#<​the tag for these kinds of blurbs

[toxicanonymity]

what if everyone simply wrote blurbs for their favorite manspreading gifs and pics and tagged them #manspreading olympics?

[savorypink]

treegate pt 2 where alex comes over so they can talk the situation n they just end up fucking 😭

as alex pulls the chair across from you, you fiddle with the hem of your skirt with clammy thumbs. you haven't seen each other since the party, a memory you try to scrub from your brain as you sit across from him. unfortunately for both of you, the memory thrives in photographs. magazines, blogs, and newspapers keep the pictures of you at your most vulnerable circulating. you made it out of bed by the skin of your teeth.

alex cleans up nicely, his hair looking neater than the last time you saw him. he smiles at you apologetically, twiddling with his thumbs as he tries to figure out what to say. you won't admit it, but your heart sympathizes with him, and his girlfriend especially. still, whenever you remember those unsavory things said about you following the release of the pictures, your anger toward him begins to boil. it's funny. you're just as complicit as he is.

"bling," alex begins, "i'm so sorry about...everything. there's probably nothing for us going forward, so since we might not see each other again, i wanted to make sure we're...good. at the very least."

you let out a long huff through your nose. "we're good."

"great." he smiles, wiping the sweat off his hands onto his jeans. his eyes scan the small cafe before settling on you again. "do you want anything? coffee? tea?"

you rummage your purse for your compact, opening the mirror and reapply your lip gloss as you avoid his gaze. "no, i'm good. how's your girlfriend?"

"oh, she's gone. she wants nothin' to do with me." he chuckles dryly.

"good," you say, closing your compact. "it's what you deserve."

you two sit silently for a moment, rather uncomfortably, afraid to look at one another in the eyes. you break the silence with your chair, putting your purse on your shoulder as you stand. before you say goodbye to alex, his hand finds your wrist.

"do you think...maybe we could, y'know, just one more time?"

you draw your arm back quickly, heading toward the door. "go to hell, alex."

"wait, wait, wait." He rises from his chair to stop you, his large hands cupping your waist gently. "we need...closure. we had good sex, yeah? we can end on a better note than this, don't you think?"

you look down at the hands on your body, and alex draws them away quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"sorry," he mutters, studying the floor. "look, um, i don't want this to be how i remember you, bling."

you'll admit it, you weren't kind to him. you're upset right now, but how you treated him will leave a sour taste in your mouth once the angry fog clears. that very angry fog can be cleared by alex, though. as crazy as it sounds, you could let out some much-needed steam.

"i'm going to the bathroom," you say, turning your heel back into the cafe. "wait three minutes, then follow me inside."

with your back turned you miss the evergrowing smile on alex's face at your orders. be thankful; you would've smacked him had you seen it.

-

his lips crash onto yours with fervor, almost slamming your head into the wall of the bathroom stall with his force. his tongue scavenges your mouth for anything he didn't taste from the first time he kissed you, shamelessly growling in your mouth as he grinds against your thigh. alex raises your skirt to remove your panties, letting the lace garment fall at your ankles.

he breaks the kiss to plant kisses along your neck, slipping two fingers into your wet core. you bite down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, shoving your hands in alex's hair, tugging and pulling.

"you're wetter than the first time," he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers before shoving the digits into your mouth. "i bet you missed me, yeah?"

you nod as you suck on his fingers, but only to shut him up. you can't afford to get caught again. to speed things up, your hands find his belt, quickly unbuckling it along with the button of his jeans. he removes his fingers from your mouth before plunging them back inside you, pumping them in and out of your aching heat.

"eager?" he grins, watching his fingers move in and out of you. "i know. 'm gonna fuck you better than last time. make you feel really good."

once alex removes his fingers, he spins you around to face the stall wall. he dives into you swiftly and deliciously, tightly gripping your hips as he begins thrusting into your cunt. once more, you bite back a moan as his movements continue, keeping your eyes on the tile underneath your trembling feet.

you see a set of ankles through the bottom of the stall door, and your ears pick up the soft sound of one of the sinks running. your heart quickens in pace as you try to keep quiet, hoping the passerby doesn't notice the two extra sets of legs in the stall behind them. you mentally rejoice when they make it to the paper towel dispenser, but your happiness ends when alex's next thrust nearly wobbles you off your feet from mere force, causing the stall walls to jolt.

the ankles outside inch closer to your door, briefly observing from the stall from the other side as you spew expletives in your head. you figured alex may be too into it to warn him, his cock twitching as it dwells deeper into you, but the passerby isn't stupid; they know what's happening. thankfully, the passerby leaves, and your heart returns to a steady rhythm once they leave. you go back to focusing on your own pleasure, finally allowing yourself to moan, toying with your clit as his cock massages your walls.

"we should do this again sometime," alex chuckles. "i know i said we might not see each other again, but—fuck, bling," he hisses. "i'd do anything to see you again."

your fingers move faster on your clit as you feel your orgasm getting closer, the familiar knot in your stomach beginning to loosen. you could see alex again, maybe when you're less angry, and the both of you aren't in public. before your walls can flutter around him in orgasmic bliss, a firm knock rocks the stall door. alex freezes, and so do you, turning your head away from the door in embarrassment.

"only one person in a stall! i need you two to come out. now!"

at least there isn't a camera.

