#I do not have another different color of cane

[snek-panini]

Since the copy I sent to @madenthusiasms has arrived, it's time to share my bind of their wonderful fic The Ghost of Husbands past. I had really wanted to get this one out by Christmas, since it's a Christmas fic, but life had other plans. But if a Good Omens fic based on Hallmark Christmas Movie tropes (but without the misogyny, heteronormativity, and anti-intellectualism; and with added anti-coporate and anti-megachurch sentiments and positive disability rep) sounds like your cup of tea you should absolutely go read this immediately.

The cover up above is dark green book cloth for the spine and corners, and white faux leather with silver foil htv for the title. It was infuriatingly difficult to find white faux leather in a thickness I could use for bookbinding--all the craft stores had upholstery weight, which is too heavy and thick once it's paper-backed, and only one supplier had this thinner paper-like material. It was Neenah Papers and I'd never ordered from them before and the process was a nightmare and took weeks to sort out. But I got the stuff, and I love the way it looks and feels. It was one of those instances where I knew exactly what I wanted, had a mental image I was pursuing, and nothing else I considered looked half as good. So in the end it was worth it.

More photos under the cut, including Fun With Fonts and the most complicated spine I've ever made.

Spine photos! It's got little ridges! They're called false bands and you make them with thin strips of board, and then if you're like me you put lines around them to highlight them. There's so much htv on here that it had to be done in three stages; lines, text, and snowflakes were all done separately. I was worried there would be issues with sticking, because I haven't always had a good track record with htv and the foil is especially picky, but other than me simply having big dreams there were no issues.

The bookmark is a dead match for the cloth, which was a happy accident. The endbands are double core and I wove them with stripes of alternating thickness so they'd look like candy canes. I was originally planning to have red, white, and green stripes in the endbands but when I hit the halfway point on the first one they started looking like the flag of Mexico and I had to start over. It very much did not fit the vibe. I do love the candy canes though; they absolutely could not have been better.

The endpaper up there is a Christmas-themed scrapbook paper. In isolation they look a bit jungle-y but they're poinsettias. My original choice for these had a different color scheme with blue snowflakes, but I realized that there would never be a better excuse for leaning into the classic Christmas aesthetic, and I have no regrets.

Interiors! The title page graphic is a free-to-use holly wreath from rawpixel. I kind of went nuts with the custom fonts in here. Conventional book design wisdom is to have two or maybe three fonts in a book, to make it feel cohesive throughout. This one has at least eight. The title page has two, one from Dafont called Flakes and a basic Word font called Castellar, because Flakes has snowflakes on every letter and it looked really weird and busy to have all the text like that. The chapter titles are in another Dafont custom called Fireplace that has sparkles and lets you add swishes under it, but the free version hasn't got numbers so those are in Harrington, which I thought was the closest match. The scene break dividers are a dingbat (symbol) font called DH Snowflakes. The body's in Baskerville but there are newspaper articles and roadside church advertisements in it that both have their own fonts, and the cover fonts are different too but I forget what I used there. And you would think this would make it feel choppy but it doesn't, somehow. It works, and it's trope-y and a bit cheesy but that's Christmas movies for you. The earnestness and enthusiasm is what wins the day, not the polish. I think that's appropriate.

And that's it! I had an absolute blast working on this one, it was so much fun to design. Hope you enjoyed!

[tehsacredeggo]

Does anyone have any ideas for decorating my very blue very sticker covered cane to make it look like it belongs to a vampire pls I’m begging

[narnian-neverlander]

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

I’m also very much using a translator for the Czech parts, so please bear with me and absolutely lemme know if you spot anything wrong!

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje lásko, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláčku, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděli. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH3

After Mommy has disciplined you with the cane, you feel the need to properly apologize to her, which was Daddy's idea, who promises you a reward if you do so.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Pet names. Dom/sub undertones. Domestic discipline/caning. Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Cuntwarming? Vaginal fingering. Squirting. Subspace. Aftercare. Unprotected piv sex. Creampie. Cockwarming. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 8.1k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6

A/N: This chapter is a direct continuation of Chapter 1 and a summary of the dynamic you can expect from the rest of the story: a love triangle with F/F and F/M and F/F/M intimacies. I will note what you can expect in each chapter (indicated by the color of the header image and by the different colors in the warning tags), but just remember that our Reader is bisexual/bi-curious, so we'll have a multitude of different sex scenes here. ⚠️Also warning: it starts a little rough, sorry. Speaking of: before you hate on Mommy in this chapter, remember: 1) this is an established (fictional!) BDSM relationship with implied established boundaries and rules, 2) she is a Domme, 3) she is human and can have bad days too, 4) this is fiction, 5) please keep reading, it'll all get resolved! This is a HURT and comfort story after all!

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

Several months later

You startle awake to loud voices. It takes you a long moment to realize where you are. In your bed, on your stomach. Mommy's voice in your ear, muffled, and suddenly you remember why your butt hurts so bad.

It's hazy, there were a lot of tears and pleading words, apologies and desperate cries, and it all started with a baking tray and flying cookies, the smell of burnt dough in the air, heat all around you, a stumble, a crash, herbs and soil raining to the ground.

It wouldn't even have been that bad if Mommy hadn't come into the kitchen at the exact moment you had lost your balance and dropped everything, your surprise for Daddy ruined as well as her precious herb garden. You knew Mommy cooked sometimes, but why she'd been so upset upon seeing the broken pot and plant, you had no idea.

But she was furious, screaming at you as you shrunk away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you cried, trying to clean up your mess, but all you did was make it worse. You even burned yourself on the hot sheet, destroyed the rest of the plant by stepping on it, and it was Mommy's flat hand on your cheek that brought you out of the headless panic and into a deep-rooted shock.

“Take a breath,” she ordered, staring at you. “And another. Okay? Good, then clean this up. Now.”

And you did, with shaking hands, but you somehow managed to scoop up burnt cookies, dirt and plant remnants, threw it all into the trash, then wiped the floor and washed the baking sheet. And Mommy watched, with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes darker, her face a stoic angry mask. As soon as you were done, you looked at her, and couldn't help but shed a new batch of tears, and some more, until you were back into your hysterics, sobbing and apologizing.

“Go to your room,” she told you. “Wait for me.”

Through the tears, you nodded and shuffled away, barely making it up the stairs. You felt horrible, and her cold demeanor wasn't helping, it only made it worse. You knew that look of disappointment all too well, had seen it on your own mother many times. You were a failure, you knew it, you'd forgotten it for a while, distracted by Mommy and Daddy's care, but you remembered now.

You were a failure.

And you sat in your room and waited, crying soundlessly, your lips tingling, feeling numb and way too much all at the same time. She came to you ten minutes later, in her hand a thin wooden stick. You blinked, your breath hitching. You knew what it was, had seen it on her wall, had seen videos of it being used on others. And it scared you. A lot. She'd disciplined you before, but only with her hand, not with that thing.

“Mommy?” you whimpered, staring at her.

She only shook her head and pointed to the floor. “Take off your pants and underwear and kneel on the floor, head down, ass in the air. Come on, don't make me wait.” Her voice was harsh, and all you could do was follow her words.

But as you knelt there, waiting for your punishment, the panic came back full force. You were shaking so badly you could barely stay in your position. More of your own pathetic pleading and crying and whining noises filled your ears, your heart beating out of your chest, your throat tight, lungs burning. Mommy ignored you.

When the first blow hit your rear, you screamed and jolted away. “Stay where you are!” she said sternly. “And count with me, come on! One.”

“One...” you croaked out. The cane cut through the air again and met your soft flesh. “Two,” she said, and you repeated it barely able to speak. “You deserve this, don't you? It's for your own good. You need this. Embrace the pain, think about what happened,” she explained between hits, three, four, five, you were shuddering on the floor, sobbing helplessly into your folded arms as the pain crashed through you, every impact making you flinch badly.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. She eased her blows a little as she talked between them, her voice strangely calm despite the relentless flick of her wrist. “You ruined something that was very dear to Mommy. I know it was an accident, but you were clumsy and careless. You could have hurt yourself as well. We can't have that.”

Ten, eleven, twelve. The thirteenth blow was particularly hard again, seemingly cutting into your skin, making you jerk forward with a pained yelp. “And you fell into old habits. We did not spend all that time trying to make you better if it only takes one stupid mistake to bring you back to square one.”

Fourteen, fifteen. You were a gasping mess on the floor, knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your weight on them. Sixteen, seventeen. Your whole body was aflame, your mind spinning, words repeating, every new hit adding to the already existing pain, and it wouldn't stop. You tried your best to breathe through it, like Mommy had taught you, but the thin wooden stick hurt more than you could have imagined. Your lungs ached with every sharp inhale. Eighteen, nineteen.

For the last one, she suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you to your feet before she pressed you face-first into the wall, holding you by your nape. “Think about what you did and what you can do better. If you can't breathe through your attacks, I will use pain as a distraction again. Maybe it'll help you more than whatever Daddy does to you...” She paused, then said: “Twenty.”

The hit came with a sudden whoosh, and you screamed, jolting forward against the wall, legs shaking, your skin burning, tight and bruised and hurting. “Tw-twenty...” you croaked out, holding your breath, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down your face.

As her words echoed in your head, you had to give it to her: you were indeed distracted. The stinging pain spreading just beneath the inflamed skin of your buttocks was thrumming through you in an unrelenting fashion, scorching pulses that burned through any other concerns or thoughts or doubts, emptying your mind. You couldn't even pick up on the slight poke at Daddy's seemingly useless methods of helping you through your anxiety attacks. Nothing mattered: just the cleansing sharpness of Mommy's cane.

“Good. You took it like a big girl,” she said behind you, her hand easing down your back, hovering above your warm skin. “Better than I expected. Doesn't look too bad either. Now take a cold shower, it'll feel better.”

With that she exited your room, leaving you trembling. At least you'd stopped sobbing now. For a long moment, all you could do was lean against the wall, trying to calm your erratic heart. Your throat was dry, cold sweat made you shiver. Your focus was still on the burning welts on your skin, horribly pulsing streaks all across your butt cheeks. You remember them vividly as you'd eventually inspected them in the mirror.

The cold shower was another torture, but afterwards you did indeed feel better, clean, cleared of your doubts, knowing that Mommy was right. You needed and deserved every single hit for making such a mess, for breaking down about it. As cruel and cold as she had been, you saw reason in her actions. She had to know what she was doing, of course she did, she was your Mommy, she only wanted the best for you.

In her own way...

Looking back though, you have to agree with Daddy. It has been too much. 'That sounds a bit excessive for a simple act of clumsiness,' he'd said. It has been, but of course you hadn't told him everything. Not as detailed as you'd liked. The anxiety attack, the uncontrollable sobbing, the hysterics. The inevitable tumble into the dark abyss, unable to come back out on your own. Mommy's cleansing slap and those cane hits... they had helped, brought you back, but...

But it still has been too much. And it has been different too. Usually when she disciplines you (she always tries to avoid saying punishment because you're not being punished for being anxious but disciplined for falling back into old patterns and allowing the anxiety to control you again), when she uses pain as a distraction, she cuddles you after, tells you what a good girl you've been, makes sure you're okay, but that time... she has just left. Something has definitely fueled Mommy's anger.

Shifting under the covers, trying not to put pressure on your butt (though whatever Daddy has put on your skin did help a little), you listen a bit closer to the voices from across the hall (you shouldn't, but it's hard to ignore them too). They're loud, as is usually the case when Mommy fights with Daddy. She is the fiery one, while he is the calmer counterpart, though he can be angry too, and loud. This morning, they are both equally agitated.

“She was being hysterical!” Mommy screeches.

“And you think twenty fucking cane hits will help with that? That's not how we should deal with her anxiety!” Daddy says, more or less calmly, but you can hear the emotion in his voice through the walls.

“She was calmer after...”

“Of course she was! Because she was in pain!” He is getting louder.

And she is getting quieter, which only means she's getting more emotional. “She can handle it...”

“You overdid it. It was too much. Don't let your frustrations out on her...”

“I did not let my – Ugh! I can't do this right now...”

There's a pause, then a door opens and shuts with a bang. It opens again. Now the voices are directly in the hallway in front of your door. Daddy's voice is quieter.

“What's the real matter here, babe?”

“Nothing...” Mommy sounds defeated.

“You don't just snap like that. Tell me.”

“I just had a bad day, it happens...” You hear footsteps pacing the wooden floorboards.

“Not like that. What happened?”

“Nothing, it's fine. I'll apologize to her, okay?”

“Good. But I'm not done with you...” His tone changes, even quieter, softer, a little challenge behind the words. A smirk.

Mommy gives a soft laugh, a bit flat but there's the same smirk in her voice. “Later, papito...”

When one pair of footsteps leaves along the hallway, your door is being opened quietly. You press into the covers, pretending to sleep. Your mattress dips, a hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Rise and shine, pumpkin,” Daddy whispers, leaning over you to brush his lips against your temple, the only part of you peeking out from under the blanket.

