#Axis Workshop

[abhishekadep143]

Which is the best car service in Dubai?

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The workshop's commitment to efficiency and customer satisfaction makes it the go-to choice for car owners in Dubai. Trust Axis Workshop top-notch car service, where your vehicle is treated with the care it deserves.

[maraariana01]

hello flight rising and undertale yellow community.

these are just scrys but i might turn them into actual projects later. maybe. idk i already have too many so skfhkdhtfj. im actually really proud of those scrys i like them :] feel free to use these for your own uty fandragon plans if you wish lol

Clover | Dalv

Martlet | Starlo

Ceroba | Axis

[warhead]

[warchirfsminitures]

Bolt Action event over! It was an Axis v. Allies event. My first game was against Italians, second game: German Grenadiers, and last game: German paratroopers.

My embattled Desert Rats won all three with only the last game being a close one.

My Crusader tank, as it is now well known for, took out snipers only. One AT round into a church belltower, another into the side of a building, and lastly a shell into a second floor window.

My opponents were fun to play, (save one that forfeited second turn…) and it was a long but good day.

Next event: Horus Heresy narrative campaign.

[noise-axis]

https://linktr.ee/noise.axis

[throughpatchesofviolet]

I am still not over this voice line from him ... this is what he'd do when trying to show off to Sherry.

Also the little "~!" is so cute!! And him saying "have a gander" ... how fancy. Also the line is a nice shift from how bored he seems in the ID story--he just loves showing off his prosthetic arms so much.

[futurefind]

tug, tug. when rea looks down to find the source of the pulling on her clothes, she'll find jack looking up at her. they stare for a second, then say, "mommy, we're bored! what are you doing? let us help!"

// unprompted* / always accepting / @voidfragments

Rea blinks. Blinks again. Blinks once more, 'normal' mind clogged with the thoughts of of magecraft formulae and mechanics. When the words actually process she bursts out from worry and concern into bright laughter, ruffling the girl's hair.

"Sorry, Jack!" she smiles ruefully, squatting down so they're more level and smoothing out the hair that she'd just disturbed. "Just going around, making sure all the usual enchantments are holding and optimized properly! Nothing you'd find fun, I think."

Or could help with, for that matter, but her unique... touch meant no one could help her with it, really. Sure, many a Chaldean Servants could make the enchantments and effects stronger... but even aside from the liability to crumple if they were ever de-Summoned, they couldn't be completely foreign to what was left of the staff, either. Just because they couldn't come up with her 'formulae' didn't mean they couldn't punch it into a calculator to make sure everything was where and what it was supposed to be, so to speak.

"How about this!" Rea beams, shoulders popping up and a finger snapping into a point beside her head. "I'm just about done," here, "And once I am, you can grab Nursery and whoever you'd like and we can take a turn with the Simulators for whatever you want, okay?"

As for weather it was a 'tea party' for some much needed R&R for whoever wanted to attend, or a technically standard gauntlet of violence for training...

Well. Whichever Jack preferred.

[patrywoso]

9. Georgia Stanway

+18 SMUT

“Don’t be scared,” you enjoy it somewhat but you don't let on, admiring your handiwork as the tightly wound football player spins off the floor in bundles and bundles of rope. “This isn’t about hurting you or making you feel small. I just want you to feel good…”

“I feel like a rotisserie chicken,” Georgia murmurs, clearing her throat and blushing.

“Yes you’re right, rotisserie chickens are very delicious,” you nod, smirking and capturing a thigh to tighten it up a little bit. “I think we’ll get this knee a bit higher so I can watch that pretty cunt of yours do little twirls for me.”

“Do you have to be so crass?”

“Yes baby,” you crane down and kiss her forehead, push-pulling on the working ends to bring the thigh up higher to the bamboo. “I do.”

It had started with flirting around the idea, spoken about yet never with serious intention on Georgia’s part, she knew about the shibari classes, the workshops, that it was an interest you felt passionate about, but not a hobby she had the precious hours in the day to indulge in. Your relationship was one of quickies: shower sex, stadium sex, car sex, elevator sex. At first, you thought it was because Georgia really did only have so much time in the day. But, you knew Georgia far better now that you both had been dating for some months. you had come to realize she just got off on the exhilaration of possibly getting caught. Georgia was more kinky than she realised.

“The inside of my thigh feels a little sore,” Georgia observes almost clinically.

“I would be very worried if it didn’t, bratty girl.” you smile and undo her pristine ponytail into a cascade of glossy blonde hair.

You dig and rub your fingers into Georgia’s scalp, finding little pressure points on either side of the temple to relieve tension. Georgia can’t help herself, she sighs happily and the tightness in her shoulder blades visibly releases. The rope cradles her, suspends her, and keeps her arms in a box tie behind her spine, her thighs splayed and supported, clean suspension lines that are approximate and comfortable. “You look so fucking beautiful,” you whisper from the back of your throat, lips pressing to Georgia’s ear, teeth nipping the pinkened top of it. “Do you feel far away and dreamy yet?”

Georgia exhales and thinks, her brow wrinkling into a furrow as though she wants to deny it but her thighs are hanging apart and the evidence is plain to see. When she inhales, you push on the flat of her shoulder and send her slowly spinning around on her axis, like a little planetary body, like a little world in and of herself.

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” you laugh, sultry and low. “We have the whole evening ahead of us, remember?” you remind her. “You can take as long as you need to get there.”

“About that,” Georgia murmurs, eyes closed and struggling to be the disinterested onlooker that she was when the rope first went on. “I might have a business call to take in a little…”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“It’s important.”

“I don’t care.”

“If the phone calls then I’m answering it.”

“Oh, are you now?” you hum, glancing around the living room, and then your eyes land on the phone by the coffee table. “Tell me more, please? I like it when you’re grumpy.”

