasure overtook you and your legs locked around his hips.

“Oh fuck… yes. That’s my good girl,” he fucked you through it. His fingers and hips kept up their movements until he fell apart. He stilled inside of you as a deep moan broke free before pushing his spend deeper inside you. You could still feel him pulsing inside of you as you both came down from your highs.

As you lay beside him and looked up at the stars, the sounds of the night surrounding you, Joel wrapped you in his large arms. You talked and kissed and cuddled all night, only breaking apart once the sun started to rise.

He walked you back to your house before heading off to his own, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Am I finally allowed to have my hat back?”

You took the Stetson off your head and placed it back onto his. You looked down to see your panties sticking out of his jeans pocket.

“Well how’s that fair when you get to keep something of mine?”

“No one said it’s fair, darlin’. You can have something of mine next time.”

Next time. Your stomach warmed at the idea. Maybe you’d have to stay here a lot longer than expected.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong ��� somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 

— I can fold my own pants, love. 

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 

— Little minx. 

— Me or Lady Lasswell? 

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 

— Shite, love. Sorry. 

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 

— Not a chance. 

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 

— Help your captain, eh? 

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 

 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 

Price moans. 

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 

God, what are you even thinking about? 

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 

— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 

[bigification]

Step Daddy

"You really need to get over your stepdad man." My friend tells me, concerned.

"Look, I'll try this one last thing and if it doesn't work then I'll give it up." I respond. "Did you bring the sunglasses?"

"Yes, but just remember he's like 25 years older than you. He's probably not going to be into you, even after this." He says as he hands me a pair of old pilot shades.

I told him I could let it go, but I can't. I'm just putting all my eggs into this basket, the sunglasses. Apparently they're supposed to transform someone who wears them mentally and physically to match my type. He already is my type, but I guess I wouldn't mind him bulking up a bit and growing some hair. It would be sexy if he got more charming, but he's already charming as it is. I guess there's only one way to find out.

I wait on the living room couch watching tv. He always gets home from work at the same time, so I know he'll be here any minute. I sit and stare at my reflection in the glasses. Am I really ready to change this man's life so drastically. My friend said no one else would take notice of the change, so it'll be like nothing happened. As I'm thinking over it, I hear the roar of his engine from the driveway. I try to calm down, but I can feel my body vibrate from the nerves. The door flies open.

"Hey buddy, hows it goin?" He asks me with his hot southern accent.

"Not bad. By the way, I found these sunglasses lying around, and assumed they were yours." I try to play it cool as I lie to his face.

"Oh, thanks. But these aren't mine." He responds.

"Well you might as well keep em, they don't fit me anyway." I try to convince him to take them without seeming too pushy.

"Well alright, thanks kid." He swipes the glasses and throws them on.

That was easier than I thought. As soon as he put them on, he stopped moving. His jaw slacked as if there was not a thought running through his mind. It started slow, his button up started to look a little bit tighter. His once flat chest started to push against his shirt and the shape of a belly started to show. Then it started to speed up. His chest started to pulse, growing in size with each one. They grew until the button on his collar popped off, then another button popped, then another and another. His juicy pecs flopped down after being released from his shirt. His stomach was next. His midsection widened and his stomach grew into a respectable beer belly, straining against his shirt. It wasn't long before more buttons began to pop, until his shirt was completely open. His arms also looked like they doubled in size, filling out his sleeves with thick muscles.

Next his legs start to look like they're gonna burst out of his dress pants. I can hear the rips ripple through his pants as his thighs grow inside of them. His ass fills out all the space in his pants and proceeds to rip open his fly and snap his belt in half. I can tell his underwear is barely staying in one piece as a large bulge formed in between his legs.

Finally his face begins to change. His once skinny face fills out with fat, giving him a rounder look. I can see that hair is falling out of his hat until he is left completely bald under there. Though in return his clean shaven face grows a bushy beard. But the hair doesn't stop there. It continues down his chest and to his belly, and presumably the rest of his body. He finally regains control of his body. He sighs as he stretched out his arms and cracks his knuckles before looking right at me.

"Come here, son." He says in a deep buttery voice.

A shock travels through my spine as I think he might know what I've done to him.

"What'd I say boy!" He raises his voice.

I jump a bit before I walk closer to him. I realize how imposing he is up close. He must have gotten taller because he seems well over six feet tall now, and at least 250 pounds.

"Daddy had a stressful day, why don't you help him release some tension." He says as he pushes me to my knees.

I blush, this is everything I wanted from this, it just happened so much faster than I thought.

"Don't be shy, boy. This will be our little secret." He says as he pulls his underwear down.

[bonniesfamiliar]

DIMENSION TRAVEL STORY IDEA: Summary: Harriet "Harry" James Potter has travelled to an alternate dimension during a spell gone wrong (Kreacher's actually responsible cuz he cares about Harry since she's the Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black) Harriet knows it's an alternate dimension cuz she finds a newspaper stand and lo and behold, who's on the front cover? Tom. Fucking. Riddle. But not the ugly Voldemort Tom Riddle she killed. No this is young Tom Riddle who grew up FINE AS HELL.

And he's on the front page cuz he's The Minister of Magic and guess what he's talking about.

Dumbledore.

He's talking about Dumbledore.

And not manipulative gramps Dumbledore whose beard is longer than my hair.

No.

We're talking about this one

You know why he's talking about this Dumbledore?

Because Albus. Percival. Fucking. Dumbledore decided to become the epitome of "Be Gay, Do Crime," with Gellert Grindelwald, his husband.

DUMBLEDORE IS A DARK LORD WITH HIS HUBBY

So Harriet is obviously freaking out and does the right thing.

She goes to a pub and drinks her sorrows away in Scottish Whiskey, (Thank you, Minny)

But Harry never makes reasonable decisions so when she finds a quill and paper, guess what she does.

She writes to Misinter Riddle.

But the drama doesn't end there.

Whenever Harriet does anything, whether she writes or talks about Tom Riddle, she doesn't speak in English.

She talks in Pareseltongue.

(Cuz she and tom are the only Parselmouths. I think.)

So Parseltongue.

Harriet writes in parseltongue to the Minister of Fucking Magic on his wrongdoings in her universe.

The letter literally looks like this:

ssss ssss sssssssss ss ssssss s sss ssssssss ssssss sss sss ss ssss ssssssss ssssssss ssss ssssss sssssss ss ss sssssssss and that transcribes to 

"Dear Lord Voldemort, or should I say Minister Riddle, you are an ugly noseless hairless evil snakey bastard in my dimension,"

and cuz she's spiteful, she signs it off with "You-Know-Who"

But the thing is Harriet never mentioned her name or who her parents were.

So when Minister Riddle receives this letter, he freaks out and then does everything he can to find this person.

Not to kill them.