You turn slightly, blinking your eyes open, giving him a tired smile. “Morning, Daddy,” you mumble. He smiles back and gives you another peck, slowly working his way down your face until he meets your lips. He's braced over you, hovering inches away, and you sigh softly into his kiss.

After he comforted you last night (by letting you come on his thigh), he'd washed you and himself with a warm wet cloth, then tucked you into bed and left, promising to talk to Mommy. He didn't seem to have gotten behind her unusual burst of anger, but you trusted him to dig deeper. All in good time.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, carefully rolling onto his side, cradling you in his arms.

“Better,” you whisper. Your butt still hurts, is tense and tight and throbbing, but it'll be okay. You're sure.

“Wanna make breakfast with me? I'll supervise, you work?” he mutters, nuzzling your neck. You nod with a soft giggle. “I think Mommy would like a nice smoothie. Should be easy enough, right?”

He helps you out of bed, picks a soft yellow sundress for you to wear (decides on a white lace thong that sits comfortably between your bruised ass cheeks), then brushes your hair and puts it into a long braid that falls down your back. He tells you to brush your teeth, and you do, and when you're done, he takes your hand and leads you down to the kitchen.

There he raids the fridge for fresh fruit and vegetables and gives them to you to chop up before he helps you pour it all into the blender with some oat milk. It's fun to do this with Daddy, standing next to him as he lets you hit the button, as you watch how everything turns into a rather unappealing green slush. After filling the thick drink into a tall glass, he puts a metal straw into it and holds it, then nods for you to follow him back up the stairs to Mommy's room.

Your heart beats faster when you approach the door. He stops and hands you the drink. “You can do this, pumpkin,” he tells you and leans down to kiss your cheek. “It'll be fine. Anyone can have a bad day, so we shouldn't hold a grudge, right?” You nod, looking up at him with a timid smile.

Then he raises his hand and knocks on the door. You flinch at the noise, inhaling sharply. “Come in,” you hear Mommy's voice through the wood.

Daddy gives you a gentle nudge, whispering “See you later, kiddo.”, and then you open the door and slip into her room. She's sitting at the large vanity, watching the door through the mirror, a brush in her hand, her long black hair cascading down her back.

“Good morning, Mommy,” you whisper a little intimidated. “I... I brought you breakfast...”

She turns around on her chair, watching you, before she gives you a soft smile. “Oh honey, that's so sweet of you, come here,” she says and holds out her hand.

You walk towards her, placing your hand onto her palm. She pulls you against her, taking the smoothie from your other hand and putting it down on the vanity. “Listen, sweetheart, Mommy is –”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” you say at the same time, biting your lip. She smiles at you, her eyes crinkling softly.

“I know you are, baby girl,” she says. “But I am too. I shouldn't have disciplined you like that, it was too much. Mommy just had a bad day. I'm sorry for taking it out on you,” she adds quietly, wrapping her arms around you as she buries her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

You hug her back, still a little stiff, perched between her legs. “I didn't mean to disappoint you,” you murmur into her.

She shushes you. “It's alright. Water under the bridge, okay?”

A hum escapes you, and for a moment you just stand there, holding her as she holds you, her warmth seeping into your stiff limbs. Eventually you take a deep breath, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils, before you tilt your head a bit to look at her.

“Mommy, I... I want to make you feel good, uh, better,” you say in a breathy whisper. “If you have time for it...”

She chuckles softly. “I always have time for you, sweet girl. Might be best to take the day off anyway.” She pauses, then sighs. “Well, I can stay home, but I have to work through my emails. But that shouldn't be an obstacle, right, kitten?” she whispers, then slowly leans you back fully and smirks at you.

You feel your cheeks burning up, already sensing a little throb in your core at the prospect of making her feel good. Her hands grab your waist and push you away gently, allowing her to stand up. You realize she's wearing a black silk robe (and only that), open in the front, giving you a good glance at her perfect breasts and her smooth mound. You force yourself to look up into her face.

“Come with me to my office,” she tells you and grabs your hand, taking the smoothie with the other, and then guides you into the adjacent room.

You've been here a few times before, usually perched under her desk, so the rest of the interior doesn't really matter to you. It's a bright room though, large windows, floor to ceiling, letting in the already warm rays of the morning sun. There are bookshelves lining one wall, and a wild array of other stuff in front of another. You always wondered what it is that Mommy does, aside from being a successful business woman and establishment owner.

She definitely has a lot of hobbies. There are mannequins, a sewing machine, an easel and a bunch of canvases stacked behind it. A low table with painting supplies. A camera in another high shelf next to large books probably filled with photographs. And then there's the corner you don't like to look at often, where the cane hangs from a hook, next to a flogger, a whip, a paddle and other tools like gags and harnesses and belts. Sleek black leather accentuated with wooden elements.

Mommy sure is a woman of many talents. But none of that matters to you now as she motions you to crawl under her desk, a large space made of a long wooden tabletop sitting on two drawer shelves, it's open enough to allow whoever enters the room to have a good view beneath. It's where you spent your time before, whenever she works from home and asks you to keep her company.

It's been a strange request at first, but seeing her relax due to your presence and ministrations is always something you're looking forward to. As you crawl under the table top, she puts the smoothie down next to her laptop and sits down in her chair. Despite her chaotic corner of numerous activities, her desk is surprisingly bare. No clutter, just a lamp, some pencils and a notepad, her laptop and phone on it.

You settle right in front of her, and she doesn't waste a second before she spreads her legs, her robe falling open even more as she gently guides you between them. Her warmth and scent radiates off her when you get closer to her center. She shifts on her chair, getting comfortable but allowing you to reach her just fine. Her hand remains on your head as she tilts it so you can rest your cheek on her thigh.

Looking up at her, you see her smiling, her eyes warm and already darker than usual. “You really wanna make me feel good, baby?” she whispers, watching you closely. You nod eagerly as you shift on your knees, the heels of your sock-clad feet poking into your rear. The pain and tightness of the welts is still there, but you can ignore them for now as you focus on the woman in front of you.

She leans back, opening her legs further, her hands resting casually on the armrests of her leather chair. Her eyes stay on you as you approach her core, your hands reaching up to caress her inner thighs. You hold her gaze, your face already flushed from what lies ahead. Swallowing the excess saliva gathering on your tongue (your oral fixation flaring up), you lean in and up and press your lips to her flat stomach, slowly working your way lower.

She's calm, watching you closely, and eventually you break eye contact and close your eyes, focusing on kissing along her pelvis and down her smooth mound, going by feel and warmth alone. Your hands move around her waist as you settle between her legs, holding onto her as you bury your face in her sex. There's a slight shiver when your tongue teases along her slit, your lips brushing against hers, so soft and warm.

You pepper her labia with kisses, tilting your head slightly before you ease your tongue between them, dipping into her slick. Breathing into her, her scent filling your nostrils, you feel more little twitches, her thighs pressing slightly against your sides. You retrieve your arms and rub your palms against them, noticing the hint of goosebumps on her skin as you continue licking up and around her lower lips.

When you press your tongue against her hooded clit, she gives a soft little moan, enough encouragement to keep going, to dig deeper, to kiss and lick and nibble on her soft flesh until you feel her clit throbbing against your lips. You keep your focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking your tongue against it, closing your mouth around it, sucking it hard, and she grows more vocal, her hips jerking against your face.

She taught you early on how to properly satisfy a woman, not always on herself, teaching you about your own body as well. As awkward and embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, you are grateful to know what you know now, and you find pride in being able to get her off this easily. It only takes a few concentrated licks and nibbles, a bit of teeth grazing and a pointed tongue prod, and she is shaking in her seat, thrashing her head back as she claws at the armrests, loud moans echoing through the room.

Her first orgasm comes in waves, twitches of her thighs, her cunt pulsing against your chin as you keep sucking on her clit. You look up then, watching her come undone in front of you, under your ministrations. It sends deep shudders down your own body, settling low in your stomach, a throb to your own clit as you stimulate Mommy's.

You keep going, because she'd usually tell you when to stop, and it takes more than one orgasm for her to be fully satisfied. With your hands rubbing over her trembling legs, your mouth suctioned to her throbbing clit, you watch her, waiting for any indication, any hint of what she wants now. She's breathing harder when she meets your gaze, red spots on her cheeks, her bare chest rising and falling faster.

One of her hands moves down to your head, caressing your hair, playing with the braid. She doesn't say anything, just gives the tiniest of nudges, and you follow the hint and move from her clit down to her slit. She's a lot wetter now, and you lap up every drop you come across, savoring the sweet taste as you move your tongue between her labia, teasing at her entrance, the little flutter to her cunt not going by unnoticed.

You take long strokes from her hole to her sensitive bud, filling your mouth with her taste and essence, feeling her clit thrum and her cunt clench. Tilting your head down, closing your eyes, you press firmer against her, her labia enveloping your cheeks as you push the tip of your tongue against her entrance. She mewls softly, the hand in your hair tightening, as you start pushing your tongue in and out in quick succession, moving the muscle up and down, creating obscene squelching and slurping sounds that ring loudly in your ears, a motion she's taught you, shown you, done to you so many times.

You feel the drop of your own arousal in your underwear, your body tensing as you focus on the reactions of hers. With your tongue buried in her pulsing pussy, you use your nose to push against her clit in a steady rhythm, your whole face warm and wet by now as she clenches around you. Your hands curl around her legs, trying to hold them open, but she's twitching so hard you feel the tremors against the sides of your head as she tries to close her thighs around it.

It doesn't matter, you're in too deep, literally, only focused on her pleasure, her pleasure giving you pleasure, she could smother you right that instant and you wouldn't mind. Your head is blissfully empty, all you feel and taste and see and hear is her. She's getting louder, shifting on her chair, grinding her pelvis against your face as she fucks herself on your tongue, harder, faster, a desperate little dance you volunteered for.

And when she comes, she throws herself back into the chair, gasping breathlessly, her whole body spasming against you, thighs tight against your ears, taking another sense from you as you almost drown in her juices. Her cunt clenches hard around your working muscle, and you slowly pull your tongue out when she relaxes, lapping up what she gave you. You savor the little twitches, the uncontrollable jerks of her hips, the deep exhales from above you.

As you're still licking at her slit, she moves her hands to brush stray hairs out of her damp forehead. You look up at her, lips closed around her clit, when she smiles at you. “Well done, sweet girl, thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and raspy, the low cadence sending shivers down your spine. ���That's enough for now.”

You lean back almost reluctantly, licking your wet lips, blinking your clumped eyelashes apart. You feel her hand wiping at your face, her thumb pressing into your mouth. You give it a tentative suck, your eyes on her. She looks calm again, relaxed, serene.

“Mommy's gotta work now,” she tells you, pushing her thumb harder onto your tongue. “Do you wanna stay with me while I do?”

You don't even hesitate when you nod, your hands finding her wrist as you suck on her thumb, the motion pulling you deeper into the safe space you enjoy so much.

“Do you want a toy to play with?” she asks, your mind momentarily wandering to the lowest drawer of her desk, filled with vibrators and dildos and smaller items to entertain you (and her). It's a tempting thought, but you shake your head, hollowing your cheeks as you give her digit another deep suckle.

She chuckles softly. “But I do need my hand, sweet pea,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a wink.

You blink at her, your mind too empty to comprehend her words. She caresses your face, then slowly withdraws her thumb. You're at least alert enough to lick up the excess drool dripping from your now unoccupied lips. Swallowing hard, you look at her, but she already knows the empty gaze you shoot her and guides your head back between her legs.

“Keep me warm and wet, hmm, baby girl? Can you do that?” she says softly, and you nod, already pressing your lips against her throbbing clit. “But don't make me come. I gotta concentrate.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you mumble against her, leaning your cheek against her thigh as you inhale deeply, taking in her scent. She closes her legs a little around you, caging you in, holding you tightly, and you melt into her, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good girl,” she says, patting your head before she shifts on her chair one last time. Her praise almost drowns out the quiet noises of her fingers flying over the keyboard as she starts working.

You relax into her, sitting on your knees, the hurt on your butt forgotten, the drying wetness on your face ignored, the tingle between your own legs unimportant. Occasionally you give her labia a few kisses or a gentle suck, licking up along her seam, but as your mind grows silent, you slip more and more into what Mommy and Daddy call subspace, a state of mind where there are no worries, where you're not anxious, where nothing matters but the warmth of the person next to you.

It's a peaceful place where you lose all sense of time. Snuggling into Mommy's cunt or suckling on Daddy's cock, no matter where or how or when, it's your personal reward for making them feel good, for allowing yourself to let go, an escape you wished you'd known about sooner. But now you do, and it's enough. A beautiful, blissful void, and you're floating, weightless, soft breaths and a steady heartbeat, sunken into yourself.