“Baby.” Georgia opens her eyes, determined to be in control and to have the final word. “If my phone goes then we’re stopping so I can take…..wait, what are you doing?”

“Dynamic problem-solving.” you bring the phone back towards the tied-up troublemaker. “Thumbprint, please. I’ll put your phone on airplane mode.”

“No.” “You promised me an undisturbed evening for my birthday,” you say sternly.

“One little phone call won’t ruin a whole evening.” Georgia tucks her fingers in her fists behind her spine and won’t budge.

“Give me your thumb, Georgia, this is your last warning.”

Georgia just smiles coyly and keeps her thumbs and fingers balled. “Sorry,” she somehow manages to shrug in her box-tie. “No can do.”

“Alright, have it your way.”

“What are you…” Georgia’s eyes grow wide as the arm pulls back, the shoulder swings and the phone is thrown through the open balcony doors “Baby!” She hisses.

“No more call,” you shrug and pick up her flogger. “You want to complain about it?” You twist the handle and show the crybaby the spreading falls of leather.

Georgia’s ribs swell outwards against the rope with a long, deep inhale of breath. She holds it, cheeks puffed, eyes fixed on the flogger that was about to punch holes in the plot points of her machinations.

“I’ll get to it later,” she says, much more diplomatically.

“You know I think a little polite deference is the only thing incapable of hurting you right now.” you lift your eyebrow, smirking and remembering the words you both had negotiated around as being possible greens.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Georgia licks her lips and closes her eyes.

“That sounds so pretty in your mouth little girl,” you quirk a pleased look, spinning the flogger around until gravity gathered up and concentrated the falls. “Does it feel right?”

Georgia pauses for the longest time.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And,” you wiggle your brows, striking the front of her thigh with a tame gentle thud. “I would like it if you made a point of using it for the rest of tonight, please.” Georgia nods but says nothing.

The strikes of the flogger are never too solid, never more than you feel Georgia will find pleasurable. The flogger whips the air, its bark far worse than its bite, striking the front of her thighs, expertly wrapping over the hip to catch her buttock.

“More please” Georgia whispers out of nowhere.

You grin when it registers in your brain.

“You’re forgetting something, baby girl.”

“More please, Ma’am.”

Georgia spins and twirls slowly in the rope, quiet, thrilled, straining, and sweating. In the moments she’s capable of speaking, she whimpers instead. You bury your fingers deep inside her little tight cunt, push-pressing into the tiny spot of heaven right behind her clit, palm dug against her swollen hood, edging her towards the gates of hell.

“Ma’am please, please, please…” Georgia’s eyes crack open. “Please can I cum?”

“Is it my birthday or yours?” you hum and slip your other hand up her belly.

The box tie makes Georgia’s breasts bulge and squeeze off her chest, nipples swollen, begging to be sucked, bit, played with, and squeezed hard until she breaks into tears. You do none of these things. You graze over them gently, circling, teasing them stiff and hard until Georgia is gritting her teeth and whining.

“Such a dirty, wet, messy little thing.” you remove your fingers and hold them up, webbing them, pushing them into hung crimson lips to be sucked clean. “Good girl, use your tongue. That’s it…” You slip the two fingers over the flat of her eager little tongue and make her gag and wretch into her fingers. “Good girl, give me your spit. What do you say Georgia?”

“Thank you,” Georgia mumbles incoherently against the fingers pressing down into her tongue. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Such a good, good girl.” you smile happily. “Tell me what you are.”

“Your good girl, Ma’am,” Georgia closes her eyes, embarrassed and thrilled.

“My good girl, huh?” you push your fingers back inside slick, swollen cunt lips. “You know I take great pride in pretty things that belong to me… maybe I’ll have to get you a collar,” you said while fucking her hard.

When Georgia whimpers and moans, it’s so much weaker and softer than her normal sounds. It’s the noise of a woman on the brink of her sensibilities, on the brink of new realizations about herself. You want to give her all and more, she looks so pretty like this, tied-up, spread open, pink, and puffing for air. She would look prettier with a hand wrapped around her throat, you think, but decide that will be more fun when it’s negotiated for another special evening, and there certainly will be another.

Fingers hilted far inside her cunt, curling against her g-spot, you are fucking her deep and fast until her hips are jolting and shaking in the air, you work her hard, relentless even. Her gleaming little asshole twitches and flexes. You grin, gathering saliva on the back of your tongue. When you hoicks a glob of spit, expert aim, dripping down her asshole, it does things to Georgia. You press your thumb into her ring, not penetrating, not delving too far, just pressing and circling against her slippery little hole. Georgia cries out and bucks her hips, forehead wrinkling, brows knitted, teeth clenching, her throat tense and rocking with want.

“Poor little baby girl,” you crane down and kiss her belly in sporadic little trails. “You feel so fucking drippy and desperate, princess, I can feel you clenching, you should be careful… I would hate it if you were sore tomorrow.”

“Shut up!” Georgia barks, giggling and moaning in the same breaths. It gives you an abrupt good laugh too.

“Fine baby,” you whisper and you fuck the clingy little cunt with your fingers, slipping out, smoothing your fingers over flush wet lips, circling her throbbing clit, pushing back in fast and deep. “You want to cum?”

“Yes please Ma’am, And.” Georgia nods frantically, gathering her breath. “Will you… will you put your thumb in?”

“My thumb in your butt?” you have to bite back the smirk.

“Please?”

