#no one is prepared for THIS kind of nature

[yua0ra]

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞… 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

WARNINGS: theodore nott x hufflepuff!fem!reader, speechless!theo (lol), bold reader, mentions of weed, mentions of mattheo riddle, SFW, not proofread. english is not my first language.

miscellaneous ☆

SUMMARY: House stereotypes don’t define the personality of a student, more the values and the attitude that they are more likely to lean on. Theo learns this when he has to leave his shyness aside and ask you for a little favor.

WC: 2.7K AN: My first Theo blog! SO thrilled! More to come tho :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Theodore Nott has hit his breaking point. His Herbology final is around the corner, and despite hours of studying, he feels so annoyingly unprepared. It’s the one subject where he truly needs help, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Enzo, his usually reliable study buddy, is knee-deep in preparing for his practical exam in Care of Magical Creatures. Mattheo, on the other hand, has absolutely no interest in anything beyond the most basic knowledge of plants, only venturing into the greenhouse when he’s collecting a bit of weed for his own purposes. Draco and Blaise? Well, they’re too wrapped up in their own world, more concerned with their latest gossip than anything remotely academic. Pansy? Yeah, that’s not even an option.

So, Theo’s left with one option:

You.

The sweet, intelligent Hufflepuff who most definitely knows how to have fun, attending literally each and every party that the school has thrown yet when required, sits in the corner of the library, your nose buried in a book, always so effortlessly composed. The one person in the entire school who seems to have a natural talent for Herbology.

You’ve caught his eye for a while now, but he’s too shy, too nervous to approach you. He spends far too much time admiring you from afar, but that’s all he’s ever done—watching you as you confidently navigate through the subject he struggles with, never knowing how to bridge the gap between you two.

Desperation is a powerful motivator, though. He’s tried every other option and failed. With no other choice, Theo finds himself standing outside the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, heart pounding, mind racing. He rehearses what he’ll say in his head—should he be casual? Straightforward? Or maybe play it off like it’s no big deal? But the words don’t seem to come.

The thing is, despite his reputation, despite his intimidating family name and the distance he keeps from others, there’s something about you that disarms him completely. You’re not like the others. You’re kind, warm, and so elegant, so put together, it leaves him feeling self-conscious about his own fumbling attempts at social interaction.

But there’s no other way. He’s backed into a corner. Theo takes a deep breath, pushes past his nerves, and steps forward. It’s now or never.

“Hey Mate! You coming or what?“ He looks up, a friendly Hufflepuff holding the door for him.

Truly, they are nice. A Slytherin would never, ever, invite another fellow student into their sacred den.

Theo hesitates, wondering if he’s made a huge mistake. What if you turn him away? What if you laugh at him for asking such a stupid thing? His heart pounds louder in his chest as he takes another step forward, determined to follow through.

He finds the common room in a quiet lull—no loud chatter, no bustle of students. Only the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustle of pages turning. Then he sees you. You’re curled up in an armchair near the window, your bright eyes scanning a textbook, and for a moment, Theo stands there, just watching. The way the warm light from the fire dances off your hair, the way you lean in slightly as you read—it’s all so hypnotising, so you.

His throat tightens, and he suddenly feels foolish for not having prepared more. The sharpness of his thoughts cuts through the haze of nervousness, and he realizes this is exactly why he’s never managed to speak to you before. He’s always been too scared. Too unsure.

But before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving toward you. His footsteps are quiet, almost tentative, but you notice him as he approaches, lifting your head to meet his eyes. That instant eye contact is enough to send his stomach into a nervous knot, but he forces himself to stand tall.

“Hey, uh… I, uh… Could I ask you a favor?” Theo’s voice cracks slightly as he starts, and he curses himself internally. Why does he have to sound so awkward?

There’s a curious expression in your eyes, as though you weren’t expecting him to ask but aren’t exactly surprised either. You raise an eyebrow, and a small smile plays on your lips.

“If you’re looking for Enzo, he’s with Hagrid right now,” you begin, your voice calm, like you’re relaying a mundane piece of information, and Theo blinks in confusion, sitting down opposite of you but waiting for the rest. “And if you’d like to know where the stash is, it’s behind the Angelicas,” you continue, as if you’re discussing the placement of a few plants rather than something a bit more illegal, that could defiantly get you expelled.

You pause and then add, “I mean, I had to relocate the whole plantation because before, it was under the Venomous Tentacula, and more often than not, instead of getting high, students would get fucking poisoned.”

Theo freezes, his eyes widening in shock. His brain is still trying to catch up with the strange, casual way you’ve just dropped that bit of information. The weed, students getting poisoned. He blinks again, as though his mind needs to reset. “Wait, you’ve been… what?” he finally stammers, unsure of how to respond.

You laugh softly, clearly enjoying the bewildered expression on his face, and lean back in your chair a little, letting the firelight cast a warm glow over your face. “Yeah, it’s been a bit of a headache,” you continue, your tone light and almost mocking, but there’s a sharpness to your words that makes Theo realize you’re completely in control of the situation.

“At first, I had to move everything under the Tentacula because it was… well, convenient, you know? Students wouldn’t even dare to try to steal. But then the bloody thing started getting violent. I lost two strains and a few students before Mattheo and I figured it out.” You chuckle again, shaking your head as if it were just another mishap to add to your long list of Hufflepuff gardening troubles.

Theo freezes, his jaw going slack as his mind races to process your words. Mattheo? He blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of what you just said. Mattheo, his best mate, the guy who couldn’t be bothered to do anything that didn’t directly benefit him, was working with you? In the greenhouse? With you—a Hufflepuff, the sweet, hot and intelligent, did he mentioned hot, student he’d always admired from afar?

“Wait—Mattheo?” Theo stammers, his brain still struggling to catch up. “You and Mattheo are… working together? In the greenhouse?” He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea.

You raise an eyebrow, amused at his reaction. “Oh, yes. He’s actually surprisingly useful when it comes to problem-solving. I’m not saying he’s a botanist or anything, but we managed to figure out how to move the stash without getting caught. I have to give him some credit for that.” You laugh again, enjoying Theo’s stunned expression, as if this were all just another normal part of your life.

He slowly blinks, processing your strange perception of his friend. “Mattheo? Useful? I mean—really?” His voice is a mixture of disbelief and awe. “That’s—uh, that’s not the Mattheo I know.”

You shrug, a wry smile on your face. “Trust me, I was shocked, too. But it turns out he has a knack for finding creative solutions when he’s not too distracted by… other things.” Your smile turns sly, and Theo gets the sense that you’re holding something back, something more than just the simple partnership you’ve described. But the fact that you and Mattheo are so involved with each other in this capacity makes something in him shift—a mix of surprise, confusion, and maybe just a hint of jealousy, though he can’t quite place it.

“Honestly,” you continue, your tone dropping slightly, “he’s actually been a pretty good ally. He knows how to be discreet when it comes to things like this—he’s good at keeping his mouth shut when necessary. You’d be surprised, really.”

‘Yeah, he has definitely kept his mouth shut in regards of whatever this is’ Theo thinks and he can’t help but laugh, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “I’ve never once thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, especially about him,” he mutters, half in awe, half in confusion. “But—really, the greenhouse? You’ve been doing all of this behind the scenes?.”