How you come out of it is usually a blur. A gentle caress to your cheek, a little nudge, some sort of physical touch that grounds you back to the place you've initially drifted off in. A deep exhale against warm skin, your cheek pressed between wet flesh, your own thumb wet and numb between your tight lips. Your eyelids flutter when you feel another caress, nimble fingers digging into your hair, soft presses to your scalp, a soothing little hum you slowly recognize as Mommy's voice.

“Wake up, mi amor,” she whispers from above you, her accent an extra vibration through your skull.

You inhale deeply, smacking your lips, or trying to, slowly lowering your hand as you blink your eyes open. Mommy's cunt is right there, soft and sleek, and it's an instinct to raise your hand again and caress her puffy labia.

“No need, sweet cheeks,” she tells you, but you keep pushing your fingers up and down her mound, head resting against her thigh, watching the lazy movements of your digits.

Mommy sighs loudly, but doesn't do anything to stop you after all. So you continue, dip your fingertips into her slick, teasing at her clit, as she relaxes into her chair, her hand stroking the side of your head. You rub and caress, prod and poke, eventually pushing a finger into her entrance, feeling the tight clench of her walls. Her soft mewls sound in your ears, when a sudden knock disrupts the peace, making you blink and realize you're knuckles-deep in Mommy's cunt.

Mommy just issues a noise akin to a sigh or groan, and the door to her office opens. You remain focused on her, plunging your digit in and out, curling it slightly, rubbing the pad of your finger along her squishy flesh until you feel her twitching against you.

“Is she still at it?” Daddy's voice sounds from somewhere behind you.

“She just came back,” Mommy whispers, her voice just a deep breath. “You know how she gets after, the insatiable little thing...”

You don't really register what they're saying, doesn't matter, all you see and feel and smell is Mommy. You add another finger and continue your motions, pushing in slightly faster, slightly deeper, pressing harder against her sensitive spots. She shifts in her seat, her hips bucking against your hand, her breaths more labored.

Footsteps round the desk, and as you blink against your haze, you notice Daddy's head next to Mommy's. He winks at you before he presses his lips to her cheek. She turns her head and uses her free hand to grab his nape, keeping him bent over to capture his mouth for a deeper kiss. “So you like me again, hm?” Daddy hums against her, and instead of answering him, she just kisses him harder.

You watch them as you finger Mommy, her wetness rivaling your own as they continue to make out. You squirm on your knees, chewing on your swollen lip, your fingers moving in and out of Mommy's clenching hole, and fueled by their soft groans and moans, you dive in again and close your lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves in front of you.

Mommy gasps, jerking against your face, and you keep watching her from under your lashes. Daddy holds her face while propped onto one arm, resting on the table above you. The way their lips and tongues meet is a sensual dance you enjoy watching more and more (which wasn't always the case). Now it only arouses you more, seeing them so intimate.

With your mouth tight around Mommy's clit and your fingers deep in her spasming cunt, you shift on your knees until you can press the heel of your foot against your own throbbing core, the sudden sensation making you moan softly. You keep a steady rhythm, dipping your fingers in and out, sucking on her clit, rubbing yourself against your foot, feeling how your arousal drenches the fabric of your panties, creating a delicious friction that makes your empty head spin.

You come at the same time as Mommy, though while your orgasm rolls through you like a gentle wave, hers is a ravaging waterfall, cascading down with power, and as you keep pumping your fingers into her, her cunt convulses, spraying you with jerky jets of her essence as she moans loudly above you, barely contained by Daddy's mouth, and even though you were quite irritated the first time she's squirted right into your face, you barely flinch now, lowering your mouth to lick up everything you can catch.

She shudders on the chair, slowly relaxing, and it's Daddy who appears next to you as he pulls you away from her quivering core. Her chair rolls away, and he kneels beside you, wiping a cloth over your drenched face.

“Well done, pumpkin,” he says softly, smiling at you. You blink your eyes into focus, your lips trembling without Mommy's warmth against them. “I think Mommy feels a lot better now, don't you, babe?”

A soft groan sounds from behind him in response. “Oh yeah...” she sighs.

“You earned yourself a reward, baby girl,” Daddy whispers, as he helps you crawl out from under the desk.

When you stand, he has to hold you, because your legs feel numb and tingling, fallen asleep from sitting on them for so long. The aftershocks of your own orgasm definitely add to the little unsteadiness as well. His hands cup your warm face as he looks down at you. You still feel like floating, head too empty to fully focus on him or the change of position.

A slurping sound echoes in your ears, and when you look past him, you see Mommy closing her lips around the straw in her smoothie. She winks at you when you meet her hooded gaze. Slowly you come back to yourself, a soothing warmth flooding your limbs and core. Daddy pulls you to the side, and you notice him sitting down on the edge of the wide desk, his hands on your waist as he nudges you between his legs.

“You with me, pumpkin?” he says softly, tilting his head.

You look up at him, your hands resting on his strong thighs. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, giving him a timid smile.

“My good girl.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before you tilt your chin up a bit more to meet his lips. As he moves his tongue against yours, slowly, sensually, you feel a presence behind you. Mommy's hands rub up and down your back, smoothing out your dress, before they disappear under the hem, and you gasp against Daddy's mouth when you feel her fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties.

She pulls them down slowly, crouching behind you, and you lift your feet automatically to step out of them. “Hmm, you enjoyed yourself already, didn't you, sweet girl?” she muses, leaning against you after she's straightened up again, her firm breasts pressing against your back.

Without breaking your kiss with Daddy, you move your eyes to see her dangling your drenched underwear on her finger. Heat crashes into your cheeks, slowly seeping down your body, and the arousal that's been draining into the bit of fabric of your thong, now drips out of you unrestrained. A garbled mewl escapes you as you rub your thighs together and squirm on the spot.

“Oh don't worry, darling, Daddy's gonna take care of the little itch, hmm, won't you, papito?”

Her voice is silky smooth in your ear, letting your eyelids flutter as your tongue wrestles softly with Daddy's. He watches you out of hooded eyes, his grip on you firm and strong, unrelenting. With Mommy still pressed against your back, sandwiched between them as you are, you feel her hands rubbing down your arms before she guides your hands between Daddy's legs, right to the not-so-subtle bulge in his pants.

He finally breaks the kiss, moves his lips along your cheek to your ear, his beard scratching along your soft skin, causing you to take a shuddering breath as you fill your lungs with air again. “Are you ready for me, pumpkin?” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips warm and wet, his breath even warmer. You shiver, and before you can answer, Mommy's hand slips around your front and down between your tight thighs, dipping right into your slick.

“Oh she's ready alright...”

“I've been asking her,” he says sternly, still nuzzling your neck, but clearly addressing Mommy, who sighs loudly and pulls her hand back.

You turn your head to look at him, biting your swollen lip, before you nod.

“Say it,” he whispers, meeting your eyes.

“I'm ready for you, Daddy,” you reply quietly. He raises an eyebrow.

You blush deeply, knowing what he wants to hear. Swallowing hard, you look down to where your hand is resting on his groin. “I'm... ready for your...” Another deep inhale, that flicker of shame rolling through your mind before you push it away again. “Your cock,” you whisper.

You look up at him, but he still watches you with a certain expectation, his eyes dark, his jaw set.

“I'm ready for your cock, Daddy,” you say again, still quiet, but it's finally enough for him. A smile breaks on his handsome face, and he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Do you think I'm ready for you too?”

You give his bulge a little squeeze, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric. “Yes, I think so,” you whisper.

“Let's find out, hm?”

He gives you a wink, and you start unbuckling his belt, then fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. Mommy is there, leaning in from behind you, helping with the task. Daddy stands for a moment and lets his two women pull his pants and underwear down his long legs before he sits down on the edge of the desk again. Mommy leaves you as she gathers his clothes on the back of her chair.

You look up at his face instead of at his angrily bobbing cock, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes. His hands tighten around your waist, and in the next moment he lifts you effortlessly, and you end up straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips, legs spread (almost) impossibly wide over his thighs, your crotch pressed tightly against his. Your hands find his shoulders as you adjust on his lap.

“Dress off?” you hear Mommy's voice from behind you.

“Hmm, what do you think, baby girl? Do you want Daddy to see how you bounce on his cock? How your little cunt swallows every inch of him?”

You inhale sharply, deep shivers crashing through you as he talks like this. “Yes,” you breathe out, and as soon as you do, Mommy's hands are there to pull the sundress over your head. Without it, you are left completely naked because he's (deliberately) forgotten to put a bra on you this morning. A tingle goes through you.

You shift on his lap, fingers curling around his broad shoulders again. He watches you, his hands rubbing along your sides before he puts them large and warm and heavy on your waist, his long fingers almost teasing your spine while his thumbs rub over your fluttering stomach. Behind you, another set of hands eases along your thighs back to your rear, and when Mommy touches the welts on your ass cheeks, you feel her lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, mi amor,” she coos. “I thought it wouldn't look so bad. Does it still hurt?”

You meet Daddy's gaze before you turn your head and try to look at her out of the corner of your eye. “It's okay, Mommy, it's already feeling better.”

“My brave little girl,” she whispers, planting more kisses along your back while her hands fully cup your ass now, the pressure sending jolts of pain through you but you force them down, try to ignore them as you bite your lip and take a shuddering breath.

“Look at me, pumpkin,” Daddy orders, and you do, stiffening on his lap. “This is for you,” he starts, his hands holding onto your waist as Mommy lifts your hips until you hover just above Daddy's cock. “You take what you need from me, okay? You decide the pace. Me and Mommy will do anything to take care of you.”

You smile softly at him, bracing on your knees, your thighs trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shoulders. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for being such a good little girl for us,” he replies, tilting his head as you squirm slightly on top of him, the tip of his cock brushing between your labia as you do so.

Before you can fully focus on indulging him (or letting him indulge you?), a last speck of doubt crashes into your mind. You blink at him, lips trembling, opening your mouth to protest, knowing you haven't been a good girl at all yesterday and have the marks to prove it, but he shakes his head, his dark eyes so intense any words dissipate right off your tongue. You close your mouth and swallow, nodding slightly.

And then you concentrate on him, looking down as one of your hands moves to close around his shaft as you guide him towards your entrance. It's taken you many months to get accustomed to his length and girth, a lot of training, a lot of tears, but by now you know that your body can handle him. Inhaling deeply, relaxing while also bracing yourself, you shift your hips (with Mommy's assistance) and lower yourself slowly, his tip pressing in, and with a sharp gasp you feel him slipping deeper.

They both guide you as you take it slow, steady up and down movements to ease him into you, small rolls of your hips, Mommy holding you from behind, Daddy's hands tight around your waist. He watches you, you can feel it as you focus on where his cock vanishes inside you. The strain and pressure is still a bit painful, especially since you let gravity do most of the work, but once he's settled deep in your core, filling you out completely, his tip pushing right against your cervix, you exhale a shaky breath and look up, seeing him smiling at you.

Mommy wraps her arms around your stomach, her warm cheek between your shoulder blades, allowing Daddy to cup your face and pull you closer. “Look at you,” he coos softly, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “How wonderful you fit around Daddy's cock. You were made for this, pumpkin. Made for me. My perfect little girl.”

You close your eyes, breathing against the tightness building low in your belly, your hands moving back up to his shoulders before you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of it. You focus on the way he smells, how his large hands cradle your head against him, how Mommy clings to you, their warmth all-consuming. And the way his cock sits inside you, warm and hard and pulsing, how another kind of heat throbs through your straining ass cheeks.

And you realize it is all meant to be. You are meant to have relapses, you are meant to be anxious sometimes, you are meant to disappoint them, it's only human to do so. What matters in the end is that they still love you, still care about you, still treat you like their little girl. They'll continue to discipline you, push you further and further out of your comfort zone, and it will only make you stronger.

As you start moving on top of Daddy, leaning back, facing him, using his shoulders as leverage to bounce slowly up and down, you can't believe how lucky you are to have found these people (or for them to have found you). All they ever did was take care of you, in a way nobody has ever cared for you before.

Warmth spreads inside you with every slam against his hips, your walls pulsing around him, your breaths hitching, your heart beating faster. Mommy guides you, Daddy holds you, their soft words of praise and encouragement like lullabies in your ears, your own mewls and moans leaving your trembling lips in rapid little puffs of air.

Your thighs are shivering under the strain, but it's easier with Mommy's hands under your rear, pushing you up gently, while Daddy moves you down again, every bounce going deep, filling and all-consuming, and soon you find yourself floating, the friction, the steady pain/pleasure mixture, the warmth and strength of their grips, it all adds to the flickering lights, and when they suddenly all explode into a million smaller lights, you throw your head back, letting out a drawn-out moan, a deep shiver, stiffening for a second before your body starts shaking badly as your orgasm crashes through you.

You slump against Daddy's chest, arms around his neck, your hips jerking against him, and now it's up to him to keep going. His arms are tight around your back as he shifts on the edge of the desk, Mommy's hands move around your front, rubbing down your fluttering belly before you feel her fingertips drawing tight circles around your clit. You come again, with another croaked moan, spasming against Daddy as he starts thrusting up in a steady rhythm that accelerates quickly.