But to woo them.

This kind, thoughtful person has travelled from another dimension just to stop him from becoming evil.

AND THEY'RE A PARSELMOUTH.'

THEY'RE OBVIOUSLY HIS SNAKE MATE. (cuz he killed all of the Gaunts and Riddles so they're not family)

You can bet ur ass he was squealing to Nagini at the thought of having another Parselmouth in the world with him.

He's obsessed.

(He's not tom riddle if he doesn't have possessive issues and his jealousy issues are just as bad.🤭🤭🤭🥰🥰🥰😩😩😩)

Like it's not a want.

It's a need.

He needs the writer of this letter to be with him forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and-

You probably get the idea.

Anyway, 1 year goes by.

Tom Riddle: I MUST FIND THIS PERSON AND MAKE THEM MINE

Harriet Potter: *forgets about even writing the letter* 

Tom is growing more obsessed as the days go by and then he meets a woman at a charity ball held for idk an organisation for potieneers? Potion Masters?

She's chatting up with Lord and Lady Dagworth-Granger cuz she's been working with them cuz they remind her of Hermione and she needed a job.

Anyway, he approaches the couple in hopes of talking to them and Harriet sees Minister Riddle approaching and quickly moves away to head to the drinks table.

And then lets out a breath of relief when she realises he wasn't heading for her.

She schmoozes for a few more minutes before calling it quits and heading out for fresh air.

The party is at the Dagworth-Granger's manor so she goes out to the gardens.

And hears a cry for help.

Her Gryffindor instincts push her to run towards the sound of danger.

But her Slytherin side made her hide behind the wall from where the cry of help had come from.

It was a witch being harassed by two wizards.

One of the wizards was holding her wand, taunting her.

While the other had begun to take off her outfit.

Before it could go any further, she brought the men's attention to her and with a flick of her wrist, Harriet had the men on their knees.

She then walked over to the one holding the witch's wand and grabbed it out of his hand, accidentally snapping his wrist in the process.

She gave the witch her wand back and accepted the shaky hug she received.

Harriet waited until the witch was out of sight before she turned to the men and smiled, watching as their faces fell into horror as they saw the fangs in her mouth.

(I'm in love with the prompt by a post on tumblr where  Basilisk!Harry is hugging Kneazle!Hermione and Dragon!Ron also wants his cuddles. I can't find the person who made it but I've lived by the idea that these would be their animagus forms if they ever performed the spell like James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew had done to become illegal animagi for Remus Lupin)

Harriet rips into their throats, feeds on them and then turns their bodies into ash with the fiendryfire spell.

She grabbed a mirror from her purse to erase the blood from her face and clothes and began to walk away lest anyone come looking for the wizards.

But, Harriet suddenly slammed into what felt like a wall.

A very warm wall.

Regaining her bearings, Harriet looked up to notice that the "wall" was MINISTER RIDDLE.

AND HE WAS HOLDING HER ARMS.

"Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?" She said pasting a smile on her face.

Shift of POV:

Minister Riddle internally sighed at being stuck in another ball instead of being at home, analysing the letter once again.

He was certain it was a woman who sent it as there was a red lipstick kiss on the paper after it was signed sss-ssss-sss (You-Know-Who)

His thoughts are cut off when Lady Dagworth-Granger asks her husband where Harriet is.

Who is Harriet? he muses but when Lord Dagworth-Granger offers to look in the gardens, Tom leaps at the chance to run away from the party.

He goes into the gardens aimlessly walking around for a few minutes, lost in his thoughts of his mysterious parselmouth when a witch comes out of nowhere and collides with him.

He uprighted her by placing his hands on her arms and looked on curiously as she seemed to freeze in place when she looked up to see that it was he she bumped into.

Tom Riddle is the one to freeze when she speaks.

"Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?" She says an innocent smile on her face as if she had no idea his whole world had just flipped on its axis.

Parseltongue.

She's speaking in parseltongue.

She's his parselmouth.

The one from another dimension.

But he had to clarify so he replies honestly for the first time in his life, in parseltongue, "I've been looking for you," 

"Searching for me? Whatever for?"

A boyish smile widens on his face before he forces it into a polite smile.

"The Lord and Lady Dagworth-Granger have been searching for you, Miss Harriet I believe you are?" He reverts to English to test if she notices the change but she doesn't.

She just replies in English, "Ah, I see. I disappeared for too long with my break from the stuffiness of the ball and yes, I am Harriet."

Harriet, he muses in his mind, no last name to give for me.

She extends her gloved hand for him to shake but Tom riddle reaches for both of her hands and turns them over to kiss them gently and forces himself not to give into the urge of nuzzling into her hands (well not yet at least) and without letting them go, he straightens to his full height to tower over her (giving him a thrill at knowing she was shorter, meaning he could easily pick her up and carry her, be it over his shoulders or bridal style) and replies, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harriet. No last name?"

(Harriet has been wearing gloves cuz of the 'I must not tell lies' scars that cover her hands.)

Harriet smiles teasingly towards him and his cold heart thaws ever so, "I couldn't decide on a last name and I've decided I like the mysterious aura it gives me,"

Or maybe she couldn't risk using her real last name because she was from a different dimension, Tom muses in his mind, Nevertheless, Harriet Riddle has a lovely ring to it.

Harriet Potter: *staring confused at Tom Riddle as he smiles down at her

Tom Riddle: *Winter would be a lovely time to get married, wouldn't it?

I'm stopping here cuz it's a summary, not a story. Yes, I'm Evil.

Tell me if you like it tho.

I was this close *makes an inch between her fingers* to making this a Soulmate AU story.

Think of the angst that Harriet would go through all her life knowing that her soulmate's words to her are:  I've been looking for you

And it's an alternate hotter version of Tom Riddle, AKA THE BAD GUY WHO MURDERED HER PARENTS 

And think of how Harriet's words had motivated Tom his entire life to do his best to work hard (and cheat death) to live long enough for his soulmate to see him one day at a place be it a library or a gala or a hallway and ask him: Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?

Huh.

Maybe I should make them soulmates.

I need a timeline. fuck.

Um.

Riddle was educated at Hogwarts from 1938 to 1945, and was sorted into Slytherin House, a nod to his ancestor Salazar Slytherin.

Making Tom 34 cuz 1927 is the year Tom was born in if he went to Hogwarts in 1938 which would make him 11 in 1938 and 38-11 is 27 so 1927 is when he was born.

61-27=34 so Harriet is in 1961 but cuz of the time skip tom is 35 years old in 1962

Harriet was born in 1980 

The Second War technically began on 24 June, 1995, though was not officially announced by the Ministry until nearly a year later on 17 June, 1996, and ended on 2 May, 1998, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after the death of the Dark Lord.

