#(plus i have shakey hands so)

[trauma-trove]

[Id: a series of 10 photos with surreal, unconventional subjects. Image 1: a faint double rainbow over a neighborhood skyline. Image 2: the shelf underneath a doctor's office exam table with a box of pamphlets that read quote "does your knee hurt?" Endquote. Image 3: a worn vintage Cheer Bear CareBear lying on a foam mat floor. Image 4: a view from below of a life sized dragon model standing on top of a Halo arcade game in a low-budget arcade. Image 5: a landscape view of a children's outdoor wooden playground at night. Image 6: a wide river bordered by lush green trees. Image 7: a kiddie quarter-operated carousel on a sidewalk. Image 8: a rural backroad with a row of six vultures in the middle of the road. Image 9: an exterior pic of an abandoned fast food place with an empty drive thru menu sitting outside. Image 10: ablack void with an open door leading to a bedroom lit in red light. End ids.]

Weirdcore backgrounds, all taken by me. Free for anyone to use.

[kaisworlds]

ghillie suit wearing reader who is an absolute fucking unit im talking taller than könig okay

top dom male reader x könig

they meet on the battlefield, now könig knew who you were, of course he did, you were the only one on base who towered over him but he didnt expect his ass to get saved by you plus he had a tiny hallway base crush on you.

he was running through the large amount of trees trying to escape the enemies whose amount was gradually increasing behind him. he was out of ammo and used his gun as a weapon up til now. he dodged a few bullets before feeling a wet patch in his shoulder deciding not to look (to avoid the adrenaline from wearing off) he continues running seeing a lake close by he sprints towards it having the idea to hide out until backup arrived for him. the air was knocked out of his lungs as he got tackled to the ground he tries fighting whatever was ontop of him but feels a hand wrap around his mouth glancing up into the shaggy figures eyes

its the same [e/c] he can never seem to stop staring at in the break room

his body immediately relaxes under the weight of your body pressed up against his, the moment doesnt last forever as the yelling of the enemy soldiers grow louder.

still laying on top of him you lean each of your elbows beside his head resting the tip of your gun on a tree trunk quickly firing, every bullet that leaves the muzzle aims like a tracker into someones skull. könig was so caught up in you being on top of him,his mind running wild, not even registering the low whine that leaves the back of his throat as you get up off of him

furrowing your eyebrows at the noise deciding to leave it to the fact that he was....as much as you tried to find another reason you couldnt so instead you asked "könig right?" while grabbing gauze from one ofbthe patches on your ghillie suit before kneeling down beside him. könig nods looking anywhere but your face eyes widening like saucers as you unbuckle his vest "calm down im just going to wrap the wound before it gets dry and sticks to the fabric, is that okay könig?" the way you say his name has him crossing his thighs to hide the boner pressing up against his pants, his shakey hands slowly move up to take off the gear and clothes he has on. 'why are my hands shaking stop it he's gonna think your weird Scheiße' everything he is doing right now seems wrong in his eyes he can feel his heart racing, he has killed people and faced gruesome shit but none phased him as much as this situation right now after what felt like an eternity to him he finally pulled off his undershirt, his chest completely bare for you to see

taking off the head piece of your suit you start wrapping the bandage over the wound hand resting on his chest surprised by his hammering heart just mumbling out a small "its gonna be okay love" not thinking much of it trying to get him to hold still under your touch

he is so happy the veil covers his face, he wouldnt want you seeing how his cheeks lit up like Christmas lights, he continues to sneak glances at your concentrated face.

of course you noticed, did he really think he wasnt obvious? he shouldve caught on by now the way you subtly licked your lips or the way you've been flexing your jawline this entire time. he was too caught up in his thoughts to even think about that though.

thinking about how he felt your bulge on his thigh while you were ontop of him, about how easily you took him down, you could probably pin his hands down without even trying, how hard could you chok- "such a good boy for sitting still" könig snaps out of his thoughts brain barely comprehending what you said, he makes eye contact with you...you're smirking...did you know he liked you?

"how can you be so oblivious" a teasing tone in your voice he just avoids eye contact slowly shrugging the blush now reaching his neck. clicking your tongue you lean in closer to him hand sliping under his veil cupping his jawline "i like you too if i wasnt obvious enough" gently lifting the black clothe covering his face his hand grabbed your wrist, [e/c] eyes bore into his, as he gets lost in them his hand slowly slips off allowing your hand to raise the cloth stopping when it reaches his nose not wanting to push him.

slowly you lean in crashing your lips onto his he immediately kisses back pulling you closer ontop of him before a call comes in through your radio asking if anyone found könig because he wasnt responding, slowly leaning back grabbing your radio "yeah we're by the lake over"

könig lets the veil drape over his blushing face before slowly putring his gear back on

i love him guys :(

[enviedear]

nsfw billy headcannons (begging with tears in my eyes) 🤲🏽

billy bonney nsfw alphabet

how about an entire alphabet's worth? tbfh i just needed an excuse to do one of these for billy, plus i had a few billy smut hc requests!

request

a = aftercare

billy is sweetheart after. he cleans you up, is nice enough to don his clothes and run outside to the well to bring you clean water to wash off with. he'll be so gentle with the rag along your body, leaving little kisses in its wake. he holds you close afterward, mumbling sleepy sweet nothings into your neck. he's clingy after he fucks you proper, wants to keep you hitched to him. he feels safest and most as ease in this setting, and he tries his hardest to show you just how much it means to him.

"m'pretty girl, you're so perfect."

b = body part

he loves his hands. he's good with them and they don't look half-bad. in honest, he really didn't have a favorite until how long your eyes would linger on them. after that, he's constantly showing them off for you. fiddling his thumbs in your peripheral until you give him your undivided attention or running them along your shoulders until you're whining for him.

"what're you starin' at, honey?" he'd ask, wise grin plastered onto his face. you'd advert your eyes from his, "hush, outlaw."

his favorite innocent body part of yours is your eyes. he'll often compliment them, swear that they're like the stars above. to him, they are. you always look at him with geninue love and he feels undeserving. now, his favorite indecent part of would have to be your breasts. there i said it. he's a boob man. he wouldn't care about what they looked like or the size— he just wants to touch and watch them bounce when you ride him. he's obsessive, always reaching for them when the two of you are alone. and every time he takes you out to ride, his hands will work their way up to your bust.

"hold the reins, sweetheart." billy requests, voice rolling and deep. you furrow your brows, taking the reins, "why? what are—" you don't have to finish your question, feeling the gunslingers' rough hands against the soft flesh of your bosom, "jus' want to hold 'em, honey."

c = cum

billy likes to finish on your stomach. wants to watch just how much he can leak onto you, how well he can paint you with it. i think he gets his fix by seeing how much you can make him cum. you'll look up at him, blissed out and in a hazy afterglow, watching his face contort into pleasure as he releases, spewing his large load onto your tummy.

"see how much you get out o'me? m'good girl."

d = dirty secret

his dirtiest secret is how pitiful he is for you. if anyone knew how much he depends on you, his sweetest comfort, they'd surely use it against him. billy truly wants nothing more than you and a home, living out your days in bliss. he's whiney for you, touchy when you aren't getting the message quick enough. when he finally gets you to bed, arms caging your frame, he's whimpering and praising you for everything under the sun.

the outlaw pushes into you slowly, letting out a treble gasp, "fuck, feels s'fuckin' good sweetheart." you let out a breath, mouth slacking at the sight above you. he buries himself inside of you, whipering as you clench around him in an attempt to adjust. he lets out a longdraw curse, "wanna be inside ya' forever," a shakey breath, "i'll do anything for ya. anything."

e = experience

he's not doing too bad! before you, he had a few nice ladies, but he doesn't know everything or what to say all the time. it gives you the opportunity to be plenty of his firsts, though. he'll mostly take the lead in bed but if you ever try or say something new, he's flushing and flustered.

"you like when i do that?" you ask, staring down at billy, his eyes shut and ghost of a smile on his lips, "hm? let m'hear you, daddy." his brows furros, lips gaping, "sweetheart..." you grin, know you've got him right where you want him, "c'mon, gimme more." you watch his eyes roll back before he lets go, singing your praise and moaning into your ear.

f = favorite position

would you hate if i said cowgirl. he loves watching you on top of him, craves it. getting to see you come undone above him elicits something wild within him. he also loves the lotus, loves the way you grab his shoulder and press your forehead into his. he can't get enough of you and he feels so close to you when you're like that.

g = goofy

billy doesn't mind cracking a saccharine smile during the deed. he likes showing you that you're safe, that this whole exchange is safe. he never wants you to be scared of him. he's too amazed you're not already to ever jeopardize it. he won't be cracking any jokes while you're at it, but he doesn't mind being sweet for you.

h = hair

this is the wild west baby, lover boy's got some hair. he'll try to clean up whenever he can, but it's such a long hassle he usually opts not to. i don't think he'd necessarily be completely wild, but certainly has hair down there.

i = intimacy

so romantic. he just wants you to feel hoe much he loves you, how much you work him, how much he needs you. if he can't get the words out, he'll just show you. he's apt to kiss you everywhere he can, twice over. he'll mummer adorations on your flesh, basking in the entirety of you.

j = jack off

before you, i don't think he got to as much as he wanted. he's been on the run, hungry, and tired, the last thing on his mind is fucking his hand. and then after you, he doesn't really have a need to. if he wants pleasure he'd rather seek you out and wait until you want him.

"need something, billy?" you ask, smiling knowingly the tall man. he sighs, mirroring your own smile, "you, if you'll have me."

k = kink

he loves marking you up with lovebites. can't get enough of it really. he loves seeing the bruises on your pretty skin, a rebellious display of indecency. they're always given with the best intention though, his way of showing you and the world how good you make him feel.

also exhibitionism. not so much because he likes the thrill of getting caught, but because he's wild and isn't above having you outside. a stretch of meadow? he'll lay you down on the earth like you're the most precious thing in the world.

l = location

as he's a man on the run, a warm bed. nothing beats it. sometimes, he'll go for the great expanse of land that is the west, but usually, he wants you in a bed.

m = motivation

anything you do turns him on and keeps him going. he's sincerely obsessed with you. but your touch, with sinful intent or not, makes his brain go to mush. he loves it if you card your fingers through his hair, rub his back, or interlock your fingers with his. you're so beautiful to him, he always gets flustered by your touch. end result being the both of you high of eachother and sweaty.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

hurting you. he can't do it. he doesn't mind things like spanking or orgasm denial, because he never takes it far enough to harm you. his spanks are firm but light, his goal is to build your anticipation and not leave you bawling on his lap. he wants you to feel good, wants to be the reason you feel good, and hurting you like that doesn't give him that pleasure. he's a sweet lover, he'll be rough when it's fitting but never cruel.

o = oral

billy eats you out like a man starved. he's fully in it for you, but the way you sound due to none other than his mouth? that alone has him thrusting into the bed, roused purely by your own delight. he loves it when you want to reciprocate, he'll never turn it down. he loves the way you look with a mouth full of him.