Sandwiched as you are, you can only take it, and you do, it's what you do after all, you are theirs to play with, and it gives you strength and pride, a safety you need to keep your mind empty and your thoughts clear of doubts. Whimpering softly as Daddy hammers his cock into your convulsing cunt while Mommy practically bullies your clit, you slip from pleasure into bliss and back, always floating, wave after wave of soothing sensations rolling through your trembling body.

Low grunts fill your ears, Daddy's deep voice vibrating through you as he suddenly stills, holding you tighter, throbbing deep inside you before he empties his balls into your quivering depths. You gasp into his neck, feeling every twitch of his cock, knowing he's painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum. You relax into him as he relaxes beneath you, his warm breaths playing with stray strands of your hair.

You rub his back as Mommy rubs yours. For a long moment you just sit on his cock until it stops throbbing and softens slightly, the only sounds your rapid pulse in your ears and your combined breaths, before it's Mommy, who brings you back to reality. “Thanks for the show, you two,” she says as she walks around you. “I think I need a cold shower now.” You feel her hand rubbing along your ass cheek before she gives it a soft slap.

You jerk against Daddy, who groans, unfolding his arms from around you to lean them onto the table beside him. He inhales deeply, and slowly you lean back too, looking at him, knowing you probably look as disheveled as you feel. He smirks at you, moving one hand to brush a few hairs out of your sweat-slick forehead.

It hasn't always been this easy to let go and look the part and not be ashamed about it, but you learned to ignore it and enjoy the moment instead, the aftermath, the soft caresses and soothing words and gentle smiles enough to distract you. You lean in and press a kiss to his bearded cheek, savoring the scratch against your lips and the little hum he issues at the touch. He cups your face, thumb under your chin, and guides your head to meet his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Are you okay, pumpkin?” he whispers against your lips, his hooded eyes boring into yours.

You nod, leaning into him, shifting on his lap. “Yes, Daddy, never better,” you breathe, moving in again, and he lets you, a smirk playing around his lips.

You haven't always been as confident with him (or Mommy) as you are now. It's been a long, winding road, over potholes and embarrassment, around bends and back in a loop towards old patterns, up steep hills and down rough slopes, through shame and discipline, hurt and comfort. A journey that started in darkness, before these two people showed you just how bright life could be.

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

End notes: For now, this marks the end of the present-timeline, which was just a peek at what's possible within the confines of this story. Starting with the next chapter, we will continue the backstory arc, and Reader's journey into the world of BDSM and specifically Dd/Md/lg dynamics.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After you agreed to be their little girl, you're starting your first day in your new life. Surprises await!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[moonstruckme]

hello!! i hope u have a good day🤗 i wanted to know if you still accept requests? and if yes, could i please request a remus x reader (golden trip era if possible!!🩷) in which the reader hates christmas so remus tries to do everything in his power to make this christmas a special one for her? thank you in advance!💞 i love your blog so much

Hi, thanks for your request! There's nothing in here alluding to Remus' age, so you can imagine him in whatever era you want I suppose

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It feels strange being in the car in your pajamas. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, socked feet tucked underneath you and heat blasting through the vents, with the thermos of hot cocoa Remus made you cradled in your hands. His own thermos sits open in a cup coaster in the center console, steam wafting from the top as it cools and Remus turns slowly down a neighborhood street. 

“Oh, I like how they did theirs around the tree,” you say, leaning forward to see out Remus’ window. A large oak towers above the house, the trunk and larger branches covered in red and white lights striped to look like a candy cane. “Do you think they came like that, or they actually alternated colors?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus replies. His face is cast a soft pink in their glow. “It was an interesting choice, though, doing the tree like that and then blue lights on the house.” 

You tilt your head. “I think they’re supposed to look like icicles. It feels on theme.” 

Remus hums, letting the car continue at a slow idle down the street. “Do you prefer white lights or colored lights?” 

“I don’t care, I just like when they’re consistent. Don’t do your roof in one and your windows in another, you know?” 

“Mm, fair enough. But if you had to choose.” 

“I dunno, um…white, I suppose.” 

Remus sighs. “And I had so much faith in you.” 

“What?” You laugh, delighted at his little smile. You love when Remus gets into one of his teasing moods. “You feel that strongly about colored lights?” 

“Absolutely.” He nods at a house with white lights across the street. “See, you do it like that, and you’re basically just outlining your house. It’s plain.” 

“How’s that any different than outlining it in alternating colors?” 

“Alternating colors are the classic Christmas light,” Remus argues, with a resoluteness you know is exaggerated but are fascinated by nonetheless. “It’s…I don’t know, sort of kitschy. And I like that they make the roofs look like gingerbread houses.” 

“Like gumdrops?” 

He smiles at you. “Exactly.” 

You blow into your thermos, steam warming your face. “This is an odd hill to die on, Remus.” 

“Well, someone’s got to.” 

“Fine.” You heave a sigh, heavy on the dramatics. “You might be converting me.” 

He gives you a sidelong glance. “I don’t want a partner who has to change just to be with me.” You laugh, appalled, and Remus’ lips quirk mutinously. “But if you’re doing it for yourself…” 

“I am,” you assure him quickly. “I’ll be a colored light devotee for the rest of my life, I promise.” 

You go on like that through several streets, admiring some houses and condemning others with ruthless judgement. You end up halfway on Remus’ side of the car, your elbow on the console and head touching his shoulder just for the sake of contact. One of his hands rests on the inside of your knee for the same reason. As you drive, he turns up the radio a smidge, until you can recognize the instrumental music crackling through the speakers. 

“Is this the nutcracker?” 

“It is.” You don’t know Remus to get embarrassed often, but he looks almost that. 

You smile. “Do you have the nutcracker on cassette?” 

“I do.” 

You must look all too delighted, because he gives the inside of your knee a light warning squeeze. 

“Don’t make fun. My mam likes it. It was almost all the Christmas music we listened to when I was a kid.” 

“Oh.” You smile at his profile, lovesick. “That’s sweet, Rem. So now you listen to it on your own?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Because it makes you nostalgic?” 

“I suppose so.” 

Your heart grows warm and heavy in your chest. You’re less shy about wrapping a hand around his elbow, hugging it closer so you can lean your head on his bicep more fully. You can almost feel the affection in his smile as he turns to look, shining down on the top of your head like the moon’s glow. 

“Is this what Christmas is always like for you?” you ask in a soft voice. Pretty lights, the nutcracker, a thermos of hot chocolate. Slow drives down dazzling streets on a silent night.

Remus understands what you mean. “Not always,” he says, “but some of the time, yeah. I try to make time for the smaller traditions like this.” 

You look out the front windshield. All the colors of the houses ahead blur together. “Thanks for sharing this one with me.” 

“Dovey, of course,” he says. His arm moves underneath you, and you sit up as his hand finds your cheek. You bend to him willingly, letting him grace you with the softest kiss any girl has ever received. You think this about Remus often; that he’s your privilege and yours alone. It gives you tingles to dwell upon. 

“I’m glad you wanted to come with me,” he says, thumb stroking over your cheek even as he turns his attention back to the road. “I know you haven’t always liked Christmas, but…it doesn’t have to be all chaos and spending money. There’s room for things like this, too.” 

You hum, watching him while he watches the road. The slowly passing lights play prettily on his eyelashes and the tips of his overgrown hair. His hand holds the wheel near the bottom, relaxed and sure, and his window is starting to fog from the heat inside the car. It makes the outside world look blurred around the edges. Remus’ thumb strokes your cheek again, almost absently.

“I like your way of doing things,” you say near a whisper. 

It’s a pleasure to watch his lips curve in a smile. You feel lucky to see it. “I’m glad, sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “We’ll do more things like this, okay? Try to make it a good one this year.” 

You hum and settle back against his arm, looking past him to the lights of a house, the colors like gumdrops lining their roof. It’s already a good one. 

[dewdropdinosaur]

Smutmas Day 5 - Stuff Your Stocking

Alastor x Reader

(Third Person POV) Summary: You are in a brand new relationship with Alastor, so it concerns you when he dips out of the annual Christmas party at the Hotel. Only when you go to check on him do you find the reason for his disappearance...and his hard-on. Warnings: P in V sex, outfits(Stockings), established relationship, biting kink, cuss words, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Requested by the beautiful and my internet wifey @kewpikayo

The holiday event at the Hazbin Hotel was nothing short of dazzling. Strings of colored lights bathed the grand ballroom in a warm glow, and the faint scent of cinnamon and pine mingled with the faint sulfur of the underworld. Guests of all shapes and sizes mingled, their laughter and chatter blending harmoniously with the jazzy holiday tunes being performed on stage.

Charlie had outdone herself organizing the event, and the staff—though reluctant at first(ahem..Husk)—had embraced the festive cheer. Y/N stood near the refreshment table, her eyes scanning the room. The outfit she'd chosen for the evening, a festive red mini skirt paired with thigh-high stockings and a cozy sweater, had drawn more attention than she'd anticipated. It’s not like she was the skimpiestly dressed in Hell but no matter. While different from her usual attire, the skirt had shrunk in the wash, the thigh-highs an attempt to cover the skin that would have been more bare. 

But she couldn't help noticing that one particular demon seemed distracted.

Alastor stood near the edge of the room, cane in hand. His typically sharp grin was absent, replaced with a contemplative expression as he watched the revelry from a distance. Y/N's heart twisted in concern. They'd only recently begun navigating the uncertain waters of their relationship, and she couldn't help but worry that something was bothering him.

Gathering her resolve, Y/N made her way toward him. Alastor turned slightly, catching her approach out of the corner of his eye, and his face did something unexpected—it softened, then quickly morphed into his more common unreadable smile. What she couldn't see was the way his fingers tightened around his cane or the way his mind raced as he caught another glimpse of her outfit.

Y/N tilted her head. "Alastor? Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He chuckled, the sound a touch higher-pitched than usual. "Oh, my dear, I'm quite fine. Just stepping away to enjoy the ambiance. These sorts of festivities can be a tad…much, don't you think?"

She frowned slightly. “Too much? I thought you loved entertaining."

His crimson gaze flicked to hers, and for a moment, he seemed to lose his usual composure. "Oh, I do, but there are... distractions tonight," he admitted vaguely, the smile never leaving his face.

Before Y/N could press him further, possibly asking whether it was the strobe lights or Angel’s very loud Italian singing, Alastor turned and began walking toward one of the quieter halls. Concerned, she decided to follow. 

"Alastor, wait!" she called, hurrying after him. Unfortunately, the polished floor was slicker than she'd anticipated, and as she tried to catch up, her footing slipped.

"Y/N, what are y—!" Alastor began to ask, but he didn't have time to finish. She collided with him in a flurry of movement, and before either of them could react, they ended up on the floor in an unexpected heap. Y/N was sprawled atop him, her hands braced against his chest, while Alastor lay beneath her, utterly speechless.

The world seemed to freeze. Y/N's face flushed a deep crimson as she realized the position they were in. "Oh my gosh, I—I’m so sorry!" she stammered, trying to push herself off him.

Alastor, for once, was at a loss for words. His usual confidence was nowhere to be found as he stared up at her, his cheeks tinted a rare shade of pink. "Y/N," he said finally, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "while I appreciate your enthusiasm, might I suggest a less... dramatic approach next time?"

Despite her embarrassment, she couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking the tension. "I didn't mean to tackle you!" she protested, finally managing to scramble to her feet and offering him a hand.

Alastor took it, his long fingers wrapping around hers as he allowed her to help him up. His grin returned, though there was a slight nervous edge to it. "Perhaps it was fate," he teased, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Or perhaps the hazards of such an outfit? It’s positively... eye-catching."

Y/N blinked, realization dawning as she noticed his lingering gaze. Her cheeks burned hotter than before. "Wait... was that why you walked away? My skirt?”

Alastor coughed into his hand, his usual composure faltering once more. "Well, my dear, it would be remiss of me not to notice such a... striking ensemble.”

Her laughter rang out again, this time more genuine. "Alastor—,” she said, though her voice carried an affectionate lilt.

"Ah, but you adore me for it, do you not?" he replied, his grin growing wider as he offered his arm. “Now my dear, I do believe you owe an apology for cascading on me to the floor.”

“Oh, of course. I am so sorry, Al—“

“I did not mean with your words, cher.” Leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a more sinister octave, Alastor’s words spoke with an interesting promise. “Though I would not mind your noises.”

With a quick snap and a misting of green static, the pair appeared in Alastor’s room. Y/N’s hands came to grip the lapels of her boyfriend’s suit jacket, attempting to ground themselves after the sudden transport. No matter how many times they did it, Y/N could never get used to the sensation. 

The large king-sized bed lay promisingly in the center of the room, red and black linen sheets draped softly around the surface of the mattress. Small embroidered details lay within the pillowcases and bed skirts, though barely visible. Fitting for someone with Alastor’s aesthetic. Taking the hint, Alastor walked their bodies to the king-sized bed and laid Y/N’s down on the sheets. Now with back flush against the mattress, she wasted no time in capturing her lips to his, amazed by the darkened desire that lay within his eyes. 