Which made Harriet 18 in 1998, 24 in 2004, 24 in 1961 and 25 in 1962

 but she deserves peace so the year Kreacher sent her back was 2004 which would make her 24 cuz he's horrified that she hasn't attempted to romance anyone since Cedric Diggory.

Tbh, if he was my bf I would never love again.

But then hubby "I would burn the world down for you and rebuild a new one from its ashes" tom riddle is here and I'm like Cedric who?

But none of them compare to (long list of titles, I'll research later.) Harriet James Potter.

[thesweetnessofspring]

This year, I've been working on an Everlark fanfiction project called The Huntress and the Beast. This is an in-Panem AU where Prim was never reaped and Peeta became the sole victor of the 74th Games, earning the nickname "the Beast." Ostracized by society after a horrifying incident at the end of the war solidified his nickname, Peeta retreats to live on the mountainside alone. Years later, Katniss takes a position to live with Peeta and eat dinner with him each night for one year, partly to make up for the bread that saved her family and partly to escape Gale's marriage proposal. Each chapter is one month of this year, as Everlark grow together and build a home.

Or, an Everlark "Beauty and the Beast" retelling.

Leading up to the release of the first chapter, I'm going to be posting a snippet each Wednesday, one for each month of the year. Today is the first, from Chapter One: The New Year which will be out January 1, 2025.

Read the snippet below:

New trees line the walkway, still held up by stakes and twine. I can’t make out what they’re going to be when they get older with only the skinny trunks and branches balancing lines of snow. Up the pathway lies the cabin. It’s a far cry from the luxury of the Victors Village even just from the outside. There’s a porch facing west toward District 12 and a blue door the color of a starling egg against the pine boards. It’s covered in fresh snow, though as we climb higher I can see tracks leading away from it. Tracks that must belong to my new employer. At the porch, we unstrap the snowshoes and then knock on the blue door. No one answers and I think about the tracks leading away from the cabin. Peeta had no way to know we’d be showing up today. “Thom?” a man’s voice says behind us. I startle but compose myself before turning around and facing the Beast. While Peeta had never been anything remarkable in terms of his height when we were in school together, he clearly grew since then. He must be nearly a foot taller than me now and still strong and stocky. His hair has grown down to his shoulders, waves framing what has changed the most—his face. Where other men had beards and five o’clock shadows, Peeta has pink and red scars, twisting like branches of a tree across his neck, jaw, and cheeks. I try not to stare at the scars and meet his blue eyes instead. “I found you a dinner companion,” Thom says proudly. “Do you know Katniss Everdeen?” “Not well,” Peeta says and a deep feeling of shame floods me. I don’t know why. Maybe because I should have thanked him for the bread long ago, before his Games. That we should know each other better, but the fact we don’t is my fault. 

Look out for The Huntress and the Beast on January 1, 2025.

[jedimaesteryoda]

One trend I've noticed a lot lately in the speculation of Tyrion meeting Daenerys is how he'll influence her. The argument often is that Tyrion will encourage her more "fire and blood" destructive tendencies when they get to Westeros. However, this view is often one-sided as it's always about how Tyrion will influence Daenerys but never about how Daenerys will influence Tyrion.

"Daenerys, I am thrice your age," Ser Jorah said. "I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors." That angered her. "Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?" He stiffened. "I did not say that." "You say it every day. Pyat Pree's a liar, Xaro's a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin . . . do you think I'm still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?" "Your Grace—" She bulled over him. "You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better." -ASOS, Daenerys IV

Daenerys is not the sheltered child Aegon was who Tyrion could easily manipulate as shown when she called out Jorah for trying to isolate her from other men. Even Tyrion admitted to Aegon, having never met Daenerys that "she is strong" and "fierce." Daenerys was more worldly at 14 than Aegon is at 16. Even as a small, frightened girl at age 13 in the beginning of the series, she had more street smarts than her adult brother Viserys and has shown to be a prodigy in the series. Tyrion would not be able to manipulate her easily, especially since would initially be wary of him for being a Lannister.

Tyrion at the end of the day would be serving as her subordinate, him being largely dependent on her. Tyrion largely is the way he is because of the toxic family he grew up in. The Lannister vision has no idea of a Good Society, it's just pure self-aggrandizement by any means necessary. As the adage goes, rot always starts at the head. The monarchs Tyrion served as Hand, Joffrey and Cersei, were both cruel, incompetent tyrants with senses of entitlement that outweighed their actual abilities. They also had no concept of the duties of a monarch to their subjects, and instead just abused their power over others, including sexually. The one who actually ran the show for the Lannister regime, Tywin, was a cold, abusive Machiavellian who brutalized the smallfolk and his children, seeing them as pawns in his schemes. Tyrion could be cunning and brutal, because it was both encouraged and necessary for the winner-take-all, dog-eat-dog world of the Lannister court. It was an environment designed to bring out the darker side of his nature.

However, since the beginning we saw hints of the lighter side of his nature such as when he gave emotional support to Jon and designed a special saddle for Bran. He even helped Catelyn when they were attacked by the mountain clans even though she kidnapped him. In A Clash of Kings, we see hints of Tyrion wanting to be something other than the cold Machiavellian like his father when he stands up for Sansa when Joffrey beats her, and he has Morec killed and Slynt sent to the Wall for killing Barra, wanting to "do justice." In A Dance with Dragons, he risks his life to protect Aegon and even in his lowest he looks out for Penny even though she is a complete stranger to him.

Daenerys is a foil to Cersei, whose ruling philosophy is expressed in the statement "Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?" Daenerys tries to live up to the image of an ideal monarch who protects the weak. She liberates the oppressed from slavery and tries to protect them, even performing acts like tending to those afflicted with the bloody flux herself, marrying someone she doesn't want and putting her plan of going to Westeros on hold to achieve peace. Working as Hand to Queen Daenerys, Tyrion may find himself in a change of pace in a different environment where for once his more positive tendencies are encouraged with his fondness for "cripples, bastards and broken things."

In short, in cutting himself off from his toxic family, Tyrion may actually find a new beginning in service to Daenerys. He's the Machiavellian polymath and court politician she needs, and she's the competent, idealistic monarch he needs.

[theworldofotps]

Painting (Drabble)

Pairing: Lord Debling x Reader Word Count: 743 Description: Y/n is struggling with a painting when she recieves some much needed help.

So, I have never written fanfiction for Bridgerton before but after watching the first half of season 3 and meeting Lord Debling I couldn't help myself. I'm also very nervous to post this because it's a bit out of my comfort zone but I hope you enjoy anyway.

Dedicated to: @madhatterbri who encouraged me to write this, helped form the plot and is overall one of the best. I appreciate you so much thank you! (I haven't added my normal tag list since those are usually just for wrestling. If you'd like to be added to a tag list of anything I write besides wrestling let me know!) __________ Y/n let out a soft huff as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, staring at the canvas in front of her. She’d spent the last two hours trying to paint a bird from the book set on a stool in front of her. This was a painting she just didn’t want to mess up on but the more she stared at it the worse it seemed to look.