"you taste s'good, sweetheart. want you to cum for me, let m'taste it."

p = pace

billy is mostly slow and rough. he'll fuck into you with deep and meaningful thrusts. he likes drawing out both your pleasures and tries to hold out until you're begging and pleading for him to let you cum. he also always tries to finish after you, he knows it draws out your orgasm and he finds nothing better than for you to feel good for as long as possible.

q = quickie

billy will take whatever you give him. if you want a quickie he'll give you one. i see this being the start of a great many of the times he takes you outside. walking along the road back to your home together and studying his pretty face, you can't help but reach out to him with a mischievous smirk on your face. billy will oblige you, taking you up against some poor ranchers' barn, whispering for you to stay quiet.

"hush, baby. don't want anyone to hear." billy whispers, faint smirk on his lips.

r = risk

being his girl is kind of the riskest part of being with him, but he's game for some risky activities. i could see him handing you his gun laid beside your sweaty bodies, forcing your hand to center the barrel at his temple. you'd be at a loss at first, even more so when he asks you to pull the trigger.

"what?" you gasp, hand going limp. billy doesn't stop his thrusts, "pull the trigger, sweetheart. if i'm to die it'll only be at your hands." you stay silent, stunned by his actions. he straightens your hold, "s'not loaded, honey," he smiles when you huff, bringing his hand down to your bulb, massaging gently, "but i meant what i said. you've got my life in your hands."

s = stamina

billy can definetly go for a while. he'll need quick between rounds, but you'd have to be doing a lot to wear him out. it doesn't help that he has a constant need for you. he'll try to get you to cum in so many different ways before he ever slips in, spending hours on you in complete devotion.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

did they have easily accessible sex toys in the wild west ??? idk but either way i don't think so. i do see him being very confident (rightfully so) in his own abilities. (not that he'd be against them completely)

u = unfair

billy is always a little bit unfair because he loves to tease. he really doesn't think there's anything better than the way you look deep in the thralls of ecstasy. he'll work you up when he knows the both of you can't act on it, just because he knows it'll have you a complete mess later.

v = volume

billy is pretty vocal, he's not giving you ear-splitting moans, but he is giving you wanton whimpers and needy groans. he's a rambler mostly, prattling nonsense while he slips in and out of you. he talks you through the entire act too (looking at you, anon who sent that into my inbox ur so right) he'll be so quick to tell you you're doing a good job. he also growls when he finishes, teeth barred and eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"thats m'girl, let go, i got'cha."

w = wild card

i think billy would have a secret breeding kink. he'd be pretty resolved not to finish inside you, not until his life is stable he thinks, but he craves it. he wants as many little ones as you'd give him— wants to be a father so long as you're the mother. he just wants life with you, every part, so the idea is in the back of his mind everytime he's buried within you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

this man is six and a half, veiny, and with a banana curve. the tip is deep pink and the most sensitive for him.

y = yearning

he has a constant sex drive for you. if you want him, he's yours. he thinks about it at least a few times a doy, he can't help it, you're too good to not think of in his opinion.

z = zzz

billy likes to cuddle and talk before drifting off. he wants to make sure you're okay afterward, but also he just wants to be close to you. mentally and physically. i think he'd get his most peaceful sleep after he takes care of you, satisfied by your enjoyment and lulled further into sleep by your sweet hold.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

[greenishghostey]

imagine eddie plus amazon position

Took some creative liberties with the position, but it worked out in the end (I hope)!

Note: this is filth, again. Also, it's kinda long....

18+ Content MDNI

///

You were used to Eddie suggesting some adventurous stuff to try out during sex. He thought you didn’t know about the Heavy Metal magazines stuffed under his bed. 

But you’d seen it all. Robots, monsters, aliens, the whole nine yards - all surprisingly well illustrated. There was one issue that had a woman and a tentacle monster-thing which probably shouldn’t have had you nodding while reading it, but oh well. 

So, when Eddie suggested the unfamiliar position to you, he also had a visual aid to help win you over. The man was on his back with his head thrown back, flushed neck bared to the woman on top of him. His eyes were rolling back into his skull as sound effects indicated the pace and sounds coming from their fucking. His knees were pulled tightly into his sweating chest while the woman - who looked suspiciously similar to you - rode his cock until they were both delirious and panting like animals in heat. 

-

"God fu-fucking damn it. Babe, c'mon, please."

"You're doing so good, though. Just need to get you a little more warmed up, okay?" You sang, using your own legs to keep Eddie's spread wide. Your hands were covered in lube that was originally cold, sliding and stroking Eddie's cock. He had been whining for the last fifteen minutes - not above begging you to sit on his dick. But that wasn't the deal. If he wanted you in the position he asked for, then he was going to have to work a little harder for it. 

The slick squelching from Eddie fucking your hands was obscene and so loud. It mixed with the hot panting of your breath and the string of groans and curses from him. Eddie had taken to throwing one arm over his eyes because if he looked down at you, the fun would be over within seconds. 

You liked that you had such an effect on him; there was something intimate yet animalistic about it. You craved it in a similar way that he craved you. Most of the time, Eddie chased your orgasm before his own. Huffing filthy promises and praise while pulling your legs onto his shoulders and grinning as you gripped the sheets with white knuckles. But sometimes, he wanted to be roughed up a little. Brought to the precipice of release, only to be held there for as long as you saw fit. 

“You’re making the sheets all wet.” You observed through heavy-lidded eyes. Eddie was an absolute fucking mess. His thick cock was glistening in the low light of his room while his balls were sticky and heavy. You had to stamp down the urge to let him fuck your mouth and empty himself down your throat. But you had agreed to ride him - or rather, fuck yourself on him.  

“I can fucking hear it.” Eddie groaned, moving his arm from his eyes as he glanced downwards. “Christ, fuck, aren’t you done yet?” His face had such a pretty rosy flush to it. 

“Wanna make you feel extra special tonight.” You hummed. His eyes were boring into your skull; you could almost feel the fire of his gaze. You knew you were pushing your luck, but it was too fun to pass up. 

Eddie’s reaction time was always a little too good when he had a set goal. He sat up on one shakey elbow and grabbed the back of your head, bringing your face mere centimetres from his. Eddie was staring at you, unblinking like you were the only thing in the entire world - and he wanted it so bad. 

“You’re done. Now.” Eddie smirked with clenched teeth. 

The fact that he still had enough brain power to talk was impressive. Additionally, the grip he had on your hair, keeping your head in place, was making you sweat and squirm. 

“I’m gonna lie back, you’re gonna sit all pretty on my dick, and then you can go back to being in charge. Got it?” Eddie always knew just the right thing to say. He knew you almost too well, knew just how to make you melt. The guy was in love; it looked good on him. 

You returned his smirk with a giddy smile and an enthusiastic nod. Eddie got himself comfortable again, arranging himself with his legs nearly to his chest. 

You had to wonder if this is what he liked so much about you in that position. The unrestricted view of everything, the heat of seeing vulnerability. The trust of it all was sort of heartwarming. Putting aside the fact that Eddie had gotten this idea from a porno comic. 

His swollen, slick cock twitched as you got yourself comfortable, placing your hands on the backs of Eddie’s thighs. Teasing the leaking tip against your clit was a sweet relief. Finally, you got some of the friction. A guttural moan fell from your lips as you watched the head slip into your cunt. 

Sharp nails dug into Eddie’s legs as you firmly sat on his cock. “You’re so fucking deep like this.” You sighed, the stretch of him finally settling into your drooling cunt. 

“You love it deep, huh?” Eddie groaned, the sweet relief of finally being inside you washing over him in waves. One of his hands gripped your ass, helping you keep balance while also massaging the fat. “Sh-shit even brought the nails out and everything. You sit there for just a little longer, ‘kay?” 

A noise between a moan and a shriek rolled from your throat as Eddie started toying with your clit. He alternated between slow circles, quick slaps, and slippery flicks. The mix of your wet, the lube and his precum creamed at the base of Eddie’s cock - the squelching of it becoming even messier. 

“This isn’t supposed to be about me.” You whined, head rolling to one side as a particularly harsh flick made you keen. 

“Well, this part is. So, keep screaming.” Eddie moaned, slapping at your soaked cunt when you tried to move your hips on him. 

You had a feeling that this night would be a “fight for the upper hand” sort of night. Those happened sometimes when you were both in a sort of feral mood, and both wanted to be on top. Eddie never let sex just be about him, even for a minute or two. 

So, you would need to put him in his place. Like he wanted since his knees were nearly crushed to his sweaty chest. The demon head tattoo staring at you only spurred you on more. 

Your nails returned to digging into the backs of Eddie’s thighs - catching him off guard and making a small line of drool leave his lips. The grinding of your hips got harder as you massaged your g-spot with his cock. 

“Know what? This is about me - god, fuck - hold still for me.” 

Eddie’s wet fingers were still on your clit, but only applied pressure for you to move on. His moans had returned to being closer to whines as he stared at you fucking yourself. He wouldn’t be able to thrust up at all from the position he was in. He was at your mercy, and he loved it. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck yes.” Eddie chanted, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth. “Your pussy feels so fucking - oh god, oh god.” 

You were shifting between grinding and bouncing now. The sopping drag of Eddie’s cock was simultaneously too much and not enough. “What was that? My pussy feels what?” You groaned, trying to keep your voice somewhat stern and even. 

“So fucking wet, and messy, and - and, Jesus.” Eddie slurred. He felt like he was losing his mind. The tension in his thighs, your nails dragging on his skin and the creamy warmth of your cunt. It was all driving him up the wall as his heart started to hammer. 

“We’re gonna make a mess together,” you purred, legs beginning to shake. “You can cum deep, yeah? Can you do that for me, Eddie?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie whined, his hair stuck to his face with sweat. “Anything you want, baby. Anything.” 

You grinned, grinding faster and harder until the mattress started to creak. The circles of your hips were messy, but it didn’t matter anymore. The man under you looked like a wreck in the best way possible. He was struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back; beads of sweat were rolling down his neck, and the noises. The noises were a mixture of grunts and moans as he clumsily played with your clit and tried to hold off cumming before you. After a few grounding breaths, Eddie kicked himself into high gear again.

“You love this, don't ya?” He panted, doubling down on the rough circles to your sticky clit. “Just been waiting to get back on top of me and losing your fucking mind.” 

“Just promise you’ll cum with me.” Your voice was hoarse and whimpering. The sweet relief was so close; you just needed Eddie to keep talking. “Promise me, Eddie.”

“Promise. God, fuck - I promise.”

Eddie started to moan and laugh up at you - it wasn’t mocking laughter, he was just having a really good time. The hand massaging your ass moved to deliver a sharp smack to the already raw skin - his laughter getting louder when you whined. You retaliate by scratching your nails down his thighs again, making him shiver and his cock twitch inside you. 

The push and pull continued for who knows how long. It could have been seconds; it could have been minutes. A smack was met with a scratch, and a whine was met with a shiver. Both of you were soaked, and the slick noises were just so right. 

Your knees almost gave out, “I’m gonna cum, Eddie, c’mon, c’mon.” You babbled, slamming your cunt down onto his cock. Your orgasm ripped through you in an instant, jaw hanging open and a low scream filling the dim bedroom.

“‘Atta girl.” Eddie slurred, his voice melting into a series of groans of ‘fuck’ as he emptied himself inside your hot, slick walls. His grip on your ass was definitely going to leave handprints, but that just made it all the better.