Clawed fingers traced down the fabric of her skirt, fiddling with the hem before sliding it off her legs along with her underwear. Raising her hips in an attempt to help him also with her stockings, Alastor pushed her back down on the mattress. Breaking from the kiss for a quick moment, voice laced with a nearly untraceable growl, he spoke.

“The stockings stay on, my dear. You look ravishing,”

Working his way down, his face ended between her thighs. His eyes widened at the glittering slick that painted her hole. His hot breath on her already weeping cunt made her shiver in anticipation. Moaning at the sensation, Y/N brought her lips to kiss and nip at the corner of Alastor’s collarbone. They had never ventured this far in their relationship, and by all means, Alastor had never really brought up the idea of being intimate. But it was needless to say, the current predicament excited her to no end. 

Without warning, Alastor hoisted her legs up on his shoulders, unbuttoning his pants in a quick move. Carefully, as if it would cause him to bust just at the sensation, he massaged the tip of his cock against her hole. Squirming at the stimulation but not allowing a moment to think, Alastor sunk into her warm cunt with one stroke causing Y/N to bite Alastor’s neck accidentally at the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck, cher—“

“Gosh, Al, you like that?” Y/N’s tone wasn’t harsh in the slightest, if anything, it was absolutely debauched at the thought her boyfriend liked to be a bit. Made sense considering his life choices but still. Her hands came to tangle themselves at the nape of his neck, tugging softly as Alastor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his thrusts became short and sloppy. 

“That’s it, darling~. Go on, you can do it—“

Her body acted on command, letting out moans of sobbing pleasure as her release hit like a freight train. Not mere seconds later did he find his own high; cumming hard into her tight cunt, enjoying the way her spasming pussy clenched around him with want. The room was silent save for the sound of soft squelching and heavy breaths, each allowing the other a moment of rest. 

Soon, Alastor slowly pulled out, already missing the warmth from the moment before. After conjuring a towel and cleaning both of them up, Alastor tucked himself back into his pants and extended a hand to his lover.

"Now, shall we rejoin the festivities? I believe I owe you a dance—one where you promise not to trip us both."

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Stumbled across your Hullabaloo stuff and I will happily hear you out.

I mean, just imagine him zeroing in on you the moment he realizes you're one of the Survivors he's supposed to hunt down. On one hand, the others are probably grateful for the easy match since he's so focused on you. On the other hand, there are probably some who are not happy about seeing what happens when this particular Hunter does get his hands on you.

Rated: Mature | Warnings: normal in-game kiting

The jump over the palette will allow you to briefly give you some distance, however, that is betting on him not jumping over the palette too to keep a close distance or gain the upper hand to strike you. It will be your first hit so you won't go down immediately but it will be tedious to kite against Hullabaloo.

The Moonlight River Park is his playground, he knows every inch of it; while you know enough to find the best spots to kite and hide, you know he is too unpredictable. Mike Morton, the survivor, plays on that as he knows when to put on a show and when to bow out. Hullabaloo, Mike's hunter counterpart, does the same.

So all you can do is pull out your box of tricks and hope for the best.

Trickster, the jack of all trades but master of none, the gambler; your box of tricks using the tools of others in the manor. The decoy and the aromatherapy cane work well to keep the hunter from hitting you and only hitting the air. The flare gun dropped in an area already used to kite the damn circus star, you ping it for Lucky Guy to grab when you are down一 Not an if, it is a manner of when and where. You use your last trick of the armbands to get off the bridge to the haunted house since three of the chairs in that area are dismantled.

“Wow!” Hitting you with two different colored bombs, “You are putting your all into this!”

You nearly trip when another copy hits you but it is the same color bomb, but you barely get a chance to vault over the dropped palette before you are downed. Fuck, a terror shock! You fall to the floor between the benches coughing up the smoke from the bombs, they hurt more than you expected each time.

“Aw, only one cipher kite,” Laughing as he floats into a sitting position as he mocks you, “You have the worst pair to be kiting cipher progress for,” Laughing, “Seems I will win single-handedly.” Breaking the palette dividing you from him.

You struggled in his arms as you were so close to self-healing, damn you should have kept him talking.

The good thing is that the basement is in the circus tent, and the chairs are broken, too. The bad thing is that he is not taking you to a chair.

“Mike?” Upstairs to the side where no one can see you, “Wait, you said later!” Realizing what Hullabaloo is doing when his hand is on your ass as you are laid over his shoulder.

“Well, later is now, gumdrop,” Giggling as he puts you down on the floor but on your front, “Come on don't be shy now! After all, if you keep me busy, your group might win.” His hands are working to get your clothes partly off, “Unless you want to be chaired?” Box conveniently here to have you bent over.

“You are an awful person, Mike Morton.” Turning yourself over to look at the smiling hunter.

“Of course! I am a hunter, your fate, your life, and victory are in my hands.” Leaning over and placing both hands on either side of you caging you in, “Now, entertain me, starlight. The spotlight is on you.”

[saszor]

Hi!

I absolutely adore your artworks :"3 It makes me so happy to see the real variety of people represented in art. I was wondering if you have any tips for drawing people with albinism. I'm practicing drawing such characters, and right now I'm afraid they may be missing something important.

Thank you!

So first thing would be to figure out what kind of albinism they have since there are multiple (most people don't know that). There is the type that affects the skin and eyes and everything but there is another that only affects eyes, etc. But assuming you want to draw a character with oculocutaneous albinism (affects eyes and skin and hair), even it has types. The "classic" one you see in art is type 1, where everything is Really White. But type 3 results in red hair and brown skin, and it's still oculocutaneous albinism. Type 2 can result in blonde or brown hair. It's a spectrum and you should consider that when choosing to give your character albinism. Though there is no type that results in purple or bright red eyes in humans. That's a result of bright light.

Another thing that people also generally don't know is that albinism results in blindness or low vision. Your character with albinism is probably a Disabled Person. Look up white canes (and the different types), guide dogs (and miniature horses, they do exist), show them reading a book in braille if you're feeling wild

The more visible the character's albinism is, the more issues they will have. If your character has paper white skin, give them sunglasses for the photophobia they have and some nice long clothes so that they don't burn in the sun. When their eyes are visible, give them nystagmus and/or strabismus.

In this case 95% of accuracy is just Reading About the Thing rather than anything drawing-specific since coloring is pretty self-explanatory and the rest are common eye conditions. Just don't be afraid to make your characters blind in an actually realistic way and do your research etc

[webslinger-holland]

Another Dream | Kaz Brekker

Summary: In which Kaz reveals what his true dream is.

Warning: slight angst...its short...and major fluff near the end

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 1.9k

The chapel hadn’t sustained much damage from the battle. A few wooden pews ended up getting pushed and overturned. A few shards of glass scattered across the floor from broken windows. Yet, the stainless window remained absolutely untouched. The image of the Saint Sun Summoner cast colorful rays of light onto the stone floor.

At the given moment, Y/n was sitting on the edge of one of the pews. Her eyes remained on the saint in front of her. She had never been the religious type; she often left Inej be the expert in that area. But she found comfort in sitting in the small chapel.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour ago when they almost lost their lives to the shadow monster they encountered in that very room. The crows had done risky jobs in the past, but none of them involved looking death right in the eye like they just did. She was still shaken up from the whole ordeal.

The familiar sound of a cane clicking against the stone floor could be heard behind her. The leader of the crows was making his way down the center aisle of the church, coming to a halt slightly behind the pew she sat in. She did not turn her head to address him.

“Lantsov paid up,” Kaz had come to tell her. “Everyone will get their cut.”

“Good,” Y/n nodded once. She looked over her shoulder, resting a hand on the back of the pew. “And Nina?” 

“She’ll receive a pardon for deserting and another for her Fjerdan. As long as he stays out of trouble, the charges will be dropped.” Kaz explained.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Y/n let out a sigh. She went to turn back around in her place. Her eyes naturally gravitating to the stain glass window once again.

Unbeknownst to her, Kaz began staring at her through the corner of his eyes. He felt his heart tighten in the confines of his chest upon just looking at her. He spent so many years admiring her from a distance, never being able to find the courage to act on the feelings in his heart.

He had known for a very long time that she did not want to stay in Ketterdam. There were too many painful memories to give her reason to stick around. She always loved to travel anyway. She wanted to move west as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Now that the fold had been destroyed and the job was complete, there was nothing preventing her from moving far away.

Just by looking at her, Kaz could tell that her mind was in a different place at the given moment. She was probably already planning about the adventure she’d be on, the journey across the sea, and the exploration of a new land. She’d be thinking about how great it would be to leave Ketterdam behind, along with him. 

Under the notion that the two of them would have very little time left together, Kaz tried being slightly sentimental for once in his life. He racked his brain for something that meant worthwhile and heartfelt.

“I also...” Kaz’s voice trailed off. “Wanted to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Y/n said sadly. 

“Since I assume you’ll be leaving as soon as you find a ship,” Kaz predicted. She nodded her head at this. “As you should. It’s what you’ve always dreamed about,” Kaz said in an almost harsh tone. It sounded mocking.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Y/n responded in retort. She spun around in the small wooden pew, staring at him with a strong him of confusion in her eyes. “What would you have me do? Stay in Ketterdam?” Y/n persisted.

In response, Kaz went to turn his head away from her to avoid eye contact at all costs. He wanted nothing more than to slip behind the facade he held, void of all emotions if he could help it. His face was blank as if she hadn’t just expressed the one thing he desired the most. Having her stay in Ketterdam.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a dream,” Y/n scoffed at his stone cold expression. She faced forward once more. What followed was a moment of pure silence.

With a haunting past, Kaz Brekker was cursed with torturous nightmares most nights. However, on the rare nights that he had dreams, he always dreamed of her and absolutely nothing else. His imagination would run wild of the endless possibilities they could share together.

In his dreams, Kaz would find himself stroking up and down her bare back with his own hand. There’d be no gloves. No urge to pull away at contact. No memory of his past. It was just the two of them together. 

They would spend hours together in bed. He’d brush her hair away from her neck to grant him access. He’d burrow his face into the crook of her neck, placing the most delicate kisses along her kiss. He loved hearing the sound of her sighs in his dreams. 

He could see it all now. Her body lay underneath his. Her delicate hand trailing up the length of his chest, stopping to linger at his heart. He take her hand in his own and give it a gentle squeeze before leaning down to capture her lips.

His dreams wanted them to be together. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot her own name. Being brought back to reality became his nightmare. He came to realize that he’d never be able to have that and his dreams would never come true. His armor was still in place and she’d be leaving soon anyways.

After the moment of silence, Y/n had tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to look at him through her peripheral vision. She grew curious. Her mouth parted to ask a question.

“What is your dream, Kaz Brekker?” Y/n wondered.

Slowly, Y/n turned around in her place. She looked at him expectedly, patiently awaiting for his answer. She quirked her eyebrows to show her curiosity. He studied her face for a moment. He thought about his choice of words, struggling to express his true emotions. 

The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Y/n. You.

For a second, Kaz opened his mouth, but no words came out of his mouth. He was so close to confessing his true feelings to her. However, the fear quickly overtook him. He resorted to fortifying himself behind his walls again. He quickly tore his gaze away from her.

“To die, buried under the weight of my own gold.” Kaz claimed. 

She faced forward. She felt herself rolling her eyes at his answer, even scoffing under her breath. She couldn’t believe him. 

“More money. More scores to settle,” Y/n deduced. She quickly rose to her feet, which only took him by surprise. She went to approach him. “Was there never another dream?” Y/n tried one final time.

The silence to follow was enough reason to leave. She went to brush past him with the intent of walking away and never looking back. But as she began to walk away from him, Kaz reached out to grab onto her wrist. He stopped her.

“Stay,” Kaz pleaded. His voice was rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.”

Slowly, Y/n shifted her body to face him She briefly glanced down at the gloved hand which held her wrist captive. Her gaze shifted back to the look of desperation in his eyes, silently pleading for her to stay for his own sake. She could feel the tears begin to gather in the corners of her eyes.

“What would be the point?” Y/n whispered. She shook her head at the notion.

He only drew closer to her. He refused to look away from her now, knowing that if he did, he might lose her forever. He took a breath. 

“I want you to,” Kaz confessed truthfully. He saw the look in her eyes change slightly. She was taken back by this. He needed to make himself clearer. “I want...I want...you,” Kaz confirmed.

The two of them didn’t seem to realize how close they had gotten to one another. Their chests were pressed together and they were able to feel another’s breath fanning their faces. Either of them had been so close to anyone before. 

With great hesitation, Y/n had lifted her head to stare directly into those brilliant green eyes. She felt the tears streaming down the slides of her cheeks. She shook her head at his words.

“And how will you have me?” Y/n wondered in a soft whisper. “Gloves on? Fully clothed? With your head turned so our lips never--” but she was never able to finish that sentence.