“Is everything alright m’lady?”

“Yes Ruth, just having a bit of difficulty getting these colors to work and blend the way that I wish them too.”

“Please let me know when you are ready, and I shall draw the bath for you.”

“Thank you, Ruth.”

Watching the maid leave, Y/n turns back towards her painting and examines the book once more. Adjusting the apron she wore over her dress to keep from ruining it, she dipped into her paints again. More time passed and her frustrations only grew as the colors started running and made the bird look like a mess.

Dropping the paintbrush in the pot of water she hung her head in defeat, deciding to just start all over again. Not having heard the door open she nearly jumped, feeling a pair of arms wrapping around her before a chuckle sounded in her ear.

“Sorry to startle you love I thought you heard me enter.”

“That’s alright my lord I just was focusing on something else.”

Alfred glanced around to be sure they were alone before pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

“Tell me what’s the matter.”

“I’m trying to paint this bird and all of my colors keep running I’ve spent hours on it but alas to no avail.”

Remaining silently as his eyes drifted over the canvas in front of them, since they had began courting he was trying to take interest in her hobbies. When he found out she had a love for painting much like his mother, it was one he quickly did his best to learn all he could about it.

“Allow me to offer my assistance to you.”

Grabbing her hand gently together they picked up the brush, the sparks of electricity she felt as they moved together dipping into her paint pallet. She could barely concentrate at the feel of him pressed against her back. When the brush touched the canvas, she let out a soft laugh.

“What is it brining you such joy my dear?”

“Your beard tickles my cheek.”

Y/n spoke softly as his own smile grew to match hers the two talking in soft whispers as he helped her fix the once ruined picture.

“What do you think?”

“It looks so much better thank you for your help now we both must sign it.”

She said pointing to the feather quill and pot of ink sat on the desk a few feet away from them, Alfred reached over grabbing the quill. Signing the name Debling then placing the quill in her hand so she could sign her last name.

Placing it back in the ink pot Y/n slowly turned to face him their eyes meeting hers lighting up as his softened.

“Miss. Y/n  I know this may come forth as a bit forward but may I kiss you?”

He asked a slight nervous quiver to his voice if you listened close enough she remained silently causing him to clear in throat. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured into anything. After a moment her smile grew as she leaned closer to him their lips brushing in the softest touch before a knock on the door sent them apart. Composing themselves she turned to see Ruth entering one more.

“Excuse me miss but your mother is looking for you.”

“Thank you, Ruth please tell her, that I will be right there.”

Ruth nodded, leaving them alone again y/n sighing softly she turned back to Alfred who gently touched her cheek.

“I must be going as it is rather late, I shall call upon you tomorrow afternoon would that be alright?”

“Yes, I would enjoy that very much my lord.”

The pair left the room and y/n saw him to the front entrance, his fingers once more touching her cheek in a bid farewell. Watching him leave she sighed her arms wrapping around herself, the thought of his arms around her caused her face to heat up. Turning, she went off in search of her mother.

[bananaactivity]

JAY AND BEN REDSIGNNN

The Boyssss

I’m working on a Benjay tragic romance fic and I had to design them right quick.

I like themmmm I’m gonna do Mal and Evie next then I’ll have the core four finished. They are 21 and 22 respectively. Ben’s always the youngest in my eyes.

I’m not getting rid of the beard idc. I’m adding more scars to Jay next time I draw him because why does Chad have more scars then an isle gang member, and know that half of them are because of Harry.

They have one specific nickname for the other,

Jays is Jay Jay, and Ben is Dumbas- I mean Benji

Here’s some context for there tragic relationship:

Mal and Evie get together after the Sea VK Battle on Harry Hooks boats instead of Ben and Mal. Thus the core four minus Jay are nervous that Ben will retaliate to this by kicking them out of Auradon Uni and off Auradon as a whole. Ben meanwhile has been raised in such a way that he is absolutely terrified of being alone. Jay has just just had to grapple with the fact that he had feelings for Harry beyond a really intriguing rivalry and he can't act on that because of Harry and Umas relationship that was already a steady under current and bloomed even more during the VKs 1st year tenure at Auradon Uni. As well as dealing with all his friends slowly separating in college which is typical. So Ben and Jay are both dealing with feelings of abandonment and stress, neither of them want to think about that pain and would do anything to mask it. Jay is much better equipped to handle this enough to at least seem functional to his friends, but he's teetering on the edge. Jay ended up being the first person to speak with Ben ,who was an absolute wreck, after he stayed holed up in his very fancy prince dorm for many weeks. They already had good chemistry with one another prior and Ben comes onto Jay. It feels good to both, and it's doing what they want in regards to ignoring the bigger deeper issues at play. It's also a secret because obviously a heavily charged and unhealthy relationship like that would be heavily discouraged. Warning, this is not gonna end with a healthy relationship. Some feelings are real like they don't want to actively use and hurt each other, but the emotions at play and the rough start to the relationship DO NOT lay solid ground to foster a good long lasting relationship.

I’m also going to add one fic I wrote from Ben’s Perspective beware it’s not done:

Being a Prince was a tough job. There was so much pressure on him to be a great future king. One major aspect of that was his future spouse; his mother was always bothering him relentlessly on the topic as he grew up. “ Benjamin, Darling you must choose a good spouse, it is imperative to the people's perception of you.” his mother would often say. The constant narrative of “dont be alone” was always pressed on him so hard in fact that he couldn't bare the thought of being alone. It got so bad that that he went with the first present options of someone to court. It was stressful when he and Audrey were courting, the constant trailing during dates stressed him out as well as the media coverage analyzing their every move. Aubrey herself seemed more concerned with the respect that comes with being a queen. Nobody really liked her very much, but she was pretty and she was sweet during those first years. Unfortunately that all faded as the years went by and he felt there was no way out. He couldn't be alone. Then came Mal, she was beautiful and sweet. But she was hopelessly in love with her best friend and her best friend felt the same. It almost became this rush to him to wed her before she could leave and yet he felt so bad about it. He didn't want to be alone. But he pushed it and was alone anyway. The big ass walls in his dorm felt like a cage. What was he to do but sit in his room and cry. And he was alone, which he didn't want to be. Then Jay showed up. Jay handsome, good at Tourney, an excellent swords-man and his closest friend. Looking into his concerned brown eyes, he remembered leaping into his arms. There wasn't much conversation to be had as he was a bawling mess. All he could remember from that night was staring into those eyes for as long as he could and making a move that even he didn't expect. He kissed his best friend. And it felt good, really good. The best part of this situation was that the amazing feelings completely washed over the awful ones that led him to that very moment.Until Jay moved away, he was expressing concerns about the sudden atmosphere; yet he was into it. He had kissed him back and moved his face to kiss him again once they got over that little hurdle. The time spent felt… really nice. It was more intense than anything that had happened before for him. But maybe that was because he had thrown himself so totally into the sensations at play so that no semblance of sadness could worm their way back into his heart.