You nod, leaning back in your chair slightly, your gaze flicking to the fire. “Yep. It’s been a bit of a secret, but I’m used to keeping things under wraps. Some of us prefer to stay low-key, y’know?“ You flash him a teasing smile, and for a moment, Theo wonders if maybe he’s been misjudging the quiet Hufflepuff house all along.

Theo tries to process the revelation. His mind is still spinning, trying to picture Mattheo in the middle of it all, acting as some sort of ally to you, when he can barely even manage to get through his homework without drama. “I… wow. This is a lot to take in,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out a deep breath. “You and Mattheo? That… doesn’t make sense, but it kind of does?”

And it actually does make sense. You’re fucking fit, party girl at heart, cool but apparently laid back, so yeah. He could see why Mattheo had taken an interest in you.

“Well, there’s a lot more to me than just a green thumb,” you say with a grin, obviously enjoying watching him try to piece it all together. “But I’ve must misjudged your reasons as to you approaching me,” you say, the teasing in your tone softening just a bit, “so tell me, Nott,”—and now you flash him a smile, that sweet, knowing smile that makes Theo’s heart skip a beat—“what’s the favour?”

Theo’s throat tightens at the question. The heat rises to his face, a little caught off guard by how smoothly you’ve shifted the focus back on him.

“I—uh, I—” Theo starts, then stops himself, taking a breath. He needs to focus. Focus on the fact that he did come to you for help.

But something about the way you’re looking at him—your eyes sparkling with amusement—makes it hard to think straight. He stares at you for a beat, trying to compose himself, but you’re so easygoing, so effortlessly you, that it’s like you’re pulling him into a side of the world he didn’t know existed.

“I… I really need help with Herbology,” he admits, his voice finally steadying, though it’s clear there’s an under-layer of shyness somewhere in between. “I’m kind of screwed if I don’t get this right. I just—I figured… you’re the best person to ask.” He forces a small, awkward laugh, trying to cover the tension that’s building in his chest.

You watch him, your gaze steady, and something in the way he stumbles over his words makes a knowing smile curl at your lips. There’s a certain vulnerability to Theo that’s only just beginning to peek through, and it’s clear to you that he’s not just here for Herbology help. Maybe he started that way, but now—well, now something else is bubbling underneath.

“Is that all?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, watching the way his cheeks flush with that mix of embarrassment and nervous energy. The way he keeps trying to brush it off, but you know he’s not as composed as he likes to pretend. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who gets rattled by plants.”

Theo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck again, and you can’t help but find it endearing. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s a little out of his depth. “I’m not,” he mutters, the words a little quieter now, the walls he tries to put up crumbling just a bit more. “It’s just… I really need to pass this exam. And you’re the best at this stuff.”

You smile again, but this time it’s realer, like you’re letting him breathe for a bit, seeing the genuine panic beneath the surface. “I know,” you say with a quiet confidence, your tone soothing him, almost like you’re comforting him without meaning to. “I’ll help you. It’s not a big deal.”

Theo looks at you, grateful but still a little lost. You seem so calm, so sure of yourself. It’s almost like you’re made of something he can’t quite figure out.

“I… appreciate it,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still genuine. He leans back in his chair, looking down at his hands for a moment, unsure what else to say. But his mind keeps wandering to the way you look at him—how you’ve kept him off balance with your easy smile, the casual way you talk about everything. “I don’t know, it just feels like I’ve got no idea what I’m doing half the time.”

You raise an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook that easily. “Really? You seem like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing most of the time.” The teasing lilt is back in your voice, but there’s something almost… tender underneath it. “Or maybe you just like pretending?”

Theo doesn’t know whether to laugh or be more embarrassed, so he does a little bit of both. “I guess pretending is easier,” he admits, the words coming out before he can stop them, and there’s a quiet honesty in his tone that catches you off guard. “But… you’re not what I expected.”

You look at him curiously, the firelight from the hearth casting a warm glow across your face. “What did you expect, exactly?”

He hesitates for just a moment, before speaking slowly, almost carefully, like he’s weighing each word. “I don’t know. Someone… different. Someone more… Hufflepuffy?” He chuckles awkwardly at the last part, trying to sound casual, but the truth is, he’s starting to realize that he doesn’t really know what he expected. You’ve made him question everything he thought he knew about you, and now all he can do is stare at you in a sort of awe.

You let the silence hang in the air for a beat, your lips curling into a smirk. “Hufflepuffy?” you echo, sounding amused but with a touch of challenge. “So what, you think just because I’m a Hufflepuff, I’m supposed to be all flowers and rainbows? Just because I know how to work with plants and enjoy life doesn’t mean I don’t have a little bit of edge, Nott.”

Theo looks up at you, his heart pounding a little faster, the realization hitting him full force. “Yeah,” he mutters, half to himself, “I guess I didn’t expect you to be this… cool.”

You smile at that, the corners of your lips tilting up in a way that makes his chest feel a little tight. “Cool, huh? I’ll take that.”

For a moment, there’s a soft pause, the tension between the two of you shifting, the way your eyes meet his, the way your smile holds a little bit more meaning, and the way his pulse races just a bit faster. It’s something else, something that’s starting to make him question everything he thought he knew about himself, too.

“So, uh,” Theo says, his voice suddenly feeling a little hoarse, unsure of what to say next. “Do you want to… get started on the exam stuff?”

You nod, leaning in just slightly, but there’s an air of something unspoken between you now, something neither of you has said aloud. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

But as you begin to pull out your Herbology notes and you start discussing the plants and the key terms for the exam, the words seem almost secondary.

The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him a diagram. The way your laughter makes him feel like he’s somehow stumbled into a world he wasn’t prepared for but doesn’t want to leave. Everything feels just a little more alive, a little more charged than it ever has before.

And as Theo looks at you again—at the calm, effortless way you move through the conversation—he realizes that what he thought was just a favor for a Herbology exam is turning into something much more… complicated. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not sure he’s ready to figure it all out. But something about that uncertainty feels exciting.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Jan 21, 2025

Day one. It’s already started. ‘Elon Musk appears to make back-to-back fascist salutes at inauguration rally’ claims the Guardian. ‘Elon Musk accused of giving “Nazi salute” at Trump inauguration celebration’ says the Independent. The activist media are positively priapic with glee that Donald Trump’s most powerful ally just publicly endorsed Hitler live at his inauguration. Except of course that didn’t happen. And we know it didn’t happen because we do not have cabbages for heads. Let’s just hypothetically suppose for one moment that Musk is a clandestine fascist, one so ingenious and Machiavellian that he has managed to inveigle his way into the White House and is now poised to initiate the Fourth Reich. Does any sentient human being suppose for one moment that such an evil genius would now accidentally reveal his scheme to millions of people live on television?

Nobody believes this, of course. Or if they do, they should be supervised at all times, especially around cutlery. That goes for Rex Huppke at USA Today, who has published a piece entitled ‘Elon Musk’s “odd-looking” salute sure looked like a “Sieg heil” to me’. Perhaps it does. But I could have sworn that I saw the face of David Hasselhoff in my spinach frittata yesterday, and yet I’m pretty sure that’ll be the old pareidolia playing tricks on me again. If I were as literal-minded as Huppke, I’d probably assume that The Hoff had actually found a way to invade my breakfast and call an exorcist or something.