[r0bita]

There is something refreshing about the times when Pinoko takes an interest in other characters and other activities besides Dr. Black Jack, because while her infatuation with Black Jack is a huge part of her character it feels like that's the only thing she has going for her which should be false.

This why I love Pinoko's portrayal in the Dezaki OVAs (KARTE 5, ESPECIALLY), over the 2004 anime. It's a good balance of all her traits as a clingy companion, a reliable ally, a comic relief, and an overall cutie that balance outs the severity of the episodic cases Black Jack takes on.

She is a capable right hand to Black Jack and it's super unfair to her character to be only seen as a hopeless romantic side kick and temper-tantrum comic relief for Black Jack. Even the OG manga and 2004 anime kinda pushes this image and sometimes it's not always fun to watch.

Calling her Black Jack's child is also kinda a shakey topic sometimes, because Black Jack IS her guardian, she was (and still kinda is) his patient, and he views her as his kid, despite Pinoko's adamantly in calling herself his wife (which I personally think is cringe and stinks of Freud), IS his assistant, and has gotten through tough situations on her own despite her condition disabling her at times. So it's still very one-sided on both ends, and overall complicated. This isn't an overall negative thing, but an observation on how unique and imperfect their found family relationship is depicted.

Pinoko is (technically) an adult, but not in the same level of maturity or life experience as Black Jack. (A cyborg who was living inside their twin for 18 years isn't exactly gonna have the easiest time to adapt and develop in society compared to most young adults. But this is Manga/Anime, so whatever!) Even at her best, she is still limited in what she can do and isn't always invited to come with him during certain trips because the of level of danger. Plus she has been sheltered and spoiled by Black Jack to the point of enabling her to be childish and entitled at times, as well as infantilizing her which damages her self-esteem and wanting to be seen as a person. But the same time, she also keeps Black Jack's and the reader's spirits up with her presence. Pinoko's personality balances Black Jack's serious and sometimes depressing attitude.

Basically, if there are more Black Jack series in the future, I would appreciate them taking doing right by Pinoko by giving her more agency and maybe some sense of growth, especially if they go for the more "darker side of medicine and serious topics" route.

[fixfoxnox]

Poll is up, you know that that means! Gaz x trans! Male Reader smut snippet plus a little bonus at the end 😁

Luke's Spicy Snippets (3)

Warnings: Dom! Gaz, edging

Gaz is usually a very gentle lover. Sure, he can get a bit grabby sometimes, he might leave some bruises and marks, but typically he liked to take things slow. He liked to make things as intimate as possible with careful eye-contact as his hips rolled. He liked to work his boyfriend to his release slowly.

Today, was not like that. Today, Gaz was not being gentle. Who could say what it was that had finally set him off. Maybe it was waking up to find his boyfriend making them breakfast in nothing but an oversized sleep shirt. Maybe it was the little kisses that had been pressed to his lips and skin throughout the day. Maybe it was the way that his boyfriend had been a bit of a brat for the past hour or so. It didn't really matter. After all, they'd ended up here.

He pressed himself close against his boyfriend's back, a boyish laugh pulled from his lips as he felt the man shaking under him. "You seem like you're struggling," he punctuated his words with a careful curl of his fingers inside of his boyfriend's cunt, his thumb flicking over his clit quickly. "Bit shakey?"

"Fuck you," his boyfriend answered with a gasped out moan, trying to rock down onto the fingers buried inside of him.

Gaz gave another chuckle and started to work his fingers in and out of his boyfriend at a quick and unrelenting pace, building him back up toward his release. "All you have to do is ask, babe. All you have to do is say my name in that pretty voice and beg for my cock like we both know you want to."

His boyfriend answered with a choked off moan, his hands scrambled for purchase against the table as the pleasure building in him became more and more intense. His legs were shaking even worse now and all of his weight was fully on the rickety old table in their kitchen. He managed a cried out "Kyle!" as he was pushed right to the edge then...Gaz stopped his movements completely, pulling a sob from his boyfriend's lips as he was once again pulled away from the sweet release of pleasure.

He could hear Gaz laughing at him again as that pleasure slowly dwindled down. His boyfriend was being mean and, as much as he hated to admit it, it was only adding to the intensity of everything. "Please," he cried out softly, trying once again to buck down against Gaz's fingers.

"Please what?" Gaz teased lowly, "Come on, babe, you know exactly what I want to hear." There was a moment of silence as his boyfriend clenched his fists against the table. His mouth sealed shut. He did not want to lose. "I told you," Gaz pressed playful kisses against his cheek, "You're coming on my cock, or not at all. Do I need to prove it again?" He started moving his hand again, setting that quick and unrelenting pace that made his boyfriend's mouth drop open and whines pull from his throat.

He couldn't take it again. He just couldn't. He gave a low sob before finally calling out, "Kyle! Please, please fuck me! Want your cock so bad! Need you in me!"

Immediately Gaz stopped the movement of his hands, an excited chuckle leaving his mouth. "There we go, babe," he slowly pulled his fingers from his boyfriend's cunt, earning a whine from him, "Was that so hard? Now then."

He lined himself up with his boyfriend and slowly started to feed his eager hole with his cock. Despite the overwhelming energy of dominance he'd exuded only seconds ago, this was much more in line with the soft Gaz that his boyfriend was familiar with. He went slow, making sure that he was comfortable the entire time. His hands stroked soothingly over his hips and he whispered sweet little encouragements in his ear.

When the man finally bottomed out, his balls pressed tight to his boyfriend, they both gave a sigh of relief. There was a moment where Gaz allowed him to adjust and, based on what was happening, his boyfriend was sure that he had his sweet and slow lover back.

He was proven wrong when hands gripped his hips tight and his boyfriend pulled out of him only to slam back into his cunt with all his strength, the table creaking dangerously under the movement. Gaz gave a low chuckle at the sound. He wrapped a hand tight in his boyfriend's hair, pulling his head back harshly before teasing, "Let's see if the creaky thing can hold up to me fucking your brains out, eh love?"

Bonus! Trans! Gaz x Trans! MaleReader (very very brief but hey)

"Fuck," Gaz tilted his head back into the plushness of the bed behind him, his back arching up just slightly as his boyfriend continued to rut up against him. "Please, oh, it feels so fucking good!"

His boyfriend was moving in slow steady rolls, his own face a hazy pink color, his eyes glazed over as he stared down at Gaz. "You're so," he paused with a gasp, his hips jerking down erratically for a moment at one particularly good bought of friction. Gaz responded with his own moan, his hips rising up to try to meet his boyfriends. "You're so, so fucking pretty," he managed out finally.

He and Gaz continued rutting up against one another, their legs interlocked so that they could press their aching cunts together. With every slow roll of their hips, a moan was pulled from their lips. Their wet slick provided a sweet slide and helped with the slow curling of pleasure in their guts. Every thrust and their throbbing clits would bump together deliciously, slowly building them up, slowly overwhelming them.

After a moment, Gaz's boyfriend brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them for several moments before lowering the now-wet didgets between their bodies to rub slowly against Gaz's clit. The move pulled a low whine from Gaz as he desperately tried to take more pleasure from the fingers against him.

His boyfriend stopped moving his hips, just watching with hunger as Gaz's face went a darker shade of red as his breathing grew more labored. Even as pulses of arousal flooded him, he could only focus on the man under him. This wasn't enough. Touching wasn't enough.

"What are you-" Gaz's words were cut off with a loud squeak as his boyfriend moved off of him to lay between his thighs, his face immediately burying itself in his cunt. "Oh fuck-" Gaz grabbed his boyfriend's hair, grinding onto his face desperately. "Wait, wait!" He stuttered out desperately, his boyfriend continued to feast on him, "Wait, oh fuck, oh shit, you're not- you're not going to cum like this!"

"Fuck," his boyfriend moaned around the taste of him, "You can, fuck, you can fuck me with one of the toys or something," he finally managed between facefulls of the man moaning under him, "I just want to taste you."

[free-boundsoul]

Spicy thought that came to mind kind of a continuation of my post about Freelancer, Hux and Lasko

Freelancer snorted softly as they refilled the glasses on the table, sliding them over to Hux and Lasko respectively. The three friends were lounging in Hux's living room, enjoying each other's company and a few drinks

"Seriously, Freelancer, there's no way Gavin s-subs, not with the way he acts all the time" Lasko teased, the topic of their conversation making it hard to tell if the alcohol was the source of his flushed face

Freelancer sipped their drink, their lips curling into a grin before they leaned forward, their voice dropping to imitate Gavin's silken tone "You really doubt that I don't have that man on his knees for me?"

Hux laughed as Lasko sputtered, the air elemental's face turning a brighter hue as the Freelancer leaned back. "Really Lasko, Gavin is versatile. You don't have to have set roles in the bedroom. You should switch it up with your love every once in awhile. Bet they'd love to see your 'dom' side"

"I-I don't know...we just started getting intimate and we're still learning about each other and...well, I don't know if I'd be any good at that..." Lasko stuttered out, raising his glass to his lips.

"Hey, you never know until you try, dude. Plus theres other ways to take control in the bedroom, you can top from the bottom like Damien does." Hux gave one of his easy smiles as he patted Lasko on the back

"I just can't see Damien being on bottom at all. He's the control freak. He literally has itinerary for a dinner and movie night. He plans it based on what we usually order and how long it takes the place to make." Freelancer couldn't help but tease the fire elemental, even if he wasn't there

"But you have to admit it's so sweet that he knows what we each like to order...oh, wait, we were talking about the other thing. But he's been getting so good at giving up that control in the bedroom. I think he just needs to know he's with someone he can completely trust to take that control-"

"What the hell are you guys talking about- is that my good scotch?" Damien's voice rose as he stormed into the room. His bag slid down his shoulder to thump onto the floor by the couch as he stared down at the group.

"Dames! Baby, you're home early....can I have a kiss?" Hux beamed up at him, the big guy the closest to his lover as Lasko and Freelancer broke down into nervous giggles at getting caught.

Damien tried his best to glare down at his partner, but Hux was hard to stay mad at, especially when he was so happy at his mere arrival. He sighed heavily before he leaned down to press his lips against Hux's, his hand resting on his cheek. He only pulled away when the Freelancer let out a wolf whistle.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"You've told me that a few times now, actually. Anyway, you gonna join in on the gossip session? You know you want to" they sing-songed as they used psychokinesis to grab another glass from the kitchen, even if it was shakey with their inebriation. They still managed to mix Damien's drink of choice before sliding it over to him

"Considering what you were talking about, I'm not sure I do."

"Pfft oh come on. You can tell us some of Hux's secrets, to make up for him telling one of yours. Oh, and I'll tell you about this secret spot of Gavin’s. If you touch him in just the right way it drives him nuts...you know you'd love to fuck with him like he does to you. You're all about getting even, right, wildfire?" Freelancer grinned as Damien let out another sigh before he plopped into Hux's lap and took the glass he'd been offered.

