#Impure thoughs generator

[magnificent-winged-beast]

No, I definitely will not survive. 😳

[art-is-kayos]

Sight of a Star - Blue-ish Star Ryōshū and Don Quixote

[purgemarchlockdown]

If Haruka's dog motifs are genuinely tied to the concept of Neotony (which, honestly I wouldn't be surprised since I've been digging into the Amane Momose Cat Parallels and that stuff goes Surprisingly Deep) does that mean Haruka killing a dog is representative of him killing the parts of himself that he considers to be the reason his mother neglects him?

Considering how Haruka kills his younger self in Weakness I think it tracks?

I think it's also possible it represents a Want to go back to the time his mother payed attention to him...Though admittedly I don't think about Haruka that much so I'm not exactly sure.

[froody]

I saw a slideshow about which states in the U.S. allow child marriage and the comments were like “Yes but that’s with parental permission.” as though that somehow makes it better. The institution of child marriage throughout history has generally been precipitated by parents selling their children for higher social standing, financial gain or simply because they no longer want to be responsible for them. It was not a phenomenon caused by loved children being stolen off the street in broad daylight.

As someone from a rural area in the south, almost everyone has at least one female family member who was a child bride. Usually the story is that girl’s parents said “You’re 14, that 30 year old who is perversely interested in you has a good job and will be a good provider. We approve of you marrying him because we can’t be arsed to care about you and a woman’s worth is only as a mother and wife.”

This is still happening to this day in fundamentalist religious communities through the U.S. where a girl’s worth is often based on how chaste and ‘innocent’ she seems, older women seen as more worldly and impure by virtue of being more wise. So many fundies get married at 17, 18, 19 or 20 and their parents would probably marry them off at a younger age if they could. And sometimes they still do.

[grunckle]

On stars, guardians, and Rain World’s cosmology.

One aspect of Rain World lore that’s asked about quite a lot but normally never gets satisfying answers is the topic or Rain World’s space/universe/cosmology. Despite first impressions though, there’s a lot more it than meets the eye, so I thought I would compile most everything we know about it.

For one, to get it out of the way, Rain World isn’t on a planet, and its universe is fundamentally different from our own. This is something Joar has talked about on occasion.

He also said on an earlier dev log how Rain World functions more like a fantasy world where it doesn’t hold much relevance than a real sci-fi like planet.

“Oh, another thing - Rain World isn't a planet lol Cheesy Or I guess it might probably be on a planet, just as Lord of The Rings, Sex And The City, Zelda and Frankenstein's Monster are probably technically on a planet, but just as in those examples the planet aspect isn't really relevant at all. Rain World is more of a fantasy world or a dream world, not somewhere you can go in a space ship ~”

But even if it’s not incredibly relevant, it’s clear a lot of thought was put into Rain Worlds fictional cosmology, this was even mentioned by James.

So, that being said here's what we know about Rain World's cosmology in game.

The biggest indicator of Rain World's unique cosmology is that the Farm Arrays deep pink pearl just mentions celestial spheres, which are aspects of older cosmological models.

"This one is just plain text. I will read it to you. "On regards of the (by spiritual splendor eternally graced) people of the Congregation of Never Dwindling Righteousness, we Wish to congratulate (o so thankfully) this Facility on its Loyal and Relished services, and to Offer our Hopes and Aspirations that the Fruitful and Mutually Satisfactory Cooperation may continue, for as long as the Stars stay fixed on their Celestial Spheres and/or the Cooperation continues to be Fruitful and Mutually Satisfactory." ...May Not as long as the Stars stay fixed on their Celestial Spheres Grey Hand, Impure Blood, Inheritable Corruption, Parasites, or malfunction settle in Your establishment."

More subtly, there's also a mention of the ground colliding with the sky.

"If you leave a stone on the ground, and come back some time later, it's covered in dust. This happens everywhere, and over several lifetimes of creatures such as you, the ground slowly builds upwards. So why doesn't the ground collide with the sky? Because far down, under the very very old layers of the earth, the rock is being dissolved or removed. The entity which does this is known as the Void Sea."