It was such a drug that they both implored to keep it up. He defended this continuous indulgence with the belief that it was allowing him to show his face on campus.Spending time suffocating in his fancy prince class: “ Kinging 101: The study of Class Disparity” waiting for the pleasant feeling of rough calloused hands pushing him into the corridor just near the lecture room. Every time he felt those hands he breathed a sigh of relief.

If you want to read more check out the pinned post on my blog which has 18 pages of my Descendants AU.

[allthedoorsareopennow]

Incomplete collection of Marius lore

suggestions for additions are welcome, but it MUST HAVE A SOURCE

overview 

He is the ship’s medic[1]/ship’s doctor[3], plays fiddle and has a mechanised right arm[1].

The ace of hearts card in his hat indicates he is asexual [18].

'He likes love, and love songs, and people in love' [18].

His own romantic inclination is unknown [18].

He knows some German words, but is not fluent [19].

Marius is not white [20].

backstory 

He is neither a baron nor a doctor[3][5]; ‘Baron’ is a corruption of his original name, Byron von Raum[2][5].

Marius has a sister called Dorothea, and they were raised by a single nonbinary parent. Marius doesn’t remember their name or face, and knows them only as Zeze[6].

It is strongly implied that Marius was not mechanised by Dr Carmilla [7].

Marius is 5’5 and very skinny. This is apparently because he came from a world that is ‘somewhat medieval in its nutrition levels’ and Marius was not a healthy child. [14]

He piloted a mecha called KISMET. She was 5-6 storeys tall and slightly insectoid, like a dragonfly or butterfly. [17]

‘The control pod’s entirely in the head, which allows the internal control rig to right itself like a ball bearing, keeping the pilot upright whether she’s standing on the ground, hovering, flying horizontally, banking sharply or even rolling.’ [17]

The mecha is not meelee-oriented. [17]

time with the mechanisms 

Drumbot Brian said that ‘given that we're immortal and don't need a doctor, it's the job we're most comfortable giving Marius, and it keeps him busy’ and also that he ‘frequently tries to psychoanalyze inanimate objects’ [5]

His mechanism was ‘probably botched’ and he has a ‘tenuous grasp on reality’[2] 

According to Jonny, he grew a beard presumably around 08/02/2014 ‘almost instantaneously, and without warning’ and was apparently ‘very upset’ and ‘said he’d been holding it in for decades and just that momentary lapse of concentration as I kneecapped him had ruined all his hard work’[8]

He once dressed up as the Toy Soldier for a halloween concert [9]

Drumbot Brian once responded to someone asking how the mechanisms were by describing marius as ‘mad’[10]

The Aurora describes Marius as ‘the broken doctor’ [16]

songs/albums

He had a planned lecture on the psyche of the olympians, but this was cancelled[11]

He helped Ashes install at a minimum the camera in Ulysses’ vault in UDAD, though he does not remember this[4]

Apparently, ‘Marius spent his time on Fort Galfridian sitting at the porthole for days staring into the sun because he didn't realise it was supposed to be unbearable, and now the Ghouls think he's some sort of prophet’ [12]

In The Bifrost Incident, Marius does not know where he got the violin - in fact, he doesn’t even realise he’s holding it until Lyf points it out [15]

death

Marius was always skeptical of the crew’s immortality and was less surprised to meet his end. ‘One day, at something of a loose end, he will decide to check on the octokittens. Unfortunately, the purring horde has not been fed in many decades, and devours him, head to toe, in 11.7 seconds.’ [13]

Jonny is implied to have already witnessed Marius’ death before the final concert; he says ‘11.7 seconds. At least, by my watch.’ [13]

In Marius’ death, tunes from ‘Blood and Whiskey’ and ‘Favoured Son’ can be heard [13].

meta information

In the Ulysses Dies at Dawn indiegogo fundraiser campaign, one of the donation perks is listed as 'Marius's Journals'. [21]

[1] Mechanisms Marius von Raum Available at: https://themechanisms.com/the-crew/marius-von-raum/ Last accessed: 11/01/24

[2] Young (2020) Future Projects: The Death of Byron von Raum (spoiler free) Available at: https://kofiyoung.com/2020/07/25/future-projects-the-death-of-byron-von-raum-spoiler-free/ Last accessed: 11/01/24

[3] Revenge of Spaceport Mahon

[4] Mechanisms Eskhatos Available at: https://themechanisms.com/fiction/eskhatos/ Last accessed: 11/01/24

[5] Below (2013) Why do immortals need a ship doctor? Available at:  https://www.tumblr.com/the-mechanisms/58736308596/why-do-immortals-need-a-ship-doctor-i-need-an Last accessed: 11/01/24

[6] Young (2023) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/neitherabaron/727612334921678848/holding-checklist-titled-qualities-to-kill Last accessed: 11/01/24

[7] Rasputina (2013) Where'd you folks pick up Marius and Raphiella? Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/the-mechanisms/58960694562/whered-you-folks-pick-up-marius-and-raphiella Last accessed: 11/01/24

[8] Sims (2014) Ingratitude Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/the-mechanisms/75995731661/ingratitude Last accessed: 11/01/24

[9] wickedacephotos (2013) The Mechanisms at The Cellar, 29 Oct 2013, for Halloween with Polar Patterns Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/wickedacephotos/65528149745/wickedacephotos-the-mechanisms-at-the-cellar Last accessed: 11/01/24

[10] Below (2013) Hooray for questions! Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/the-mechanisms/58734952128/i-apologize-that-i-didnt-ask-a-question-to-make Last accessed: 12/01/24

[11] The Mechanisms Ulysses Dies at Dawn Available at: https://themechanisms.bandcamp.com/album/ulysses-dies-at-dawn Last accessed: 12/01/24

[12] thedreadvampy (2020) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/thedreadvampy/624522490768736256/i-feel-like-i-should-clarify-because-it-does-at Last accessed: 12/01/24

[13] The Mechanisms (2020) Death to the Mechanisms Available at: https://themechanisms.bandcamp.com/album/death-to-the-mechanisms Last accessed: 12/01/24

[14] thedreadvampy (2020) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/thedreadvampy/630817295229468672/so-i-am-absolutely-going-to-go-draw-tim-with Last accessed: 12/01/24

[15] thedreadvampy (2020) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/thedreadvampy/631436135234699264/you-dont-need-to-awnser-this-because-i-am-lore Last accessed: 12/01/24

