Thinking About This Again - Tumblr Posts
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Imagine visiting Sodor and bringing your favourite lil model engine along for the ride only for it come alive the moment you cross the bridge
i am a wlb. a woman loving bennett
And if your conscience is bothering you, you should soothe it with the knowledge that you may have just saved the entire Alpha Quadrant - and all it cost was 2 hours of sleep, Ayesha Erotica, and the self-respect of your entire online audience. I don't know about you, but I'd call that a bargain.
really dumb animatic thing because i could NOT stop thinking about this audio
Daylight [M] Pairing: Chwe Hansol (Vernon) x Fem!Reader Series: SVT x Harry’s House Tags: 3.3k, FWB2L!AU, Fluff, Mature Themes Summary: “He’s cursing the daylight because you’re in his bed every night and gone in the morning, and he’s catching feelings.”
Warnings: Mature themes throughout, MINORS DNI. Non-explicit smut - it’s sort of brushed over but they are going to and are “doing it”, lots of mutual pining (& kissing), communication misfires, they’re both very in love with each other so beware the fluff.
Vernon used to love the sun.
Ever since he was a child, every day started with the sun slowly stretching into the sky, painting his world in shades of pinks, purples, yellows, oranges. It was accompanied by his mother’s voice gently coaxing him from sleep. Filling his belly with thoughtfully made meals as he watched the sun rise higher through the kitchen window, it’s radiance piercing the glass and tickling his nose as he dared to gaze back at it.
He’s in his mid-twenties now and the sun still starts and ends the day but no longer is he comforted by it’s rays of warmth and light. Now it fills him with dread and he squeezes his eyes shut against it’s unwelcome arrival because he’s not ready to witness the aftermath of his weakness in broad daylight.
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౨ৎ ⋆ ࣪ ˖ for the first time how you meet the infamous boxer sukuna ryomen
part of the mine to love and adore series ❤︎
content warnings. fem reader (you dress femininely + wear lipstick), boxing, meet cute
word count. 340
note. very brief, very cute (๑>•̀๑)
sukuna ryomen sees you first.
it’s at one of his matches, held in a dingy place where you do not seem to belong — your shirt and skirt too nice and pretty, your eyes wary, and smile a little unsure. you cling to the arm of some guy (who laughs boisterously, talks to his friends, puts money on his opponent) and he thinks you could do better as he wraps a bandage around his wrist.
(glances at you after the fight, because he is a little entranced. but you pay him no mind — talk with your boyfriend or date or whatever, so he looks away and celebrates like any boxer would. drowns you out because he doesn't have a chance.)
you meet him outside of a bar, though, on a different day from when he first saw you at his match.
the smell of wet concrete is pungent in the air and angry clouds roll in the sky, but the bar’s fairy lights illuminate your face, letting him see you clearly — your confident (yet tipsy) smile, star filled eyes, pretty nose.
the ronette’s be my baby plays from inside and you direct your pretty little smile towards him.
he takes it as a sign you’ll end up in his bed tonight (or he'll end up in yours, head in between your thighs. whichever you prefer. your whatever be damned).
he takes a drag from his cigarette and hopes you don’t mind — though you seem like the type of girl who does.
“you know, i bet money on you the other night.”
“really? a pretty girl like you?”
you turn your body toward him a little more.
he takes note of how pretty you look in the baby pink dress you wear, how it compliments every inch of your body. how your lipstick is the tiniest bit smudged — how you haven’t been kissed.
“yep — just had a feeling about you, with your nickname and all.”
there’s a glint in your eyes and he knows he’ll end up in your bed tonight.
need to draw girls soon or i will fucking implode
sam and dean at 9 and 13 making a blood pact (as kids whose parents do not put the fear of god as regards communicable diseases and bloodborne pathogens into them at an impressionable age are wont to do)... only dean gets wildly sick afterwards. we're talking fever and chills, skin getting all swollen and red and hot to the touch, bloodless-white lines radiating from the spot where he and sam pressed their cut palms together. john has a complete shit-fit, thinks there's a non-zero possibility dean might lose the hand, jesus christ how could you two be so irresponsible, you know better than that. dean's fine in the end, barely even has a scar, but that's what happens when you try to slip demon blood -- even heavily diluted demon blood -- into an angelic vessel.
the concept and idea of “you can always start trying to be a better person” is extremely important to me both in media and irl and i continue to be deeply deeply disturbed by the trend on this site pushing that these ideas in media are bad writing or even morally reprehensible
because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person
from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating
it’s fucked up.