Because the rest of her words were lost against his mouth. He had grabbed her face with his two gloved hands and pulled her into a captivating kiss. He kept his eyes squeezed shut so tightly as if he was trying to silence the voices in his head. He felt sparks of lightning tingling against his lips, knowing his mind was screaming for him to pull away. But he didn’t want to.

Yet, he kissed her so gently and carefully in fear of losing her forever. He felt her body begin to relax in his grasp. She gripped the lapels of his black trench coat, pulling him harder against her if that was even possible. His arms had shifted to circle around her waist, gathering her body against him.

A hint of pressure only caused a most delicate hum to escape past her lips, muffled against his mouth. If he could bottle the sound and get drunk on it every night, he would have without question. Their lips moved together in a synchronized harmony as if they were two puzzle pieces made to fit together.

The kiss had brought a newfound sense of warmth and comfort to his old stone heart. The memories of his brother, which were often brought from contact, hadn’t plagued his mind. He focused on the feeling the softness of her lips, how she tasted, and how she felt agains him. 

She couldn't believe what was happening. Even she had dreamed about what it would be like to touch him, but never so far as kiss him. He tasted like the expensive liquor from his flask, which he always kept in his coat pocket. His lips moved compellingly against hers as if they were fighting to persuade her to stay. And it was working.

With great reluctance, their lips parted ever so slightly from one another. Their breath held without thinking. The suspense in the air was caught at the top of their throats. 

The two of them had leaned forward to rest their heads against one another’s. They panted softly to regain their breath. They remained so close to one another that their noses brushed against each others. They stare down at each other’s lips, tempted to continue.

“You...” Kaz panted. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek lovingly, staring into the depths of her eyes. “You are my dream. You always have been.”

Upon hearing those words, Y/n felt any tension leave her body and she finally relaxed. She felt a small smile growing at the corners of her lips. She closed her eyes to savor those precious little words.

“Stay with me,” Kaz pleaded one last time. He nudged his nose against hers as if trying to persuade her and it was working. “Stay for me, my dear.” Kaz whispered.

She had never heard him speak so desperately. Though he was a master at crafting a lie, she knew him well enough to know that he’d never lie about his feelings. He wanted her and he was asking her to stay with him. 

Her eyes glanced between his own and his mouth. “I’ll stay...for you,” Y/n agreed.

Upon hearing this, Kaz felt like his dreams had finally come true. He inclined his face towards hers so that he could lay his lips against her own once again. He pulled her body as close to his as humanly possible, now knowing that he’d never have to let go. She was finally his.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Thinking of a modern AU when the kids get to be kids after it's all over and they go to the movies, they play games, hang out, all that. And of course, Steve drives them everywhere. He vouches for them in front of their parents, watches them like a hawk, tries to tell them about the adult stuff he's learned so far and chases Robin and Nancy to give them info on uni application and the things he feels he's too dumb for. Still, when Robin and Nancy are away and one of his kids needs something, he'll grab that legal document and either stare at it long enough to get a migraine or begins hounding the smart people who stayed in Hawkins (Mr. Clarke is Steve's go-to person and Mr. Clarke won't say it, but he's so proud of Harrington's progress).

So, Steve's life is basically nonstop work and babysitting (with lots of complaints and grumbling from the teens), they ask him to drive them somewhere and he'll bitch about it, sure, but he will get up after 4 hours of sleep and do it anyways. Dustin often reprimands Steve for not taking care of his health, but he doesn't see why.

When Encanto comes out, El really, really wants to see it, and how can Steve say no to her? He drives the whole gang to the movie theatre (some of them stacked on top of each other, some in the trunk on a pile of blankets) and decides to join them. He doesn't really like animated stuff, but Robin loves these movies and he wants yet another reason to call her and talk through the night.

He didn't expect to enjoy the movie so much, but it's colorful and catchy. The songs are nice and the characters are relatable. He makes a lot of mental notes to discuss with Robin. He thinks she will love Mirabel.

And then "Surface Pressure" starts playing and Steve wonders why he suddenly feels like crying. "I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service" hits especially hard. He's just sitting there and feeling incredibly stupid for tearing up at flying glitter-covered donkeys.

When they leave the movie theater, everyone is pretty excited and discussing which characters and songs they liked the most (even if some feel like rolling their eyes at a kids' movie, El's excitement stops them from doing that). They all start discussing to who they relate the most, El feels with Mirabel for being left out and different, even if she actually is the only one who has a gift, Will dares to utter that he really sympathizes with Dolores, Dustin loves Bruno for trying to fix the cracks in Casita.

And then they turn to Steve and someone makes a jab at him, saying he resembles Mariano the most. Steve is ready to shrug it off, there's some truth in that with what happened to his relationship with Nancy, but El just shakes her head and says: "No. Steve is our Luisa."

Everyone goes silent. There's a lot of hmmming and "well, he did get up to drive us when he had a night shift..." and "we could have just biked...". Steve tries to make them feel better about it, joking that he really has nothing better to do, but the drive home is full of whispering, and the party actually diligently thank him when they leave his car.

The next day is Sunday and Steve is ready for his usual routine, making himself busy until someone needs something. But there's a knock on the door to his small apartment and when he opens it, he sees his group of kids, proudly presenting a tray of muffins and two cartons of orange juice.

Out of all of them, it's Mike who speaks up. "Nancy said you often forget to eat breakfast," he states in his usual annoyed tone. "She also said that you like chocolate muffins, so we are here to ensure you don't die from hunger. Now move, I'll get the glasses and plates."

Steve just watches in awe as they swarm his flat, Will smiling at him and producing a DVD of the latest Spider-man movie. "This one was a tip from Robin, she says you haven't seen it yet."

Max is standing in the kitchenette with her cane, watching the pile of meds Steve has to take after his injuries with disdain. "This has to take forever for you to find what you need. Don't argue, I remember how shitty it was for me. Let me help you build a chart and thank me later."

El and Lucas are rearranging Steve's couch and placing pillows in front of the TV so everyone can sit comfortably. El also ensures the blinds are closed so Steve's eyes don't have to fight against the light.

And if that all wasn't more care than Steve has known in years, Dustin grabs his elbow and sits him down, threatening him with violence if he even thinks about working on Sunday.

As the opening titles start, Steve is surrounded by six teenagers in his tiny and cheap flat, chewing on a subpar muffin with an orange juice that probably never saw the actual fruit, and he thinks that there's no greater happiness than this.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Enjoying Christmas Festivities with Katakuri

Katakuri Charlotte X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: None just some Christmas fluff, sweeter than any Christmas treat

Word Count: 900

(A/N:) I wanted to get this done on time to post it on Christmas Day but it didn't work out! So I finished it up and am posting it now. Cause why not?! It's still Christmas for some people (cause if you're like me you didn't get one present in from a relative so it's not the end of Christmas until then)! So Merry Christmas fellow Katakuri fangirls this one is for you! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Christmas had come to Totto Land and cotton candy flurries covered the ground of each island. This time of year was always a big deal and Big Mom demanded only the best Christmas confections be on display in each bakery that called the archipelago home. You were one of the bakeries that had settled on Komugi Island where Katakuri Charlotte was overseer. It didn't take long for you to catch the eye of Katakuri and he quickly captured your heart. Shortly after that, Big Mom caught wind of her second son's infatuation with a rising star in the bakery business, she arranged the marriage between you both quickly.

That's how you and Katakuri became an item, Totto's power couple that were not to be trifled with. Though he seemed big and scary, you knew the real Katakuri and his heart was just as soft as his mochi. He clasped your hand tightly as you both strolled through the decorated town. Cotton candy crunched under your feet and the smell of sweets saturated the air. Even the speakers set atop of candy cane striped poles of peppermint and different sorts of Christmas carols blared from the speakers. Though 'It's A Marshmallow World' played more times than any other carol due to Big Mom's suggestion.

"What do you want to do first," Katakuri asked, his voice muffled by his scarf.

"I would love some hot chocolate," you replied. Your rosy cheeks and nose had Katakuri rubbing a glove hand on your skin to warm your cheeks. He should have noticed that you were cold as sweet flakes landed on your lashes.

"Hot chocolate it is," he answered taking your hand while leading the way to the nearest cart.

Moments later you held Katakuri's hand in one hand and had a hot cup of hot chocolate in another. Every shop, bakery, and building was decorated in bright colors and lights. It was truly a winter wonderland.

"What next," Katakuri asked again.

"I need to do some Christmas shopping," you sipped at your hot chocolate. "Would you mind if we window shopped?"

"Of course not."

You nodded, tugging the giant of a man along. People stopped and stared as you and Katakuri passed by. It wasn't easy having time alone with your husband as he was so busy taking care of Big Mom's business and with you running your bakery. So little moments like these were special. Though you would be making a killing during this Christmas festival the Komugi Island was having. But Katakuri was more important to you than your bakery, though it was something being married to on of the scariest of the Big Mom Pirates. Here you were hand in hand walking the cold streets, indulging in sweet treats and enjoying the wintery scenery. Katakuri took your now empty cup and placed it inside his before tossing them into the trash.

"Katakuri?"

"Yes?"

"What do you want for Christmas," you asked knowing that your husband never asked for anything. He always liked to give and he was never comfortable with receiving.

He tugged you into an alleyway while a group of people passed by the darkened alleyway. Leave it to him to find the darkest place in a town that was lit up like a Christmas tree. He leaned down, hovering over you as his scarf covered mouth moved towards your ear.

"You're all I could ever want," he whispered pressing his forehead to yours.

You sucked in a breath, searching in his eyes and seeing the truth staring back at you. He never spoke much and when he did it was important. You could tell a lot about what Katakuri was thinking. You reached forward, delicate fingers clasping the scarf that covered his mouth. He flinched but you hushed him, gently pulling the material down. It was only when his mouth was exposed that he looked down and away. It didn't matter how many times you had seen this feature he was particularly ashamed of he couldn't get comfortable. But he knew that you wouldn't ridicule him or take advantage of his vulnerable state. You clasped his cheeks with both hands, careful of the sharp teeth sticking from the slit in his cheeks.

"You're perfect Charlotte Katakuri," you breathed. "You're all mind and I'm all yours."

Katakuri's arm blocked your view outside of the alley but you only wanted to pay attention to the man in front of you. He leaned in closer, the discomfort quickly leaving his features. In mere seconds his lips were on yours. Careful of his sharp teeth, he kissed you deeply tasting the chocolate that lingered. You were everything sweet he adored. Sweeter than powder sugar coated donuts, warmer than a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie, and delicate like a meringue. A complete opposite to him but perfect all the same. He held you tightly hiding you both from the celebration as you both enjoyed a different type of Christmas treat, no mistletoe necessary. Katakuri parted from you, stroking a hand through your mussed up hair. You gently placed the scarf back on his mouth, though a bit begrudgingly.

"Merry Christmas Katakuri," you sighed deeply.

He nuzzled the top of your head breathing in deeply, "Merry Christmas."

He lead you out of the alleyway, hands clasped together tightly as you both explored the rest of the festival though what had ensued in the alley was the highlight for you both.

[thatuselesshuman]

Six of Crows: Representation Done Right (in my opinion)

Six of Crows, for those who don't know, is a series written by Leigh Bardugo, who you may recognize from works such as Shadow & Bone and King of Scars (sister series to Six of Crows). Six of Crows is the second series in the collection, and tells the story of 6~7 teenagers with a chip on their shoulder and the ability to treat overthrowing a government figure like it's just another Tuesday.

It is one of my absolute favorite series ever, and I would gladly give my firstborn to Leigh if she asked. It has many things going for it: beautiful plot, angsty teenagers, sad backstories that spell out peak fiction, and amazing characters. In this Tumblr essay, I'm going to focus on that last point, mainly in regards to how representation ADDS to the characters, instead of feeling like a shitty Target t-shirt during pride month (forced and hella cheap).

Disclaimer: I am in no way qualified to be talking about this. I literally have just about every privilege imaginable except being a rich old man. However, I do read a lot and love literature in all shapes and sizes, so know that my yaps are coming from a good place.

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Now, with that out of the way...

The 6 main characters of Six of Crows (SoC for short), are Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Wylan, Nina, and Matthias. They are all very different, so I'll go through them one by one and explain what, why, and how representation.

Kaz Brekker:

So, in terms of usual representation, Kaz is one of the more basic of the group. He's not a minority of any noticeable kind, like LGBTQ+ or a POC (person of color), but he is physically disabled. Due to an accident, Kaz walks with a limp and uses a cane.

Now, I know some people who would say that physical disability isn't as important when it comes to representation, since it's "unrealistic" for a disabled person to be kickass. And to those people I would say: have you ever met a disabled person? Like, genuinely, I'm physically disabled myself and use a cane much like Kaz, and while I could never pull off some of the crazy shit Kaz does, some of the strongest people I know have worse disabilities than me. You and I do not live in a world where a disability determines someone's worth.