“Well I would just hate it if it was too much for you to take kitten.” you grin and nip her hipbone, fingers curling and fucking her to oblivion. “But, if you’re sure”

“I’m sure!” Georgia almost wails. “I’m sure, sure, sure! Please, I can’t…” Georgia rocks her hips, desperate and close. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

“You’ll hold on as long as I fucking tell you to hold it, baby. God help you if you don’t.” you made no bones, warm and soft and indifferent. “There’s a good girl, just give up, there you go, it will be so much better for you when you learn to just let me make the decisions…”

Georgia finally cries. It isn’t thick horrible destructive tears, she weeps, bottom lip going, nodding slowly, melting into her helplessness. She cries, and it’s enough to soften the little malevolent god between her legs.

“There you go,” you hush, thumb dipping and pressing inside. Georgia inhales a breath too big for her lungs, stiff and on the edge of herself. “Jesus, you’re sucking me inside greedy girl” You feel her muscles tense and flex against your thumb.

“So good!” Georgia makes less and less sense, barely holding on to herself. “Please? Please, Daddy?”

You blink, registering the deference, a word that hasn’t been negotiated, and yet… sounds and feels so fucking perfect. You just nod into it, feeling it out, thrilled and aroused beyond reason.

“Okay baby,” you husk when her muscles get tight all at once when the poor little baby dripping down her wrist can’t take anymore. “You can cum for Daddy.”

“Thank you!”

Georgia cums in a rush, explodes all at once, a big bang in and of herself. You grin and feel her flexing pretty holes get tight, fucking, forcing them to take more and more despite the sensitivity. It makes Georgia blink away tears, makes her open-mouthed sob stay hung and silent, frozen, her brain stuck like a stalled engine. You fuck her harder, faster, thrumming against her swollen g-spot until you’re certain you got the right angle.

Then, you really make Georgia burst.

“There you go princess,” you hush and rub dripping fingers up and over her soaked, twitching swollen cunt. “Such a good, good, good girl.” you laugh, teasing a bucking, over-sensitive clit that twists and tries to escape your ministrations.

“S-sorry,” Georgia stutters out of nowhere, nervous and not quite sure of the mechanics. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean…” She glances at you, then immediately looks away.

“What baby?” your brows furrow.

When you look down, taking stock of yourself, of your dripping wet t-shirt, your sprayed jeans, and the tiny puddle on the living room floor that would definitely need mopping. You nod and close your eyes, trying your hardest not to be pleased. “It’s okay, baby, that’s just squirt.” Your voice wobbles with amusement. “Georgia, it was very much intentional on my part,” you whisper and start the process of untying the suspension lines.

“Wait.” Georgia stares in disbelief as her thigh is slowly lowered back to the ground. “You… you can do that on purpose?”

“Yeah baby,” you knitted your brow together. “You want to try again later? Get you a snack, some water, put you in the bath first?”

Georgia’s expression is glittering, glowing, giddy, and pleased. It makes you feel pleased too. When Georgia has both legs back on the floor, curling and tucking up towards your chest as the rope is untied and takes off her shins, that’s when she finds her voice again.

“That sounds lovely baby.”

[da-riya]

This is just vanilla HoI4 and I love playing my favorite ww2 historical leader; Hitori Gotō

[taeminsung]

♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── FU in my bed..

pairing ||  hyunjin x afab!reader summary || never did he think the thoughts in his head would come true, yet here they are. genre/s || smut (minor DNI). fluff? (let's pretend). mina’s notes ||  part 2 of FU in my head. again, sorry not sorry. blame Lu for the reel i was sent. please enjoy ♡ 

The silence in the practice room seemed to echo while Hyunjin stared at you, hope filling his chest that you’d give him a sign that you felt ever so slightly the same about him. Hyunjin?, you called his name, sending him spiraling to thoughts of how his name would sound as you moaned it while under him, his soft blankets surrounding you. You were making him weak and never even knew. His mind shifted back to the dance studio, with your back pressed against his chest, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist. Snapping back to reality, he realized the way to see if this was one sided.

A soft smile pulled at his lips before he decided to find the truth. Sorry. I don’t have any corrections, he started, Since there is the dance break, would you want to workshop something with me and do a duet? It was a gamble. A long shot. Oh, did he know that he was risking a lot with this. It was supposed to be a solo and Minho may kill him if you say yes, especially for what he had in mind. I’d love that, you whispered almost too quiet for him to hear, but he was far to in tuned with you to not hear. The soft smile turned into a smirk before he selected the music for the dance break.

In a few seconds, a new beat filled the studio, giving Hyunjin even more confidence as he tried to quickly formulate a plan in his head for how this could go. Each path extended to far and branched into the realm of the two of you entangled, causing his to reign himself back in. This was going to work if he controlled himself here and now. Yet, he wanted to test the water when it came to you. There was no way he was reading this wrong, not with the hooded look you were giving him as he moved to the center of the room with you.

Letting the beat take over his body has he had so many times in the past, he moved without thinking, eyes trained on you as you began to move with the music, keeping your movements in his shadows in a way that complimented his moves. So quickly did the vision in his head come to life. Your ass pressed against his crouch with one of his hands flat against your stomach while his other drifted up your thigh. As the music built, so did both your movements, taking you apart, only for him to end up in front of you, tipping your chin up towards him.

This could be the moment. The moment he could use to see if this was all just in his head. Only you pulled away to keep dancing, mind clearly not on the same page as him. Could this really be one-sided? Gently tugging you back to him, he wrapped one arm around your waist, letting his fingers get buried in your hair as he held you close. Time seemed to stop for him. This was it. The chance to have you, even if only for a second. Hyunjin hesitated not waiting to cross any boundaries, shocked when your fingers grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him towards you. The second your lips met his, his world shifted. Axis changing completely.

˚⁎⁺˳

In the blink of an eye, you two were stumbling into the dorm, lips finding each other’s again the second shoes were removed. His fingers found the soft skin under your sweatshirt, moving up your side, taking your clothing with him. Removing his lips from yours only to slip your sweatshirt off, leaving it in a pile in the middle of the dorm’s living room. He’d have to explain that tomorrow but as of right now, he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care. No, what he cared about now was making sure that you felt good in all the right places. Hyunjin was going to worship your body.