Ancient Mother Earth, cradle of the human miracle yet half-forgotten by her long-departed children, appears in the 53rd century as an overgrown playground of gods. Vast and awesome constructs, in various stages of disrepair, dot the slowly-healing landscape and the orbits above, evoking an image of toys left scattered on a bedroom floor. The human race once longed to spread its wings and fly to the stars, and Earth now remains the empty nest from whence they fledged.
Yet, she is not all empty, after all. Some could not bear to leave their mother behind, and for millennia now they have toiled in quiet solace to care for the weary Earth after her labors to birth starfaring humanity. And, much as one turns to the halcyon of childhood to comfort the grief of adulthood, so too does humankind their Earthbound infancy: now, slowly, a tide of reverent hiraeth sweeps across the people of the stars, drawing them back to the garden.
Mother is calling her children home.
crying about cave paintings at 7:51 pm is a good exercise that i recommend
My imagination is wild, sometimes it makes me think about a funny sitcom crossover where Hatsune Miku and Johnny the Homicidal Maniac share an apartment room together or live in a house together and wacky hijinks ensue between them and their own peers
Elliott Scrap 🦀
Elliott being a smitten man, as usual. Fem!Farmer, she/her pronouns. No other warnings necessary. I'll find a place for this scene eventually.
Elliott’s boots thunk softly against the stone bridge leading into town, his route illuminated by warm yellow light. He looks up at the rusty lamp posts, his breath puffing out into clouds of vapor in front of his face. It’s two days into Spring already, but frost still clings to the emerald green grass framing the cobblestone path, and Elliott tucks his nose low into the collar of his jacket.
The windows of the saloon burn a fiery orange, and Elliott picks up his pace. After hours of staring at ink on half-empty pages, and with no solace found in the sounds of waves kissing the shore outside of his home, he needs a distraction.
Tied to a post outside of the saloon is a horse, its ears flicking back and forth as it grazes on the overgrown grass breaking through the cement. Its coat is dusty brown, with a dark brown mane, and a very new looking saddle strapped to its back.
The horse picks its head up, sensing his presence. Its ears flick again, and if Elliott knew anything about horses, he might say it looks curious. He doesn’t though, so he walks past without a second glance, and up the steps.
He pushes the door open. It’s not a slow night by any means, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the cheery jingling of the bell above the door as Elliott pushes inside. The warmth from the fireplace hits him square in the face, and he relishes the way it melts the chill settled into his bones. Gus looks up to greet him, and Elliott knows it’s more out of habit than anything else. Just standard, to welcome a guest.
Elliott looks around, expecting to see Leah at their usual table next to the jukebox, but surprisingly, she’s nowhere to be seen. He frowns, resigning himself to a night of drinking alone, when something catches his attention.
The farmer stands alone at the bar, loosening the strap of her shoulder guard.
The last time he saw her was at his shack on the beach, two weeks ago. He’d poured his heart out into a heap on the floor of his shack, and she carefully placed every piece back into his palms. She’d been wearing overalls and brown work gloves, with steel-toed boots and the straw hat she won the spring prior for achieving first place in the egg hunt. She’d looked like a proper farmer, and a little like an angel.
But here, in the flickering firelight of Stardrop Saloon, she looks like she’s stepped out of an adventure novel. Dressed like a heroine whose only goal is to slay foul beasts and protect those weaker than herself, there’s a small array of leather holsters criss-crossing over her torso, cuts and bruises on her arms, and fresh white bandages wrapped around her knuckles. There’s a large black stain on the front of her shirt, and he wonders what the hell she’d done to get it.
She looks up, and their eyes meet.
Recognition passes over her face, and then she smiles.
He makes a beeline for the bar, the restless buzz in his chest getting louder with every step, like a swarm of cicadas in the summer.