"Its going to be a long night"

[daydream-cement]

Hello! I just love your Larissa Weems fic and oneshots. Like I am obsessed. You’ve gifted us with mind blowing smut and I thank you for it. Is it okay to have a fluffy comfort oneshot where reader is a student and doesn’t really have great parents. Like their parents doesn’t support her or something and for some reason Larissa is like a mother figure of some sort. I’m imagining this happens when the parents visit school. But you can totally change that if you have something better hehe.

It Will All Be Okay

Larissa Weems x student!reader

Author Note: Be gentle with this one guys. I based a lot of this convo off of a real one I had with my own ‘school mom’.

You sat on the steps of the grand entryway crying. Parents Weekend had just ended and everything about it had completely sucked. Your mother had come to visit you alone when you father decided that a last-minute work ‘thing’ was more important. The only trouble with this is your father was the emotional buffer between you and your mother’s personalities. In fact, you were a lot like each other. That was the problem. 

You were so similar and stubborn that never in your life had she supported you different decisions. You had finally shared with your mother your dream job, yet it wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted you to go into the family business- swindling people of their blood at a fake blood bank. It almost felt offensive to you that this was the business of your vampire family. It felt so stereotypical.

So you successfully spent the whole weekend fighting and now that your mother was gone, you felt entirely brokenhearted. Why couldn’t she support you like you needed?

“Are you quite alright?” The voice of your principal rang out behind you. You felt so embarrassed. You shouldn’t have been crying out in the open in the first place. You kept your head low, wiping away your tears with the end of your sleeve.

Your lack of a response didn’t deter Principal Weems. You heard her heels click down the steps until she was seated a step down from you so she could see your face best, “Tell me what’s wrong, y/n.”

You sighed, but when you began your sentence you began crying again. This time to the point in which you couldn’t speak. You covered your face from her, not wanting to let Principal Weems see.

Larissa moved where she was seated once again, moving up to sit right next to you. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders and she pulled you into her. You accepted her hug readily, shifting yourself so you could put both your arms around her. The comforting hug caused a shakey sigh to release from your body, finally feeling a sense of safety. 

Weems heard your sigh and spoke once again, releasing you from the hug, “Doesn’t it feel good to cry a bit. Now tell me what’s wrong.” 

You explained it all. The dream job. The classes you have been taking to prepare you for it. Finally you told her about your mother’s less than desired reaction and her insistence on making you work for the family blood bank.

Larissa gave you a gentle smile, seeming like she completely understood what you were going through, “My parents wanted me to go into the family business too. ‘Shapeshifters work in law enforcement,’ she used to tell me. But I loved schools and teaching. Plus, it’s like being a police officer around here, you kids can be so crazy.”

You give a breathy snort as a way of laughing at her joke. Principal Weems seeming to understand the pain you were in. She continued on, “Regardless, parents sometimes place a burden on their children. Sometimes it’s because they didn’t accomplish something  or sometimes their scared of you doing something new.”

“But why should she be so scared of what I’m doing?” You retort, getting a tad angry thinking about the multiple discussions you have had with your mother over the past weekend.

“Probably because she loves you. Humans are weird.” Larissa tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and looked down at you intently. Both of her hands moved to your cheeks, her intensity made a couple more tears fall, “Everything is going to be okay.”

The way she said it made you believe it. With that, Principal Weems helped you to your feet, placing both hands on your shoulders when you were standing. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head when she enveloped you into a final hug. 

“Better?” She asked, pulling away from the hug.

You took a deep breath and released it slowly, nodding at Principal Weems, “Better.”

“Okay, now run along. I don’t want you missing dinner.” Her hand was on your shoulder as she gently pressed you to head towards the cafeteria.

You nod, hopping down the steps, now in a far better mood.

“Oh, and Mx. L/n, I know someone who works in that career field. Perhaps I can put you in touch?” Weems called after you.

You stopped and spun around, a large smile on your face, “That would be great! Thanks, mom- I mean, Principal Weems.”

“Anytime, dear.”

[femme4ngel]

coffee with mbappe ✩

𐐪♡𐑂 summary: you have a horrible day and call your best friend, kylian. you can always count on him.

𐐪♡𐑂 pure fluff, can be seen as platonic or romantic ( reader refers to mbappe as their bestfriend)

𐐪♡𐑂 pairing: kylian mbappe x fem reader

after a stressed day you call your best friend, the one you can always count on. kylian. he picks up immediately, he asks about your day, his kind voice melting your heart immediately. you whine and tell him about the horrible weather, your mean boss, the rude costumers, all that went wrong with your day. as you talk you can feel tears rolling down your face. you sniff, trying to vipe away the tears with the sleeve of your hoodie hoping kylian didn’t hear your shakey voice. but he does, and tells you to put on something comfortable and meet him in front of your apartment in 5 minutes.

- oh okay, im just going to put on sweatpants is that okay? or should i wear something prettier?

you ask not wanting to embarrass him if you go to somewhere fancy. ( plus the cameras are always on kylian and whoever hes with wherever he goes)

- noo, sweatpants are perfect! im bringing you my big paris hoodie, i know you love. no one will see us, i promise amour. just be ready!

he sends you kisses trough the phone and hangs up. you sit on your bed confused for a second, but then you think about it rationally and realize that going out with kylian will be the best remedy for this awful day. so you get ready, wash your face, spray on some bodymist and put on a simple pair of sweatpants with a black shirt. you grab your coat and phone, close the apartment and go downstairs, waiting for your best friend on the side of the street. kylian arrives just in a minute, he gets out of the taxi and steps up to you. he takes your hand into his, squeezing you into a tight hug.

- where are we going ky? im really tired, im sorry. i had such a bad day and..-

he looks at you kindly with joy and sparkles in his eyes.

- its okay, amour we aren’t going anywhere far. just hang on for a little, you’ll see ill make your day so much better!

you smile back at him nodding and the two of you start walking through the streets of paris. the paparazzi somehow doesn’t bother you, you keep looking around but no-one seems to care about you and kylian embracing eachother. ( maybe his disguise consisting of a black hoodie and cap is actually working) he guides you through isolated parts of the city, lonely houses, abandoned buildings with plants growing on their walls, narrow alley’s with small stairs. you walk in silence but its not uncomfortable, you feel at peace with him by your side. after crossing under a small bridge you arrive at your destination. its a beautiful small coffeehouse, its walls are built from old rocks and brown wood, the windows are painted glass with church like decorations. the house has a little terrace with a few people sitting at elegant white tables sipping on their drinks. kylian looks at you;

- see cherie? i told you id make your day better!

- oh kyky, this is so beautiful! iv never been here before, iv never even heard about it!

you look at him with a surprising adoring look. you think about how special this place must be for him, how hidden it is. you wonder if he comes here often, if he runs away from the crowd and strangers to this little miraculous paradise.

- thank you kylian, really i.. thank you.

you smile at him, trying to make him realize how grateful for him you truly are.

- you are so welcome y/n. i’m glad i have you in my life, and i’m glad you will now also know about this place. maybe it will provide you a similar comfort as it does for me.

he says, answering your unasked questions.

you spend the rest of the evening in the caffee drinking teas after teas, trying out every flavor they have. no one harasses kylian, the waiters seem to know him but they just treat him like everyone else. kylian listens to you as you tell him about your horrible day again, then he tells dumb funny things from his day. how neymar and him pranked his other teammates, how he scored at practice or how he didn’t score and actually fell on his butt on the pitch. you laugh for hours, your cheeks hurting from the constant smiling. he truly is your best friend, capable of making you forget anything that hurts, anything that worries you. and you just hope you can provide him the same kind of support and love, always standing by his side. the night ends with kylian in your bed as the big spoon, with you in his arms, in his paris hoodie snoring peacefully.

[wutheringmights]

<shakily rolling into your inbox> Would you gift us with chapter commentary, please?

Your wish is my command:

Framing the past section around headlines was not my original plan. I wanted to do a repeating refrain of "This is how the war ended," but when it came time to actually write it, I was bored with it. Yeah, kinda thought about it too hard. So I went back to the drawing board.

I also considered framing the chapter around the passing seasons, but that seemed too boring. I wanted something with a bit more pizazz.

Plus, one of my favorite genres of fan work is in-universe media like newspapers and magazine covers. This is a pretty weak attempt at it, but at least I threw my hat into the ring.

I've been trying for a while now to imply that the original HW storyline is what was spread as propaganda to the people of Hyrule, but this is the first time I made it really, really clear.

So the engineer being assigned to the coast is a reference to how the DLC that features Toon Link is the one where there's suddenly an ocean. Very smooth of me lol

This chapter ended up being a bit of a dumping ground for all of the relationships I was ignoring in favor of writing about the brothers, ironically because I too was too consumed with the engineer and the child to write about anything else, which in turn really drove home how all-consuming their presence was for Link

The fun thing about Midna's scene is that her and Link going on nightly walks together was one of the very first ideas I had for CTB by virtue of it being inherited from when I thought I was going to write a romcom. Incredible that it took half a million words to finally get to it.

My favorite part of the past is the bit where Link writes all of the letters to the engineer. It's just a lot of fun to sit there and figure out what kind of bullshit he would spout to kinda apologize but not really. It was even more fun to punch him back down with Lincoln's brutal response. Just rereading it, I feel like you can tell I was having a blast.

I also had a lot of fun finding ways to show symptoms of Link's alcoholism getting worse without him realizing it. The constant headaches, the nausea, the shakey hands, the sensory sensitivity-- him experiencing all of this and going so deep into denial that he can't understand why his body is reacting that way.

It's been so long since I've managed to give Toto some screen time that I kinda forgot how much I like his character? He's just a guy, but I like that he's just a guy. But I don't think I made it too clear in the chapter that in their friend group, they were the least friends with each other. Link was closer to Anders, and Toto to Uri. They're being driven together by virtue of being the only ones left, moreso than I initially conveyed.

And, of course, I got to talk about Uri again. Again, Uri is always so interesting to handle because he is a character who we will never see in person and Link is too traumatized by the death of to think about in detail. Even now, Uri feels like a mystery. All we know about him is how Link feels about him.

And finally, Zelda. The thing about Zelda is that I feel like her goals are really transparent, but I always get comments from people who want there to be this moment where everything about her is spelled out. And, despite the fact that she monologues about her feelings here, I don't think this is exactly what everyone was hoping for. The more I read it over, I can see how she probably just got more confusing.

Also, I know I need to stop writing monologues. But have you considered that the monologues are sexy?

I feel like I should say something about how Zelda's relationship with Hylia, but it really speaks for itself. I will say that as much as I like how BOTW is so ambiguous with Hylia, I am a little bit more fascinated with the idea that "your god is real and they specifically hate you." Like, how are you supposed to cope with that? We should all be thankful Zelda isn't more fucked up than she is.

I should also say something about her thoughts on the engineer... so first, my goal with that relationship was always for it to be toxic from both ends, with the engineer trying to use her while she uses him-- which gets even more complicated when you consider all the ways Zelda echoes Link. Like Link, she sees parts of herself in the engineer. Unlike him, she wants to save be saved, so she in turn saves him. Link hates himself so much that he has to drag everyone else down with him.

In the era of everyone wanting Zelda to no longer be a damsel in distress, it's kind fun to give her the traditional goal of being saved by someone else, to then twist it around. She is begging to be rescued, but she won't fix anything herself.