Kicking the door of his room shut, he moved his lips from yours, to your cheek, to the soft part of your neck, smirking as you let out a whimper. Pivoting quickly, he pinned your back against the wall, lips exploring your neck, trying to leave small markings that could easily be covered for the performance, but still showed that he claimed you. His hands trailed down your exposed sides, gripping your waist, pulling your body against his as his lips found your again. Oh, you were going to drive him insane.

Maybe it was the way your fingers tangled into the base of his neck deepening the kiss, that set the rest of the night into a blur. Somehow his fingers were in the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs, helping you step out of them only to drop them in a pile on the floor. His arm slid between your legs, bringing your right leg off the ground before he pulled you up so both your legs were on his shoulders as he pressed your back into the wall. The soft giggle escaped your lips only to turn into a breathy moan as he kissed below your naval. Hyunjin, you whispered low with desire that he felt his cock twitch in his sweats.

The second your fingers found his hair, he looked at you with hooded eyes, slightly asking for permission that you simply replied with a near silent please, that drove him wild. Placing a few kisses on your inner thigh, he couldn’t help but grin at the goosebumps that rose on your skin. Moving your panties to the side, his mouth found your clit and he gently pressed his lips to yours before letting the memory of his dreams lead his body. You tasted even sweeter than he could have imagined, as he licked and sucked your clit, enjoying the noises that you tried to keep in.

He dove in, tongue licking at you, then in you. Your whines feeding his desire to keep hearing them. Hyunjin felt your grip in his hair tighten, signaling you were getting close, and in truth, he wanted to be a little selfish tonight and cum with you. Carefully, he let you slide down the wall, keeping your legs in his arms. The whine that filled his room only fueled him more, barely keeping control of himself. No, he couldn’t let go completely tonight, not when it’s his first night with you. In truth, he hopes that this isn’t the only night either. He was feeling drunk off your body as he brought his lips back to yours letting you taste yourself off his tongue.

Turning towards the direction of his bed, he walked, letting you gently fall back into his bed, legs spread as another giggle leaves your mouth, siren eyes staring up at him. In that moment, he knew he was gone and there was no going back. No someone else. Just you and you alone for him. Someone who not only matched him in the studio but also in the bed. He was screwed if you didn’t want to make this a nightly routine.

Making quick work of his own clothing, he was hovering over you admiring the body dance had given you. You’re gorgeous, he whispered as your hands explored his chest, moving painfully slow to his cock. What am I going to do with you? he asked with a shaky breath as your fingers closed around him, slowly moving up and down from base to tip. I could think of a few things, you suggested before his lips crashed back into yours. This. This moment. This feeling. This desire. You were bringing him to the edge of the world, and he would only go back if it was to you.

Hyunjin groaned as you lined him up with your entrance, using your other hand to pull his hips towards you. Slowly the tip slides into you, causing your back to arch, pressing your chest against his. You were driving his mad. This feeling of being inside you. He craved it. Removing his lips from yours, slowly he kisses your jaw line, to your neck, leaving another small mark that he knows can be covered. Nipping at your collarbone as he bottomed out in you. The moan you let go seemed to settle into his soul. Fuck, you breathed shifting your hips as a way to silently ask him to keep going.

Adjusting your position, Hyunjin starts at a slow pace as he pumps in and out of you, relishing the noises that you made. Even his fantasies couldn’t prepare him for the noises you made. You sound so damn pretty, his breath fanning over your breasts before taking one in his mouth. Letting his tongue roll over your hard nipple. A smirk pulled at his lips as your nails dug into his hair. He wanted, no needed more of you. In a flash, he spun you over, pushing your upper back down with one hand and bringing your hips into the air with the other. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, he whispered entering you again. Gods, you feel so good, he groaned.

The muffle of your moans caused him to stop watching the way your ass moved when he thrusted into you. I can’t hear you, he said, reaching forward, hitting you even deeper as he moved the pillow your face was buried in. Fu- fuck Hyune, you moaned arching your back even more to let him hit somehow deeper than he already was. He knew he wasn’t going to last with the sounds you were making, and the way you pussy seemed to be squeezing him with each thrust. Moving one hand from your waist to sneak around between your legs, he quickly rubbed your clit, coaxing an ever louder moan from you. His rhythm was becoming sloppy as your sounds seemed to become more and more strangled. I- I’m… cl- close, you barely managed to get out.

A breathy moan escaped your lips as your legs began to shake. Hyunjin let his fingers slow on your clit as he pulled out, coming on your back with a moan of his own. Fuck¸ you sighed, clearly trying to get your breathing under control. That was… you paused seeming to try to find the right word as he quietly got out of the bed, grabbing a towel to clean your back. Amazing? He offered as he did quick work in cleaning you up. No, well yes, but I was going to say, better than I imagined it would be, you admitted, turning to your side and pulling him into the bed with you. The statement took him off guard as he tried to understand that while he was fantasizing about you, you were doing the same with him.

The loud bang on his door, followed by Chan yelling please keep it down, made you both giggle as Hyunjin pulled you into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss into your hair, whispering we’ll have to make all your thoughts come true to see if all of them are better. That giggle he loved filled the quiet room as you snuggled into his chest, I’d love that. For the first time in a while, Hyunjin’s dreams weren't filled with thoughts of fucking you, but instead the things he wanted to do outside of these walls with you.

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ requests are open.

[sassydefendorflower]

Fashion Worldbuilding in FMA:b

From a historical fashion standpoint, the fashion in FMA:b (and the manga) is all over the place, but since the 1914/1915 setting of Amestris is not actually linked to the real historical time period there is no need to apply rigid fashion rules to the worldbuilding. And yet, I think it is very interesting to explain the fashion of Amestris through a Watsonian lens.