You could chalk this line up to flowery language, but considering the presentation of the rest of the dialogue, it sounds more like an actual aspect of this world.

We know from the Chimney Canopy echo that the sun rises.

"From within my vessel of flesh, I would perch upon this spot to observe the rising of the sun."

And from the top of The Wall we can see the moon and stars (confirmed to be stars by Joar in the previous screenshot, instead of satellites or something else) , which are green!

So, what does this all mean? I think we can entail a few things with what they've given us.

For one, the mention of the ground colliding with the sky implies some sort of firmament, which isn't an unusual concept in the general realm of celestial spheres.

But on the topic of celestial spheres, the pearl actually isn't the only place we see the concept. Guardian halos are very similar to depictions of celestial spheres, and also astrological clocks.

You can make of this as you will, perhaps the astrological references being tied to guardians could hint at the nature of karma, but there isn't much to really delve into that idea.

For what it's worth, celestial spheres are also core concepts in Gnosticism, which Rain World is heavily inspired by. I explain it more in this post about Void Worms, but for a quick synopsis in Gnosticism there are seven planetary spheres, and an eighth above them; the planets and stars are fixed to their spheres. These things just further cement the fact that celestial spheres seem to be a key aspect of Rain World's cosmology, and it would also likely imply it's universe follows a geocentric model.

For a bit of a more out-there theory, people have pointed out how the view atop the wall stretches really far, going far beyond what we could see on a spherical planet like Earth, which has led some to theorize that the world is also flat.

But what is probably the most important aspect of Rain World's cosmology is the nature of dust. Dust builds up, and the bedrock of the world is eaten away at by the Void Sea. Civilizations rise and fall into the sea as new ones are built above it. Many, including myself, believe that the world exists in a sort of state of equilibrium. The world is dissolved from the bottom, then that falls back on the world as dust; even in the final moments of the game we see dust suspended in the void sea depths.

And hey, even void worms are described as being star-like.

"Oh, interesting. This is a diary entry of a pre-Iterator era laborer during the construction of the subterranean transit system south of here. In it they describe restless nights filled with disturbing dreams, where millions glowing stars move menacingly in the distance."

Cyclical, recursive, something else entirely? We can never really pin down the true nature of Rain World's cosmology, but the things we do get hint at something strange and unique. It's such an interesting aspect of the lore, and it seems like Videocult will continue to make mysterious cosmologies in their future projects...

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Werewolf's Pet Cat

Trans Male Yandere Werewolf x Trans Male Cat-hybrid Reader (CW: Noncon, mild scent kink, knotting, inhuman genitals, heat cycles, rut, werewolf yandere, reader being chased, trans male reader and yandere, yandere has transitioned via magic, general yandere behavior.) Word Count 2.1k (This is a commission for @trocha1c. I hope you guys enjoy it. Also this is not an omegaverse fic, there is knotting because the yandere is a werewolf and there is a heat cycle for the reader because they are part feline, sense of smell is mentioned because of their animal abilities, but there are no alphas or omegas in this universe.)

There were many servants in any castle, even in a smaller one like the one that you worked in still contained a sizable workforce. The dusting alone was an atrocious task. You would know, you were one of those numerous servants. Though you were the only one who was a cat-man.

Your tasks were largely various cleaning oriented jobs including dusting, sweeping, laundry, and occasionally bringing food from the kitchen to Lord Dran when he decided to have his meals outside of the kitchen.

That’s the task you enjoyed the most, it meant you got to be in his presence. He always smelled so nice. So… masculine. Even with your sensitive feline nose you couldn’t quite place what it was.

You had worked for him for about a year and you had been almost supernaturally attracted to him since the first time you met him. Of course… despite being a somewhat uncommon cat man you were still very much a commoner. And he was a lord.

You could never hope to be anything to him.

This wasn’t an incorrect line of thinking. Lord Dran was very much attracted to you as well. He could tell you were a kindred soul. He also possessed superior senses and he knew that even though you were a boy you had a pussy between your legs, and he could smell its arousal whenever you stayed in the room with him for any extended length of time.