[pastellmochi]

youre so funny youre like if a friend had a cooldown period. bro is mia

HEEEEEEEEEELP SORRY BRO i just hafta make it outta here but we can prolly talk later today <333

HOW HAVE OYOU BEEN THOUGGH !!!!!!!!!!!!!! i know times have been tough but ive been listening 2the dracyopress malfidori playlist oyou sent anf why d o you have me almos t crying to emo music ........... liked a lotta the dolls kill songs anf i dont listen 2 mitski a whole lot but i understand why a lotta oeople do !!! its also jus really nice hearing music that is like apart of you / knowing more ab you through it nd i think its cool ure playlist is v v cohesive and also helped me get back into drawing not even gonna lie it was comforting to listen to <33 doodlin in a lms van colored tiny sketchbook my big bro gave me its jus like he saaid you cant stop drawing in there even if it turns out bad ... something ab small notebooks is really good for art i think

on another note id realluy wanna know what your dreamh ouse is bc i think my new dream is to have ahorse live in my house bro Look at him what the ekc

if i was rich i woul dmake the tomodachi life island with you and all my other friends and there would be a horse roaming around and stuff and you can talk to him ifyou want

iwill go eat anf stuff but we can catch yp later todaay i wanna say hallo.to all my friends iThink :) Oh oh !!!!!!!!! side note ive been realluy thinking ab the wild wild west ... howwould you and your f/os be like in wild wild west AU .... dont have a ton of good photos but like gunslingin' f/o .. wanderer already does that stupid hat covering face and then looking up thing he might as well also have a gun and gross tattered cloak

also just this

[mastersoftheair]

from josh bolt's instagram story

[tcub123]

(Andras, with a spade in hand, is guiding a 6-year-old Janet, her small hands clutching a tiny sapling, its roots wrapped in burlap, ready to be planted.)

ANDRAS: (With an encouraging smile) Today, we're going to plant this tree, Janet. It's going to grow tall and strong, just like you, love.

(Janet looks up at him, her eyes wide with wonder, as she gently pats the soil around the sapling they've just planted together.)

JANET: Will it grow as tall as the sky, Andras?

ANDRAS: (Chuckling) Maybe not that tall, but it will reach for the clouds.

(They work together, Andras showing her how to press the soil, ensuring the tree is firmly planted)

JANET: Can we name it? The tree?

ANDRAS: Of course. What name would you like to give it?

(Janet thinks for a moment, her gaze flitting around the garden, landing finally on the tree with pride in her eyes)

JANET: Hmm.

Let's call it Hope. Because it's going to keep growing and never give up.

ANDRAS: (Nods approvingly) Hope it is! That is actually perfect. You do really have a knack for naming things.

(They finish their task, standing back to admire their work. Andras places a gentle hand on Janet's shoulder.)

ANDRAS: This tree will be here for years to come. Care for it, Janet. If you do, our Spring Court will always have hope.

=====

ANDRAS: ...

JANET: (sleeping soundly)

ANDRAS: (sneaks some flowers and a letter on the table)

JANET: (whispers) Andras?

ANDRAS: Did I wake you, love? I'm sorry.

JANET: (rubs her eyes) It's okay. I'm too tired to sleep, anyway.

ANDRAS: (sits on the edge of the bed) I know, sweetheart, but you need to rest. You are still sick.

JANET: (pouts) You haven't told me a story.

ANDRAS: (smiles) Alright. I suppose having a cold doesn't excuse not having a bedtime tale. What would you like to hear about?

JANET: A new story.

ANDRAS: A new one it is.

Once upon a time, there was a tiny golden cub named Tammy. Despite his shimmering fur and noble lineage, felt very lonely in the vast forest. His family expected so much from him, and yet, they never showed him the kindness he craved.

JANET: Was Tammy really lonely?

ANDRAS: Very lonely, until one day, while wandering the woods, the cub stumbled upon a grey wolf pup.

JANET: Did the wolf pup have a name?

ANDRAS: Yes, he did. Andy, he went by.

JANET: (giggles) Like you!

ANDRAS: (chuckles) Yes, just like me. Now, this pup saw the golden cub all alone and, despite the cub being from a realm often at odds with his own, the wolf couldn't ignore the sadness in the cub's eyes. They were both good for the same thing, something they both didn't enjoy.

The wolf pup was far, far more fortunate than the cub.

The pup had a family who loved him, and he loved them in return.

JANET: So, what did he do?

ANDRAS: The pup approached the cub, his steps careful not to startle him. 'Little cub, why do you walk alone?' he asked. The cub, surprised by the wolf's curious tone, shared his woes, speaking of his cold home.

JANET: (sadly) That's not nice. Everyone should have friends.

ANDRAS: Indeed, they should. Mama Wolf taught the pup to share the love she gave him with others. And so, the pup made a vow that day to be the cub's friend and family, to protect him and show him the wonders of the forest, to teach him the joy of companionship. They befriended a fox, Lucy, along the way.

JANET: (excitedly) And did Tammy finally become happy?

ANDRAS: Over time, he did. Tammy the golden cub, who felt so small and insignificant, began to see his own worth through the eyes of his friends. They embarked on adventures, faced challenges together, and the cub grew strong and confident.

JANET: Like a real golden lion!

ANDRAS: Exactly! The cub became a magnificent lion, admired by all. He became a just and fair king of the forest, always fighting for his friends and standing up for what was right.

JANET: (yawning) I like Tammy. He's amazing.

ANDRAS: ...I like him too.