And what better place to start with than the very a-historical skin-tight, skin-showing clothing of our teenage characters?

Winry is always dressed practically and job oriented (coveralls, gloves, something to tie her hair back with) and yet she’s also dressed like a typical modern teenager. Crop tops and short skirts are the norm for when Winry is doing everyday stuff outside of her workshop or extreme territories. She is by far not the only character that dresses like this - we see both Matel and Paninya in similarly tight and form-fitting outfits.

And the world around them doesn’t react to this excess of skin with disgust or outrage - their way of clothing seems to be the general norm, or at least pretty widespread and accepted. But if we look closer, it seems that this is only a societal norm for young people.

Most of the older women we meet, are dressed rather conservatively, with dresses and long skirts being the norm. Hair is most often drawn in a bun on older female characters, and the general dress shape seems to be late 19th century inspired.

In this crowd scene for example, we can see a handful of young women wearing pants with their hair open, while the majority of the women depicted seem to be wearing skirts, dresses, and aprons as befitting a working women, while others seems to have scarves wrapped around their shoulders as if out and about on a stroll through town.

Which would make sense. This would divide the expected “proper” way of dressing along the axis of age (and/or marital status), with the cut-off being somewhere in the mid- to late twenties. Characters like Riza Hawkeye, Matel, and Sheska play into this, as they are all more conservatively dressed as Winry, but do not yet follow stricter fashion rules as they seem to be common in older demographics.

In this scene Riza is wearing a skirt that covers her knees and a jacket that covers her neck and the entirety of her arms. We later see her dressed in different civilian clothes as well, with a white blouse, a pink cardigan, and comfortable loose pants. As such she is in a transitional phase of fashion, between the more loose and short styles of the youth and the more traditional cuts of the older generation.

Shezka is much the same, her blouse and typical turtleneck much more “grown up” than the clothes Winry and her age-mates wear, and yet the rest of her clothes have not yet reached the same level of “age”. Both of these characters are also unmarried, which could be another factor in the way they dress - historically speaking, expectations on dress were different between single women and those that were married, so there is a distinct possibility of the same being the case in the world of FMA.

Which brings us to another very interesting axis of analysis: how do jobs and fashion interact in Fullmetal Alchemist?

The way I see it Amestris is a country on the verge of changing. We see a noteworthy amount of female soldiers, but only one female General - so much so, that Sloth is ordered to kill “the” female General, because Olivier Mira Armstrong is the only woman in the upper brass. The other female soldiers we meet all have ranks up to First Lieutenant, but nothing above. There are no female State Alchemists. Most of the other professionals we meet are men.

It makes sense for Olivier to be the first female general based on her family history and the fact that she was probably an outstanding soldier - but it also highlights that the military as a structure has probably only allowed female soldiers for up to 30 to 40 years by the time we meet the Elrics and their world. And I see much of Amestris through that lens - most gender-based laws have probably been repelled by now, but the society at large still remembers a much more divided structure. This is reflected in the fashion, of course.

In a country that has only recently changed its views on which professional fields should be open to all genders, the divide between the fashion rules for those that remember more rigid structures and those that grew up without certain assumptions is growing. Societal standards are slow to change, but they do reflect the opinions of the general public - or at least the rules and traditions people tend to cling to. 

Let’s take Gracia for example. While the hemline in general seems to be rising in all age demographics (except the elderly, while staying relatively conservative in older demographics and - hypothetically - married women) Gracia dresses less form-fitting than other women in her age range (Riza Hawkeye, Rebecca Catalina). She is generally dressed more “proper”, even later on when we see her wearing skirts that end above the knee. What I really find interesting though is the comparison to her younger self - roughly eight years younger, as this is a picture from the end of the Ishval War. Even though she is probably about twenty to twenty-three in this picture, she is dressed a lot more conservative than all the other female characters we have met in that age range so far. This can have multiple reasons. Maybe Gracia is from a more conservative, rich family that favors more traditional style of dress - or we can see the rabid change in society in just eight years.

Again, Amestris as a society in the middle of extreme social change.

We can even see it in the military uniforms. Female soldiers in active duty wear the same clothes as their male counterparts.

(including the butt-cape)

But what we see multiple times is other female officers employed at Central Command (or other military headquarters) wearing a different uniform - with a much shorter skirt (tho a longer skirt option seems to be available, as we also see female soldiers wearing skirts that cover the knees).

This could imply two things: a) the longer skirts were the normal uniform for female employees of the military not cleared for active duty, and only recently shorter skirts became a part of the uniform as a reaction to the changing fashion landscape or b) the shorter skirts existed for longer as some sort of sexist tool of the upper brass to demean their female employees.

For the sake of our current worldbuilding, let’s go with Option A).

Again, the general hemline seems to be rising - in a way, it wouldn’t even be historically unheard off. In the 1920s the female silhouette changed so much in young, city-dwelling circles that you might even see the occasional knee peak out from under a skirt - Amestris could be experiencing a similar change in fashionable dress.

There is one other thing I want to mention while I’m at it: the influences of other cultures on Amestrian culture and fashion.

Amestris is an imperial power, and while that means that it has a very strong national identity on the one hand, we can also see how it has adapted other cultural influences in its daily life. While the wearing of traditional Ishvalen clothing is probably demonized and a sure way to get othered, influenced from other nations Amestris is war-ing with can be found.

Xing-style clothing seems to be pretty common, and if anything it seems to be a sign of status to be able to afford clothes from Xing.