Within an hour of Huppke’s article being posted online, the following note was appended: ‘This column was updated to add new information’. God knows what defamatory nonsense that hit-piece contained before I got around to reading it. The media class still hasn’t quite grasped that falsely smearing someone as a Nazi is libellous, and that perhaps someone like Musk has the financial means to do something about it. (Also at the end of the article we have this little nugget: ‘Follow USA Today columnist Rex Huppke on Bluesky’. That explains quite a lot.)

I’m starting to think that avoiding libel should be included on the first day of any basic journalism course, given how often we see media outlets posting lies and then having to frantically apologise for it. And while they’re at it, the course should probably also include a session on why male rapists, paedophiles and murderers shouldn’t be referred to as ‘she’ and ‘her’. Just a thought.

While I would usually be prepared to concede that Huppke might just be as simple-minded as he seems, there’s something about his article that suggests otherwise. If he genuinely believed that Musk was giving a Nazi salute, why did he have to misrepresent the story? Not once in his piece does Huppke mention the context for the admittedly ill-advised gesture. Musk said to the audience, ‘my heart goes out to you’, which is why he struck his heart and mimed throwing it out to the crowd. He then turned and did it again, and the meaning is perfectly clear when the clip is seen in its entirety:

Now look at the clip that was being shared online by Musk’s detractors.

We have seen this kind of dishonesty so often, and it simply never works. The internet has certainly enabled the media to spread this misleadingly edited clip, but it also enables us to check its authenticity. And when people release that they have been lied to, the inevitable outcome is resentment. This is why throwing the word ‘Nazi’ around as though it has no meaning other than ‘someone I vaguely dislike’ is not an endearing or astute way to behave.

Naturally, Democratic politicians have been quick to exploit the situation as much as the press. Jerry Nadler, Representative for the 12th District of New York, jumped on to X to post his verdict:

‘I never imagined we would see the day when what appears to be a Heil Hitler salute would be made behind the Presidential seal. This abhorrent gesture has no place in our society and belongs in the darkest chapters of human history. I urge all of my colleagues to unite in condemning this hateful gesture for what it is: antisemitism.’

Thankfully, there have been some voices of reason. The Anti-Defamation League put out a sensible statement in an effort to subdue all the frenzied mutual masturbation of the Bluesky clan:

‘It seems that Elon Musk made an awkward gesture in a moment of enthusiasm, not a Nazi salute, but again, we appreciate that people are on edge. In this moment, all sides should give one another a bit of grace, perhaps even the benefit of the doubt, and take a breath.’

Musk and Trump have their political opponents; that much is obvious and all for the good. But given all the histrionic hogwash about ‘Nazis’ and ‘fascists’ during the run-up to the last election, I was hoping they might have all grown up a little. As I say, it’s absolutely clear that this strategy is wholly ineffective. The public are capable of reading history books. They understand that Nazis generally don’t pay visits to Auschwitz to learn about the horrors of the Holocaust and lay wreaths at memorial services there, as Musk did last year. They also are unlikely to be seen dancing to ‘YMCA’ with the Village People.

So once more for the hard of thinking in the media: calling people Nazis doesn’t work anymore. It’s not only unethical, it virtually guarantees that the very people you don’t want to be in power will win their elections. By all means, criticise Musk and Trump as much as you like. Those in power must be criticised; it’s essential for any functioning democracy. But lying about them and smearing them as fascists only lets the public know that you’re not to be trusted.

--

==

It's all so fucking tedious.

You don't hate legacy media enough. You think you do, but you don't.

[orions-choker]

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, Gore, more to be added.

Chapter Ten

A/N: Hi Wanted to give a warning for this chapter! This entire chapter is sex, not only that I rewrote it like three times for some graphic descriptions of gore. However those parts have not been removed, just slightly toned down as that is just my intended nature with this story. I'm sorry if that makes anyone uncomfortable <3 Otherwise please enjoy.

Having a label on whatever this was between them didn’t bring her any source of joy or excitement. She almost wanted to hit herself, she had been yearning for him to stop tip-toeing around their relationship for weeks and now she dreaded it. “Boyfriend,” She rolled the word around her tongue like a heavy bitter candy, a cough drop found at the bottom of your grandmother's purse. It made her gag.

She was analyzing herself in the mirror, stark naked and exposed. Pulling back on her skin she examined each mark left on her skin. Kirk was… bitey. She wouldn’t mind it under any other circumstance. If he was just normal. Instead it seemed like a testament to the fact that maybe he wanted to hurt her for real, each bruise painted into her skin was deep and purple and ached. He wanted to consume her, eat her. Maybe it was literal? She didn’t really know. “Boyfriend,” She spat the word out this time like she could hurl it far enough away that it no longer branded her. Her fingers prodding at the bite mark around her nipple, down to the matching one on her inner thigh. He had been kind enough to ask, she believed that if she said no he would have respected that. It still didn’t make him a good person.

The murders had come to a halt a while ago, the timeline tracked from the moment she had agreed to devote her time to him under the guise of safety. The phone calls and horrific news articles suddenly felt like a long distant memory. The police were no closer to catching the perp and there was no relief that settled over the town even though it had been weeks since another body was found. A monster still lived among them, and had taken the lives of innocent people, daughters. Girls like her.

She was doing a disservice to the lives of the girls lost by sleeping with that very monster. By holding him at night like he had done no wrong, writhing underneath him in pleasure rather than agonizing pain, by loving him. She turned away from the mirror quickly, the very sight of herself made her stomach churn. Quickly she climbed into her shower, letting the cold water pelt against her skin as punishment for everything she felt. She told herself it was better this way than avoiding him. Sure she was spitting on the memories of the victims, but she was saving the lives of any other potentials…right?

The cold water did nothing to relieve her of her sins. When she stepped back into her room the feeling of being watched settled over her again, but she knew the source now. She realised now where it had been coming from all along. Kirk didn’t hide it anymore, he wanted her to know now. She turned to her open window, peering into Kirk’s room only to find him staring back at her with a lazy grin. She wished she could say she forced the smile onto her face, but it came too easily, too gently. Shaking her head she wagged her finger at him playfully before pulling the curtains closed to get dressed.

She took a moment to herself before she prepared herself to walk into the lion's den. For once her room felt safe, closed off, when this was a sanctuary she thrived in before everything went wrong. She heard the thwacking of her dog's tail against the bed and smiled. She wasn't supposed to let her up but she had always been soft. “Hey Mavey Baby.” She murmured as she ran her hands through the thick golden fur of the animal, soothing herself. “If I ever don’t come home one day you can take my bed.” She smiled softly and kissed the top of the dog's head, earning a cute confused head tilt, floppy ears bouncing.

Getting dressed happened slowly, prolonging each moment she had in the safety of her own home, with her parents downstairs who would do anything to protect her from danger. If only they knew how willingly she was throwing herself into the jaws of death every single day. Her mom hadn’t been pleased to say the least when she told her she was dating Kirk and for once her fears were founded, even if she didn’t know. Her dad was…indifferent. Both of them inevitably warmed up to him, if there was one thing about him it was that he was incredibly charming.

She dipped her head around the corner of the kitchen after she had crawled down the stairs. She smiled at her parents. “Hey, I’m heading out now.” She told them softly. “See you guys on Sunday, yeah?” Everytime she told them that she could only hope she kept that promise. It's not like Kirk had made any effort to show her he wanted her dead, but why else had he done what he had done? It felt like a ticking time bomb.