JANET: I'll get better tomorrow, Andras. One day, I will be as strong as Tammy. Will you be my Andy then?

ANDRAS: Of course, love. I swear it on my honour as a sentry. Now, off to sleep you go.

JANET: Goodnight, Andras.

=====

ANDRAS: (holds Janet's lifeless hand as she lies crumbling on the bed, her legs turned to petals as they fall apart)

ANDRAS: I have to go now, Janet.

ANDRAS: I promise you will walk again.

ANDRAS: I promise you will see me again.

ANDRAS: And the trees we planted shall never wilt.

ANDRAS: ...No matter what it takes.

=====

ANDRAS: ... (critically injured)

CASSIAN: How is he still alive without that?

RHYSAND: Watch out for that spear, Cass!

ANDRAS: "And I will laugh in the face of Death."

NESTA: (readies Ataraxia)

ANDRAS: Gáe Bulg.

=====

JANET: (Picking up two action figures, she animates them with her hands, her voice adopting different tones for each character) "And here comes Andras, the bravest of all, to save the kingdom from the terrible dragon!"

(She makes one figure, representing Andras, swoop in to confront the other, a makeshift dragon.)

(She constructs elaborate scenarios, each tale more fantastical than the last, where Andras battles scary foes, uncovers treasures, and always, always returns home to cheers and joy.)

JANET: (Arranging her stuffed animals into an audience, she narrates) "And so, the people of the land celebrated Andras's return, throwing a grand feast in his honor. They knew he would always be there to protect them."

(Her small hands clap softly, mimicking the applause of her imagined crowd.)

(In these stories, Janet gives Andras invincible qualities, inspired by the wondrous tales he told her. Her narrative always ends with Andras coming home unharmed.)

JANET: (Holding a doll that resembles her, she speaks in a high-pitched voice)

"Thank you, Andras, for coming back. We all missed you so much!"

(She makes the Andras figure hug the doll.)

(As night falls, Janet carefully places the figures back in their box, keeping the doll Andras with her in bed.)

JANET: (Whispering) Goodnight, Andras. In my stories, you always come back. Maybe tomorrow, you will for real.

[eri-pl]

…grief made more terrible by hope…

Wait what do you mean it is just from this fic, this must be a Tolkien quote or some big philosopher quote, something quote, this is so so universal of a feeling how come nobody had said it before???

[bagelist]

now, im gonna release a poll to get a more diverse result. Due to tumblr's character limit, I will type them out as the "text" part of the post and the poll will just contain numbers

1: "The first angel made itself deaf out of fear of hearing evil. The second made itself blind, and the third made itself mute."

2: "Inside pitch black, a single lantern shines brightly. That is when you should be wary of it."

3: "Solitary confinement, six feet under."

[reasonablerodents]

mmm tw nsfw

hotch chaining his collar under his desk, telling him to come get his treat

he just whines of course (he knows better than to talk), because his owners cock is just an inch too far for him to reach with his mouth ): hes pulling the chain with every musle in his body but he cannot get far enough.

hotch seems disappointed in him, so hw tries so so hard. he cant even help himself with his paws, cause they are locked securely in leather mittens, restricing his movement. he whines and whines and cries. he just wants to be good.

but hotch just pulls back and stands up.

“how am i supposed to let you have your cock out when you cant even be a good pet? i tried letting you prove yourself.” he says as he reaches for the cage and the key resting on the table.

there are tears in spencers eyes, but he knows its for the better. whatever his master tells him to do, however disgusting, its for the better.

I’m literally screaming and crying rn this is so…. Chefs kiss. I love love love him being set up to fail and getting punished for the inevitable outcome urghhhh <333 Also omg I’ve been soooo missing out with the whole puppy gear thing bc it would make everything so much harder for him without his paws!!

Hotch def just jacks himself off over Spencer’s face afterwards, telling him that he’d be able to help if he’d just tried harder.

Literary crimes under the cut!

It takes him weeks to be unlocked. Hotch keeps giving him chances to prove himself, but he always fails. There’s never a way to win, but he has to try, needs to show how obedient and deserving he is.

When Spencer’s caught in his dog bed with three of his fingers inside himself, grinding his cage into the fabric, Hotch decides to give him another task. If he clearly thinks he can get off like that, then why shouldn’t he? He’s obviously desperate, so it should be easy, even with the cage.

Hotch settles himself down to watch at first, enjoying the noises of frustration when nothing quite works. Spencer’s trying so hard, but the angle’s all wrong and he just can’t get his fingers deep enough for the stimulation he needs. He turns to look at Hotch after a while, whining and thrusting back with a pleading look in his eyes, begging him to help. He could definitely do it with Hotch’s assistance, he’s sure of it.

But when he looks back, Hotch isn’t even looking at him anymore. Instead, he’s turned his attention to a book, completely absorbed in that instead of the display going on by the fireplace. But he hasn’t told Spencer to stop, so he just carries on for what feels like forever, only ever managing to tease himself as his cock tries and fails to harden over and over again, as his the tips of his fingers only ever manage to just about brush past his prostate.

Eventually, Hotch closes his book, setting it down beside him.

“You still haven’t finished?” he asks, and he sounds more like he’s asking if Spencer’s finished sorting witness statements than if he’s managed to make himself cum yet.

Spencer shakes his head desperately as he pounds his fingers into himself. He can’t have his master disappointed with him again. It’s too late though, because Hotch stands up.