He was once like you, a man with those parts, until he had paid a lot of money for a mage to conduct a complex ritual to give him the body he had always wanted. The fact that you were both trans made him want you much more. You’d understand him more than others.

But despite his deep seated longing for you he would have to be satisfied with stolen glances, your scent, and impure thoughts he harbored towards you, for he couldn’t ever deign to be with a commoner.

He had to use his position as a lord to solidify a political alliance for his family and strengthen the family position.

You were completely oblivious to his long stares and extra kindness towards you. In the end it didn’t matter though. They couldn’t amount to anything.

But the royal family, or at least his branch of it had a terrible secret. They were no longer human. They were all werewolves. Once a month during the full moon Lord Dran retreated to a fortified private room and grew into a large ravenous beast. One from nightmares, with a hunger for fresh game and with an instinctual need to find a mate to stuff its big knot into.

You didn’t have something so dramatic to struggle with, you only had a monthly heat cycle. They weren’t really all that bad, you just became significantly more horny, more sensitive to the scents of others, and a bit feverish. Nothing you couldn’t handle.

But it just so happened that your heat cycle coincided with the full moon.

One night, a full moon no less, you had been working late in the great hall cleaning up after earlier festivities. When you finished you headed for the servant’s quarters but for some reason you had made a wrong turn. And you were much closer to the room that no one ever went into. The one that always remained locked.

When you realized where you were you started to turn back but something alluring with a hint of danger hit your heat-enhanced nose and you were compelled to follow.

You got closer and closer to the door. What was that amazing smell? It was so strong now… and starting to cause you to make a wet spot from the arousal it was generating in you.

Suddenly you heard a muffled scream of pain through the thick door. You ran over to it and found that it was locked from the outside and through the glass panel you saw Lord Dran naked on the ground writhing in pain.

You immediately unlocked the heavy metal door and made your way inside, running to him with utmost concern.

“What’s wrong my lor-”

“Y-you… don’t.. under… stand… g-get ouuOOWWWLLLLL”

His last word turned into a pained howl as his body shook. His bones and muscles rearranged themselves before your very eyes as thick fur covered his body.

The seemingly human Lord Dran was a werewolf! A cursed Beast!

To say you were terrified was a gross understatement. Your heart was beating so fast that it hurt. Quickly, you turned to flee the room so you could lock the monster in behind you. But the speed of the werewolf was far superior to your own. He grabbed your leg, long claws raking against your supple skin, causing you to flop down on your belly.

It was at that exact moment that a shocked guard rounded the corner and saw the scene, you crying on your stomach, being pulled closer by his transformed Lord.

He had been given the duty to protect the door from anyone who may get too close, but he had left his post for a few minutes to take a leak.

And now this had happened.

You looked up at him standing in the doorway and screamed for his help, but when he got over the fear that paralyzed him he stammered out a quick apology and slammed the door before sliding the heavy lock in place, quite literally sealing your fate. He just couldn’t risk Lord Dran being released to save but one lowly servant.

The guard was sure you were going to perish in a horrifying display of blood and gore. YOU were sure you were going to perish in a horrifying display of blood and gore.

But a violent blow never came. Instead the beast flipped you over on your back and sniffed curiously at your crotch, nuzzling his nose into it. You desperately kicked away his face, but his angry growl was enough to make you stop.

The werewolf had determined that you were his mate, and while you didn’t know it yet he would never harm his partner. But… he also wouldn’t be denied his right to stuff them with his knot.

With extreme care not to harm your fragile skin, he carefully used his razor sharp claws to remove your clothing from your quivering form. You didn’t immediately understand exactly what his intentions with you were but it became clear what he wanted when he loomed over you and saw his large red cock erect and swinging beneath him. He pinned you down easily.

You shuddered as his cold nose nuzzled into your sensitive neck, taking in your sweet scent.

As his dick got closer to your entrance you renewed your struggle, forgetting the strength of the creature that was holding you down and the perceived danger he represented.

“No! No please! I-i don-”

This time he didn’t respond with a growl, instead opting to lick your neck to try and calm you down. He wasn’t going to hurt his little mate~ He just wanted to fuck you and take care of that heat cycle he could smell so clearly. He was helping you!