This idea really goes against the popular depictions of HW Zelda, which is why I have iterated before that this Zelda is not Artemis. She's her own thing.

There was going to be more about how the war ended, but I decided to keep it for next chapter because (you guessed it) the word count got too long.

On to the present--

Congrats to everyone who said they wanted to see more of Spirit and Warriors talking shop. You really won with this chapter.

That being said, I always think that I never write what people want when they want it. Like I will write a chapter with a lot of action, so everyone says they want more action next. But then I follow it up with a chapter of people just talking, so I get a lot of people requesting more of that. But then, it's back to heavy action.

All that's to say that I feel bad that there wasn't more character drama this chapter

Also, I feel really bad for not including either Hyrule or Wind in this chapter. Those two are the characters people ask me to write more about the most. But unfortunately, the thing about juggling a large cast of characters is that some times you have to sit down and get a few of those characters out of the way for a bit so that we can focus on other things.

I don't want to make it sound like I was targeting those two on purpose. They just had the best excuse for not going on the Nephus mission.

Speaking of which, I feel terrible for constantly finding ways to leave Lana and Linkle out of the action-- and that's after I've talked so much about adding more women into the story to balance out the default nine dudes LU requires me to add. But again, there are so many characters that I have to find ways to leave some of them behind. And again, it was really easy to give them an excuse to not be in the main action. But It's probably a bad thing that they are easily excused. I should work on that.

And I know I can write scenes with a shit ton of characters talking together. I've done it plenty of times in CTB and other ensemble stories before it. But it's a lot of work, and when I need to focus on more important plot points, the last thing I want to juggle is balancing every scene so that everyone has something to do.

Sorry to belabor that point. Sometimes, I get really annoyed with how big the cast it when it's not even my fault.

It is my fault. I just want to complain.

I appreciate everyone who has their own version of Spirit going on more legendary adventures while he is wearing his OSHA mandated work uniform. I know the Heroes of Hyrule are not unionized, but I at least would like to make sure he is properly dressed with an adventure.

That being said, his Castle Guard uniform was partially inspired by the uniform for the Free Planets Alliance in the original Legend of the Galactic Heroes:

That is not a great photo, but I was envisioning something like this-- "this" being a more modern cut with clear nautical influences (cause the Castle Guard was probably originally a navy)

Also the crest on Spirit's uniform is Tetra's pirate emblem. Do not get be started about how I fucked up the crest of the New Hyrulean royal family back in chapter 6 and how I have been looking for some band-aid to place over that mistake so that it would look like I did it on purpose

I didn't expect the scene where Spirit talks to Four to be so polarizing. I didn't even think it was a significant moment when I wrote it. Yet I've seen a huge gambit of reactions, from people calling Spirit cruel or others saying that the moment was sweet. That being said, I am living for this. If there is one thing I want right now, it is for everyone's opinion on Spirit to be split.

Did you guys enjoy me trying to write about how machinery works? Honestly, I could have probably cut all that, but I did so much work establishing the mechanics behind the ganons in previous chapters that I felt like I had to go through with it.

My original plan was for Warriors's plan to involve taking Philo hostage from the start, but I changed it because writing a kidnapping scene would have been too much work. It still really bugs me. The way the chapter is written now feels really cheap, but again. I didn't feel like I had enough space.

I also ran into the fun problem of wanting to show the nuances of Philo and Icarius's relationship when one can't speak and the other would not speak Hylian. Legend saved my ass a bit with this one, but I don't know if all of the little details got through.

Speaking of which, I should talking the House of Nephus

So obviously, I wanted the House of Nephus to reflect the original brothers dynamic. The idea is that they are what Warriors, Spirit, and Time/Mask would turn into if both Spirit and Mask stayed.

Except, in practice, I had to give them their own distinct personalities so that they wouldn't be boring as fuck

Icarius and Philo got away with getting small but really effective changes. They both still feel like reflections of Spirit and Time respectively

But Nephus.... so my original personality for him was someone as jaded and mean as Warriors is at his worst. But he felt too much like Zelda or Impa. So I went back to the drawing board to find some character angle that would be really interesting and effective for how little screen time he will ultimately get.

My inspiration came from the Virginia Woolf seminar I was in when I first started working on CTB. I was thinking a lot about rich, British assholes; very specifically about the kind who are self-prescribed intellectuals who fetishize non-white cultures while maintaining the superiority of Western imperialism.

So with that in hand, I got rid jadedness and turned Nephus into a guy dripping with charisma but is unaware of how terrible of a person he is. And as a reflection of Warriors, he works thematically.

But you can make the argument that this is not the story for this kind of a character, especially when I have already gone through such lengths to clarify that Hyrule is an imperialist nation that echoes America. You can see me poking fun at it in some of the dialogue during this scene, but still.

(And it gets worse when you look at the subtext of how light vs dark magic is treated between Hyrule and Faovaria).

So, yeah. I deserve some criticism for this one. I know it. But I didn't change it because I just liked how immediately interesting Nephus was. I couldn't think of an alternative that would have been as effective as this affable evil. Sorry about that.

Another idea I had was that Nephus was going to be the Faovarian equivalent of the Hero of Hyrule, and he would even have his own dual blades of dark and light magic to prove it. I ended up not doing this because it was too heavy handed.

I originally was going to keep the swords, and I even realized that if I had planned things out a bit better, the dark magic sword could have been Ghirahim. I decided that it would have been too out of left field to have worked, but man. I have regretted since day 1 that I cut Ghirahim from the story. I'm sorry, Ghirahim.

And then I didn't even include the swords. Motherfucker.

That actually was a genuine mistake on my part, because the point of the swords would have been to give Nephus's speech on his religion more credence. We as the audience know that the goddesses exist. And yet... why does there seem to be more to the gods of this universe? Are Hylia and the Golden Three really just oracles? If Nephus has these cool swords, what other powers and weapons does Faovaria have within its borders? You know, just world building stuff.

I came up with too much story for the House of Nephus than what I will ultimately have space to include in CTB. I'll try to strategic so that you won't be annoyed with the lack of answers from some of the questions you probably have.

As important as Nephus is, he's ultimately not the main antagonist of the story. If I was willing to write 20 more chapters, I could do a lot more with him, Philo, and Icarius; but I would like to see the end of CTB someday lol

Originally, only Time, Spirit, and Midna were going to go with Warriors to meet Nephus. There was definitely going to be this bit where Spirit and Warriors were going to be like "oh fuck, he's hot" as Nephus flirted with them. Meanwhile, Time (a married man) would be sitting there like "really??? both of you have horrible taste??"

I am also realizing I forgot to write a moment where Warriors is horrified to realize that Nephus was going to make Philo sit there in pain instead of rushing him to a doctor. Fucking hell.

Also, that Nephus's spirit feels normal to Spirit is important. Not on a plot level, but thematically. Just hang on to that thought next time you think about the whole spirit sensing thing.

I always knew that CTB was going to evolve into a Triforce quest story. There's no way I could write about a guy who's supposed to be this brutal strategist and not let him realize he has an easy solve to everything. But I also didn't want this to be easy or feel cheap. It's why I went through all that effort to establish that getting those pieces would involving going up against the Royal Family and the Knights of Hyrule. It's going to be hard, and it will involve all the fighting and manipulating you expect CTB to have. It'll also involve moral dilemmas.

After all, we've been talking about the moral dilemmas presented by the Triforce since at least chapter 6 (remember when I said that there was so much set-up in that chapter for stuff that was for far later in the story? Hello, pay off!)

All that's to say that I am worried that people don't like this direction. I have gotten a few comments about how excited people are for Warriors's plan, but only time will tell if this ruined the story for some people.

And I know I worry a lot about ruining CTB. That's not a problem that's going to be solved any time soon, so let me have this one.

Finally, the chapter was going to go until Time's talk with Warriors. Decided to move it to next chapter because, you guessed it, space.

[keysorsomething]

Redemption (And the concept of the “Russian Soul", as they pride themselves on)

Hi everyone! My SCP fixation has been back full force recently, so here's a story I wrote about Agent Strelnikov and Dr. Clef, cause they have some of my favorite tales together.

Cross-posted on AO3

Dmitri awakes.

Sterile white walls meet him when he does, eyes panickedly flicking from side to side. There’s a pain in his side. He was shot. His hand finds his side, fingers searching. He finds clean bandages there, nice ones. Ones that were not used on the field. He had never felt such a material before.

There are wires in his arm, the soft beeping of the machine measuring his heartbeat familiar to his ears. He shuffles into a sitting position with a low groan, rubbing at his eyes.

“You are awake, comrade,” A low voice speaks to him, causing the man to flinch. A man, one much older than Dmitri, sits at his side. The cigarette squeezed carefully between his pointer and thumb is offered out to Dmitri.

“Ah, thank you,” Dmitri mumbles, taking the small stick of nicotine. “…Where am I?” He asks, not yet putting the smoke to his lips.

“You did well, serving the Motherland,” The man responds, “But now you have a new purpose.”

“Where am I?” Dmitri asks again, brows furrowing. He isn’t dead, he can’t be dead. He promised Eva he would be home. He promised her he would marry her.

Plus, not even hell would taunt him with the promising images of hospitals. Of healing.

“You are in a place where your skills can be put to real use, Comrade Junior Lutenaint,” The man explains. “You did good in the military, but,” He tsked, “You can do much more now.” Dmitri shakes his head. This makes no sense, he groans, frustrated.

“Where is Eva?” He asks, moving on. “My… wife,” The word felt funny on his tongue, and wasn’t quite true - they were just engaged. But that did not matter to him. He was pretty much married to her either way. And he was safe. Maybe he’d be able to see her again, hold her again.

“She has been… notified,” The man responds, watching as Dmitri’s gray eyes light up. “Of your death,” And it all comes crashing down. Dmitri’s head spins, and he falls back into the bed.

“But I’m not. I’m not dead,” He argues, feeling his eyes sting.

“You are to her,” The man replies, snatching his cigarette back. “And you are to the Motherland.” The man leans forward, blowing smoke into Dmitri’s face. “Is that not what you wanted?”

No, Dmitri wants to beg. It wasn’t. He wanted to retire from the military, work in Moscow, and come home to his loving wife and kids each night. He used to dream of tucking his children in at bedtime - he craves the domesticity of being awoken by his small child crawling into his and Eva’s bed after a nightmare.

He shakes his head, trying to fight back the tears at the edge of his vision. All at once he was hit with mourning, so much mourning.

He did not try to deny it.

“You have died a hero, Junior Lutenaint,” The man states, standing. “And yet you get to live to save the world. It’s a win-win, is it not?” Dmitri sits in silence, hands clenching. He wants to punch this man. But he can’t get himself to move into action. He can’t get himself to fly into motion, swinging. Beating. The violence he had been trained to use. It slips away. Just like his dreams. “Oh, well. Perhaps you’ll be more accepting later,” The man huffs, voice taunting. He opens the door but turns back before he leaves. “Rest, Comrade. Your new job awaits,” He speaks, before stepping into the hall.

He chokes out a sob after the door shuts, burying his face in his hands. He can’t help it, can’t stop himself as he cries hard enough until he is hiccuping.

The only thing he could get out was the soft call of Eva, Eva, Eva, Eva.