“I guess you didn’t need it that badly, did you? Stop squirming around and put your plug back in, puppy, it’s time for bed.”

Hotch gets himself off that night. Spencer, of course, doesn’t. He just curls up on top of the duvet at Hotch’s feet, his cock throbbing with no way to relieve the ache, listening to the sounds of the older man’s hand and his hitching breath.

[sea-salt-child]

Cracks

<< Recyling >>

Your first memories are of Academia. 

A room shared with other kids in your position- orphans, taken in much younger than other children for the sake of providing them with a place to live and an education.

The smell of salt. Being presented with cards, learning to write from them. Bland meals, training, dueling so, so much… and watching the older newcomers from afar, finding it strange how much they talked to one another.

Out of focus, only half remembered faces with no names to go with them. You almost never talked to anyone, always focused on the task at hand.

All yearning to be good kids.

Of course, the relatively quiet life of studies and games couldn’t last forever. An icy calm before the storm, the days before your training began in earnest.

It was always going to be like this.

At some point, they woke you up even earlier than usual and you were given new uniforms to wear. Silently, you all went down the halls, guided towards a large open area- a simulation room. 

You were lined up and suddenly, after the roar of a machine come to life, everything was different.

Artificial rain on an artificial field, still soaking through your shirt. A simple task: Get to the other side as fast as you can.

Derelict buildings, broken roads, mud everywhere. A simulated battlefield.

Hold it, wait for the signal.

Six students to your left. Seven to your right.

A deafening sound, time to run. Slippery, shoes sinking into the soil, cold pinpricks, everyone scattering, not wanting to be in each other’s ways. 

Come on, run, fast, fast as the wind. 

Looking back- there’s the teachers on horseback, snapping whips. You don’t want to be left behind, to be trampled. You don’t want to be a disappointment.

Someone else is falling behind- they scream and the sound carries far. You can only ignore it, focusing all your strength into not having the same happen to you.

Debris under, having to dodge into houses and buildings to avoid blockages in the way- at one point, you jump from the second story window to a balcony on the other side. Your wet hands almost slip from the metal, but you wedge your boot between the metal bars in the fencing around it and manage to catch yourself, climbing over to enter the simulated apartment.

Move.

Down the stairs, jumping over steps, keeping your balance.

And now, outside- 

A clearing surrounded by walls with jagged pieces of glass on top. Something that would be easy to cross, but somehow, it feels ominous.

You stop, glued in place by an instinctive fear you have never felt before.

Someone passes by you.

They run into the clearing, focused on the goal and nothing else, just like the rest of you. 

And then there’s  sound, there’s light, a scream that gets cut short. They- this- something blew up. Something blew up just under their feet. 

Although you don’t yet know the word for this, you understand it in game terms. A trap. A trap with no counter, no chaining- just heat and fire against the roar of the storm.

And one by one, the others arrive.

There’s pieces of that person everywhere. Something lands on another trap, setting it off too. Some are backing away. Someone screams, falling on their knees, terrified. There is a choice here. Proceed or back down and try to find another way- though that will certainly disappoint the teachers.

And one by one, they take the same path.

Shoes are thrown, jumps are dared. Another explosion, another one dead. Eyes burning with the desire to do a good job, to be a good kid. Hey, be proud! Look this way! See how important this place is, for me!

And so, you also move.

Where there are thrown objects. Where the ground is already charred. Where pieces have already fallen- walking and leaping between the dead to get to the other side, inhaling the smell of burnt things, shaking.

No matter what, you have to be good enough.

The moment there is a building to sneak into you move into it, avoiding the ground for the rest of the task.

In the end, there’s only four left, including you. One of them must have tried to climb the walls around the trap field, from the cuts all over their skin. Another went the same way as you. The final one comes in, dragged by the hair by a teacher for slowing down and trying to hide. They look like they got a good beating for it, but at least they are still alive.

“Remember this.” The teacher’s voice cuts the air.

“You are society’s trash. No one wants any of you. From today onwards, you will be recycled into something useful. Be thankful and do your best.”

--

<< Bland >>

You aren’t fond of the cafeteria food at all. 

Living in the middle of an ocean means that every single day you get fish on your plate. Sure, it’s all meant to be healthy so you can be an effective soldier, but you hate it anyhow. 

You swallow without chewing, your stomach turns, you keep it down.

It’s no wonder that you often skip meals.

Instead, you take the time to study.

It isn’t that you love that or anything- you just don’t know what else to do with free time. Your life is highly regulated, with weekly schedules that leave nearly no downtime. It’s a rough living, but that’s the price of the recycling process. 

You sit on your bed, reading about duel tactics. Your stomach complains, demanding some food. 

What a stupid thing. Dolltoys don’t need food.

Rather, the only thing you like is something one of your teachers gives out after adverse condition battlefield training for the best students… a sweet thing called a lollipop.

A taste exclusive to good kids. The best thing in the world.

The students raised on mainland don’t understand this at all. Apparently, they had ready access to stuff like this back then.

Too bad you are never going into the city, then. If you could, you’d revel in sugar, put it on everything to end the curse of boring bland food.

For now, it’s fine to keep doing what you do. Teachers will readily scold you for wanting too much food, but never the other way around. It’s fine so long as it doesn’t interfere with your training.

…

Looking back on it, you recall one of the children from your batch. A boy that didn’t want to eat at all, who hated everything offered to him. To curb that behavior, they just stopped making him food.