“Yeah, be safe sweetie, we're next door if you need anything.” Her mom hummed without looking up from her book, some god awful erotica posing as a low brow romance novel. The wet sound of her licking her thumb before turning the page sent a shiver up Y/N’s spine. Her dad nodded silently. Slowly Y/N pulled herself away from the kitchen, slipping into her shoes and out the front door. She let herself into Kirk's house in a ritual that had become normal. Greeting his mom kindly before taking the stairs up to his room two at a time. His mom was too sweet, she wondered how it would break her to know what her son did.

Of course Kirk had heard her steps coming up the stairs and was opening his door before she even had her hand on the doorknob. His fingers encircled her wrist and tugged her forward against his chest. She hated the way his warmth still made her shiver. How perfectly her body slotted in against his. “Hey, took you long enough.” He mumbled into the top of her hair. “Thought you were deciding to dip out on me,”

Y/N curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, twisting the material tight. “Sorry I was a bit shaken up, I had some pervert watching me get changed through my window.” She bit at him playfully as she tilted her head up to look at him. Her tone was joking but she wasn’t wrong. As she watched his grin crack over his face she wondered if he had any inkling that she knew about him. His laugh surrounded her, sweet and soft. In this moment he looked so innocent like he had never done anything wrong in his life. That hurt. She wondered if in a different universe things were fine, and she could love Kirk without guilt.

“Sorry,” He mumbled sweetly, one of his hands coming to cup her cheek, his long fingers gently calloused against her skin. “You’re just so beautiful and it's such a good view from my window. Can you blame me?” He hummed and leaned down to press their lips together. Soft and plush against her own and she melted against him instinctually. “I have the prettiest girlfriend in the world.” He breathed against her as he pulled back.

He would be such a good boyfriend. It almost made her want to scream, shake him senseless and berate him for ruining it all, running any chance they had to be normal, ruining himself. She never let herself get too lost wrapped up in him, reminding herself she was doing this out of necessity not want. But that wasn't true at all was it. She was an awful rotten person, decaying from the inside out because instead of going to the police she was sleeping with him. Letting bloodied hands caress her, cradle her, because she was selfish and had never felt so loved. Never felt so scared.

“You’re obligated to say that.” She rolled her eyes and pried herself from his arms to throw herself down at his desk chair, the wheels rolling back slightly. “It would be messed up if you said another girl was prettier than me.” She smiled at him as she drew her legs up to her chest and spun herself around in the chair. Slowly coming to a halt facing him once more.

An amused smile played on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm not,” He laughed. “I could be a total dick and tell you some other girl was hotter.” He shrugged as he loomed over. His shadow blocked all light from view, leaving only him. Only ever him. “But I really believe that you’re the prettiest woman to have ever walked this earth.” Dark soft eyes flicked across her with an unmistakable hunger. “Do you need me to show you that?”

No, no, don’t touch me, don't make me complicit in your sin. “Yes,” She breathed out as she stood up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pushing him back until he was falling against the bed with a soft breath. A chuckle leaving him at her eagerness. Gentle hands rested on her hips as she crawled on top of him. Too gentle, a tenderness that would be forgotten the moment her clothes were off. There was a desperate filth that coated her skin because despite it all she wanted this.

The pads of his fingers dug into her flesh as he slid his hands beneath her shirt, pushing it up over her body. She lifted her arms complicity as he removed the fabric from her. “I love you, y’know.” He sighed appreciatively, and for a moment she thought maybe she saw guilt in his eyes. She believed him, he loved her in some twisted fucked up way. His thumb traced over some of the marks he had left on her, some would scar, that was intended by him. She would always be reminded she was permanently marked by him.

“I love you too.” She mumbled as her fingers dropped to the button of his jeans, working it open with too much eagerness for a girl lying to herself that she was with him to survive. He tapped her hip to get her to flip over. She did so complicitly, the soft fabric of his sheets hitting her skin as he stood up beside his bed, shucking his jeans off unceremoniously before he was tugging off her shorts. His knee knocked her legs apart further as he crawled over her on the bed, caging her in. He could do it now, when she was laid bare at her most vulnerable, slip the cold metal into her skin and cut through her like warm butter.

Would he gut her sloppily like he did the others, or would he afford her something more beautiful? Keeping the knife steady as it peeled back the skin and fat from her navel up to her sternum. Pin it back like a specimen for dissection. Would he crack open her ribs, or would he work his hand beneath the bone delicately to wrap his fingers around her still beating heart and tug it free. “You’re so wet.” He mumbled against her neck, briefly breaking her from her stupor. She hadn’t even registered his fingers pressing against her through the thin cotton of her panties. God she was fucked up, she was getting off on this.

She lifted her hips up so he could pull the offending fabric down her thighs. The cool air in his room eased the heat between her legs ever so slightly. Did he fuck those girls too? Lure them in to make them feel safe and warm, give them one last moment of pleasure before he watched the life leave their eyes? She hoped not. She was different, she was special. He wouldn’t make love to them like he did her. She let out a shaky gasp as his fingers pressed deep inside her, rubbing along her walls until he pushed against the spot that had her arching her back, fingers curling tightly against his sheets. “Oh g-god, right there.” She whined. There was no god here, why did she call for him?

It was hard and fast, he fucked his fingers into her like he did his cock. It didn’t hurt as he curled them, his free hand coming to press down just below her navel. The added pressure had her eyes glazing over. Her mouth parted in a string of hot breathy moans as she watched him. The way his tongue darted out across his lips like he was looking at a meal to eat. “Yeah, right there?” He breathed out. Kirk rested his head on her propped up knee as he worked her over, his gaze affectionate, a smile playing on his lips like he wasn't knuckles deep within her. “C’mon I can feel how close you are,” He hummed. “Come just once on my fingers, then I’ll give you what you want.” He cooed at her, his voice so soft and sweet.

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, not with the way he punched shaky desperate moans from her lips with each thrust. She nodded dumbly as she clenched down around him. Her knuckles went white with the tight grip she had on the sheets. “Oh fuck, fuck” She gasped as she felt the tight white hot coiling in her stomach. It was too much and not enough all the same. She tossed her head back like a woman possessed as she cried out his name desperately, thighs trembling and snapping shut around his hand as she came around his fingers. Her body went limp against the mattress and she twitched slightly with the aftershock.

“Good girl, fuck you’re so good for me.” Kirk hummed the praise as he pressed his warm lips to her sweat soaked skin. His fingers pulled from her hole with a wet squelch that left her recoiling at the sound. He seemed indifferent to just how gross it was. “Look at me,” He asked gently. Her heavy eyes landed on him just in time to watch him push his fingers between his lips. The sight knocked the breath from her lungs as his tongue lapped at the slick coating his hand, his eyes closing as he moaned in delight. When he was seemingly satisfied with her taste and the cleanliness of his fingers he swiped his spit across her stomach. She shivered as the air cooled it instantly against her skin.

The bed creaked slightly as he shifted his weight, pressing one hand above her head on the bed to hold himself steady as he reached into his underwear. He fished his dick out, gripping it tight between his lean pretty fingers. The tip was swollen and already leaking. He guided himself, rubbing against her clit and letting out a soft moan. Kirk was so loud and sensitive, it was unfortunately cute, she loved how vocal he was. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer as he rocked between her folds, mixing their fluids together and making a mess between her thighs. “A-ah fuck, I could come just like this.” He whined into the crook of her neck as his cock repeatedly bumping against her clit.