And, to that point, I think Leigh proves this exceedingly well. Kaz isn't strong in spite of his disability, he is strong because of it. His disability isn't something shameful or something he needs to hide, it's something that people actively fear. He'll be the first to call himself a cripple, and the last to seem weak in any right.

But if that's all it was, the representation would be decent, but nothing special. What makes it special is that it's realistic. There are certain things Kaz can't do. A lot of simple things like walking cause him pain. In spite of this, however, Kaz wouldn't get rid of his disability. In the story, when given the chance, he chooses to keep it. Why? Because he turned a weakness into a source a strength. Kaz is literally my role model for this reason.

To conclude this, I'll leave you with a quote that can explain this way better than I ever could.

"There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken."

Inej Ghafa:

Past Kaz, I debated what I would talk about with each person. Most of them have multiple things that count for representation, which is good, but I decided to chose one for each. For Inej, I decided to focus on her Suli background.

(I'm not even going to lie, this one was the most challenging for me to write bc I wrote it last 😭)

In media, a lot of stories fall into the trap of saying the same three things about POC: 1) they aren't Caucasian 2) They have a life (sometimes) 3) they aren't white. Aka, what we would call the "token black character." No substance, usually feels very forced and fake. These type of characters seem to be written in purely for "representation" reasons, which actually leads to the representation being trash because the character's feel like corporate cutouts instead of people.

Inej, on the other hand, has a culture that feels alive. The Suli culture has conscious thought put into it on behalf of Leigh. They have proverbs and a language, they have costoms and a tangible effect on Inej. She is Suli and she is more interesting for it. Her culture doesn't feel tacked on or forced because it's a staple part of who she is, there is no Inej without the Suli.

And that's not to say that's Inej's entire character, as that wouldn't be good good either. No, Inej is many other things too. She's a girls girl, a fantastic acrobat, she's scarily good with knives, she's kind, she can be a bit scary, she's so much more than her ethnicity but that, is also a distinct part of her character. Her depth is not her ethnicity/culture but her ethnicity/culture is a part of her depth.

Jesper Fahey:

Jesper! We all love Jesper, right? I could talk about him being a different ethnicity like Inej, but I'd say a lot of the same things. Instead, I've decided to focus on our favorite bisexual disaster.

Now, for those unawares (i see you lerkers who haven't read SoC), Jesper is a bisexual character who is in a relationship with another character, Wylan. They're relationship is very wholesome, and their kiss scene is one of my favorites in the book (topped only by Kanej, sorry Nina and Matthias). I could just spend this part of the essay waxing poetic about their relationship, but that's no fun is it?

The main thing I want to focus on is how SoC treats their relationship (ie LIKE ANY OTHER RELATIONSHIP). They don't make a big deal out of it AT. ALL. past the normal relationship things. Hell, Kanej's relationship is treated as more different because they're both angsty teenagers, and that relationship is straight. The biggest trap authors fall into when it comes to LGBTQ+ relationships is that they make them either something super taboo or something so stereotypical that it hurts to read. Even though stories where the relationship is taboo are valid because of worldly bigotry, it's equally as important to stories where the relationships are just a fact of life, same as any other romantic entanglement.

In the same vein, I also want to mention the lack of stereotypes. We all know the stereotype right? One macho strong guy who's super masculine and one submissive (usually feminine-coded, go figure) guy who is typically younger, but that's more interchangeable. I, among others, hate these stereotypes for many reasons. Leigh, thankfully, avoids all of it masterfully. Yes, Wylan is a bit more reserved, but he is in no way weak. Jesper also isn't a strong macho guy, he's thin lanky teenager who likes to gamble and shoot things. He's not the super 'dominant' one in their relationship, because their relationship is EQUAL.

In conclusion, Jesper, in his relationship with Wylan, manages to dodge most-if-not-all typical downsides that would lead to certain elements to being bad or a bit bland representation. Jesper doesn't feel like a poster board LGBTQ+ guy they slap on shitty political add campaigns, he feels like a real, breathing person that just happens to have a (healthy!) relationship with a guy.

Wylan Van Eck:

I know I talked about Wylan some in Jesper's, but for this part I want to focus on Wylan's dyslexia.

In SoC it is explicitly stated that Wylan in unable to read because of severe dyslexia, leading to him being neglected/abused by his father and eventually him running away to join the Crows.

Now, let's start with the practical side of the equation. Although, as I said in Kaz's section, a disability doesn't define you, it is an unfortunate reality that some people try to use that to define you. This is unfortunately the case in Wylan's story, where his dad neglects/abuses him, sends his mother to a psych ward, then ultimately tries to have him killed. What I like about SoC, however, is that it doesn't just say "that's just how the world is, suck it up" and move on. No, it goes so much further.

During the course of the story, Wylan grows from believing his father and feeling shame about his condition, to using it as an accepted part of himself. He grows as a person not because of his shitty father, but in spite of his shitty father. Many people, having seen Wylan's story, may say that Wylan's father is what made him who he is, and therefore Wylan's father was necessary. You know what SoC says to that? It gives those people a big ol' middle finger.

Wylan, in order to grow in both self-confidence and happiness, had first get AWAY from his father. Wylan isn't who he is because of the abuse he endured, no, the abuse was a hindrance to his growth. He was only able to become who he was after he had people who cared about him and truly didn't care what others deemed "shameful" about him.

These things both make a statement about how society treats people who are different, and makes Wylan seem like a real person. It is simply not reality that a totally fine person can spawn out of a broken, abusive household, but it is also not often that the person is broken forever with no other qualities. Wylan is not his dyslexia or his trauma, but instead he is a normal boy with many interests and tendency to blow things up that had to grow out of his self-hatred sowed in him by his father.

Nina Zenik:

The wise, the woman, the icon, Nina Zenik. I love Nina to a fault. She is one of the few that her story extends outside of the Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom timeline into King of Scars/Rule of Wolves. That's not to say we don't see the others, but a good chunk of her story is seen in the KoS series. Now, even though this is the case, we're going to mostly focus on Nina in SoC/CK with how she artfully uses and discards gender roles at her whim.

We all know the traditional 'gold standard' for women, right? Blonde, ultra feminine, skinny, and above all: submissive to men. There's nothing explicitly wrong with most of these attributes, but when they're forced on everyone? That's when it becomes a problem. Through Nina, Leigh shows that, while most of these attributes aren't inherently harmful, you can still be a badass while not exactly fitting the mold.

Nina is a bold and outspoken girl with brunette hair, a plump body, and a love for all things food and fashion. She's the first to tell Kaz that his haircut is ass and the first to down every waffle in the room. Not only are these attributes realistic to women, since I too love myself some waffles, they also break the traditional 'gold standard' while still keeping Nina feminine.

Some authors, in the pursuit of breaking gender roles, make a super tomboy character that basically forsakes being a woman. While those people do exist and are valid, most women aren't like that. I don't think those characters are always good representation because they aren't breaking gender roles, they're just reinforcing the idea that you have to act like a man to get anywhere in life.

Nina is good because she still has feminine attributes. She loves fashion. She's a girls girl. She's sexy and she knows it. While you don't have to have those attributes to be feminine (obviously), it shows that you don't have to abandon your feminity to be badass.

Matthias Helvar:

Matthias! Some of you are wondering how I'm going to connect Matthias to representation, aren't you? He isn't a POC, LGBTQ+, or even disabled in any (canon) way. He is like me, truly the default settings of the world. This seems to disqualify him from the representation talk, but I would disagree. He aids the representation not by being apart of it himself, but showing how two different cultures can coexist, even with opposing values.

Matthias is from the country of Fjerda, which is characterized by it's highly traditional ideas about women, religion, and just life in general. They believe that women should be subservient to men, and that Grisha are witches that should be killed without mercy by a special army called the Drüskelle. And guess what? Matthias just so happens to have been raised as a Drüskelle!

Throughout Matthias/Nina's backstory, Matthias first captures Nina as a Grisha but then falls in love with her. Nina soon 'betrays' him and they have a falling out, but they eventually rekindle their relationship (that was a small no nuance summary for a huge arc spanning multiple books, so I suggest you read SoC/CK if you haven't). Through this arc, we see Matthias go from bigoted to acceptance WITHOUT losing his culture or religion.

I think a lot of stories get the bigotry -> acceptance pipeline wrong in that a lot of the time, a character completely loses their culture and/or religion in the process. While that does happen sometimes, it shouldn't be the meta. Not being a bigot boils very simply down the principle of not being an asshole, regardless of your culture. I have my stakes in this as I'm Christian, yet here I am making a whole Tumblr essay on representation. You don't have to lose your entire culture to not be an asshole.

Leigh does this very well with Matthias, as by the end of the story, he's still a Fjerdan and still wholeheartedly believes in Djel, but he's changed in that he's no longer an asshole about it. He still has that part of him, just without the added bigotry. My favorite part of his arc is at the very end when he tries to convince a fellow Drüskelle that he doesn't have to live that way. He coexists and accepts other cultures without losing himself, and that's very important when it comes to representation.

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In conclusion, what makes representation good representation is that it adds to the character, not takes over the character. No one wants a character where their only character trait is that they have dark skin or that they like someone of the same gender. They want depth, they want humanity. Representation isn't a crutch to add depth to an otherwise blank character but a tool that can reflect real life in the way that none of us are exactly alike, and we don't have to be.

[devdirt]

Hollow Knight vs. Vivziepop character design language

I know it's kind of a wildcard comparison but Vivziepop is a fan of Hollow Knight and its designs. I wanted to explore how shape language, color usage and storytelling in design are used in both properties.

NPC designs do a great job at telling you the character's personality or occupation without being overly detailed. One well placed trait does wonders, like Cornifer with his bundles of maps or Tuk and her hoarding, scrap salvaging hobbies. Paired with the world it tells two people doing their best to survive their dying realm, one by mapping out the twists and turns and the other by scraping up whatever she can find from abandoned civilization.

Now when we look at visual storytelling in Hazbin there are some good details! Alastor's outfit design and trademark microphone give you old timey host vibes right away. Niffty (my angel) sports a poodle skirt, kerchief around her neck and apron, also telling you her occupation and time period she's likely from. Everyone in this show has a big toothy grin but hers plays well into her hyperactive and always happy personality.

But there are also really poor moments of character storytelling. Everything about Beelzebub has already been said. She doesn't read as gluttony, she doesn't read as a bee, and she doesn't read as an animal tamer. When I look at her I see every other wolf character Viv has ever done. If Jayjay is party wolf and Loona is goth wolf then Beelzebub is lava lamp wolf.

The sins are mostly misses for me. They don't read as their sins or their circus related occupations. Asmodeus has fire powers but doesn't read as fire spinner. Mammon doesn't give off greed at ALL but the jester look works (which is also wrong because he's a CLOWN apparently, not a jester.) And don't get me started on this one.

This is not Lucifer.

Nothing about this reads angel, devil or even pride. This design goes all in on the ringmaster design, which is great for the circus theme! But the apple on the hat is the closest we get to this being Lucifer. I didn't even notice the snake on his hat because it looks like a worm for the apple, and they both cover the crown.

Add a second apple on the cane. Okay, so we know for sure this is supposed to be Lucifer but...why? It's another Beelzebub moment where you're left wondering why the design went in this direction. "Apple" shouldn't be the only giveaway here for the most important man in the world these stories are being told in.

Now let's see the celestial leader of Hollow Knight.

That is a god.

Removing all story context, this is incredibly quick to read. Large wings, all white, glowing yellow eyes and a crown. It looks celestial and it doesn't even need color, which is the point!

Now lets view them both within their stories. Is there visual storytelling when compared to other characters and the world around then?

Hollownest is a dark world where every character is dully colored. The Radiance and her power stick out with a glow, juxtaposing themselves with the dark as the light.

Lucifer does not look any different than most of the Hazbin cast. He has all the red, the same sharp toothed grin, the same body type as 90% of the cast of both Hazbin and Helluva Boss. If you lined him up with everyone else somebody like Asmodeus would be chosen as the obvious leader of Hell with his stature and power in the design alone.

Simplicity can tell an entire story while overextending your designs can muddy it.

Hollow Knight relies on few details and minimal storytelling yet it weaves a tale of an usurped kingdom and a god fighting for revenge. You are void, the world is dull, and god is bright and beautiful and terrifying to your way of life.

Vivziepop wants to weave a complex tale but utterly fails to do so with her designs. I purposely did not bring up Cherri Bomb, Sir Pentious or Stolas' designs since they have elements that were taken from other people and properties. I wanted to focus on what she made with her own hands, and when I narrow it down I do not see the story being told or even what side some characters are supposed to be on. Adam and the exterminators look the same as any demon. The leaders of Hell mostly sink into the ocean of overdone details. When everybody is trying so hard to stand out nobody stands out.

[raileurta]

Prime kids redesign

Miko

Age: 16

She/they

Has Adhd with a bit of the spicy sadness.

She's the group’s muscle and emotional support! Miko fights using a combination of MMA inspired kickboxing and parkour. Her confidence combined with her spunky attitude never fails to lift the group's spirits!