[16] themechanisms A Bedtime Story Available at: https://themechanisms.com/fiction/ghost-in-the-machine/ Last accessed: 06/03/24

[17] Young (2023) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/neitherabaron/708247931183153152 Last accessed: 11/04/24

[18] Young (2024) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/neitherabaron/754005393719640064 Last accessed: 22/06/24

[19] Young (2024) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/neitherabaron/759338848830554112 Last accessed: 20/08/24

[20] thedreadvampy (2020) Available at: https://www.tumblr.com/thedreadvampy/624109112212455424/ Last accessed: 17/11/24

[21] The Mechanisms (2013) The Mechanisms - 'Ulysses Dies At Dawn' Available at: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/the-mechanisms-ulysses-dies-at-dawn#/ Last accessed: 17/11/24

To add:

not yet added Marius’ dttm dialogue

may add more detail to what is contained in expert testimony

could probably add detail on things seen doing in photos, e.g. Marius playing rock paper scissors with TS. (are photoshoots canon? I assume so)

[3] missing a link

wow did I really miss pilchard. I will Get To It at some point maybe

fungus arm https://www.tumblr.com/neitherabaron/712149115253948416/

perhaps more backstory info from byron

https://x.com/neitherabaron/status/1231124594544783361?s=20

https://x.com/neitherabaron/status/1231604579529302018?s=20

https://www.tumblr.com/neitherabaron/744416410692993024

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fjKHR0astiU - video on how to do the marius dttm makeup

numbers are ordered mostly in when I added the source rather than order of appearance as I have moved things around a lot. as above this is very incomplete and I don’t have the willpower to update this now maybe I will later. I’m just uploading it now since someone wanted marius lore

[obsidianpen]

Hermione's first, immediate thought was, Who the fuck is that? And her second thought, which came less than a second later, was, polyjuice potion.

“Wow,” Hermione said as Tom closed the door. She had to bite back a laugh, too, because… he was old.

Old, far from attractive, and nearly the antithesis of the Tom Riddle she’d grown accustomed to. The muggle man who owned the cottage must have been in his seventies, with a slight hunchback, balding head, and short, steely gray beard. The only thing he had in common with Tom was that they were nearly the same height, which explained why his clothes still fit well enough.

Tom grinned at her in a way that Hermione imagined would look very wrong on this man to anyone who knew him. His teeth were yellow, crooked, and two were missing. “You have no idea,” he said, speaking in a gravelly and unfamiliar voice. “This poor bastard has terrible lower back pain, not to mention what I suspect is arthritis just about everywhere.”

He took his coat off—the hunchback looked much more pronounced without it—and he glanced at the clock. “Thank Merlin I only have about three minutes left of this. At least, I think—give or take a minute. I only took half the vial…”

Hermione noted the time. It was a little after one. He’d only been gone an hour. 

Hermione stood, unable to stop herself from smirking. “The mighty and fearsome Heir of Slytherin everyone,” she said, gesturing widely. 

He glared at her. The effect was far less intimidating in this body. “Cute,” he said.

“It is. I think you wear an old muggle man well.”

“Is that right.” Tom flashed her a smile; it was horrendous.

“Oh, yeah," Hermione said, laughing. "It’s a huge improvement.”

Tom looked like he was barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out four small brown paper bags, tiny enough that they all fit into the palm of one of his hands. 

Hermione was effectively distracted. “If there aren’t more books in there, I’m going to cry again,” she threatened.

“Oh, my sweet darling girl,” Tom murmured. And rather than explain further, he set the bags on the table and waved his wand over them. They grew and grew until they proved to be much larger than Hermione expected. They were big and beautifully full.

“Careful,” Tom said, for Hermione was already ripping into one. “Not all of them are very nice.”

Books, books, books! Hermione’s smile was uncontainable as she pulled out heavy book after heavy book, some more ominous looking than others, and—

“OW!”

Hermione dropped the most recent one she’d been holding, some thick tome bound in black leather. “This one—it shocked me or something!”

The offending book had a title written in Latin. A quick glance told Hermione it was, unsurprisingly, about ancient dark curses. 

“Yes, I did just warn you,” Tom said slyly. He moved to stand behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist as he did. “That one requires a... gentle touch,” he explained. “Calm energy. Focused. Doesn’t respond well to chaos; outright refuses to open for anything less than collected, intentional deliberation.”

He reached down, and Hermione saw that his hand was no longer the weathered and old but pale, flawless. He ran his fingers along the cover in a fluid motion, then flipped the cover open to reveal a page written entirely in Latin.

Hermione looked up at him, but his eyes were on the book. Her breath caught. Maybe it was simply because she had just been looking at an ugly old man a moment before, but Tom looked exceptionally beautiful now. His angular jawline, his high cheekbones, his perfect skin. Those hypnotic eyes and those lips…

His hand resting on her waist suddenly felt heavy and hot, even though it was the lightest touch. Hermione swallowed hard and said, “What does it say?”

Tom continued to scan the page, his eyes going back and forth in a way that told Hermione that he could not only translate Latin, but that he was quite well versed in it. She wondered if he kept reading because the book was demanding his attention, or he was just that enthralled. She suspected the latter.

Finally, he looked at her. “Hermione. Don't tell me you can't read Latin yourself," he said chidingly.

“I can translate it well enough,” Hermione said. “But I’m afraid the book might stab me or something if I try right now.”

Tom seemed to take a moment to process this—and Hermione felt herself blush, because she was admitting that she could not possibly be calm or focused just then—and slowly smiled. “The page I just read begins to explain the process of adjusting the strength of curses in order to use them for a wider array of applications,” he said. “Fascinating stuff.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “I’m sure it is.”

They were perfectly still for a moment, eyes locked as he looked at her from over her shoulder, Hermione’s back against his chest. He’d only just walked through the door, and already she felt uncomfortably warm, that feeling like electricity charging the air.

“...But those books aren’t for you.”

Tom stepped away, picking up the frightening book he’d just read from, and closed it. He set it aside and reached into a different bag, then pulled out one that could not have looked more different. This book was much smaller, bright pink, and on the cover was a moving image of a pretty blonde witch smiling and winking.

The title was in English. It read, ‘The Glam Witch’s Guide to All Things Fertility’ by Justine Hayes.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Rook: The Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art… Ahh, what an exhilarating place.

Rook: They have so many spectacular works of art exhibited here… I don't think there's enough time in a single day to view everything.

???: ―Oh hey, I know this painting. This is the scene where the Fairest Queen is sending her Huntsman on a mission.

???: I can even see just how tense his facial muscles are. This painting is so detailed even to the finest points.

Rook: Beauté! You have a good eye for detail. The thin rays of light that cut through the dark room just highlights how stiff he is.