It worked wonders- after a week, he was accepting anything given to him.

Not that it matters anymore. He’s dead.

He’s dead and it was never about the food waste or whatever they would say about it. It was about obeying, about preparing him. That’s the lesson, that’s the difference between them not batting an eye at your conduct and dishing out rightful punishment.

Yeah, that’s right. If you were ordered, it would be different. You’d eat, not taste a thing not care at all. You’d do it just as readily as anything else, forsaking the fact that this is the one thing you get to decide for yourself.

Your last freedom could suffocate just that easily, caught like fish spines in one’s mouth, and you wouldn’t feel a thing.

--

<< *Thigh >>

Over time, you became very good at battlefield simulations, even as difficulty racked up. Explosions, electrical hazards, harsh climbs- all became second nature to you. 

In your mind, things are simple, clear as day… You are a toy kind of thing, being put to use by the kindness of the Professor. Your duty is to be the best, to not sully Academia’s name with weakness or failure.

But even the best cannot be perfect.

It wasn’t even your fault, really. You  were running down a hall, third floor of a simulated building, aiming for the window.

A girl turned a corner behind you. No chance to even yell at her to stop- she just opened a door, triggering a trap. The explosion blew her against a wall and you, out the window.

You fell.

Trying to turn to ease the fall, you managed to hit your inner thigh on the fencing of a balcony and then, landing over your arm, a large cut was made.

Pain, white and searing pain.

But it doesn’t hurt. “Doesn’t hurt”, again and again, that comes out of your mouth as you force yourself to get up. Doesn’t hurt, step after step, rain hitting the cut, it burns, but it doesn’t hurt. Not at all. 

You end up among the last to finish the course.

The teacher eyes your injury.

“Shiun’in, what happened?”

“I fell.”

Her lip curls, a sign of anger. She grabs your arm, the very same injured one, and drags you away, into the control room for the simulation. 

“Sit.”

You obey and she notices your grimace as you put your weight over where your thigh was hurt.

“What’s that?”

You put your hand to where it hurts.

“I, hit here on the way down.”

“Are you fucking stupid?”

The question leaves you stupefied. You have no answer to give, just a blank expression. You could say it wasn’t your fault, that someone else’s mistake was to blame- but that would just be cowardice. Everything that happens is indeed your fault.

She grabs your arm, examining the cut.

“Fucking hell. You fell. Bright idea! Great! How did you manage to live this long? I’ll have to send you to the infirmary. Do you understand that? Because of your incompetence, we’ll be wasting resources on you.”

She squeezes and it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt at all.

“Nothing to say? Just gonna stand there looking like an idiot? Pretend you don’t understand me?”

“A-ah-”

“Let me see the other one.”

And you take off your pants and underwear to let her see the growing bruise. She considers it for a moment- and than slaps at it with great force, making you wince. Again, hitting the general area as you try not to show signs of pain.

When she’s done, she crosses her arms.

“Get out of my sight and to the infirmary. They’ll fix your arm. Don’t be stupid anymore.”

And off you go, pulling your pants back up, unable to think a single thing.

--

<< Solo >>

You decide you don’t like Captain Solo the moment you board the boat and get to see him.

It’s a full on pirate costume. What a joke. Teachers are supposed to take things seriously!

He babbles on about the upcoming war and how you need to be prepared for everything. You get farther and farther away from Academia, floating in the great blue. He says this is going to test you and your determination. 

“Get up, everyone. You’ll be swimming from here back to shore! No need for swimsuits, try not to get dragged down by your own clothes!”

There are uncertain glances between students- this is new. Even you feel a little uncertain with how far from Academia you are… 

But you are a good student and a good kid.

That’s why you are the first to get up, with the Captain’s eyes expectantly on you.

You walk up to the border. From here, the fall seems tall… but you know better than to fumble at this kind of thing. You jump.

The water is cold, so cold. You gasp for air, battling to  get ahold of your own movements. It’s hard to breathe, waves threaten to throw you against the boat if you fail to do this. Every ounce of concentration is used. A thin line that connects you to Academia- no matter what, all you have to do is follow it.

Follow, kicking your feet, cutting through the water with your arms. 

You hear others drop, following in your steps, trying to be good. Everyone giving their best, shivering violently and the Captain laughing uproariously.

It’s not really about the war. Not really, no… but it just happens that this sort of thing produces better soldier, so there’s no point fighting against it.

It’s all for the Professor. For making him proud.

Someone beside you is fighting for his life, gasping, going under the waves, not making any progress. You should really just leave that alone. You know that it is just right for the weak to be culled-

But for a moment, just one moment… you see the blurry face of a girl swallowed up by fire and smoke and you cannot help it- you swim over to him, letting him climb over you to breathe. It makes swimming harder, yes, but you push through, eyes on the prize, not to waver for a single moment.

It feels like death. You can’t feel your own body, your chest is tight and it is almost impossible to breathe. Waves rock you and you keep getting submerged, just to come out a little along each time. You can’t tell how long it takes to approach the rocky shore. Minutes blend together, has it been more than an hour? All that exists are the rocks, you can’t even find a floor to help yourself. 

Eventually, you get ahold of rocks and manage to climb to a flat surface higher up where other students are gathered, waiting.

The person rolls off your back, eyes full of tears. 

You are about to say something- that it’ over, that it’s all okay. That you are alive.