“Hello, Farmer,” Elliot says, the buzz starting to make his ears ring. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Elliott. I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” she says softly, a smile spreading across her lips. Elliott blinks, and thoughts he’d never dare entertain flicker like firelight over the inside of his eyelids. She’s so pretty. Why is she so pretty? “I thought about stopping by your cabin, but I figured I should check here first, just in case.”
Elliott feels lightheaded. “You were looking for me?”
She hums, nodding as she turns away to search through her bag. “Last time I dropped by, you looked like you were running out of ink.”
“Ah. I was planning to purchase a refill from Pierre in the morning.” Elliott winces. He’d put it off for too long, and his plans to write well into the night were dashed when his fountain pen ran out of ink in the middle of a chapter.
“No need. I collected some for you.” She turns around, a glass inkwell standing proudly in the center of her palm. “I hope this is enough, but if it isn’t I can bring more later.”
Elliott’s lips part on a breath as he plucks the bottle out of her hand. The glass is heavy, sturdy between his fingers and sapphire blue. He whistles softly, a reverent sound. “It’s lovely. Where did you get it? The ones at Pierre’s don’t look like this.”
“Oh, no, I made it.”
Elliott jerks his head so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. “You made this? All of it?”
“Well, not really. I harvested the ink from squids, but I had leftover corks from my wine bottles, and the bottle is made out of glass shards I collected from the beach.” She chuckles, tapping her fingertip against the glass. “Who knew smelting furnaces were great for glassmaking?”
DOG/WOLF JOHN ANALYSIS!!!!
I’ve been going crazy for this idea. I knew I had to wait until part 41 “The Windmill” came out before I could post this (I am a patron). But now I can!!
First off John is narratively a wolf, but from my knowledge he is behavior wise more doglike. I am not an animal or dog or wolf behaviorist, but that would be sick.
Analysis, and some screenshots of the transcript below :3
So for narratively a wolf: he's one of the first wolves. He was enthralled by the campfire, he wandered closer, he found a human and a human found him. And through necessity he was softened, and tamed. He is no longer the viscous, cruel, arrogant wild thing he was, but a loyal, devoted, sometimes kind, curious thing. He isn't a sweet obedient pup and he won’t, he's in the process of being tamed. He's becoming a domestic wolf.
Now dog behavior: He acts alot like a dog that hasn’t been thoroughly trained yet. Acting out when pushed into a corner, being desperate for attention. He behaves exactly like a dog that doesn’t understand the world. He’s pampered aggressive lap dog, never learned no to bite. Now Arthur is showing him the consequences, he’s teaching him how to behave.
My friend made a good point on fear aggression (I would at then but they don't have Tumblr). Some dogs react really badly when scared, biting and barking. This seems the exact reason he used Faroe against Arthur when he brought Emily up. He wa scared of the consequences so he bit back, and made it worse. He fell back on his violent ways because he doesn’t know anything different.
He’d do anything for his keeper (calling Arthur his owner is weird) make a deal with the devil to come back to him. He’d draw him to safety by his teeth, even if that meant dragging Arthur by the neck. He could never see him loose himself, or die. He’d even give up the luxurious life he used to live to be by his side, and keep him safe.
He latches to ideas and will not let go until satisfied, like a particularly stubborn dog. Even if hi assumptions are childish, especially if they’re childish. He sees a movie advertisement like a dog sees a squirrel. At the same time he’s quick to jump to killing, he sees a threat and bites first ask questions later, ho many times has he seen a threat and immediately demands Arthur kill it?
Like alot of dogs I know he only wants Arthur, he’s slow to trust, and feels jealous easily. Like a dog using their muzzle to get you to pet them, especially after petting another dog. (this is targeted) He doesn’t like Lily, or the bright bug like creature in the caves, he only appreciates Lily after he found kinship. He only trusted Noel after he was able to be known.
In some ways in season 4, John is akin to a dog with owners who don’t understand dog behavior. He has no voice no matter how loud he barks, only getting a reaction when he gets really loud or physical. Arthur doesn’t understand his needs, because they don’t have the means to communicate (a place where they won’t look insane talking to each other)
Just like a child being new to the world, he’s a dog abandoned on the streets after living in pent houses. He’s gonna be clueless and misguided.
Now some specific moments that helped me form this theory/metaphor/symbolization: there's more, but I either can't remember them or they're overarching stuff that can't be simplified with one screenshot