Encouraged by the whimpers his tongue on your neck brought out of you he started biting. Not hard enough to break skin, but they would still leave lovely little claiming marks.

The combination of stimulation from the bites, your heat, and his scent finally caused you to spread your legs for him, you barely registered what you were allowing as his cock plunged into your drooling pussy with an audible squelching noise.

With your tight wet warmth enveloping him his knot began swelling inside of you, making your toes curl and twitch as it kissed the walls of your cunt with every powerful thrust of your Lord.

Some part of your brain was still telling you to scream for help and cry and try to struggle, but it felt so nice to finally have a heat taken care of.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, grinding your pussy into his dick, as he continued biting you wherever he could leave a nice claiming mark.

The two of you went at it nearly all night, bringing one another to orgasm many times over.

At some point, very late into the night, you passed out from exhaustion with the lycanthrope holding you close, nutting in you a couple more times before finally falling asleep himself. With his knot still tying the two of you together as he caressed you.

When Lord Dran woke up he was his normal human self, holding you in his arms.

He freaked out about the situation, but as soon as the guard informed him what had happened and he had a moment to reflect he knew what he had to do.

Regardless of your social status he would have to keep you very close at all times to ensure that you never speak of his “condition” to a single soul.

When you finally woke up you were confused and sore, covered in bite marks and a few scratches. When the memory of what had transpired last night finally rushed back to you, terror gripped your heart once more.

Lord Dran was a werewolf, and he had scratched you! Would you become a cursed beast yourself?

“Oh you’re awake! We have a lot to discuss…”

The first thing he explained, as if he could read your thoughts, was that lycanthropy passed via bloodlines and complex curses. Nothing physical.

That was a relief.

The next thing he explained was that he could never let you leave his side now. You’d have to marry him and there was simply no other solution. He could not risk his secret getting out. Even if the chance of someone believing you was small.

“I am so sorry this happened to you.”

Though to be honest he was quite happy. The his to any social status was worth it to have a mate that he can be with with no danger when his time of the month came around. He was sure he would have slaughtered anyone else, but you were so special. With you there he could focus on fucking instead of violent urges, it was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Just a day ago if you had been told you would soon be in a relationship with Lord Dran you would have been elated, but now you were just terrified. You didn’t want to marry a werewolf. You had sympathy for his situation, but this is not the kind of thing you thought that you could deal with.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

ONE MONTH LATER.

It had been days since you had managed to escape the castle. With your keen animal-like senses you managed to be able to hunt and forage enough with yourself to get by. Plus you had managed to keep a bit of gold with you, just in case.

You wanted to make it to the next kingdom, but the way was long and the woods were dense. You probably had another week of travel before making it across the border. No nobles from your home country would dare cross without notice.

Night was fast approaching so you decided you would make camp until the first light of dawn. You were once again in heat so you slid a couple of your fingers into your pussy to take the edge off.

While you were masturbating you suddenly heard what sounded like branches breaking close by. You pulled your pants up and listened intently, your feline ears moving to try and locate the source of the sound.

Probably just an ani-

Your thought was interrupted by a great and blood curdling howl. And it was exceedingly close. Was it a wild wolf? Was it something… more? You didn’t stay to find out.

With your animal-like agility you wasted no time in running out into the dark. You could probably manage to outrun a wolf.

But the shadowy figure you saw pursuing you in the moonlight was no wolf.

And now that you were down wind you could smell it too.

Lord Dran.

In no time at all you were pounced upon, claws once again removing clothing and a huge erection prodding at your entrance.

Ah, his mate was already nice and warmed up for him~ How sweet!

His wolf form didn’t understand why his mate had run, but that didn’t matter now. The chase was won and he certainly would never let you have another chance at escape.