But a ray of light crosses your vision and next you know, they are just a card.

“No room for weaklings here.”

It’s the Captain, grinning. 

You aren’t even cold anymore.There’s nothing.

All you did was drag out someone’s death. It can’t be helped… that’s how the world is supposed to work.

--

<< Spy >>

“Hmmm.” 

The teacher looks over your documents, your performance historic, your grades.

You have a single goal in mind: Joining Obelisk Force as early as possible. You do believe you can do it- especially by aiming to join the intelligence side of things. Better than working into Edo of all things.

“Well, Shiun’in, I do think you have a real chance here. Your dueling is great, your grades are stellar… But it’s not quite yet a guaranteed thing.”

“Is there anything I can do to have a better chance?”

There’s a moment of silence as he thinks it through.

“You’d be the youngest member of Obelisk Force, you know that, right?”

“Yes, sir.” “And you are willing to do anything to reach that goal.”

“Yes.”

Anything to be a good kid, to be something Academia can be proud of. Anything at all.

“Then, I’m going to talk to some other teachers. A few of them are running specific experiments to get better soldiers and they need good subjects for their projects.”

A great victory, you think. It’s not long before you are directed to a member of the disciplinary team of Academia- someone in charge of corrective actions, re-education and imprisonment. Apparently, he simply goes by “Three”, not willing to give his real name out.

Your first encounter happens in his office, right after lunch.You knock on the door.

“Come in.”

And so you do.

He’s sitting at the table, looking over documents, not even looking your way.

“Lock the door.”

An odd request, but you comply.

“Ever feel pain, kid?”

Every part of your brain screams no, no, not at all. Toy soldiers don’t feel a thing like that.

“No.”

“Funny. You think you can say that with such an obvious lying voice?” He turns to you. “There you are, trying to lie to me. Lying that you don’t think you can feel pain- but you obviously do.”

His eyes are piercing as he continues to speak:

“You think I’m stupid. Born yesterday.”

“No!”

“Swallow those lies back. I can see in the way you are looking at me. That you think I’m some sucker that doesn’t understand you. That you can hide stuff from me. So here’s the truth for you: You still think you can feel pain and you lie otherwise to avoid getting in trouble. No sincerity whatsoever. You think you’ve been hurt? By whom? You implying that Academia is a bad place? That staff has misbehaved? Is that how you thank us for making something out of you? Biting the hand that feeds? You are a traitor at heart.”

It feels like your brain has tied itself into a knot. Every thought, every response becomes tangled, building up in your throat. 

And worst of all, there’s tears in your eyes.

“Oh, there you go crying. What for? Did I do anything to you? Huh?”

“No sir.” “Then why the hell are you crying?”

“I, I don’t know.”

“But you do know. You are making me out to be a villain for making misses fragile ego cry. You wanna be treated like a princess? You make me sick. Blaming me for your own mistakes, again, blaming Academia for hurting your precious little feelings.”

He’s brutal in every way, calling you each day with something new to do.

Day one:

He brushes your hair. 

“You are a girl, after all.”

Your stomach twists. You are used to being referred to as a boy, even in the largely gender-neutral way Academia raises its soldiers. No one has ever brought up that incongruence before.

“No, sir.”

“I’m not asking. Do you think you should have the power to decide how staff should address you? Is that how highly you think of yourself? Or, rather, how lowly you think of us? Even being given the world, you still want more…”

You purse your lips and glance down. 

Day five:

He goes through your deck with you.

“I hear you want a new one, once you join Obelisk Force.”

“Yeah. A low profile deck for espionage missions, so it’s not obviously Academia aligned.”

“Have you started your extra classes?”

“Yup. It’s a lot of extra work, but I’m doing fine-” “I didn’t ask about that. Always fishing for compliments. So spoiled… I’d be ashamed if I had to be in the same class as you.”

Day fourteen:

It’s not like he’s the only one that says things like that… He is just relentless, solely focused on you rather than a whole class.

“Can you stop sniffling?”

“Sorry, I have a cold-”

He laughs.

“God, that’s such a weak lie, Shiun’in. Ever seen a toy get sick before?”

“Ah…No.”

It’s a horrible sensation. Suddenly, you are thrust back into the reality of not being a living being at all. That truth that underlies so many of your actions, brought to light. You want to react, but you shouldn’t feel anything. It should be as natural as breathing. 

“You are making that face again.” 

He’s really close.

“A face like you want to get hit.”

Day fifty four:

He hands you a knife.

“I want you to cut your arm open, right over that scar.”

You take it. There’s no need to hesitate- you press it in… and he interrupts you:

“What the hell are you thinking?! Huh? What are you saying, Shiun’in? Why would you hurt yourself? Because Academia sucks? Because you are being mistreated? Huh?”

“But, you-”

“Oh, now it’s my fault. You can never take responsibility for the things you do. All you do is sit around and blame us for everything in your life, hurting us, hurting the Professor! Always biting the hand that feeds. Ugh.”

And those words-

“Raise crows and they will peck out your eyes.”

It sinks all the way down like a lance. 

You are a crow.

Your eyes are injustice. Your eyes are a source of evil, animal things grafted onto a lifeless doll. It all clicks together, making sense in new ways. 

Day who cares:

He said-

“You are cute, Shiun’in. You should use that.”

You’d never been called something like that, before.

“Being cute is part of why you look like you wanna get hurt so badly. The other part is because that’s true.”