Rook: When I gaze upon this painting, I feel as though even I am being struck with a chill as cold as a winter breeze.

Ortho: But Rook Hunt-san, this isn't a painting set in winter, right?

Rook: Fufu, I know that. I only meant… Well, that I can almost feel the tension that is freezing him in his tracks.

Ortho: Guess that makes sense, since he's making an appearance before the queen. But don't you think that for someone meeting a queen his outfit is pretty casual?

Rook: I'm sure he is to head out on his mission immediately. Besides, he is very well groomed.

Ortho: Very well groomed…? Ah, yeah, it does feel like he's taken very good care of his beard.

Rook: Oui. In addition, he is someone who works outdoors, and yet there is not a single stain, let along any frayed ends on his attire.

Rook: Take a close look at his bangs. You see how they are cut short just above his eyebrows?

Rook: Essentially, that means his bangs won't obstruct his vision. He is sure to be able to keep his prey in sight.

Ortho: I see, so then, that must the best type of hairstyle for a hunter. Rook-san, you're amazing to notice that.

Rook: I, too, take caution of how lengthy my bangs can become. In the past, I believed that as long as it was short, that was good enough…

Rook: So whenever my bangs grew out, I would just chop it off with a knife, while the rest of my hair just looked like an overgrown garden.

Ortho: It's hard for me to picture that, knowing the you standing here now…

Rook: After I became a Pomefiore student and cut off all the damaged and frayed ends…

Rook: Not only did my vision become unhindered, but I ceased to find leaves or branches tangled in my hair any more.

Rook: I'm sure even the Queen's Huntsman also knew that a proper grooming regimen would help him be even more efficient as his job.

Rook: By fixing up my own hair, I came to understand just how capable of the huntsman he truly was.

Rook: In my search of perfection and functionality, I was able to settle on this hairstyle… is basically what it all amounts to.

Ortho: Huh… I totally thought that you had chosen that hairstyle because it suits the shape of your face.

Rook: Thank you. I am beyond honored that you think it suits me.

Rook: However, there is still much to improve. I must continue to refine my appearance.

Rook: It is all to improve my efficiency and my hunting skills.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Rook: Ooh là là! These beings depicted here are the Thorn Fairy's subordinates.

Rook: Despite the dark overtone and the terrifyingly green flames illuminating them, this piece gives off a pleasant sensation.

Ortho: They're all dancing in celebration of the Thorn Fairy's successful accomplishment, right? Hehe, they all look so happy.

Rook: This painting shows just how beloved the Thorn Fairy was to her subordinates. It's wonderful that they would express their joy via dance.

Rook: Now that I'm learning how to dance… It may behoove me to express my own happiness through moving my whole body, instead of just penning words.

Rook: WITH BALLET!!

Ortho: Eh, you're good at dancing ballet, Rook Hunt-san!?

Rook: Non. I wouldn't go so far as to say I am any good at it. I've only started picking up the fundamentals recently.

Ortho: Oh, you just started… So, why did you just suddenly decide to learn ballet?

Rook: To improve my posture, of course.

Rook: We of Pomefiore must carry ourselves beautifully, not only in how we walk, but with every single gesture we make.

Rook: That is why I began my training in order to keep to the standards of my dormitory.

Rook: As to why I chose ballet, that would be because Roi du Poison… Vil recommended it to me.

Ortho: I think Vil's advice is sound. It's said that ballet can help with your core and flexibility.

Rook: You do know your stuff, Ortho.

Ortho: You said that you just recently started learning, but… You're pretty physically fit, so I'm sure it's going pretty smoothly, right?

Rook: Well… Truthfully, the road to perfect posture has been nowhere near as smooth.

Rook: I've twisted my ankle while training to stand on my toes, and I've fallen down so ungracefully without being able to keep my balance…

Rook: When I first began practicing, my muscles were so sore that even going up and down stairs was a trial in and of itself.

Rook: I realized just how many muscles I've yet to use… It has been quite a learning experience.

Ortho: Even though you're saying how hard it was… It looks to me like you're still enjoying yourself.

Rook: Yes, it was indeed a fantastic time. One time, I became so engrossed that I danced the night away.

Ortho: Your posture now is really good, Rook-san… Looks to me like the fruits of your ballet training is showing.

Rook: Oui! Also, as I had my ballet lessons, I was able to get a taste of yet another wonderful joy.

Ortho: What do you mean, a wonderful joy?

Rook: ESSENTIALLY, MY RESPECT FOR BALLET GREW!

Rook: Up until now, I would only have an adoration of the perfect performances I would watch on stage.

Rook: However, now that I've experienced it firsthand, I know just how difficult each individual technique can be.

Rook: These ballet dancers perform as gracefully as swans, putting forth such extraordinary efforts that we never get to witness.

Rook: They have honed their bodies through all the time they've spent dancing, and then these dancers take their honed bodies to bring forth perfected movements...

Rook: And then there is the spectacular stage productions that can draw out the beauty of those movements in full…!

Rook: I now have the pleasure of seeing those performances in an even more beautiful light… From the bottom of my heart, I am pleased to be learning ballet.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Ortho: This painting shows the scene where the Rabbit Retainers has announced Queen of Hearts' arrival to her card soldiers.

Rook: We know that the Queen of Hearts had a rather strict personality, but… The expression she carries here is so lovely!

Ortho: I kinda find it funny with how the white rabbit is looking so tired beside her.

Ortho: This rabbit came running just before the Queen was set to arrive.

Rook: Indeed. There are many times that him frantically running while trying to do his tasks have shown up in other stories.

Rook: It's said that everyone could hear his running footsteps from all over the country… He must have been quite the busy one.

Ortho: Ah, talking about footsteps reminds me… Rook-san, you really don't make a sound when you walk.

Rook: Is that so?

Ortho: Yeah. I have a motion sensor, so I'll always know, but… A normal person wouldn't notice if you came up behind them.

Ortho: How are you able to walk without making a sound like that?

Rook: It's probably because I've grown up surrounded by nature.

Rook: Whenever I am with the trees, I become a leaf on one of its branches. Whenever I am in the meadow, I become a reed swaying in the wind…

Rook: As I dedicated myself to become one with nature like so, my footsteps naturally became softer.

Ortho: It sounds difficult to live in nature…

Rook: Fufu, it's nothing much. This is simply how I was raised alongside my family.

Ortho: I see… But I don't think there's any reason for you to watch your footsteps here at Night Raven College, do you?

Rook: Since it's more or less an ingrained habit at this point, it's not something I'm doing consciously. However…

Rook: Large and obtrusive footsteps can ruin a beautiful moment.

Rook: It could startle a bird that had settled down to sip nectar from a flower, or interrupt an enjoyable moment between friends.