She was inclined to agree. It felt good, the pressure just enough to encourage that building feeling in her stomach again. As much as she would enjoy that, the sick part of her wanted him to be inside her already. With a small shake of her head she tilted her hips up slightly, catching the head against her entrance with the needy rocking motions he was making. “N-no, wanna be filled.” Y/N spoke desperately. She was absolutely basking in the soft persistent noises he was making in her ear.

Kirk nodded. “God, you’re so good to me,” He praised her, kissing along her skin, lapping his tongue against where her neck and jaw met. He could feel her pulse beneath the flesh and he moaned again. Slowly he pushed up against her, sinking inside the tight wet heat until his balls were tucked snugly against her ass. Her legs trembled where they locked around his hips, keeping him flush with her body. “Baby,” He whined, broken and desperate. “I love you, fuck I love you.” He chanted hot against her skin.

When he was inside her was when she felt most conflicted. Their bodies interlocked perfectly together. The stretch of his girth had her feeling pleasantly full and when he pulled his hips back and pressed forward again he dragged along her walls in a way that had her breathless and wanting. Yet she knew she could never un-fuck him, she would always be tainted. She will always remember that he had been inside her. When the police eventually caught him she would live with the constant reminder she had willingly let him fill her. Would she be dead by then so she didn’t have to live with the guilt. Would the police ever even know it was him.

Snapped from her stupor once more she let out a high pitched cry, her heels digging into his back as he set a slow but hard pace. His lips against her collarbone as he whimpered words of admiration and praise. “Kirk, s’good, so good.” She moaned. Her nails dug into the smooth skin of his back as he pushed her deeper into the bed. It creaked and shifted with every move and she had half a mind to be embarrassed about how loud they were when his mom was still in the house. “Harder,” She pleaded in contradiction to her worries.

He obeyed eagerly. The jut of his hip bones was harsh against the soft flesh of her ass as he gripped her thigh in one hand, pressing her leg up towards her chest and pressing his cock into her deeper, harder and faster. “So fucking desperate.” He groaned, tilting his head to nip at her calf where he slung her leg over his shoulder. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, he was relentless in his movements, punching the breath from her lungs with each sharp thrust. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna take it all right? My pretty girl.” He gasped out.

Y/N preened at his words, the affection dripping from his voice made her forget everything just for a moment. “Mhm,” She mewled. Her hands scrambled to grasp at his face, relishing in the soft skin beneath her hands. He looked innocent and beautiful at that moment. Angelic with his big round dark eyes, his perfect lips parted as he moaned. For a brief second this was pure. Her thumb swiped across the dark mole that kissed his cheek. “I want it all, give it to me.” She nodded softly as she forced eye contact between them.

It was too much, too intense. Kirk's eyes widened and his mouth opened further with a strangled noise. His hips stuttering before stilling completely buried inside her. She could feel each pulse as he finished inside her. Warmth spilled around his cock still plugging her, leaking from her messy hole and down her ass onto the sheets. His expression was soft and filled with awe as he stared down at her, his release washing over him in waves. His arms shook as he held himself over her body. Finally he let his weight press her into the bed. Resting his body against her as his chest heaved with each shallow shaky breath. “Oh my god,” He mumbled into her neck.

She wanted to coo at him. He was always reduced to such a soft whiny mess. Her hands rubbed along his back as he kissed her neck softly. “I love you,” She whispered and she believed herself, she hated that. She was terrified of him even in this moment as she held him close, held close the very thing that would be her undoing. Yet she pulled him closer. Whined as his cock softened and slipped from her, following another sticky wave of his cum spreading between her thighs. She entangled their legs tighter.

“I love you too,” Kirk hummed against the underside of her jaw before shifting his body up the bed, his lean arms wrapping around her and tugging her against his chest. His fingers carding through her hair and gently untangling it as he went. “Please never leave me,” He whispered in a desperate plea. It surprised her and made her want to laugh all the same. Never leave him? Was that even an option on the table, she knew what would happen if she tried. She wouldn’t leave him.

She didn’t have a choice

[gottencents]

013: a angel has fell in love [ Epilogue]

synopsis. SM Entertainment would’ve loved for FALLEN ANGELS and aespa to never share a stage — especially with Chanel possibly "corrupting" their prized “it girl,” Karina.

____________ ____________ ________ ____________

The sun had fully risen now, filling the room with a gentle warmth that contrasted with the quiet stillness between them. Chanel lay close to Karina, her body pressed gently against hers as they both soaked in the morning’s peaceful energy. The soft rays of light that spilled through the window caught on Karina’s dark hair, highlighting the delicate features of her face. Chanel watched her quietly, a sense of contentment washing over her as she admired the woman beside her.

Karina stirred slightly, her brow furrowing in that way that made Chanel smile every time she saw it. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything else faded. Karina’s sleepy gaze met Chanel’s, and a tender smile formed on her lips—one that made Chanel’s heart skip a beat.

“Good morning,” Karina murmured softly, her voice thick with sleep but smooth nonetheless. Her voice, though still sleepy, held a warmth that made Chanel feel entirely seen and loved.

“Good morning,” Chanel whispered back, her voice no louder than the hum of the world outside the window.

The room was still, save for the quiet sounds of nature—a soft rustling of leaves, the distant hum of morning traffic, and the steady rhythm of their breathing. It was a moment suspended in time, neither rushed nor forced. It felt intimate, electric in its simplicity, as though the air between them held some unspoken magic.

The night before had been special, just as Chanel had hoped it would be. She had spent hours preparing dinner—homemade dishes that were admittedly clumsier than she had anticipated, but Karina didn’t mind. It was the thought that counted, and in Chanel’s mind, it was perfect.

Every glance exchanged, every laugh shared, every quiet touch had deepened their connection in ways Chanel hadn’t expected. She found herself falling deeper into Karina’s presence, a feeling that wasn’t new but felt infinitely more significant with each passing moment.

Karina had been her usual effortlessly charming self—the way she smiled when she talked about the simplest things, how her voice softened when she laughed at Chanel’s dorky comments. It was those little things, those small quirks, that made Chanel fall harder with every passing second.

“Do you remember when we first started dating?” Chanel asked, her voice floating through the quiet air, breaking the stillness.

“Of course,” Karina replied easily, squeezing Chanel’s hand gently. “How could I forget? You were a mess.”

Chanel rolled her eyes playfully, giggling softly. “A mess? Really?”

“Yes, a cute mess,” Karina added with a smirk, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Chanel. “But you’ve always been my favorite kind.”

Chanel blushed, a quiet warmth settling deep within her chest. “You always know what to say,” she teased.

“It’s not hard when you’re the one I want to talk to all the time,” Karina said softly, brushing a strand of Chanel’s hair back behind her ear.

Chanel felt her heart swell with the sweetness of the moment. Her fingers traced slow circles on Karina’s hand, her touch gentle. “You know,” she began hesitantly, “I wasn’t very good at this before.”

“At what?”

“Being in a relationship,” Chanel admitted with a soft laugh. “I used to think that love was supposed to be this grand, overwhelming thing—like it’s supposed to sweep you off your feet or something. But it’s not. Not with you, anyway.”

Karina studied her carefully, her expression gentle and understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chanel said slowly, “I thought love was supposed to be these big moments, these huge gestures that scream ‘look at me.’ But with you… it’s the little things that matter more. It’s waking up next to you, or the way you smile when you catch me staring. It’s those moments that make me feel whole.”