Hands on your shoulders.

“If they think you are adorable, their defenses will be down. You need to charm them with all your your weapons. Bat your lashes, look at them the right way… And they’ll be easy targets.”

Head right by your ear.

“I’ll teach you. And if cute isn’t enough, I’ll show you how to proceed someday.”

Day whatever:

“What door, Shiun’in? There’s none here.”

Your senses say there’s a door. That you had to have walked into here on your own.

But your senses lie. 

You lie.

The things you experience have nothing to do with reality. You live arbitrary lies, cannot be trusted to not twist things in your own favor.

Rather, the arbiter of what is really real is the professor.

Only his will is true and pure, the search for utopia

“There’s no window.”

Your vision is out of sync with reality, then.

You are stuck in a closed room with no idea how you ended up there. 

“Oh, this is great. You are one hell of an art piece.”

Because as it turns out, that was his project, the one you signed up to. The creation of a living artwork, a thesis in how a perfect soldier can be made. One that depends on Academia for every bit of its existence, that will be loyal if it kills them.

Yes, the process of becoming a thing even down to your soul.

--

<< One >>

Your name is called in class, along with five others.

Today is the end of a semester, and to commemorate the end of this course, the five best among you student are picked to go into the field:

“Duel one another and card the loser until only one remains.”

Three of the others are from the eleven year old batches. Unlike you and the other student, they are nervous, unsure. 

They don’t realize that there’s always more children, but just one war.

Dying isn’t scary at all. Dying for the sake of Academia, to show the other students that the weak must be carded. That there is no place for defective toys in this world.

Although, once the war is over, once utopia comes… there’s no doubt you’ll all be carded too, then. A peaceful world needs no dangerous, volatile soldiers like you. If anything, you are glad to never need to be an adult.

That it won’t need to be your fault.

All eyes on you as you duel your heart out. Your new deck makes you happy to look at- fluffals, they are. Cute, but deadly. Toys just the same as you. Things. Things that get possessed and kill other things.

It comes down to you against the other kid from an orphan batch. 

The need to live, to bring glory to Academia. To be the best, to never err. Become monsters now and clash, prove your loyalty. 

When you finally point your duel disk at your opponent, they seem almost… relieved. 

That smile is now forever caught inside a card.

--

<< Flower >>

It’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before. A hushing secrecy, a deep steeping filthy sensation. Like the sky is falling, like the ground has disappeared. Like something has been found- something no one can deny, no one can excuse.

An exhilarating sensation.

You have a vague smile and a numbness clinging to you as you walk the halls after dark. 

An ultimate reward, everyone come and see. Make it worse, give it to me in plentiful nights. 

It’s broken, right? Everyone can see that. It’s a self evident wound.

Holy Grail, only the best thing to ever happen.

Haah… hahaha…

You don’t know any words for it, but it’s special. 

Trudging down towards the showers. It’s all you can think of doing.

Let it happen over and over.

This is salvation. The end goal, a black relief. Water runs cold.

It only hurt a little and you’ve bled much worse before.

--

<< *Glass>>

It was an accident.

Helping out at the infirmary is just a task that gets randomly assigned to students and this week, it fell on you. An easy thing, really… except that you dropped a glass container of medicine.

“What did you do that for, you brat?!”

“I’m sorry! Accident, I’ll clean this up!”

“Stay put.”

Glass and sticky liquid around you. You are frozen in place, trying to figure out the least troublesome course of action from here. You could just jump across, clean it up, but…

“Lap it up with your mouth.”

You blink. What?

“Stop looking at me like that and get to work. Lick it all clean.”

On all fours, looking up, as if it would all be revealed to be a joke. But no, the doctor just looks at you.

You spend minutes carefully lapping it up. It’s sweet, at least, and you try not to swallow any glass. A slow work and…

And a giddiness in your stomach. 

You are somehow excited, imagining looking at yourself. Anyone would agree- this is abnormal, right? This-

“Enough. Get up and get out, I’ll clean this myself.”

Ah.

This is really just a minor thing, huh? You stand up and scurry out.

You wish it were worse.

--

<< *Purpose >>

He lifts up your shirt.

Long red cuts all over your stomach.

“Wow.”

You don’t dare look his way.

“If you think things suck this badly here, you should go cut yourself up some more. Way to treat all the people that spend time of their day to keep you fucking alive.”

You get a slap.

You don’t know why you did it- you felt compelled. Your stomach, your waist, your eyelids, your neck. A mess. Punishment, or atonement. You just couldn’t handle the knowledge you are made of injustice-

See, you are a reincarnation of Judas Iscariot. You’ve come to see it that way. When you die, the Professor’s utopia will come to fruition. That’s why you need to be used and killed as a soldier.

“No one will help you, Shiun’in.”

You know it.

You’ll be fine, so long as you get more lollipops.

“Your purpose is to obey. Obey, obey, obey, obey!” while yanking your ponytail around.

That’s right. It’s so simple… 

You wish your will, your wants, your very personality… that it all would be erased. That you could just fulfill that purpose without complaining. Without having to suppress crying. Without faltering, without hesitation.

Save smiles and laughter for forging masks in your work. Become entirely hollow, entirely nothing-

A sweet nightmare.

--

<< Soldier >>

Your name is Shiun’in Sora.

You were not wanted at birth and so, you were recycled into a soldier.

You are not  human. Rather, you are a manner of toy with grafted crow parts to it, made out of injustice. 