[nvuy]

hi! back with my bullshit. i've been feral about jing yuan lately, AGAIN. this man never leaves the crevices of my barely-wrinkled brain. this time, i'm thinking about sparring with him... you're both grinning and out of breath and you swear jing yuan is trying to rile you up even more with his constant grabbing you whenever he can. and then you end up pinned under him, with his big hands squeezing every piece of your skin he can like he's trying to tear you apart.. oh i'm drooling

punching bag — jing yuan

summary. you regret day in and day out that you asked general jing yuan to help you work on your swordsmanship, and it doesn’t help that he barely takes it seriously.

notes. hi mords my little goober this is for u. also for anyone that likes jing yuan. and praise. and ummm. sweaty sword fighting and making out. i guess.

warnings. minor innuendos. you can tell how i feel about jing yuan just by this piece alone.

“Stick it, old man.” Your sword blocks his, and you gasp in triumph. His blade is inches from your throat, but your own keeps it in place.

It is heavy, though. You geniunely wonder how he’s able to even fight with something that can crack a tree log in two faster than an axe can.

You pant in exasperation, and you almost choke on your spit with excitement. Though you feel as though to your face is on fire and your hair is matted with sweat, the smile on your face is golden.

General Jing Yuan grins. His teeth flash. “Well done.”

You pull back the weapon after a moment, exhausted as you swallow thickly. There’s adrenaline coursing through your veins, and your heart is pumping so sporadically you’re sure it’s about to escape from your throat.

Then, you do it again, and again, and again, and again, and your triumph slowly moulds into something worse. You feel utterly pathetic, being able to fend off the General of the Luofu as if it’s like spreading butter on bread.

To that, you lower your weapon after what seems like hours, but was only a few minutes. “Are you even trying?”

Jing Yuan teases you with a taut smile. “Why would you think otherwise? What if you’ve just dramatically improved?”

You scrunch your face up at that.

His eyes light up with mischief before he raises his weapon. “Come. Again.”

Hesitantly, you draw your blade once more. It’s the same cut as his, you’re sure, for a more even match. It’s hardly ‘even’ though, when one wrong move will have his weapon cracking yours into two. And you feel it every time you manage to stop him.

You clear your throat and stumble back for a moment. Maybe a second of pep talk and talking down to yourself. That usually works

Jing Yuan yawns when you take too long. He’s not even looking at you; rather, he’s busy observing his weapon for any impurities on the blade.

That sets you off.

Your face burns with fury and you reel your fist backwards until it flies at his stupid, dumb, handsome face.

He catches your knuckles easily with his palm. “Someone’s growing claws,” he whispers. He taps you lightly on the leg with his blade. “I am teaching you the way of the blade, first and foremost, before hand-to-hand combat.”

“Scared I’ll land a punch, old man?” you spit, trying to swipe at his face again.

“Terrified,” he responds. “Now. Shoulders back. Again.”

You huff.

Again.

He blocks.

He dodges.

You curse at him at first. He only replies with a fond chuckle.

Then, you stumble, over and over again. He manages to trip you with his foot about ten times. On the eleventh attempt, you stop his attack with a stomp on his blade, but he simply pulls it out from underneath you.

You pull the blade forward and try to slice his face in half. His weapon stops yours almost too easily.

You grow frustrated and almost throw your weapon to the floor in defeat.

“Start trying a little less?” you ask him through bated breaths.

“Having a rough time?” he teases before simply side stepping your next manoeuvre with his eyes shut, before one gentle shove of his finger against your back as you stumbling right to the floor. “Again. You aren’t balanced.”

You try to stand up, but your legs give out, and you crumble to your knees again. He’s not even holding you against the floor, and embarrassment flares in your stomach.

You try fanning at your face with your hands. The afternoon sun is beating down hot and hard, and you’re clearly not the only one struggling. Jing Yuan busies himself untying his hair to retire it since it has come loose and has begun sticking to his face.

You swallow distastefully as you stare up at him from the floor.

He straightens the ribbon in his hair and shakes out the sweat thats beginning to matt in his roots.

You’re too busy admiring his arms to give a shit about what he’s saying, considering his lips are moving. His stupidly big fucking arms. That you want him to squash you with until you can’t feel your face. And can’t breathe.