Karina’s gaze softened, and she pressed a light kiss to Chanel’s temple. “You’re perfect just as you are, Chanel. Every part of you.”

Chanel let out a soft sigh, leaning into the kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Karina pulled back slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “So,” she started, her voice laced with amusement, “are we just going to sit here being sappy, or do I get a proper good morning kiss?”

Chanel couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of her naturally. “You’re impossible,” she said playfully.

“Come on,” Karina said softly, leaning in again. Her lips brushed lightly against Chanel’s in a tender, lingering kiss—slow and deliberate, conveying the depth of her emotions in a way that words never truly could.

Chanel’s breath hitched, her hands resting lightly on Karina’s cheeks. It was simple, and yet it spoke volumes. Every second felt like time was slowing down, every touch amplified by the quiet intimacy they shared.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, and the space between them felt sacred. “I love you,” Karina whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Chanel smiled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Forever,” she whispered back.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over their small apartment. Chanel moved around the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she finished preparing dinner. Karina lounged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, but her attention was always on Chanel, her heart full with every small, tender movement.

“You’ve been humming that same tune for like, an hour,” Karina teased, setting her phone down on the coffee table.

Chanel giggled, glancing over her shoulder with a playful smile. “It’s the only thing that fits the vibe,” she said, stirring the sauce on the stove.

Karina tilted her head, watching her with that soft, affectionate gaze that Chanel had come to love so much. “What vibe is that exactly?”

Chanel smiled, her eyes crinkling with warmth. “The ‘I’m cooking for my amazing girlfriend’ vibe.”

Karina couldn’t help but laugh at her dorky little declaration. “You’re too cute, babe,” she murmured, crossing the room to stand behind Chanel. She wrapped her arms around Chanel’s waist, pulling her close for a gentle hug.

Chanel leaned back into her, letting out a content sigh. “You deserve all the cute things,” she said softly.

Karina pressed a kiss to the side of Chanel’s head, the touch lingering longer than usual. “You’re way too sweet for your own good,” she whispered.

As the dinner settled on the table, the atmosphere in the room became more intimate. They talked quietly about their day—small moments from work, silly interactions, and future plans. There was no rush, no pressure to fill the silence with anything but their shared presence.

After they finished eating, Chanel grabbed a blanket from the living room, draping it over their laps as they sat side by side on the couch. The soft hum of a favorite playlist played quietly in the background, creating a cozy ambiance.

“Do you ever think about how different things were a year ago?” Karina asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Chanel gave her a soft smile. “All the time,” she admitted. “It feels like we’ve grown so much together.”

Karina intertwined their fingers, giving Chanel’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve helped me grow too,” she said quietly. “I never imagined feeling this way, and now I can’t imagine not feeling it.”

Chanel squeezed back, her heart full of warmth. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed,” she murmured.

A shy smile tugged at Karina’s lips as she leaned in slightly, her eyes locked on Chanel’s. “I love you, you know.”

Chanel’s breath hitched for a moment. “I know,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I love you too, Karina.”

There was a pause between them—just a quiet, intimate moment where time seemed to stop. Karina tilted her head slightly, her lips brushing softly against Chanel’s. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t frantic—it was gentle, tender, full of meaning. Chanel melted into the kiss, her heart pounding gently in her chest as everything else faded away.

When they pulled back slightly, their foreheads pressed together, Karina whispered, “You’re my home.”

Chanel smiled, her eyes shining with affection. “And you’re mine.”

The evening stretched on, filled with small touches, shared laughter, and conversations that flowed effortlessly. They didn’t need anything grand—just the simple presence of one another was enough. And as the stars began to peek out through the window, Chanel felt a warmth settle deep in her chest.

They were exactly where they were meant to be.

____________ ____________ ________ ____________

Taglist ( closed ) : @saysirhc @awkwardtoafault @yjiminswallet @gtfoiydlyj @1luvkarina @womanl0ver @hazel-tanthamore22 @deuxae @arihiu @spidrgamer @goofymickeyr

[tuesday-teyz]

I've been wondering for a while how long it'd take for BR!Tommy to go into a Macbeth-style spiral without realising that he was in the midst of one the entire time

Isn't he kind of in the middle of one already?

I think the inherent nature of Tommy's thought process and his insightfulness makes it next to impossible for him not to have some level of awareness of what's happening to him. He is not in denial about his own actions and what it means to be a murderer, and he further accenuates that he doesn't want or need excuses in his dialogue with Wilbur in the woods.

He didn't kill Wilbur because he was convinced he didn't have any other options; he killed because it was an option and it was the one he was ready to face the consequences for. The specific reasons and motivations behind the choice don't matter as much as the fact of the choice itself. Tommy asked if he could live with himself if he abdicated his crown and throne, and the answer was no. Tommy asked if he could live with himself if he killed Wilbur, and the answer was yes.

I've seen some people say that Tommy is risking too much, or that he'll get caught. What they don't realize is that Tommy is mentally prepared for the truth to come out one day; he expects it, even, on some level. There are layers to this. First there's the fact that Wilbur's murder was in part an act of retaliation against Philza, and revenge is not sweet if you don't get to take accountability for it. Second is that he is fully aware that he's turning into a monster, and will need to be put an end to eventually.

Cycling back to your original question – which i admittedly strayed quite a lot from – my answer is that br!Tommy is not Macbeth as much as he is the minotaur, patiently waiting for someone to strike him down

[rowan-ashtree]

Keeper of Earth

this is a gift for @riseandfallofsecunit because they drew my OCs (look at them!!!), written about someone in my OC world getting some Elemental magic (explanation of magic system here. i think that's all the context you need)

1.1k words, no CWs (let me know if i missed anything!)

this is my first time posting something set in this world - I'd love to post more if people are interested :)

🌱⚡🌊🔥☀️🌑 | 🌑☀️🔥🌊⚡🌱

You've been guarding the Vessel of Earth for a number of years now.

It's not as cool as you'd originally thought.

Not the Vessel. That thing — a circlet of vines that bloom with gemstones rather than flowers — is extremely cool.

Guarding it is what's boring.

Oh, you know it's an important job. You take the responsibility very seriously. You just thought it'd be more… exciting?

Nevertheless, you do what the Keepers’ Guild asked of you: check on the Vessel and update its History each day, stay mostly isolated, move around often, and grow a garden wherever you live.

The garden doesn't need to be anything special, they'd told you. Just something that shows the Element that you care. So you plant whatever's in season, wherever you happen to be. Currently, it's tomatoes and bell peppers, plus various herbs and flowers.

You're kneeling in the garden now, gently untangling weeds from the soil to be transplanted away from your vegetables. One annoying thing about keeping the core of all nature magic in your toolshed: it feeds all life. It doesn't make growing a garden any less work.

The small toolshed sits nearby to the garden. You've gotten better at not glancing at it every three seconds just to make sure it's still locked, though you learned quickly that the vines growing on the walls and roof need to be checked on and pruned frequently, or else they'll slowly dismantle the shed in their hunt for the magic they can sense within.

It also attracts animals, which you'd been warned about, but not prepared for emotionally. One day, you'd walked outside to see a large wildcat napping by the shed, and you'd made a strangled gasp-scream that had woken the cat. It had stirred, looked at you, then gone back to sleep.

Okay, so it was kind of a cool job.

