magicswordszin

[magicswordszin]

Genuinely so so in love with your hol art pls keep it up. no ones out here doing it like you

ooo...you might regret that. inspired by @noma-is-here's post

[magicswordszin]

*Valley Girl voice*: I must, like, not fear. Fear is literally the mind-killer. Like it’s basically the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will totally face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me, and? When it’s gone? I’m gonna like turn the inner eye to see its path! Where the fear has gone there will be literally nothing. Only I will remain.

[magicswordszin]

national gf day

twitter

[magicswordszin]

Tadeusz Styka: "Tied Up" (1940)

[magicswordszin]

inviting a girl over to cut symbols into you and she keeps agonizing over what to use. alchemical is too fake, catholic is boring, etc. eventually you propose a pentagram just to get something moving and she says that'd be "poser gnostic shit" and walks out

[magicswordszin]

Any plans for more arcs of A Hungry Light? or is it finished at this point?

currently about midway through writing act vi!

[magicswordszin]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[magicswordszin]

it’s always bizarre to me when people seem shocked/surprised that transmascs earn more than transfems. like have you not observed the world around you that would necessitate that to be the case. all those transfems i guess just do survival sex work for fun. like hmmmm i wonder if the fact that masculinity, male presentation & male identity are considered more rational & logical than femininity, female presentation & female identity has an impact on the way the work environment looks for trans people….

the idea that society is just magically a free-for-all for trans people “because we’re all faggots in the eyes of the state” is inherently nonsensical even if it were true (which it isn’t!) like guess what society would still treat all those faggots differently based on our respective race, class, and YES, gender & gender presentation!

women are on average paid less than the men of equivalent demographic. i don’t understand why all your feminism seeps out your brain as soon as it comes to accepting trans women face greater scrutiny & mistreatment in society than trans men

[magicswordszin]

Things about Deltarune Chapter 3 eating my fucking brain like corrosive acid:

Susie's mattress without a sheet and how cavernous her room looks.

Ralsei's existential melancholy

The Fucking S Rank Room. The way nothing about that game is fun. The fact it's broken and empty and you and Kris are alone. So alone. You're just alone with this kid who you have to know by now Fucking Hates You, making them play a boring empty game for your own amusement. It's not fun. It's not fun.

The fucking greenroom before the boss fight. Everything is covered in TV snow. It all just feels so awful.

Heavily-implied-foster-kid-Susie saying she hates not having all the information going in. How many people told her comforting half truths because they didn't want her to misbehave? How many promises weren't kept to her? How many people sat her down and told her everything was going to change out from under her again?

The implications behind the fact that the pippins don't turn to stone, but the remotes and the power plugs do. They turn to stone because they hold no value to this world Kris has created anymore. They don't belong in Kris's home anymore.

aaaaaaaaaaaa

[magicswordszin]

the cute sadist will giggle and pet you so so much after kicking you in the gut hard enough you cant catch your breath. btw.

[magicswordszin]

They are communicating

[magicswordszin]

port leave

the slap rings loud in the half-empty food court. your face smarts, your eyes water, and your handler's other hand, the one holding her cone of frozen yogurt, doesn't even bobble.

"if your audio didn't pick up 'no', pretty thing," she continues, "then maybe we need to get it serviced. it'll be a shame about the rest of your port leave."

you sense movement and then see: the large bearded man at the next table over. he steps between your seats, interposing.

"miss, are you all right? i just saw her hit you. do you need me to call the cops?"

your handler sighs a sigh born of professional weariness. she puts her yogurt on the table.

"sir, you need to step back. step back slowly."

"the hell i will! you just slapped her! right in front of me!"

"sir. seriously. put your hands down. step back. it is not a 'her' like you think you know. ignore the cute little skirt; it is not a person, it is a weapon system…"

she's talking to him the way she talks to you.

"…you've probably never seen one out of its armor, i get it, i'm not in uniform either, it's my day off. but sometimes these things get confused about the difference between cran-apple juice, avgas, and blood, and they need a reminder of where they are…"

sing-song, reassuring.

"…i'm just going to reach for my service ID here. all above board. again, please don't make any sudden movements…"

"you're sick, lady," the man growls, as he pulls something from his pocket.

you don't wait to find out what. by his next blink, your teeth are at his throat.

"shit! stand down!" your handler shouts. "position 4!"

by your own next blink, you are kneeling at her feet.

there's a large blob on the floor, but it's irrelevant. you have eyes only for your handler.

if you were wearing wings, you'd fan them a little bit. she likes that.

you remain in position 4, hanging on your handler's every word. there's a glow of heat kindling between your legs.

"just a cell phone," she mutters. "hell, sir, i told you, no sudden movements. keep this pressed to your neck, it's clean, just bought it, she didn't get deep."

"somebody," she yells at the gathering crowd, "go get mall security or something. this man needs first aid, and we don't want to risk moving him."

you do not move or signal. you are not somebody. you will hold position 4 until given other orders. you remain in position 4 until all the explanations are done, all the mess is cleaned up. there are stares. you're used to them.

then your handler gazes down at you. your eyes lock to hers.

"you need to listen, pretty thing, when i tell you we're not going back to base yet…"

the heat between your legs grows.