“Is that all you can take?” he hums. His palms must be sweating as he readjusts the fingerless gloves he’s wearing. He breathes out once, evenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you huff and manage to stand to your feet. “Some people aren’t immortal beings with ridiculous spouts of stamina.”

“The stamina comes from training,” he reminds. He’s retrieved your weapon, and he holds it out to you. “And discipline.”

Whatever. Begrudgingly, you snatch it from his hand and raise it.

“Imagine as if this is a fight to the death,” is all he tells you.

And you try. You really do try.

It’s almost as if he grows extra limbs when the time calls for it. Just when you believe both his hands are busy and you find an opening, he suddenly grows a third leg, or an extra finger, or something, and he’s magically stopped your next move. He can predict your every move; he can read every time you’re thrown off guard or you’re distracted or your foot stance is off. He doesn’t so much throw you to the floor, but rather allows gravity to do the work for him.

He does ensure you have a soft landing, however. So, you suppose he can play nice sometimes — that, and the last time he offered to be your punching bag, you’d ended up hitting your head so hard on the ground that you were stuck in the hospital for three days with a horrible concussion.

“Feeling any better?” he asked curiously a few hours after you’d been admitted. He’d been kind enough to visit your little room and was busy poking at a small teddy bear one of your friends had gifted you, alongside three cards and a bouquet of flowers.

That… he’d given you. Well, you think he did, because you don’t remember seeing them before he showed up. You were too miserable to really ask about it, though, so you kept your mouth shut.

“No,” you mumbled. “I feel like… shit.”

He hums sympathetically.

“I apologise again,” Jing Yuan said softly, slotting next to you on the bed and resting a hand on your arm. “If you need me for anything, do let me know.”

You take a deep breath to try and settle your queasy stomach.

“Yeah,” you slurred. Watching him is hard work as it is; you’re already dizzy and nauseous and you were growing antsy and worried that you’d need to puke again. Negative points if the General had to witness it. “Fuckin’ catch me next time.”

He grinned and lightly pinched your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Yes, General.”

You almost fly to the floor again, and Jing Yuan grabs at your hips and straightens you quickly.

You murmur, “I’m not gonna die if I fall.” Your face is hot with blood and you try to turn away from him to hide it.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” He’s even dusting off your shoulders and slicking back the short hairs stuck to your forehead. “You’re a fragile thing. I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

You try and throw another punch.

He clicks his tongue when you almost crash your nose into his chest plate. And you’ve done that before — and Aeons, that hurt, too.

Miserably, you drop your sword and it clatters to the ground with a terrible noise.

You raise your arms up and thwack him in the chest lightly.

He hums. “Have I told you your arms look better?” He reaches and squeezes at one of your biceps. “Much better.” He looks content, and there’s a coy smile at his lips.

Your face burns.

Your eyes are sparkling, but disdain curls over your tone. “You’re a riot, General. Do you flirt with everyone like this?”

“Maybe,” he responds quickly.

You step back and clear your throat as you retrieve your weapon. “Don’t make me jealous.”

He’s just simply dodging everything, and the flat side of his sword smashes against your stomach, neck, thighs, ribs, anywhere he can reach.

It doesn’t help with every soft land he hits on you, he follows it up with a quick, “dead.”

He taps your ankle at one point and does it again. Your teeth grit and you try to slice his hand clean off.

He easily removes himself.

“I can’t block every angle,” you defend as he straightens up. “How can I block my face and my feet at the same time?”

“By foot stance,” he chimes in lightly. “Here’s a tip: stand back. A sword as deft as this one—” He reaches forward and pinches the tip of the blade between his fingers, “—can be used decently at a distance. Don’t stand directly in front of me.” He presents his own weapon. You don’t even try to hold it up. “Because of its weight, you have a distance advantage over me. And, I have to work around it.”

You listen. You don’t want to, out of spite, but you do. You know he’s not purposefully making you feel useless; he’s told you many times he thinks your skills are impressive. He’s more so attempting to rile you up.

And it’s working.

You’re too busy admiring his biceps to care. “Nice arms.”

He displays a boyish grin just for you. “Thank you.” Then, he readjusts his grip on the hilt. “If you weren’t so busy ogling, you’d have an opening.”