Deceptixons beware! She won't hesitate to fight dirty to get one over on you

Raf

Age: 12.5

He/him? (Doesn't really know or care)

Was born with a weak left leg and needs a cane to walk.

Raf is the techno brainiac in the group. While physically he may be weak his hacking skills are second to none; even among Cybertron's best he would be considered a genius. Raf has skipped 5 grades already and has won multiple technology based tournaments. Ultimately though he's still very young and it will show.

His alias (. ) is wanted in 10 different countries for various hacking related crimes.

Jack

Age: 15

He/him

CPR certified.

The group's braincell singular braincell aka the responsible one. Jack is the only one holding the others back from committing various crimes usually being related to murder. He knows how to keep a level head and has the groundwork of a great leader in the future.

Has two jobs currently; one at a car repair shop and the other at a fast food joint.

Explanation under cut

Miko's my favorite of the bunch so I really wanted to do her justice. I gave her a more punk type of aesthetic without trying to take away her colors. Since she can be very reckless sometimes I would imagine she has a lot of injuries and scars from her adventures. (I also made her interested in kemonomimi because why not 🤷)

The doll on her hip is a reference to Bulkhead; all the kids have something that reminds them of their guardian if you look for it. She's also the oldest because I thought it would be more interesting despite being older she's less mature than Jack.

Thought it would be interesting if Raf had another injury or condition that impacts him. I know genius with a physical disability is overplayed sometimes but it's a good trope. I wanted him to be a little cuter since he's the baby of the group so I gave him some freckles. He also has red eyes because it looks cool and it would link back to his poor eyesight. People born with red eyes usually have pretty bad vision problems.

He has some headphones to listen to music when he's being a nerd and carries his laptop in his bag along with other things.

Visually Jack is quite boring in the show so wanted to add some extra color to him. I was tempted to go a more emo route but I felt that didn't fit him. He gives off “I get bullied vibes” (canon) so I gave him a black eye and a loner feel.

His hat is a gift from his dad before he left for some extra angst.

If you have a sharp eye you would notice that all the kids have stars on them and are injured in some way. The reason for this is I thought it would be cute if the bots refer to them as starlight or other star related nicknames. Plus these guys are in an alien war they're going to get hurt eventually.

I didn't mention everything so you can find things for yourself.

That's about it for my take on them and as an extra here's the gacha version of IRL me:

(Yes I do need to wear an eye patch unironically for eye related issues)

[rubykgrant]

I made some up-dates to a few of Junonia's outfits, and also finally got a more detailed picture of her face finished, so here she is with Poppy again! I had a general idea of what her vibe was, but after thinking about her a little more, I wanted to show more aspects of her personality in the outfits. Some casual looks, a few a little fancy. Poppy's style leans a little boho, with a splash of sporty here and there (here armor is mostly white with tan accents, so she has lots of different rosy-brown tones in her outfits). Junonia has a more casual-elegant style, not formal exactly, but lots of feminine/chic clothing, and few different comfy looks (her armor is dark purple with pink accents, so those colors show up in her clothes).

More info for them below~

Junonia is tall and chubby, but not very curvy. She has sharp and elegant features for her jawline and cheekbones (very pretty and striking). She uses a mobility aid, a cane and some knee braces that help ease stress. She has a cane with her armor as well, but it's more high-tech, and doubles as a weapon, while the suit itself helps compensate stress on her knees (the idea of having a character who needs mobility aids, specifically canes, actually came from seeing a different character from another series; the character used them in a civilian form, but when fighting bad guys, they just magically could walk fine... I thought, hey; sci-fi magic is involved, why not just give them a SUPER COOL cane, that can adapt to their needs in battle and what-not! so, I transferred this thought process to Junonia. the high-tech one can automatically fold-up into a gauntlet when she's sitting, and has several other adjustments, making it like multi-tool). Her armor would be dark-purple with pink accents.

She has two prominent tattoos; around her neck/collarbone is a design of a gold chain, pearls, and a seashell. On her arm is a design of a seahorse, with the tail wrapped around her wrist (the way they sometimes hold on to rocks with their tails~). She has most of her hair pulled back, in box braids (they are short on one side, getting longer as it goes to the other side, in an asymmetrical line).

Part of her story involved getting tricked into working for an organization that claimed to help people without being "restricted" by government rules... which is a cool idea in theory, but unfortunately, the people in charge of this group were insidious a-holes. Junonia was in charge of gathering intel, a medic for her team, and occasionally helping with defensive fighting (not that she isn't perfectly capable in any forms of battle, but she's a bit like Doc, not entirely a pacifist, but reserves violence as a last resort, or to defend herself/others).

When the organization began to fall apart, including the people running the show trying to take out the underlings to erase evidence, Junonia got out of there quick and hid under the radar for a while... more recently, she's been involved with helping people find resources for recovery, and she's also gotten back into her habit of collecting information (like what happened to other people in her group, and where the ones responsible for the problems are hiding).

Junonia is generally a calm and graceful person, but she's also VERY clever, and can have an icy form of anger when dealing with somebody unpleasant. She's a very determined problem-solver, thinking about WHY people do what they do, and understands how to win either by making peace, using force, or simply not engaging in a pointless struggle. She takes set-backs or sudden changes in stride, adapting quick and easily. She's very compassionate, but doesn't compromise in specific situations. Junonia doesn't trust most authority groups, but she still believes in trusting PEOPLE; even after all the difficult things she's faced, Junonia isn't a pessimist, instead having hope that doing good will really make a difference (creating harmony and balance, in big and small ways).

Within the group, she's something like a "reverse" of Carolina, without being an adversary/antagonist. She has the same level of tenacity as well, but more tempered (if Carolina is a bit hot-headed, Junonia is more cool). It's a bit ironic, because she knows about all the others, and at first some of them wonder if this will somehow be "uneven", but Junonia is open to sharing facts about herself, and it's very easy to enjoy/accept her companionship.

She grew up being fascinated by sea creatures, but never got to visit the ocean until she was an adult. When she was hiding, she finally was able to find places to live by the water (mostly around the west coast and Alaska), and worked on putting all her knowledge of marine life into practice. Junonia has a lot of crafting hobbies, but also knows how to create intricate designs with different forms of weaving/knitting/crochet. Junonia also enjoys making loose watercolor illustrations (and has entertained the idea of maybe working on children's books one day). She really likes horror and action/adventure movies. She's in her late 30s, and is a trans lesbian. Her background is Mediterranean (Maltese and Greek), African (Ethiopian), and Native American (Navajo).

Poppy is short, with a fairly thick and solid build, and square features that are still soft. Poppy didn't actually "join" the army. She was "selected" to be part of a "special training program", which turned out to be tricking poor and homeless people into working at dangerous outposts. When one area was getting attacked, a lot of the people running the show took escape ships for themselves. Poppy was able to find a set of armor, and now looking "official", she helped guide all the people who would have been abandoned to safety. When she got them all to a rescue ship, a soldier asked if she had been in charge of that outpost. She basically pretended that, yes- she TOTALLY was the boss. Yep. Hired herself, and gave herself a promotion. Before she could back out or escape, she was thrown into a new "assignment". Whoops!

She was then sent to a different group of Red and Blue Flag Zealots, meant to identify needed supplies and order more ammunition. She was designated "neutral", and had white armor with tan accents. When the teams ran out of bullets, they kept fighting in non-lethal ways, which Poppy thought was preferable to a clearly pointless war, so she just never put in the order for more. Both teams considered her a friend, playfully fighting over who's side she was on. After a dangerous incident left her knocked-out and recovering, Temple's group arrived to recruit more Sim Troopers. Poppy's group refused to join. When she woke up, they were all gone, and she had to work on making cybernetics for herself. Because she's still considered part of the Flag Zealots, the UNSC decided to throw her back into a new training program (which was actually pretty shady in terms of motives), and that's where she meets Sarge.

Poppy is meant to sort of mirror Simmons. The fact that Sarge likes her, and she's a nerd, SHOULD make Simmons hate her guts... but after one conversation, he internally just clicked with her- "Oh, sibling? Sibling!". Also, she and Simmons are trans in opposite directions (Poppy never cared much about having surgery, but she always wanted really long hair). Oh- and with white armor, the prophecy of Red Team being the lesbian flag has been fulfilled!

Poppy’s got a bit of a “cheerfully dismissive” attitude when she’s not in a mood to deal with somebody. She also likes making people laugh, and when she’s really close to them, she tries to be a source of comfort (she's very good at somehow saying just the right little compliment, something short and sweet that makes somebody's day~). She’s got a temper brewing under there, though (she can shout and rant with the best of them, but you really need to worry if she’s coming after you quietly).

For the most part, Poppy is easy-going (because she’s been through a LOT, and knows what she’s capable of), and pretty quick with sarcastic little comments. She also feels her painful emotions VERY deeply, and freely cries when upset... but that doesn't stop her from beating-down on a bad-guy (and it is honestly unnerving to get your but-kicked from somebody who is clearly sobbing; you hurt her feelings, now she's hurting your face). One of her skills is messing with audio communication, and her favorite trick is to play annoying songs as a distraction. She also loves music, and usually "thinks in song", either using audio tech to play actual songs, or using her imagination to play it in her head (not only to set the mood, but it helps her focus, and keep a "rhythm" with her physical actions). Her favorite movie is the Last Unicorn. Poppy's background is Irish and Spanish.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

≈SOUL MAGIC≈

It’s Spooky!

It’s Scary!

It’s better necromancy! (Human rights not included)

But what else should we know? What are the requirements to use it? Does it have different applications? What are the limits?

This is definitely NOT for a wizard OC I’m thinking about

HAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA

Take a seat and buckle up Chroniccarbondrinker, because it's time for;

The HARLEQUIN AU WORLD HISTORY LORE!

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What else should you know about soul artificing?

Soul magic was a BIG thing in the past if it wasn't obvious already. The reason why wizards, witches, spells... hell, even GODS existed was BECAUSE of soul magic's existence. Back in the day, it was more widespread, uncontained, anyone could practice it if they had the means to do it. Unfortunately... having such a powerful asset means it's bound to be in the wrong hands as well. And that's exactly what had happened. So, with a slight bit of meddling from the void, the practice of soul magic was sealed off, and every human born or existing from there on out had their very flesh seal off the ability to control soul energy beyond powering their fleshy bodies. There were some humans who showed slightest bits of proof that soul magic was possible, but it eventually fell into the category of paranormal or supernatural and people forgot about it.

At least, that was the case until some scientists rediscovered ancient ruins that depicted the practices and uses of soul artificing. And the one thing about seals? They don't last very long.

Something I forgot to add, by the way... there is a saying that the "eyes are the window to a soul". So make sure to color-code your character's soul magic the right way!

What are the different requirements to using it?

First of all: enlightenment. Or madness, whichever way you wanna go at it. Only the most enlightened of Puppets, or the most crazed of them get to wield soul-based abilities. Now, the abilities are first unlocked when a Puppet achieves first stage (which will be the case for Pomni), and then from there on out it's just a steady progression of unlocking more and more new abilities until you fully max out your level lol It kinda goes on from physical advantages, to actual magic spells and bullshittery, depending on what stage of enlightenment one is on.

Speaking of enlightenment... The sixth and final stage holds a special ability: the usage of Avatars.

What are Avatars? Well, they're... animal avatars that look like a physical manifestation of constellations in the sky. They're the very representations of one's "spirit animal", if you will.

It can range from normal insects/animals such as a cat or an owl, to mythical creatures like a dragon or a wyvern.

Does it have different applications?

Yes it does! Some soul magic may need other equipments to utilize, or even cited incantations. That's why wizards have their staff, and Caine has... well, a cane and his tools. lol

What are the limits?

There are two limits to the usage of soul magic. One is the very energy of the artificer itself, and two is the user's own creativity. Creativity's context can also vary between one another. (ex. someone may be more logically creative, while the other can be imaginatively creative) Now, soul energy is quite self-sufficient, which means that it eventually replenishes overtime like video game health. But that still doesn't mean you can use it all willy-nilly. Every soul energy may vary from one to another, which means that you may have a weaker soul (which may hinder them), a stronger soul... or just an average joe. Emotions can also amplify this energy to greater degrees. Which is the case for our good friend, The Patriarch of Puppets. That man is constantly fuming with every step he takes.

Now, I also said creativity can limit the usage too, and there's a reason why. You can have the strongest soul ever, but if you don't have IMAGINATION to aid you? Pssh, good luck man. You're not gonna achieve a lot no matter how much you try. lmao Usually, creativity and energy are the ones that balances out this otherwise limitless magic system. Got energy for weeks? Okay, you have quite possibly the tiniest bit of creativity out of everyone. You're quite the imaginative fella? Okay, you're going to be the weakest soul for the sake of everything. So be sure to use this information to balance out your character's stats and NOT make them a Mary Sue.

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Oh BOY that was doozy. Quite a long read, but... hope this helps lmao