(Still not very exciting, though. Not in the ways you'd hoped.)

You gather your tools and the small bundle of uprooted plants, and move to the second garden plot, the one where you put the weeds. Many of them are hardy enough that you just sprinkle them across the ground. A few of them, you take the time to re-plant.

Very early on, you learned that the Element of Earth doesn't appreciate needless death. It encourages the natural cycle of things, of life, death, decay, and rebirth, but the weeds in your garden have as much right to live as the vegetables you plant. So you simply relocate them, to show the Element that you care. (And so they don't strangle your basil.)

Standing up again, you wipe your hands on your pants — you gave up on keeping them free of dirt stains a long time ago — and move towards the shed to put away your tools.

When you unlock and open the door, the gentle multicolored glow of the Vessel’s gemstones spills out. You block as much of it as you can with your body and quickly shut the door behind you, even though you know there's no one around. Call it paranoia, but old habits die hard.

As you hang up your tools (yes, the shed houses incredibly powerful magic, but it's still a toolshed), you notice that the light seems greener than usual. You look closer at the Vessel. It hangs on a nail like a celebratory wreath, about the size of a woven flower crown. One of the smaller precious stones, the one that's usually colorless and crystalline, is now a deep, bright green.

Carefully (always carefully, though the Vessel has never harmed you), you reach up to touch the green stone — but before you do, it falls off the vine and into your palm.

You flinch and gasp and close your fist around it. In all the years you've guarded the Vessel, through all the places you've lived, this has never happened before.

You open your hand slowly. The bright green glow is pulsing now. Starting to panic, you think back to what the Guild told you — was there anything about the stones falling out? Have you been doing something wrong this whole time? Oh, stars and smoke, did you somehow manage to break the Vessel?

Trembling, you reach with your free hand to touch the other gemstones, even going so far as to gingerly wiggle one like you would a loose tooth, but they all seem as secure as they've ever been. You try to remember the History, if any previous guardian recorded something similar to this.

You're staring into the gemstone, flashing greener and brighter and faster, when you realize you're spiraling. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, then another, letting out the tension in your body with each exhale. Freaking out won't help anything, as you're well aware, so you try to let go of the panic, then open your eyes to try again.

The gem’s light still pulses on your palm, but you realize something — it's pulsing to the beat of your heart.

Huh.

Well, it is nature magic, and you're definitely part of nature. Is it trying to tell you something?

You take several more deep breaths, feeling your heartbeat slow, and watching as the gem's flashes slow to match.

Panic fades, replaced by curiosity. You try to project that feeling out, unsure of what to do but ready to receive what the Element wants to give.

As soon as that thought crosses your mind, the gem glows brighter, and brighter, still matching your heartbeat — then disappears.

You have a split second to be confused — until you feel something blooming in your heart, your limbs, your mind. For a moment, you're acutely aware of the world around you: the fungi in the shed, the vines surrounding it, the beetles under the grass and the bedrock far below. Most of all, the Vessel, still glowing softly, now missing a gemstone. You've always known the whole world is alive (how could it not be?), but it's more than that. It's gloriously bright, it's overflowing with energy. With all this life around you, it's no wonder the Vessel glows.

Slowly, gently, the awareness fades, but you still feel awash with the beautiful warmth of your Element.

… your Element?

You open your eyes (you aren't sure when you closed them). The dim toolshed looks the same, but you feel different. You look at the Vessel again — note the missing gem, the mild glow, the hardy vines. You reach up, touch the empty socket, and realization blossoms.

The Vessel of Earth has gifted you magic.

It's not your Element, really. It doesn't belong to you (nor does it belong to anyone), but you are a part of it, now.

You realize you're leaning against the wall for support. There's a new, tiny crystal already growing in the Vessel's empty spot. You look down at yourself. You look no different from before, but inside…

Well. Your wish for more excitement seems to have come true.

[pinkrangerv]

You know, every year we lose at least one dumb tourist in Nevada. Why?

'That big cave looks really interesting! I wanna go see!' That's a mine shaft. You were WARNED about mine shafts. THEY HAVE LARGE PITS YOU FALL INTO AND DIE.

'Oh hey that body of water looks like a great place to swim!' It's contaminated with mercury and twelve other heavy metals. There's signs everywhere. How did you miss this?

'I only need a small water bottle for a five-hour hike!' Buddy. Pal. I can pull that off, because I am chronically dehydrated and somehow survive it. (It's the fat, I think.) But trust me, normal people cannot do that, and even I drink water when I stop for lunch. You are normal. You will die slow.

'Hey, Pyramid Lake looks cool!' The local tribe has an entire set of stories about how if you hear babies laughing, the next day you will die on the lake. And at least one boat gets pulled under a year. The park has warning signs about that plastered all over it. Yeah, sure, riptide--but honestly, that lake even looks like it's gonna kill you, it has no greenery at all around it, it's just water and then desert, how are you this stupid?

'Aww, that bear looks so CUDDLY!' You know what, you're clearly unsaveable. Give me your kid, I'll find them a home with a loving adult who explains that forks don't go in light sockets. We'll hold your funeral. Your kids' new adult can explain that some people are just meant as a warning to others. They'll grow up to appreciate your sacrifice. We all will. You will serve as an example to future tourists to just, for the love of fuck, stay in the damn cities. At least there someone will stop you from ANNOYING A GODDAMN BEAR.

Really. If you come to Nevada, just...stay where there's sidewalks. You'll end up less dead.

[thymejot]

I do appreciate how much Jason Gideon haunts this season of Criminal Minds

[mariocki]

Play for Today: Under the Hammer (BBC, 1984)

"So. Tell me what happened."

"Well. It was me. I kicked it."

"Any particular reason?"

"I lost my temper."

"Who with?"

"I was having a... discussion about the painting and things to do with the painting with McClaren, sir, and, uh... it got out of hand."

"And you kicked the painting?"

"Yes, sir."

"Instead of kicking McClaren?"

"Yes, sir."

"I wish you'd kicked McClaren."

"So do I, sir."

[oceanmoss]

if i hear one more person talking about laser hair removal i'm seriously gonna start punching people shut the fuck uppppppppp i don't get the obsession i don't get going through all that bullshit because you're too scared to have hairy legs or a hairy vagina or whatever legit if you're soooo scared someone's gonna be repulsed by that then they're not even worth fucking lollll what is wrong with you . also what the hell are strawberry legs????? are we just inventing insecurities left and right now

[waugh-bao]

I was curious and able to find the full watch story. “Unknown to him, Charlie Watts taught me a very valuable lesson in life I will never forget. When I worked for@somlo_london as a young man learning my way in the 90's, I clearly recall an elderly skinny man would occasionally stop in to look around. Usually wearing a long black overcoat, large gothic silver rings and being hard of hearing in one ear, I didn't pay him much attention. Then one day I decided to make an effort and see what he was looking for. He wanted to see a rare slim deco platinum @cartier pocket watch in the window, I explained all about the importance and rarity of the watch and shocked when he said "I'll take it". Believing he couldn't be serious and thinking it's never a sale until paid for, I accepted his AMX credit card for payment, the name on the card was Mr Charles Watts. In those days nothing was electronic and for that value I had to call the authorisation centre. The AMX employee asked me if I recognised the person, which had never happened before, verifying his identify, Charlie handed me back the phone and AMX casually said, "yep, that's Charlie Watts, drummer for the Rolling Stones". In shock at my obvious poor judgement, I think my next remarks were to call him Sir, a lot. Realising my earlier error we chatted more and it turned out Mr Watts collected pocket watches and had cabinets made to display them. I introduced Charlie to Mr Somlo and we arranged to have special stands made for him. Never again did I judge someone by their appearance, as you simply never know.