“I play nice, General,” you remind him. “I’m not going to cheat.”

“If you say so,” he taunts.

And then, he lunges for you.

General Jing Yuan hasn’t once initiated a fight on his hand, and it nearly takes you off guard. It’s been a back and forth of you trying to land a clean hit, and him easily avoiding your shots.

You just about manage to hold him off when you almost trip backwards. You regain your footing and nerves wrack up your spine. He swings again. He barely misses your neck when your sword clashes with his blade.

“Good,” he murmurs. “You’re learning.”

“Ooh,” you whisper. “I love it when you stroke my ego.”

“I know.” He tries again, this time reeling back and switching the blade to his left hand to try and catch you off guard. You block that one, too.

You giggle like an idiot.

Then, you shove him backwards with your sword and go for a swipe at his nose.

It doesn’t exactly go the way you planned. Not on your part. Jing Yuan praised you afterwards for the execution, but this is the General of the Luofu, and if he wanted to win, he would win. At any cost.

He trips you over just as easily as he had the other eleven times. Your hands instinctively fly out towards the ground to cushion your fall, but you don’t quite make it all the way into the grass this time.

He catches you again, this time in some makeshift position as if you’d been dancing instead of trying to literally kill him, but he does keep your head from smashing into the floor again. You can feel the headache forming just thinking about it.

Jing Yuan knocks the sword from your hand and it falls by your feet.

“I was having fun,” you whine lowly to him. “You always spoil everything.”

There’s exhilaration there, and you feel it surge in your heart, hot and heavy. You’re excited, somewhat. The adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your skin is so warm and light you feel as though you could pop at any moment.

It doesn’t help your case that the general is so close to you, and has a smile so wide you’re worried his face will split into two.

You admire him for a moment too long.

A moment so long that his grin grows impossibly wider, and mischief flares in his eyes.

His grip loosens.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

You scrabble in a panic and your arms swing around his shoulders.

He holds you again with a snicker.

“You win,” you declare finally. “I’m going home.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t move. “If you can free yourself, that is.”

You barely try to wriggle from his grasp before sighing. “C’mon. I’m tired.” His grip doesn’t even loosen his hold in the slightest. “We can do this tomorrow.”

“This is your last test,” he announces, somewhat dramatically. “Imagine that this is your final moment to choose between life and death.” With one hand still encircling your waist, the other lets go reach downward just enough to retrieve your sword. “There is very little you can do.”

The sword gently taps against your sternum, angled just enough for the tip to barely threaten a carving into your chest.

You claw at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. Your back strains with the position he holds you in, and your legs barely have enough leverage to keep you standing.

You are quite literally at his mercy.

And again, your footwork is off.

You grunt when he leans in close. Way too close for comfort. You feel somewhat like a caged animal, and you’re sure you look the part.

“There are decisions you can make, however,” he chides. “Five seconds. Think.”

You glance down at your weapon pointed at your chest. You hesitantly unwrap your arms from around his neck and try and grab at it.

In the time it’s taken you to muster the courage to let go of him, his grip loosens around your waist again. Your heart drops and you quickly curl your arms around his shoulders again.

“Too slow,” is all he remarks. “Four.”

You make a desperate attempt at wriggling from his grasp, but he only chuckles at your futility.

“Three.”

You almost give up. “This is dumb.”

“Two.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The worst idea springs to mind, and for the final second, you second-guess yourself.

“One–”

Your hands shift from his arms to his cheeks, and you draw him as close as you could before you strained your neck upwards.

Your lips press against his in a last ditch effort as a distraction, and for a moment, you believe it doesn’t work. He completely freezes up and stiffens in your grasp like a corpse.

The sword still presses to your chest, and you find it uncomfortable to inhale for a moment. It feels as though one wrong move will send the sharpened blade driving forth into your skin.

And then, he drops the weapon in favour of slotting his hand behind your head and keeping you on him. The sound of metal hitting the floor rings distantly in your ears.

His lips are coated in sweat, and you taste salt and oranges. The scent is addicting enough, oddly, and you sigh into his mouth with relief.