By the time he’s done, there’s a pain in his chest and his nose is stuffy. He leans back, wiping his face as he slowly calms down. He takes deep, heavy breaths in an attempt to curb the ache and burn of the lack of oxygen in his lungs. They are shakey, full of the emotional pain he was feeling.

He just wanted to go home, to feel Eva’s body rested against his. To bury his face in her chest as he held her painfully close. To smell her perfume and feel her soft skin on his. He wanted her fingers in his hair, cooing about him needing a cut. Slowly, he shuffles forward, wrapping his arms around a pillow.

He reawakens to a nightmare, shooting upward in the bed with his heart racing. His side stings, pain shooting through his nerves like liquid metal. His chest is covered in sweat, more of it dripping down his face. A man’s voice - a different one from before - speaks. But he doesn’t understand what the man is saying to him.

“What?” He asks, his head whipping to the side. There sits a man who, dear God, is that a man? It looks like a man, yes, a short, stubby man with a mop of dirty blond hair and a starter beard. But he feels wrong. So, so wrong. He does not feel like a man, he feels like something else in the body of a man. His eyes cause a pounding in Dmitri’s skull. They’re blue, ah, no, green. Blue? Green? Gray? Hazel? All the colors spin in the mystery man’s eyes, causing Dmitri’s head to spin.

Round and round and round again, dizzying. The man’s mouth opened and he spoke with a loud laugh, reaching forward and patting Dmitri’s shoulder. Please don’t touch me, Dmitri thinks but he can’t voice it. The man pulls away, picking up a clipboard hanging from the end of the bed. “Dmitri,” the man says, his accent confusing. Was he American? Dmitri had never met an American before, but the man wasn’t speaking like the Americans in movies or on TV. He hadn’t gotten to watch much, growing up in the Soviet Union and all, but after the fall, Eva’s little brother began to collect old Wild West films that he used to ask Dmitri to watch with him from time to time.

Not that Dmitri was paying much attention to a lot of them. Sometimes he’d just space out, letting the unfamiliar syllables fill his ears - the kid always insisted that he had to watch them in the original English - while not reading the subtitles. Sometimes he’d be too busy with his hand in Eva’s lap, under the blanket. Sometimes, he’d pay attention, but it was just too much. He did not understand the words, the accents, or the odd behavior of the men on the TV.

And he was never looking at the foreign women, not when he had his precious Fiancee on his arm.

Dmitri squints, not because he’s trying to get a better image in front of him, but because he’s trying to figure out the words the man is saying to him. The sounds are mostly similar to what he knows, but the words are so different.

The man is pacing from side to side, voice skull-rattlingly loud as he speaks. The door opens, causing the man to halt, spinning on his heels. A young woman, somewhere around Dmitri’s age steps in and snaps at the mystery man. The man huffs as she shoulders her way into the room and to Dmitri’s side.

“Hello,” The woman speaks, “My name is Sophia Light,” She tells him, taking his hand. She has blond hair swept into a high ponytail and a soft smile on her face. Dmitri’s brows furrow. He takes her hand gently in his, shaking it.

“Strelnikov, Dmitri Arkadeyevich,” He responds, and she nods, pulling away. “Where am I?” He asks, hoping she will answer. She sighs, shaking her head.

“The Foundation,” She speaks, and Dmitri detresses. That does not help; he doesn’t know what that means.

“T…thuh Foun…da-ation,” He tries to sound out, brows furrowing. “Fooound-aaatioon,” He says again, trying to get his tongue around it. The man lets out a sharp word - a swear? - plopping the clipboard on the bed. Dmitri flinches back from it, looking up at him. The man huffs, rambling on in English.

The words make no sense, but Dmitri tries to understand, he catches the man frustratedly saying “Sophia,” to which the woman replies with a snap and an over-exaggerated shrug. She speaks, and Dmitri catches an abbreviation, a snap of “GOC,” He doesn’t understand what it is, but it seems to be a sore spot for that mystery man. His mouth shuts, jaw clenching, but he relaxes all at once. He sighs and shakes his head, relenting.

He grumbles something, brows furrowed. He then steps forward, shooing the woman away with an instruction. He sits down in the chair again, thinking for a moment before taking Dmitri’s hand. Once more the Russian man feels a sense of impending doom, and he wants to lean back. He can almost envision himself leaning so far back he falls off, but then it all stops. The distant cry in his ears, the pit in his stomach, the tingle in his arm where the man’s hand is, the image of falling on the floor in his mind’s eye, and the strange ghost pain are all gone. Instead, there’s a warm, softness in his hand.

His eyes focus back on the strange man, holding Dmitri’s hand to his chest. Dmitri takes a deep breath. The man is warm, humanly warm. He feels human. The nagging thought that this is not a person in front of him, that it is a beast waiting for him to let his guard down remains in the very back of his mind, but it is much easier to dismiss now. The man’s shirt is soft, the familiar feeling of cotton cushioning Dmitri’s fingers. Underneath the pleasant fabric - which is much more pleasant to his hand than his eyes, now that he’s looking at the horrible colors - is a soft expanse of skin, and under that is a heartbeat. Steady, slow, but strong. That is what is calming him so well. Perhaps, this is a monster in a man’s skin, but perhaps it is only in his mind. Dmitri sighs, shoulders relaxing as his eyes become heavy.

“Clef,” The man holding his arm states, firmly. “Kuh·luh·eff,” He sounds out, pushing Dmitri’s hand firmer into his chest. “Clef.”

“K…Kl-eff,” Dmitri responds. His brows furrow as he looks at the man, who smiles slightly and lets his hand go. The man says something that seems to be praise. “You? Klef?” He asks, poking at the man.

The man says something, “Ah, Yes,” the man corrects himself. Dmitri nods, pulling his hand back.

“Klef,” Dmitri repeats before nodding. “Klef… Why am I here?” He asks, watching the man’s brows furrow. He speaks another sentence that Dmitri does not understand. Clef then sighs, patting Dmtiri’s shoulder. He wants to say something, but he isn’t sure how to get it out in a way Dmitri will understand, the Russian man can tell.

Clef pats his shoulder, firmly stating something. He then stands and leaves Dmitri. Alone. In the room. Again. Dmitri did not want to be alone. He bit his lip, thinking.

“Thuhh Fou-nd-aaaa-tion,” He sounds out, his brow furrows as he tries to sound out some of the other words he heard. Sophia, Clef, but everything else was too fast to catch. He groans, rubbing his eyes. If only he had paid more attention Eva’s brother used to speak about America. He just wanted to go home, to her.

Clef quickly becomes a staple of Dmitri’s life after that day. He wasn’t comforting - not in the usual way. He always reeked of sulfur and just felt off enough to send shivers up Dmitri’s spine, but he was a constant. He’d sit there, next to Dmitri’s bed, and ramble on about something that was upsetting him, or laugh about something someone else did, while Dmitri filled out dumb, childish English-learning pages. He had a professional English tutor, and it was helping some, but Clef usually chased them out for a few hours, and they didn’t like to stay when the nurses came in.

“And, so, Konny - fuck that guy,” Clef speaks slower now. He’s still too fast for Dmitri to understand sometimes, but he mostly drowns him out anyway.

“Ko-nie?” He sounds out, turning to Clef.

“No, Big Guy, Kon·ny,” Clef corrects, “Like Con-Knee,” He sounds out, watching the Russian man nod along. “That’s just what I call Doctor Kondriaki,” He explains.

“I…” Dmitri starts, brow furrowing as he tries to find the words. “I.. not met… Kon-dree-ack-ee,” He mumbles. He could tell his English was far from the fluid way Clef spoke, or the way Dr. Light did. Or the way the guards in the hall did, and that frustrated him. Still, Clef nods, grinning.

“Good job, Big Guy,” He nods, patting his shoulder. He shuffles back, “You'll know him when you see him,” he speaks slower to Dmitri than he does to everyone else, but it doesn't baby him. There's no pointing and “repeat after mes” like the nurses do. “He has, ahh,” Clef pauses, before reaching for the pen in Dmitri’s hand. He takes it, and Dmitri lets him, watching as he flips over the paper and draws a quick doodle. “Butterfly,” He points to it. “Buh·ter·fly,” He repeats.

“Butter- buh-ter-flyyy,” Dmitri follows along. “Butterfly,” And you would have thought they scored the final shot in a soccer game. Clef grins wildly, shaking him by his shoulder. He uses words Dmitri doesn’t quite know yet, and his words are too fast, but the cheering makes up for it. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

“So, Konny, he has butterflies,” Clef points to the paper with the pen, before offering it back to Dmitri. The Russian man takes it, slowly leaning forward and drawing smaller “butterflies” around the one Clef drew. He continues to speak, using words Dmitri still doesn't know yet, “And they are some of the most annoying pests I know,” He complains.

“Pest?” Dmitri asks, turning to the man at his bedside. Clef pauses, taking a moment.

“Yeah, like, uhm,” Clef takes a moment. “Bugs… or… maybe… hold on,” He pulls out the small, dark gray box. The translator, Dmitri recognizes. He presses a couple of buttons, before turning the object to him. He takes it, scanning the word.

“Ah,” He hums in recognition. “Okay, they are pest, yes.”

Clef drones on. Dmitri asks about the words he catches, but only enough to make it seem like he’s trying. And he is, a little. But he’s mostly focusing on his page.

Doodles - poorly done, but doodles nonetheless - cover the page. The fleeting images of the blond hair that cursed his memory, the bright smiles that reached her eyes. He had written her name over and over again. He writes it in the unfamiliar alphabet to avoid the frustration of the nurses, or Dr. Light, but it doesn’t help. Not as much as writing her name properly, as it should be, in the swirling, swooping letters of Cyrillic will.

Eva, Eva, Eva, Eva - He wonders how she feels. There’s no doubt she’s upset, but how? Is she angry at him? She had told him not to go, she had begged him even. Did she have a grave for him, one that was devoid of a body because he wasn’t really dead? He hoped she wasn’t too mad, that she would forgive him.

But, he also hoped this was a dream, and he hadn’t woken up yet.

Clef leaves after a while, grinning and patting his shoulder. It makes Dmitri frown, he can tell that the man wants to be there as much as he does, but being alone isn’t doing good for him. He knows it won’t belong, people were always in and out of here. Dr. Light, the nurses, the man he had woken up to, faces and names that came in and left just as fast. He hated it, all of it. He wanted to be alone until he was - until there wasn’t the constant chatter of the man next to him, or the nurses cooing as they tried to get him to speak English, or Dr. Light’s not-so-great Russian - and his mind was flooded with himself.

His thoughts tormented him. It was hard enough to live having been through two wars, the images of death and loss flooding his senses. He remembered the first time he had a nightmare, having to wake up in a cold sweat, screaming with the tears pricked in his eyes. It was a familiar thing by now, but what was worse was the dreams Eva was present in. Some were of them living a peaceful life, and those hurt him simply because he awoke with the ache of the knowledge it wasn’t real. The others were her on the field, her dying - her golden hair being filled with the red of blood just before he could reach her. He swore he could feel her hair, her skin sliding against his fingertips as she fell.