"…now i've got to get another scarf. and i still want to swing by that place with the cute bags… the rest of your leave is cancelled, obviously. maybe shouldn't have even tried. but when we're back at base, i'm for sure gonna need to blow off some steam."

her expression flicks from tired to sharp, hungry. it's all you can do not to squirm, until, finally, she says,

"at ease." □

[magicswordszin]

[magicswordszin]

[magicswordszin]

catgirl domme is taking me places tbh. exploiting a dog's pathological need for attention to subdue and condition it. condescending praise and a smile that never reaches her eyes. barely concealed contempt for the ancient enemy she's got on a leash. she goes "hmph" a lot. princess kittygirl worship.

[magicswordszin]

Seedbed

An excellent chapter of Dancing to her Rhythms came out today describing the sensation of implantation from the side of the affini. I couldn’t help but wonder okay but how would that be different for Brunnaria and quickly threw this together to sate the brainworms.

This should be considered kind of a prequel to Bed of Roses, part of the what if Iya didn’t have the poison capsule scenario.

Brunnaria had tried not too look too closely at the thing before, the piece of herself that had been separated and cultivated to subsume and conquer, but now she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. She watched as it twitched and reached tendrils for her floret and Brun felt ashamed of the lack within her. She should be proud, excited, gleeful to entwine her self into her floret and expand her dominion of the universe. Instead, she felt twisting horror in her core. Was that really what she was? The true nature of her core was laid bare: a squirming parasite straining to consume. Yes, there was an instinctive hunger beginning to rear its head. Brun’s injectors were flexing and her flowers starting to produce pollen, but mostly she felt sick and uneasy.

“You can do this,” Néarcta said gently, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

A tendril brushed against Iya’s spinal column and overwhelming sparks of sensation cascaded through the air into Brunnaria’s core. She yelped and reached, stretching more tendrils into her floret in an action as reflexive as a kick in response to an impact to the patellar tendon. Then, she impulsively drew back; too little too late, she felt her implant squirming indecisively and her floret’s muscles twitched.

“Brun.” Néarcta said sharply.

It was already too much, and Brunnaria knew this was a tiny trickle compared to what she would be receiving with a full connection. She forced herself to relax, and for a moment focused on a vine-winding exercise. She loosened her control and, shivering, allowed her instincts to take over.

Distantly she observed, muttering the names of major neural landmarks as she wound herself into Iya Lapin’s mind. She’d known how this worked. She’d studied it, prepared to perform implantations for other affini, but never before had she so viscerally understood how much of her floret’s internal structure she was consuming and replacing, how even now in the earliest seconds of their union her floret was now more like an extension of Brunnaria than her own entity, how she would forever have a veto on every thought, every sensation, every way that the outside world would affect the mind of this precious sophont.

It felt good. There was pleasure happening. A hunger was being sated.

Something hit the ground with a thud.

Brun stopped bothering to identify which parts were terran and which were phytotech, stopped bothering to remember which bit did what. It wasn’t like her intellect had anything to do with this process. Her instincts knew exactly what to do. She could have done this in her sleep. Brunnaria didn’t really even need to be here for this.

So for a little while she wasn’t.

There was a groaning sound as the information started to slot together, and then she could see the whole of Iya Lapin, First Floret. That snapped her back to attention. Here was something she could do. Iya had been so scared that she would be destroyed by the process, but with this understanding Brunnaria could preserve her, protect her, and—

She became violently aware of how small and fragile a thing she was holding. Her haustorium was terrifyingly strong and a single tendril out of place would ruin everything. It felt incomplete, like a meal half-eaten, like she’d been edged halfway to orgasm, but she’d already done far, far too much. Brun smothered the part of herself that wanted more, it had been fed enough today and it could never truly be sated anyway.

There was still so much data flowing in, and her core slowly started to sort it, to adapt to it, and the curtain lifted somewhat. Brunnaria was a loose tangle in Néarcta’s lap. The older affini was running her talons through Brun’s vines.

“You did it. How does it feel?”

Mulch. Good, right? There was a pleasure coursing through her. But she didn’t really feel good. She felt different. She felt like she’d been transmuted into a wholly different organism. She felt like a caterpillar that had metamorphosed into a butterfly, except…except she still had the mind of the caterpillar. That wasn’t right somehow, being the same person when she was so different now.

“Different,” she settled on.

“You did a great job, Brun. I knew you would.”

Before Brun could answer she felt her haustorium twitch within her floret and she winced; she’d relaxed for a moment and immediately she’d tried to burrow deeper into Iya without even knowing what or where or why.

A great job. How the frost did Néarcta know? She hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t felt it. She was just trying to sooth Brunnaria. And the truth emerged within her mind: she’d done a terrible job. This was supposed to be joyful, ecstatic, a glorious union, and Brunnaria had mulched it up, and that’s why she felt so awful. She couldn’t say that, though. So instead, she curled tighter in Néarcta’s lap.

“She’s mine now. Forever.”

[magicswordszin]

spiders have got to figure out contracting I need to be able to call my local spiders union and be like "hey can you send a guy out for a few days the fruit flies are back" and then pay it in spider currency. I'll learn the conversion rates. I'll be generous with my rounding. please.