We see Mrs. Bradley were Xing-style clothing multiple times throughout the show, and it always seems to be something a lady of good standing can do without consequences. This implies a certain level of cultural trade and exchange between the two countries, especially once you consider that Xingese features seem to be common enough in Amestris that Ling always has to mention his status as a foreigner since his appearance alone would not give it away.

(And the fact that all Lan Fan and Fu had to do to go undercover was exchange their Xingese dress for classical Amestrian clothing and suddenly they could disappear in a crowd without a problem)

And this bit of decor in General Grumman’s office? This also implies some sort of cultural influences from Drachma.

There is also the fact that class probably does play a role in the way people dress, with people from Rush Valley, a certified weird town full of weird people, dressing more wild, with less need for social conventions in a place like that. And people from the countryside favoring practicality over fashion, and much of the women we see there wearing loose dresses and aprons, which makes sense. At the same time, what little we see of the Armstrong family, they seem to favor a more conservative style of dress, even at a younger age.

Which makes sense - fashion is influenced by a lot of different factors, class, age, gender, gender representation, work and cultural influences all making a difference.

And just as an aside - while this post mostly discusses women’s fashion in FMA:b, I think it applies to men’s fashion as well. At least to a certain degree. While most men are much more uniformly dressed in “old-timey” clothing, the current shift seems to be happening when it comes to wearing hats.

And I also think teenage boys are less tied to the fashion expectations of their time - Edward for example dresses very modernly and weird. BUT and - this is very interesting - his sense of fashion is constantly considered as outside of the norm. Part of his Growing-Up Arc is starting to wear the clothes society expects him to wear... which means that while women’s fashion is rapidly changing, men’s fashion is still rather strict in comparison, with breaking of the rules being perceived as socially “punishable” in comparison.

[abhishekadep143]

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[namicakes]

Winning Piece.

Synopsis: “Two hearts once bound by ink and lens, Torn apart by time’s cruel hands. A boy with words, a girl with light, Reunite as rivals in fate’s quiet fight.”

Note: (Based on a tiktok post. I also HC that akaashi, before joining the vb club, he's once a journalism club member. I mean him and his timeskip job make sense righttt?????)

Akaashi Keiji x Reader

It was the quiet shuffle of pages and the faint scratching of pens that first brought Akaashi Keiji and Y/N together. Their world was a symphony of ink and thought, tethered by a mutual love for stories untold. They met beneath a canopy of stars on the terrace of an old bookstore, during a city-wide workshop for young journalists. Y/N, from a rival school, was the spark to Akaashi’s composed demeanor, her laugh like wind chimes and her thoughts a kaleidoscope of color.

"Do you always take notes this neatly?" Y/N had teased, leaning over Akaashi’s shoulder to glimpse his meticulous handwriting.

He glanced at her, a slight blush painting his cheeks. "It helps organize my thoughts. What about you? Do you always carry that camera around?"

Y/N grinned, holding up the vintage camera she’d inherited from her grandmother. "Every photo tells a story. I just happen to love writing them down too."

And just like that, two dreamers found themselves drawn to one another. They spent hours talking about the power of words, the beauty of a perfectly timed photograph, and the shared dream of becoming storytellers for the world. Akaashi had never been so captivated by someone’s passion. She made the mundane feel extraordinary, and he, ever the listener, found himself inspired in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

For a year, they were inseparable. Akaashi began journaling because of her, filling pages with thoughts he’d never spoken aloud. She called it his “soul on paper,” and when she read his entries, he felt seen in a way that volleyball or schoolwork had never managed.

But life has a way of pulling people apart. Y/N’s family moved cities, and the once endless conversations turned into fragmented texts and missed calls. They didn’t argue; they simply drifted. One day, the silence became permanent, leaving Akaashi with a journal full of memories and the faint scent of her favorite lavender perfume lingering in the pages.

Years Later

Akaashi hadn’t thought about her in a long time. Volleyball had filled the void she’d left behind, giving him a new purpose. But his love for journaling never faded, even if it became a private endeavor. Now, standing in the bustling hall of a national journalism competition, he felt a twinge of nostalgia as he adjusted the strap of his camera bag.

“Next participant, please,” the registration assistant called, pulling Akaashi out of his thoughts.

As he handed over his documents, he heard a familiar voice behind him, cheerful and sharp.

“I’m here to win, not waste time.”

He turned, and there she was—Y/N. Her hair was shorter, her presence still radiant. She didn’t notice him at first, too busy chatting with her team. But when their eyes finally met, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“Akaashi?” Her voice was a mix of surprise and uncertainty.

“Y/N,” he replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, the noise around them dulled, leaving only the weight of everything unsaid.

The competition began with fervor, each task designed to test their skills. Akaashi worked silently, his focus unshakable. Y/N, on the other hand, attacked each challenge with her usual gusto, her laughter and determination lighting up the room.

“Still the quiet perfectionist, I see,” Y/N quipped during a break, handing him a cup of coffee.

“And you’re still as bold as ever,” he replied, taking a sip.

Their conversations were brief but charged with unspoken tension. It was clear that both were determined to win, but something deeper lingered beneath their rivalry—a longing to reclaim what they had lost.

The last round was announced: Capture and narrate a moment that defines connection. Participants had two hours to create their entries. Akaashi wandered the venue, camera in hand, his thoughts a whirlwind. It was then he saw her, standing by a sunlit window, her camera raised as she focused on a group of children playing outside. The light framed her perfectly, highlighting the concentration etched on her face.

Without thinking, Akaashi raised his camera. The click of the shutter was soft, but the image it captured was profound. In that moment, she wasn’t his rival—she was the girl who once made him believe in the beauty of storytelling.

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation as the winners were announced. Y/N sat a few rows behind Akaashi, her heart pounding in equal parts hope and dread. When his name was called for first place, a round of applause erupted. Y/N’s stomach sank, but she clapped nonetheless, her pride for him overshadowing her disappointment.