He takes a shakey breath, pushing the table tray. It doesn’t move, so it is fruitless, but he still does it. His heart aches and he wants to lay down. And he doesn’t want to think about English anymore.

When he starts walking it gets a little better. He’s stumblily worse than he used to be after a night out, the shot to his side having done some nerve damage. But, walking a little is better than not walking at all. He felt bad for the nurse who was propping him up at the moment - a little thing who must’ve been fresh meat, stuck with the lesser sought jobs. At least that’s what Dmitri guesses.

Clef, whose job is apparently training new recruits, in some regard, had offered to let him use some of the training range. It was mostly an excuse to talk at him more, but Dmitri didn’t mind. He was slowly understanding Clef better, not having to ask as much about what words he was saying. Speaking of Clef, he’s rambling about some meeting with the higher-ups he had, smoking a cigarette.

“I mean, it was a good fucking idea!” Clef blows smoke out of his mouth. “Light just has a stick up her ass,” Dmitri hums lowly, frowning at the pain in his thigh as he tries to put his weight on it.

“I do think it is… nicer option,” Dmitri responds, turning back at the man. “People should… not be isolated,” He moves his hand forward. Clef nods, throwing his hands up.

“Exactly! I mean, I know it’s a hot topic with the Ethics Committee, but her nepobaby ass isn’t even involved there?” Clef huffs, rubbing his face. “You want a coffee? I want a coffee.”

Dmitri takes a moment, before nodding, “Yes, please.” The nurse’s head turns to him as the door swings shut.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dr. Clef offer someone coffee,” The nurse muses, patting his shoulder. “He must have warmed up to you. At least, as much as he can warm up to anybody.”

The Russian man cocks a brow, blinking down at the nurse, “What do you mean?”

She huffs, “I guess I’m saying you’re special.”

The Russian man frowns, shaking his head. “If I am special, I wish no one else is.”

Тоска is a word he had yet to find the English translation for - some came close: melancholy (not that he could ever say that word right), yearning, boredom - but it was a word he was holding onto dearly. It was the closest thing he had to Russia - to home - since he was brought to this awful palace of winding gray walls.

He was walking on his own now, sleeping in the barracks with other men. He spoke with them from time to time, but mostly he found himself with Clef. It was simple, an almost automatic behavior he had learned.

When he ate, he’d sit across from the man, when he trained, he’d train with the man, and when he found himself with extra time, he would spend it at the man’s side, hands clasped together behind him tightly. He noticed a lot doing it, that Clef was always complaining about someone, or cursing at them. That people would cast half a glance at the three-eyed man before turning tail. And that Clef would always jeer after them, elbowing Dmitri in the ribs as he did.

Dmitri realized that there was some reason he was here, in this place, at the man’s side. He was discontent with the thought he had been ripped from his life, his home, his Eva, to be a lap dog for a man who had no friends. Until the day he held the paper in his hands.

A year and a half (545 days and 16 hours to be exact) since he had woken up in that medical wing, with the gruff older man who told him that he was “being put to real use”, he was called into a debriefing session in a meeting room. He was handed a folder with papers in it, in Russian - thank God - that described something he’d be sent out to take.

He found he did not wish for the action. That, despite it wasn’t the domesticity that he wished for, there was something domestic about following the man around. About waking up and knowing there was someone who wanted to see him. Wanted. As much as he ached for his Eva, he found the thought of leaving this new home, as much as it could be, hurt.

The day he was set to leave, he packed. He dressed in the new, deep blueish-gray uniform they had made for him, with the blue circle symbolizing what group he was in just above his beating heart, and set off before his squadmates. He stood, gun hung over his shoulder as he knocked on the door. A grumble sounds in response, and he pushes in, studying Clef as he sits in the chair.

“Dm-” Dmitri shushes him, closing the door. He takes the seat across from Clef, gently checking over his gun. He spends a few more moments, hushing the man anytime he tries to talk, before he stands up.

“I will be back,” he announces, even though the last time he made such a promise he was unable to fulfill it.

[the-nameless-juan]

So guess what just came in the mail today! (Err well not technically today as I was out of country but y’all know what I mean!)

That’s my copy of the 2nd edition Oracle Dice by @publishinggoblin, as you might know by my posts I am a big fan of Tarot and tarot adjacent practices but I also a big fan of the first oracle dice which I got as an add-on in one @publishinggoblin’s previous crowdfunding campaigns (believe it was for The Narmol Tarot 2nd Edition) which I absolutely adored. Haven’t really posted it much about it mostly because it more than an other form divination seems to almost gleefully cut to the heart of things and hit nothing but nerves, but not in a bad way? Honestly don’t know how to explain it, it’s just the reading we’re always intensely personal and raw, so I never felt comfortable posting about my readings with them.

Anyways, when this 2nd edition was announced I backed it almost immediately at the Etched in Stone tier, to get those fancy dice made of, you probably guessed it stone. So I’ve decided to do this rambling review first impression thing for… well anyone who wants it!

First a look at the mat

The very that jumps out at me is what an improvement it is over the first one! Not to say the first mat is bad, the things takes center stage of my tarot reading and in fact has shaped it radically I love it to bits but the design of this new mat is just 💋.

Plus the texture is just fantastic, has that fantastic smooth silky thing going that I just love to glide my hand along.

And then there is the second side, while the loss of the rubber bottom to prevent slippage is regrettable this second reading space is wonderful. I haven’t even cracked open the guide to see the traditional use and interpretations but I am already feeling inspired. I cannot wait to get started, and I have a distinct feeling this may well be taking over as the centerpiece of my divination practice going forward.

Now then, onto what is probably the main event, the Dice

Ahhhhhh they’re so preety 😍 As a reminder these are the fancier Etched in Stone tier dice, each is made of a different stone and the faces are all etched in and inked and look absolutely stunning in person. Just holding them is a treat and the noise they make when you shakey-shakey them in preparation for a throw is fantastic. I fear now that I have experienced non-plastic dice I will never be able to go back, I have yet to even properly cast them but I love them already.

But wait, there’s more!

There were two Oracle decks on offer so of course I had to get both.

On the right we got the Dice Face Oracle which turn each dice face into its own individual card along with a guide to reading them as cards, but also encourages you to read them as their dice versions meaning you have options when performing readings and I love that shit, there is nothing that I love more than a reading that evolves and shifts the more you stare and stew on it. Also every one of the dice face icons are excellently designed and having them in a bigger blown up form is wonderful.

On the left we got the 22 card Lords of Oracle deck. Each of the dice has its own lord who is an embodiment of their die with their own lore and my god I love this art! I can absolutely see myself pulling one of these cards and having on of these lords color a reading in a completely new light, the potential is just breathtaking.

And last but certainly not least, the tomes.

I haven’t had a chance to truly sit down and read the guide, but from a quick skimming it is still written in the same easy to understand way as the 1st edition. The first edition was a fantastic guide to a admittedly complex divination practice and as long as this second edition continues that with the new dice it is a welcome edition to the books I reference on the regular, plus having page size version of the Lords of Oracle art is just wonderful.

The reading journal is a fantastically designed tool especially for those beginning with these dice. I would have loved something like this for when I started with the first edition as it was a tad bit overwhelming with it’s… everything. I will most certainly be making use of it

Righto, that’s my first impressions/ review of the Oracle Dice 2nd edition done. Will be trying a few reading when I have a chance and will hopefully remember to talk about is here! So if you got any questions or if I forget to talk about the reading experience feel free to textually yell about it here or in my ask box, see y’all!

[dollarbin]

Mitchell Mondays #2:

Eastern Rain

My famous brother spent much of the last week bragging about how he'd taken in all 27 hours of Bob Dylan's latest archival release. I'd love to follow in his audio footsteps and listen to all of Bobby's 74 live recordings but I'm afraid there'd be some serious repercussions:

To begin, my work computer would give up the ghost. The machine is over a dozen years old and already on its last legs, laboring under the weight of some 30,000 MP3 files and 20 years of work documents. Every time I download another Neil Young bootleg compliments of my brother's fantastic blog the thing shudders, buckles and wavers somewhere between life and death. If that box could talk it would have nothing but curse words to hurl in my direction.

My trusty old IPod would beg for mercy. Forever addled with 22,000+ songs, it no longer holds a charge for more than 10 seconds and crashes every time I transfer antique docking stations. I'm so practiced at resuscitating it that it's a shame I wasn't on hand when Steven Jobs croaked. Plus the thing often insists boy genius is playing when I'm listening to Miles Davis. There are currently just 23 MBTs or GPTs or whatever of space left on it. Attempting to sneak 27 more hours of Dylan into its guts would be like entering me and my bald spot mid-school year and in-between shaves in a beauty pageant: things would get real ugly real fast.

Plus I'd be broke! The thing is retailing for $130 and I don't have 130 cents. Frankly, I find it incomprehensible that, given my track record of getting drunk and blogging while listening to Dylan's 70's live albums, Dylan's people have yet to send me a complimentary copy. Get to work all you Dylan-people: supply the Dollar Bin with free stuff already!

Finally, if I started in on 27 hours of Dylan and the Band in our kitchen my family would all rise up, don war-shirts and take to the streets against me. I once attempted to listen to every pass Dylan took on Idiot Wind in a row on a family car trip. In my defense I thought they'd all fall asleep or not notice what I was doing. But after just two and half glacial versions I was forced to abandon my attempt. It was either that or abandon my marriage.

Happily, my famous brother shouldered these risks for me and you and emerged unscathed, though one wonders whether his big deal wife made like a desperate farmer in a Dylan song and fingered the familial hatchet with menace once Bob and the Boys struck up their 64th rip roaring version of Hollis Brown.

Good bananas, this version, in which my brother astutely hears the rhythmic foundations of Shakey's Revolution Blues, truly cooks. Seven new people were probably born right there in the theater while Bob, Richard and everybody else pounded the hell outta this thing. Robbie Robertson: wow.

But the new Dylan collection's crown jewel, again according to the only human being on earth who has actually listened to the whole thing, is a song Dylan apparently couldn't find any room for on any of his 70's records. Apparently he thought New Pony was better than this greatness.

Imagine shrugging off and then forgetting altogether a song this dense and fruitful. Dylan, of course, built up a good deal of his cult following on equally stupid decisions: Union Sundown instead of Blind Willie McTell? Sure. Joey over Abandoned Love? Why not! Disease of Conceit when he had Series of Dreams? Definitely. Stupid apparently leads to genius if you're Bob Dylan.

But dare we say the same thing about Joni Mitchell? Once RBG died, Brandi Carlile forcefully placed Joni on our throne of liberal untouchability: criticize her and you'll suffer the progressive culture's wrath.

I'm as thrilled as you are to see Mitchell alive and well, but I think treating her like a Ming vase sucks. This is the Dollar Bin, not the Louvre, and we like our artists brilliant and flawed.

Consider: Mitchell routinely showed up to parties in the late 70's in blackface, then she memorialized the whole act on an album cover. Plus she once hired Billy Idol to accompany her on a song called Dancing Clown. Joni's not precious nor perfect; she's flawed, and she's awesome.

And she too was capable of Dylan-level dumbness.

Which brings us to Eastern Rain. When her Archives project was announced a few years back I couldn't wait to finally hear a studio take of her complex and rich song which was made famous by Fairport Convention.