Rook: That is why I wouldn't dream of making louder footsteps. I wish to capture as many beautiful moments and I possibly can with my own eyes.

Ortho: That's amazing… But how is it that you still don't make any noise on gravel roads or wooden floors?

Rook: If I had to attribute it to something, it's probably due to my shoes.

Rook: Whenever I purchase a pair, I make sure to request to have a size snug against my toes to the nearest millimeter.

Rook: Perhaps when one wears shoes that are a perfect fit, even footsteps naturally become quieter.

Ortho: You really think of everything! Now I'm curious what kind of thought you put into choosing a design for them.

Rook: Let me think… When it comes to designs, I often just select whatever was recommended to me by the shopkeeper.

Rook: I may be a Pomefiore student, but… I still haven't familiarized myself with selecting clothes and shoes that necessarily suit me.

Ortho: Woah… I'm a little surprised. I totally thought you'd be particular about the materials in your shoes, or the shape of your heels.

Ortho: You know how whenever everyone wears the high heels with the ceremonial robes, their footsteps are louder than usual?

Rook: Oui! I find the ringing sound of the heels clacking is music to my ears.

Rook: Unfortunately, I find I'm unable to make as clear a sound. Perhaps I'm subconsciously keeping my heels from hitting the ground?

Ortho: Heheh, really? I love your story, Rook-san, since they defy my known data.

Ortho: Thanks for sharing all of that with me! Okay, then I'm heading out to view the other exhibits.

Rook: Right, let us talk together again sometime. ―Now then, it's time to go see that one piece of artwork that I have been longing for.

Rook: Ah… The famed work of art that depicts the princess singing to the fauna around her… Why does my heart dance for joy each time I gaze upon it?

Rook: With her lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow… Mayhap the animals are entranced by her charm, as well.

Requested by @butterflyremix.

[kobayashisoul]

》 ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ʀᴏᴜᴛɪɴᴇ 《

I know many Gaara Fans will disagree, but ... I think this looks SO good. It should be illegal to be this damn fine. What a Daddy omg. 🌶👀 I hope you won't hate me haha.

Please tell me your Opinion about this!

I wanted to show with this Picture a Piece of Reality, something thats absolutely natural and normal. In Anime almost everyone has a shaved Face and it seems like no one ever grew a Beard, but it's in my Opinion normal that a Man grows a Beard after at least two Days.

And Gaara is no Exception.

I think that Gaara wants to keep his Business Man Image and thats why he does shave his Beard every single Day to keep his Face absolutely clean. I think if he wouldn't be the Kazekage, he would keep such a decent Beard. But he simply has an Image as Business Man. And he wants to keep that.

This Picture takes Place in Boruto: Naruto Next Generation Series, a short time before the Series starts. Shiina is two years old and Gaara is 32 years old.

You must know that [of course] at Night and when he has Days off, he doesn't style his Hair. So it's his old messy Head every Morning, the Head we miss so much in Canon. 🥹

Gaara is definitely not impressed by doing that every Day. 🤣

➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️

Art (c) pun_shun

Sabaku No Gaara (c) Masashi Kishimoto

Naruto & Boruto (c) Masashi Kishimoto and Mikio Ikemoto

This Picture was a Comission for me from @pun_shun . I am NOT the Artist of this Artwork. I am a Comission Collector. I have the Artists written permission to upload this drawing to my Social Media. ⚠️

Please don't copy my Comission Ideas. ⚠️

Without my written permission you have no right to recolor/repost/trace/edit/use this in any way. Also please don't ask me to roleplay with my Ocs because I don't allow that, written or drawn. ⚠️

[tumbleweed-run]

Hello! I love your writing <3 May I ask, do you have any headcanons for Gale? I have a few (eg: his mother raised him alone - he's an only child - as much as he enjoys homecooked meals he's very well known in Waterdeep's fine dining establishments) I'm interested in hearing what you imagine about Gale outside what the game tells us!

Lighter stuff

I agree with you on pretty much all points

Gale might appreciate wine but he strikes me as a fancy whiskey boy. It's a vibe I get

His mother hates the beard, which is why he didn't grow it out until the hermit stage

He loves all books. Magical tomes, history of Faerun, tawdry bodice rippers. And he has a system to his library but it makes no sense to anyone who is not Gale

Personally, I think he's well-known in all Waterdeep's dining establishments. He's in the Yawning Portal at some point as an adult but I also feel like he visits the finer restaurants- probably with his mother

he was raised wealthy, I know he like "oh I haven't dabbled in wealth" but my dear boy was Top Teir middle class at best. I don't think they were 'own the world wealthy' but I believe he grew up with more than just a housekeeper, not having to worry about money. Mama's got Sea Ward money

And of course (because I pointed out his 'tower' is in the Dock Ward) I think as an adult Gale moved to the "rough and tumble" part of town to prove himself. (which is probably why they know him in the poorer establishments )

His tower is a freaking row home, maybe its like two floors taller. But it is a house. Gale is just a fanciful man. Or he's manifesting that shit, idk

I also think he goes home to mama in the sea ward at least 2x a week

Gale is a sorcerer

Gale is 300% a sorcerer whose mother(not magic) was fed up with her shit being set on fire, so she sent him to train in magics the way she was most familiar - Wizard Apprenticing

Less Light Stuff

Gale mentions 'parents' once (I think during the I was denied a kitten speech) I think his father was there at first and then left. Maybe he couldn't handle Gale, or he was just a shitty guy. I think that was the road to Gales "I'm not enough, I must prove I'm enough" syndrome.

I also believe he first encountered Mystra in the Sea Ward at the 'House of Wonder' which is a temple devoted to her. I believe he was young like 13/14 but my guess is she was aware of him from a younger age. (Most wizards apprentice starting at 13... and usually have no spellcasting abilities which is...)

I don't think his favorite color is purple. I think it was Mystra's color and therefor it became his favorite (which is why I like dying all his clothes NOT Purple). Judging by the only room we saw, it's red/maroon/burgundy- but he doesn't know that

I think some of his stunts at Blackstaff were not just his own hubris though he sees it that way, but also at "hey mystra look at me" thing. Which I think she encouraged

I also believe that he was a young adult when the muse-to-lover transition took place. Maybe a few years after he left his apprenticeship, he was old enough to be a 'man' but it was definitely a product of grooming.

I don't think he was ever truly her Chosen. Most gods bestow cool powers (look at the dead 3) or at least protections. She just... screwed him? Taunted him with stuff she knew was going to keep him hooked on her?

When he saw Mystra's interest waning he panicked because he didn't have very many friends (his only named or mentioned friend is Elminster who has the most messed up history with Mystra) and he'd certainly not taken a lover once she 'chose' him. And I assume this was years before the netherese orb disaster. He probably did increasingly dangerous things/adventures to keep her attention, just like he did as a boy.