The winning piece was unveiled on a large screen: a black-and-white photograph of Y/N by the window, her camera poised and her eyes glowing with determination. The accompanying narrative spoke of *eunion, the bittersweet passage of time, and the eternal connection between dreamers.

Y/N stared at the screen, her breath catching. She hadn’t realized she was the subject of Akaashi’s submission.

“You used me as your muse,” Y/N said, finding Akaashi after the ceremony. Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

“You’ve always been my muse,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “That photo… it reminded me why I started journaling. Why I fell in love with storytelling. Why I fell in love with you.”

Y/N froze, her heart pounding as his words hung in the air. “Akaashi… I didn’t think we’d ever get this chance again.”

“Neither did I,” he said softly. “But maybe some stories aren’t meant to end.”

As the evening faded into twilight, they found themselves walking together, their conversation flowing as if no time had passed. The years apart had changed them, but the connection they shared was timeless—a story still waiting to be written.

[sistersorrow]

I'm gonna preface this by saying that I know that Games Workshop are not fascists and that Warhammer 40k is openly intended to be a criticism and parody of fascism and other forms of authoritarianism

However, GW has still kinda stumbled into a similar issue that The New Order did, that issue being what I'm gonna call The Problem of the Reasonable Fascist because pretending I'm doing something clever makes me feel special

So, The New Order: The Last Days of Europe is a mod for Hearts of Iron 4 set in a timeline where the Axis won WW2 and things are to put it lightly not going well

Over time, the setting's lore has gone through a bunch of revisions, with a pretty big one being the removal of Esoteric Nazism as a distinct ideology group

In early versions of the mod, there was Fascism (ie. the ideologies practiced in real world Germany and Italy in during WW2) and then there was Esoteric Nazism, which was basically Batshit Insane Fascism, which takes Fascist ideology in darker or downright bizarre directions (eg. A vaguely 40k-inspired Russian Imperial Cult that believed that Alexei Romanov was still alive and would return once the country was "cleansed") and represents some of the worst possible excesses of Fascism

These ideologies still exist in TNO, but were moved into the same ideology group as the non-esoteric fascists and went through revisions because the developers concluded that when you have groups like the Order-State of Burgundy wanting to trigger global nuclear war so True Aryans will inherit the Earth (ie. the ending of the Turner Diaries), the 3rd Reich seems a bit less crazy

That's what I'm referring to as the Problem of the Reasonable Fascist, the way some anti-fascist narratives are written can create something so over the top that it accidentally makes less extreme forms fascism seem not as horrible

40k runs in to this same issue due to the way it handles characters and the pre vs post-Horus Heresy Imperium of Man

The Imperium of Man in the 40th millenium is a theofascist hellhole so incomprehensibly vast that the death of billions each day to keep the war machine running isn't even a statistic, it's a rounding error, but it's also repeatedly presented as an empire in decline whose existence is a mockery of the Emperor's vision, which runs into the exact problem I'm talking about

The pre-Heresy Imperium was authoritarian, xenophobic in multiple meanings of the word, and openly hostile to any schools of thought that wasn't their own, but in comparison to the post-Heresy Imperium, it was a golden age, and those who fought in defense of it are generally written as pretty reasonable even though they're still authoritarians

Hell, the Horus Heresy happened in part because Horus saw a vision of the 40th millenium and thought that was the Emperor's end goal

The bar is set so low in the modern Imperium that if you aren't the kind of zealot who shoots someone for stuttering during prayers, you are basically treated as a pillar of rationality by the audience

Again, GW and its writers are not Fascists, but this is an interesting phenomenon I've noticed

[indierpgnewsletter]

GM-driven versus Player-driven (& more)

(Originally published on the Indie RPG Newsletter)

I talk about playstyles a lot. Or at least, I talk about playstyles a lot more than the average. I’m always saying “trad”, “storygame”, “OSR”, etc - they’re completely imperfect labels, for sure. But for me, I prefer that imperfection to ignoring the diversity of approaches that people take to roleplaying games. To me, there’s no generic “GM advice” - all GM advice has a style of play associated with it. It would be good to for folks to know which!

For me, everytime I write or say things that sound like advice, I’m usually talking to myself. I’m articulating something I’ve figured out and by making it explicit, I’m sort of formally adding it to my toolkit. This means that my advice is best suited for folks who play like me. So part of my job is to articulate my playstyle. I wish I could just say “storygame” but I think that is an obscured word. The best explanation I can come up with right now is, “playing where the fun comes from dramatic characters and improvised narrative”. (We can totally workshop that but it’s what I’ve got right now.)

So I also like it when other folks talk explicitly about their playstyle. Like in this recent article, the blog RiseUpComus had an interesting matrix that described four playstyles. It has “blorbiness” and “quantum” on one axis and “railroad” and “sandbox” on the other axis. I liked the idea but I’m a bit wary of those words - “quantum” and “railroad” can have a negative connotation. I tried to be careful about this with my Axes of Game Design posts.

So with that in mind, I would frame this as “prepped” versus “improvised” on one axis and “GM-driven” and “player-driven” on the other axis. I like this because all games are to some extent prepped and to some extent improvised, all games are to some extent GM-driven and player-driven. It’s usually a question of degree or priority.

Prepped and Improvised are pretty self-explanatory. The more prepped a game is, the more the GM knows the world before the session begins. The more improvised a game is, the more GM leaves to being decided at the table.