But apparently Mitchell never even attempted the song for an album. All we've got after three archive collections are two live versions. They're both great, even if they include a twice repeated bridge which Fairport were wise to jettison.

Just imagine if she'd cut this song for Hissing of Summer Lawns. Lyrically it would interfere - I get that - but can't you just imagine the record's swooping bass laid over lush vibes and rich vocals? Eastern Rain could have served as yet another cornerstone of that incomparable record.

Then again, maybe the song is just cursed in some way; after all even Fairport Convention were dumb with it. Just listen to how much better everything sounds on this outtake version when Ian Matthews gets outta Sandy's way:

[lesbonym]

Hiiiii remember me?

It’s that annoying 🐦‍⬛ girl who threatens to fight everyone and who Nym totally hasn’t been dming for months so I haven’t really done any anon stuff since

Uhhhhh

Storytime :3

I etched the runes into the stone tablet as meticulously as I could. The tablet was still mossy from picking it up from the forest floor. The glyphs were shakey and jagged, far more than any self respecting summoner would allow, it would be almost insulting to summon through runes like these. I was naive, though, and tried anyway. I set the tome to the side, still shuttering as I felt it somehow staring at me, and set the stone tablet in the center of the pentagram I’d haphazardly drawn on the floor with hopes to be able to wipe away any evidence of the deal I had made.

I picked the tome back up, flipping through the pages in an attempt to find the correct incantation to summon the one I needed. I stood in my little salt circle that I could only hope worked and read the incantation aloud. My voice echoed around the room, a meek attempt to be heard by something more important my I.

“Khra Netra Yn Ne Lohk”

My voice died out, the echo receeding back into the walls. The tome fell from my hands, dropped from disappointment and accidentally disrupting the salt circle. It didn’t matter though, the summoning had failed.

I turned towards my bed and told myself I’d clean the remnants of my failure up tomorrow. As my head in the pillow, the crudely drawn pentagram began glowing purple. I shot back up, wiping my eyes to try and see clearer before noticing that it was the pentagram that was glowing, not just a strange light from my window. I sat for another few seconds in a delighted panic, trying to figure out what to do, before finally getting my body to move back to what remained of the salt circle. I hastily tried to correct it before a voice seemed to whisper in my own mind, a voice not my own.

“An invitation? My my, how bold of you, puppy.”

That last word felt heavy, meaningful, important. As if I should be honored for being called such a thing. My mind was racing with thoughts of disbelief and surprise and confusion, but all of those seemed to slip away. Impressions of thoughts reached towards me, before turning to smoke. I became blank and suggestible. The voice spoke up again.

“Such easy prey. Let your mind slip away darling, you don’t need it anymore. I know what deal you wanted to make, but I have a better idea. Just relax”

The words felt soothing. Like I could finally relax and let my worries melt away. Horns began poking out of the pentagram, slowly rising with the rest of your body. Crimson red skin, bright yellow eyes, and an outstretched hand. It was you. The one I wanted to contact. To make a deal with. To serve.

You spoke again.

“That’s it. That’s it. Let yourself drift to the floor. You’ll be okay. You did so good getting me here, you deserve to rest. I can give you that perfect life you’ve dreamed of, that’s the reason you called me here after all, right? I can give you everything, and in exchange I just want one thing. Your heart.”

I was too tired to speak, barely keeping my eyes open to look at you. One thought finally made its was back into my mind. “Accept.” I attempted to nod, and you continued.

“It’s just one little thing after all. Just that one thing for your perfect life? It’s even complete with a partner, exactly like you wanted. Me.”

I tried to reach out, to fight the wave of fatigue drowning any coherent thought I could form. I wanted to figure out if there was a catch. I wanted to do and say and find so many things. But I could only want.

“This is what you did all this work for, isn’t it? It’s everything you wanted, plus a little extra. I just need you to

Shake.

My.

Hand.”

-🐦‍⬛

I wanted to keep this to myself but honestly, this deserved to be shared and 🐦‍⬛ deserves praise >:3

[deerabigailhobbs]

Youre stuck on a deserted island with your 5 favorite people and your 5 least favorite people. What goes down? Whos dying first? What order are you cannibalizing them in? /hj

Oh boy, what a question to get on a quiet Thursday evening! I think realistically, I'd be the first to go. I'm terrible at survival situations and plus, have an abhorrent resistance to hot weather. Anything above 15°c (59F) and I melt. So yeah, I'll be on the Barbie first.

But let's say that the powers that be grant me extra strength and heat resistance in these trying times...

I'm not sure whether you meant real or fictional people, but let's do a mix of both shall we?

Most favourite:

Abigail Hobbs (for reasons which are obvious)

My best friend (hi I know you're reading this)

Adam Stanheight (I love a man who looks pathetic)

My mum (love my mum <3)

Ashley Graham (the previous fictional woman I was obsessed with)

Least favourite:

Hannibal Lecter (for reasons which are obvious)

Rishi Sunak (fuck the tories)

Young Sheldon (it's a long story)

Next door neighbour (too loud)

The twat that humiliated me during sports day training (he was a twat)

Introductions out of the way, here's how it goes down:

Rishi Sunak dies first due to being unable to fuck over the British people, and therefore having no purpose in life. Also having to mingle with commneners? Yeah no, he exits the situation himself. We don't dare eat him, he may have been infected by absolute wanker-itis, which can be deadly.

This is followed closely by Young Sheldon, who is adamant he can find a way off this island. He creates a small makeshift boat (which is quite impressive) and sails out to sea. Unfortunately, the idiot forgot he doesn't know how to sail, so aimlessly drifts off, s shakey "Bazinga" the last thing to leave his lips.

Next up is Ashley Graham, who without Leon Kennedy to help her, dies from getting her foot stuck in a bear trap. What's a bear trap doing on a deserted island, I hear you ask? My answer; uhhhh, island bears. She is our first meal.

Alas, Abigail dies next because Hannibal just cannot help himself in making sure this poor girl is murdered. This is quickly followed by me killing him painfully and slowly with my two bare hands <3. I eat Abigail, because I won't let her go to waste unlike some people.

Best friend is next up on the chopping block. He realises that he missed the Hades 2 full launch, which causes him to go into a deep depressive state and die from sadness. Rip bestie, I made sure you were cooked with extra seasoning.

The twat that humiliated me dies from mysterious reasons. Wow, who knows what could have caused his death... We eat him and he's delicious.

My neighbour decides they haven't been shouting at the top of their lungs in a while, and does so during the middle of the night when the rest of the us survivors are asleep. Unfortunately the island isn't like back home, and their massive gob catches the sight of a massive eagle, which snatches them up by their shoulders and flies them away into the night sky.

Adam decides to explore the island deeper, and finds a cave which could be a great use of shelter. Unfortunately, he didn't move the massive boulder far enough away from the entrance, and it moves, sealing him away forever. He is left to starve in darkness.

I choke on a peanut.

My mum wins as she deserves to, found and taken away to a huge mansion where she lives the rest of her life in peace <3

[narrators-journal]

ryomina hanakaki au bc they’re doomed or ryomina orgasm denial and ryoji’s a whiny bottom bc they’re silly

Ngl, this sort of au is probably gonna stick w me now lol. I’m not usually one for angst, but I did my best to make this good and painful in that department heheheheheh. Bc while I love Ryomina, no beloved ship of mine can escape a bit of pain lol. I hope you enjoy it tho!

CW: Spoilers for p3! Both implied and outright said! Do not read if you don’t want anything to spoil your playthrough, bc this is set in late-game timing!

Every week day, the SEES’ chosen dormitory would sit still and silent in the late morning hours. And, that day was no different from those ones. Even with a thick layer of clouds to dampen the already weak winter sun, the dormitory sat almost empty. After all, winter break had ended, and classes had started back up. And even as The Fall crept closer and closer, grades couldn’t be allowed to slip too far.

What else would they be doing though? They can’t train their personas before the dark hour, so what does that leave them to do other than go to school? Sit and rot inside? Ryoji thought as he sat against the heavy metal door of the dormitory’s roof. His once lustrous eyes dull as they watched the lint-colored clouds boil and stir above his head. Wouldn’t that be poetic. The brunette thought with bitter amusement, I give Minato a month to decide what to do about me, and then I reap his friends one by one while I wait.

If Ryoji hadn’t felt like the wrong breath would break him, he may have laughed at the morbid thought. Fill the chilly winter air with a sound that wasn’t the depressing gurgle of his breaths or the distant coughs of the only SEES member that occupied the massive dormitory building that day. Minato…

Despite being the harbinger of the fall and thus not human, in the few weeks Ryoji had attended Gekkoukan he’d grown a softness for the asocial wildcard. A soft spot that the many girls and boys who’d taken a shine to him hadn’t managed to achieve. Even with how sweetly they treated him. Which, in the moment, had stirred up twinges of guilt for them after each date. But, now that he’d realized his true identity, that guilt had not only switched targets, but taken root to bloom a bitter flower. After all, how could Ryoji grow to care for a human so fast yet so much, and still look into those smokey eyes and tell him that he’d end the world in a few short months? Yes, Ryoji was never known for compassion and good timing, but confessing to his affection for the wildcard only a few hours before confessing to his deception felt a step too far.

A wheezy cough drifted up from Minato’s dorm room to draw another shakey sigh from the brooding brunette. “What did you expect? To grow old with him?” He muttered darkly to the still chill of the season, his words punctuated by a coughing fit of his own.

But, the fit that tore through his already aching body wasn’t the result of a simple cold. Ryoji Mochizuki was Death, he could streak through Antarctica with nothing more than a shiver, so the flu wasn’t something he had to worry about. Plus, the flu didn’t leave a thin, delicately curved petal of crimson in Ryoji’s pale palm. What did famously choke its victims with the silky petals of flowers though, was a more insidious disease.

But, as he watched that petal wither and yellow in the cold air of the winter, Ryoji still didn’t fear for himself, only Minato. After all, he was a god, he didn’t need to breathe. So, whether his lungs inflated with petals didn’t matter. On the other hand, though, was his beloved wildcard. The deadpan wildcard who had coughed up his first snowy flower petal a mere three days after Ryoji had came across him in front of that train station.

Back then, Ryoji was new to the world, stupid. He’d seen Minato at the stairs of the train station and thought he’d found an angel with the way the soft light of the full moon made a halo of light on his hair, and that same silver glow set the snow alight with winter fire.

But, that was weeks ago, at that point. Back before the roots of the toxic flowers had begun to sap the color from Minato’s skin and sheen from his blue locks. Back before Ryoji had destroyed his life for the second time.

Maybe all this could’ve been avoided if I’d not made myself known… He mused while he stared down at the petal he’d coughed up. Images of all the petals he’d seen Minato stealth into his pocket or toss away on repeat in his head. If only I’d kept to myself like I was supposed to, Minato would’ve left Tatsumi port. He could’ve spent his remaining days blissfully unaware and happy instead of choking to death.

But, when his inhuman senses picked up yet another of Minato's rough coughing fits, the gentle splash of his tears in his palm were all he could do to help. Yet another fight that Minato wouldn’t have had to face if Ryoji Mochizuki hadn’t been so selfish.