Thank you for such a valuable lesson and RIP Charlie Watts, you were a gentleman.”

I wonder how they verified his identity. Secret question? If so I bet the answer was Charlie Parker.

Thank you so much for finding the actual post, that was such an interesting (and funny) read. And I can totally see Charlie Parker (or maybe Dave Tough) being his password. Or something Shirley related.

It’s really funny to me how this person just insists on calling Charlie elderly, because, depending upon what part of the ‘90s this was, he was somewhere between 49 and 58 years old and totally did not appear dramatically older than his age.

This is Charlie at three points (1990 - 1996 - 2000) across that decade and he always looks great for his 50s. I think people make weird snap judgments based on the gray/white hair and his personal style, which was very ‘40s.

[seaofreverie]

We should normalize bringing these sort of "small talk ideas" cards to meetings with other people so that it's possible to avoid the awkwardness of not knowing what to talk about to kick things off or if it's considered normal to talk about this specific thing and AUGHGHFCG all this stuff.

[non-un-topo]

When you get hit by a random powerful wave of nostalgia for like your first fandom ever

[crescentmp3]

hiii! 'tis me.

[monsterblogging]

"I know JK Rowing is a terrible person but her books are so good-"

You sure about that?

I mean, just for a start, have you taken a good look at her fantasy creatures lately? A whole bunch of them are straight-up based on malicious and dehumanizing stereotypes about actual people.

Remember the werewolves? And being a werewolf was made into a kind of metaphor for having AIDS?

And you know how AIDS was first associated with gay men? And how conservatives back in the day were claiming gay men were preying on children in order to convert them to gayness?

Remember how Fenrir Greyback preyed on children in particular? Yeah, she put that subtext in there. She was an adult in the 90's. She knew damn well what she was doing.

Remember the house elves? Remember how most of them loved to serve and needed to have a home and a master or else they just wouldn't know what to do with themselves?

Did you know that's literally what slavers in the American South said about the Black people they kept enslaved? Go look up the happy slave myth.

Do I even need to get into the goblins and the antisemitic tropes they're based on? No, folkloric goblins were not gold-hoarding bankers waiting for their chance to stab humanity in the back.

"But the characters are so good!"

Are you kidding me?

Most of her characters are pretty one-dimensional, including Harry. Her idea of making a morally complicated character is giving a tragic past to a bully. Numerous characters are little more than stereotypes. (Looking at Fleur right now.) Literally anybody, including you, can easily make dozens of characters just as good, if not better. (It doesn't exactly take a lot of character designing skill to go, "hey, actually, having a sad backstory doesn't make it okay to bully children" or "hey, maybe I should not base a character on the first stereotype that pops into my head.")

"But the rest of the worldbuilding!"

Sorry, but her worldbuilding is just as basic as her characters. Magical castles and secret passages are stock tropes. Magical people who keep their true nature secret from humanity is the premise of pretty much every White Wolf TTRPG. Most of her fantasy creatures are just common European fairy tale and folklore creatures with shitty stereotypes projected onto them.

I'm not saying "basic worldbuilding bad." I'm saying, you could do just as good, if not better, with minimal effort.

Also there's her magical bioessentialism, where only Harry's abusive blood relatives could provide him with supernatural protection from Voldemort. Rowling thus effectively declared that non-biological family isn't quite real family, and that abusive biofamily can give you some essential thing that a loving, supportive family that isn't related to you just can't.

The Hogwarts houses are one of the most insidious elements of her worldbuilding. The idea of being sorted gives you a little dopamine hit because wow now you have a li'l niche where you belong!

But the actual function of the houses and sorting system and the House Cup is teaching children to see each other as rivals, and ensure that the most toxic views of the upper class get passed on to every new batch of kids sorted into Slytherin.

Hogwarts effectively prepares children for a dystopia where magic serves to distract its citizens from how nightmarishly awful it is. Economic inequality is so bad that people like Arthur and Molly Weasley can barely afford to put their kids through school, casual sadism is just an accepted norm in everyday society, and non-humans are second class citizens. Rowling sorta acts like she thinks this is a bad thing with certain lines she gave to Dumbledore, but in the end, her special boy protagonist becomes an auror; IE, a defender of the status quo. So.

If you've never seen it, Lily Simpson's video goes into even more detail on how the worldbuilding of Harry Potter is actually incredibly fucked up, and how it betrays small-minded attitudes on Rowling's part. There's no separating the art from this artist, because Rowling's rotten values pour out of nearly every page.

Yes, there are many things in Harry Potter that evoke feelings and inspire people, but there's absolutely nothing in it that this series has a monopoly on. You can find those same experiences in much, much better media.

[shotmrmiller]

there are two modes to simon. handsy and handsy.

handsy is the gentle hold he has on your wrist when you're watching a movie on the couch, his thumb brushing your knuckles, tracing ever bump and curve. it's a cozy arm thrown over your waist, weighty enough to leave your side sore after, with his leg slid between yours while he snores into your ear after a long day's work. the hand on your knee under the table while eating breakfast, lightly squeezing when you ask him if he wants more.

and then there's handsy. his grip tight around the soft of your waist, fingers creating little divots into your flesh as he tries to slow the pace you've set, feeling his climax too close too soon. it's how he fists your hair and maneuvers your head to the side without much effort while you're on your stomach, the light prick on your scalp only adding to the pleasure, as he mutters into your ear if you can give him another one. (guess you'll die, then.)

how he paws at your arse when he's got you on your knees with your face dug into a pillow as he pistons his hips, the occasional slap of his balls onto your clit making your ears ring and calves tense almost painfully, until he pulls you up, his chest and your back slick with sweat and you come with his one hand around your throat and the other jerking little circles on your stiffened pearl.

the two touches are so different from each other, one a tender thing as if he's afraid to hurt you and the other wanting to hurt, but a different kind of ache, the one he will always soothe with his fingers, mouth and cock.

(call him a triple threat.)

whether you like it or not, you've been conditioned. soft and gentle means affection and care, similar to him bussing the side of your head every morning before work while rough and firm means you're about to be ploughed until you're left to soak in a bath to recover from the onslaught.

and you'd been prepared to take this secret to the grave, to not tell a soul how he'd pulled you out of a pool with enough strength to feel your rear shoulder sting and you'd just about moaned in broad daylight. or how he'd moved you out of soap's trajectory during the first meet by the wrist and if you hadn't been wearing a jumper, your peaked nipples would've been visible to anyone.

but naturally, things never go your way. he'd found out in no time and now he uses that knowledge to his advantage. a quick sneaky fuck in price's bathroom during a barbecue starts with a vicious tug of your arm. getting ate out in the back alley of a pub: giving your thigh a squeeze so tight it could bruise while you sip on the swill you call beer.

and every single time he's pulling your pants down or flipping your skirt up, you're already dripping with want.

now to get him to stop manhandling you like that when the 141 are around.

(soap's left like a deer in headlights after he forcibly sat your tipsy arse down next to him because "LT said to keep 'n eye on ye," and a moan had slipped past your lips unbidden and now the girls boys are fighting someone help)