Great grades, the youngest member of Obelisk Force, a fierce duelist, a spy.

Playtoy with a lollipop.

No friends, no one to talk to. An extension of the Professor’s will.

Nothing inside, nothing. But you are cute and you know how to use it to your advantage.

Perfection cuts close.

Hey, here. No one cares about what happens to toys. Every move must be for Academia’s sake. You’d happily die for it. 

Ideal, ideal, ideal…

This is your world.

This is your life.

This is all you know. This is how to be you.

It doesn’t hurt.

[pipppinn]

makima will break your ankles out of love, as a loving wife

[koushirouizumi]

Someones description after they "Like" one of my NO R.B.s posts: "Stop vetting all your 'Likes' ffs!1!" ME: "No, sorry, you're violating boundaries I set hard since a LONG time ago where I said I'd block people who try to complain about people like me doing this, and I'm still blocking you until you interact with something that doesn't make me have to see that kind of description or vagueing!"

[themandylion]

For people who are ditching DuckDuckGo in outrage and jumping ship to a different search engine, it's worth noting that a lot of other engines (such as Ecosia, which I've used in the past) pull from Google for their results.

DuckDuckGo does pull from other search engines like Bing and Yahoo!, but unlike many, many other engines, it does not use Google as one of its sources. Also:

DuckAssist (the AI summarizing tool) has to be turned on by the user (it's not automatically generating summaries like Google).

Even just the offer of DuckAssist (and all other AI stuff) can easily be turned off in Settings.

DuckAssist seems to tell you where it's pulling the summary from—in the screenshot of my original post it says it will pull from Wikipedia; in the DuckDuckGo wiki article, it says it "generates answers to users' questions by scanning online encyclopedias (like Wikipedia and Britannica)".

The AI-generated summaries are different from the "instant answers" DuckDuckGo has been including beside search results up until now; those are created by real, actual humans

I'm not saying I approve of DuckDuckGo jumping on the AI bandwagon like they have. But maybe do a little research and critical thinking and remember that a lot of the appeal of DuckDuckGo is the privacy aspect and that it's not touched by the massive, invasive sprawl of Google... unlike some of the alternatives I see people suggesting in the notes.

DuckDuckGo, I am disappoint. :\

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[mittenlady]

sighs deeply and heavily

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[gurugirl]

I need a breeding kink blurb PLS 🙏🙏🙏

⛔️ WARNING ‼️ SMUTTY SMUT BREEDING KINK SIZE KINK ALL THE KINK (enjoy 🤭) + plus a link to an audio porn on tumblr to really get into that wet pussy sound 🙈 I'm so sorry in advance but I am in fact ovulating according to my calculator and this was... Anyway there's no plot, this is basically only smut. PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THIS KIND OF THING THANK YOU

587 words

😈😈😈😈

"Oh baby... look a'you... getting stuffed so deep. Loves getting her little pussy filled up and bred yeah? Need Daddy's come honey? Need me to put more babies in this belly? Fuck you til your tummy's swollen, your tits are full of milk, and pussy ruined?"

"Mmm..." you tried moaning but you were out of breath and your gargled noises were stifled by the way he was plowing into you, long and heavy strokes that dipped into your guts and punched the air from your lungs. All you could do was lie there with your legs spread apart as he fucked the life from you. His fat cock was making your walls ache he'd been going at if for so long.

"Can't speak, little mama? Don't want the kids to hear do we? That's right... just let daddy fuck you til your come hole is full of my sperm and let it sink in deep so I can knock you up over and over again. Likes her pussy stuffed with cock and come and her womb full of babies..."

Harry loved it when you were pregnant. You already had two kids and he was raring to go for a third. But so were you. You loved watching him be a dad. And you'd love to see him holding another tiny baby again - your tall, tattooed, and strong husband holding that delicate bundle against his chest with tears in his eyes, humming a tune and swaying slowly back and forth. Just for that, you'd give him as many babies as he wanted.

"Already had you stuffed with all my cream this morning, now here you are all sweaty and gagging for more. Fucking need it don't you? Gonna take my come honey? Little mama wants it, yeah?"

You could barely nod but you managed to knock your head back and forth. You were exhausted after he'd already given you two orgasms but now you could feel him coming to his end, his arms were shaking and his thrusts were getting sloppy with that big cock twitching as he stretched your walls. His impressive size was addicting.

"You ready? Think you can take another load?"

"Mmmm..." a pathetic wet mumble fell from your lips as Harry choked out a groan, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake the kids and you felt him throb and throb as he dropped his mouth open wide and pasted his hips against yours, unloading hours and hours worth of vital come into your womb, his balls emptying every drop inside of you.

You were very much done for by the time he pulled out but Harry wasn't. He angled your hips up with a heaving chest and stuffed himself back inside, holding his shaft to keep steady as he fucked his come into you, "There we go. Let's get that all in there," he watched as he dipped inward, keeping you full of his sperm, wet squelches (NSFW LINK - opens up a tumblr audio porn, no visuals 😈) coming from your pussy with the way he was plunging back into you to make sure his come didn't leak out, "Get that pussy fed and happy," he hissed as he pumped in gently, his cock sensitive to the touch after his orgasm.

He enjoyed the view of it... your shiny puffy pussy wrapped around his thick shaft as he pushed his come back inside you until he couldn't stay hard any longer. You were sure that was baby number three.

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