GM-driven and player-driven is a bit more complicated to explain. In almost all playstyles, the GM kicks off the first session with a clear premise for the players. It is one of the sacred duties of the GM - “Help Us Start Playing”. In a GM-driven game, the GM is constantly “starting” things like they did in the first session. The players mostly “finish” things and look to the GM to start the next thing. This could be encounters, plot arcs, locations, quests, etc. In a GM-driven game, the GM isn't usually building on the player’s actions from the previous session. In a player-driven game, the players start things. The GM reacts to what they’ve instigated. Before every session, the GM is asking, “So my players did this last session, what consequences should that attract? What would my NPCs or factions be doing in response?”.

I think some games are designed to be in a specific quadrant. But often games can be played across multiple quadrants. For example, Troika! is often played in Improvised+Player-driven quadrant even though it can be played in the Prepped+Player-driven quadrant (where most OSR games live). Theoretically, you could play a game like Spire in any of these quadrants but I think it probably works best in the Prepped+GM-driven quadrant.

What do you think? Keeping in mind that this stuff is a spectrum, do you have a sweet spot for where you enjoy games best?

[bilbobagginsomebabez]

@[REDACTED] because you heathens can't let someone fucking LEARN. op, I intend this kindly, but I can tell you would not be a friend to terfs and this whole thing is rooted in terf brainrot. I'm choosing community today and going to explain why this is terfy shit fucking over trans mascs.

so the core of the terf belief system is that there is a bioessentialist Quality Of Men that makes them fundamentally an Oppressor who can never face marginalization, right? we disagree with that because we love trans people--both women and men. if men are Fundamentally Oppressors, you can't Change Genders. here's the thing. under the premise of "transmasculine oppression does not occur at any axis so they can't have this word", you have removed the bioessentialist aspect but still accepted that there is a Quality Of Men that innately makes them an Oppressor that can never face marginalization.

now the next logical step that we've taken from "men can never be oppressed or have a -phobia term" is that because the "base model" or cis men aren't oppressed and don't face what would hypothetically be "androphobia," trans men cannot create the term "transandrophobia" to describe their real experiences of pain and oppression. despite this weird semantic caveat, we both fully and entirely agree that trans men/mascs do face real oppression specifically due to being Trans Men/Mascs that is different in nature from the cruelty and oppression that Trans Women/Femmes face. so we fully agree that the phenomenon is real, but you and many others are for some reason saying they cannot have a word to describe it. they can't have a word to describe their real experiences because the "base model" doesn't face oppression and we hate the base model so much they specifically do not and can never have a -phobia word.

what is the point of this? who does this help?

it helps terfs keep trans mascs isolated is who it helps. i just. i think the toxicity of the idea is really represented in action right now. because we are talking about a group of men/masculine people who are actively specifically marginalized. they are telling us they are being targeted for detransition and conversion therapy. they are trying to tell us something and we aren't listening because we're playing semantic games over what words they're allowed to use. because they aren't oppressed enough to "be at an axis." in practice right now, it seems like "be at an axis" has turned into "have a real voice in the community." there needs to be room here, conversations where "trans masc" isn't a performative placeholder for "passing trans men," more fluid boundaries between "Man" and "Woman" and how people identified within those categories face marginalization, less hatred for Men and more love for queer life and liberation. not just to be inclusive of nonbinary people who also exist and face weird mixes of both of these real things--transandrophobia and transmisogyny-- but because right now we are denying solidarity to members of our community and limiting our own discussion and understanding in favor of forcing a Very Harassed Group Of Us to endlessly workshop the term over petty semantic grievances.

and I'm sorry but i really. just need us to collectively take a moment and reflect that the grievance is "this word could be broken down into another word we wouldn't like." and i don't really know what to do with that. there are a lot of good reasons to use the term "transandrophobia" not the least of which is because it's immediately descriptive under the language rules we all know (the marginalization/hate that trans men face) but because it fits in with all of the other queer terms--biphobia, homophobia, lesbophobia, aphobia, queerphobia--we generally went hard in terms of "phobia" terms. trans-andro-phobia seems perfectly reasonable to me to describe the hatred of trans men. i am really really sad that "'andro' can't be in a 'phobia' word because men can never be oppressed" became the dominant discourse on this because it really is just. mean. it's just mean-spiritied. 'misandry' already exists. if whatever you were scared of was gonna happen, it already would have. i really cannot comprehend the preferencing of some nebulous possible harm of "androphobia" over and above our ability to describe real problems facing members of our community.

again i ask you, who does this help? trans mascs are our community and they are being attacked brutally and quietly and we aren't talking about it because?? men can't be oppressed because they're not on an axis? they are asking us for solidarity. and they need it.

trans men are asking us to see that terfs weaponize murderous language against trans women but they are no less genocidal in their aims of targeting trans men and mascs for de-transition, conversion therapy, and corrective rape. "lost lesbians" and "lost daughters" and "irreversible damage" are rallying cries and money makers among the far right--they say "keep your daughters daughters, keep them in the ontological category of victim before they become a predator."

the hostility to the term transandrophobia because "men can't be oppressed" is the internalization of the terf belief that men are fundamentally and innately predators and oppressors instead of people reacting to their position under the system of patriarchy. it's a belief that never allows for the destruction of the patriarchy. it says you can never be a gender-traitor unless you're the right gender--a feminine gender (woman) fighting against the innately violent masculine onslaught (men). there are straight cis men who fight against toxic male gender norms and face violence for it, too. this model cannot articulate that violence beyond "homophobia" and it cannot articulate the violence against our trans brothers beyond "transphobia" and that is a failure. that is not ideological purity-- that is an active failure to real and living members of your community. we need to articulate it.

transandrophobia is a perfectly serviceable term to describe a real problem that needs a term. trans men and mascs face specific violences. your response literally agrees that it's real. we have both stated on multiple occasions that agree that it's real. so we need to be able to talk about it. so we need a word for it.

i would encourage you in general to prioritize people's wellbeing over and above linguistic purity. especially right now when things are getting worse and worse and worse for ALL trans people.