His hand wanders. Not dangerously, but enough to keep you alert. It slides from your hair to your throat, and it remains against your jugular for a good long while. His thumb then flutters to the notch and keeps you still and placated.

Then, he rubs gently at your sternum, as if in apology. You pay it no mind. Your hands are still, save for the gentle stroke at the nape of his neck.

He’s teasing you, you figure out, even when he’s all wrapped around your finger like the ribbon in his hair. He pulls away constantly to see if you’ll give chase, and of course you do.

You’d feel almost pathetic if he wasn’t eagerly returning the kiss like an idiot.

He then pulls away. Much too quickly for your liking.

You frown and try to tug at his hair to bring him on your tongue.

Jing Yuan presses his fingers to your lips. “I thought you said you played nice?”

“Whatever, handsome,” you mumble. You reach upwards and tussle his already messy hair.

His lips are red with spit. Your spit. You did that. Gross.

Your heart flutters and you giggle.

“That would’ve been a good time to throw a punch,” he says after a moment.

You think about it. Then, you reel your fist back and aim at his face. “Sure.”

His other arm holds strong wrapped around your waist when he catches your wrist. Instead, he places soft kisses along your knuckles.

Something hot bubbles in your stomach. Easy.

“Will you kiss every opponent that bests you like that?” Jing Yuan asks quietly, a sneaking grin growing on his reddened lips.

You hum softly and cup his face gently. “Maybe.”

He scoffs lightly. “Don’t make me jealous.”

[evilminji]

You know one of the purposes of Lining?

Shock Absorption.

If the Zone is the Inter- and EXTRA-Dimensional Lining, connecting, containing, and generally powering all of Multiversal Creation? The Great Primordial Soup? The Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, from which we came and too which we return?

If the Zone itself is basicly the place between Universe, where your soul goes to get washed down, cleaned up, recharged, and sent out to wherever the next random portal takes it? To BECOME whatever you happen to find? An infinte recycler and Multiversal management?

The great metaphorical Yggdrasil, grown far beyond few branches, into an incomprehensible forest of one?

Well!

That kinda changes things! And also nothing! Because it means that those who remain? Are basicly squatting in the DMV's attic. Have built bunkers, under the country's main power generator. They really SHOULD move along. Granted, there is no one to MAKE them... but like...

That's cause no one thought anyone would NEED too?

Lol. Don't they feel silly? Anyway, I'ma put MY house over-! *wander off to go squat in the rafters*

Yeah, the CONCEPTS are native. But those probably just generate naturally. It's all the Souls constantly flowing through. Lots of background Sentience and Memories and such being washed away into the air. But? Then these lil souls were like "yeah, but if THEY get to stay... me too! D:< " "no, you can-" "ME TOO" and then they stopped listening and did what they wanted.

Good thing we have literally infinte amounts of room.

T...there's so MANY, you guys.

But! Not the point here!

*smacks white board* Realities! The Die too sometimes! And get born! A beautiful process, really. You can find Reality Beads if you know When and Where to look, some times. They, OBVIOUSLY, don't last for very long. Since they are basicly just seed universe. The explosive growth takes them almost immediately out of our range of perception, as they Begin.

Foundations of all Life and such.

But good God are they MAGNIFICENT!

However, sometimes? The REVERSE happens. If you find the area of the Zone your in? Is getting... "wavey" is the best way people describe it. Distorted. Fun house mirror. As though your vision has weird wrinkles that are distorting and stretching your view of things? Get Out. FAST.

If it's only SLIGHT? Barely noticeable? You can grab your Lair. IF, and ONLY IF you are NEARBY! If not? Remember. Things can be replaced. YOU? Can not.

Cause that "wavey"-ness? Is the final stage of Realm Entropy. The universe that portion over the Zone is covering and connected too, is all hollowed out. And about to CAVE IN. You DO NOT want to be there when that happens!

Remember! You see "waves"? Fly for three days!

Get to the edge of the affected area then KEEP GOING for a full three days flight. Warn everyone in you path. We stay safe together, guy. Collapses are NO JOKE. People get... well. Let's just say it's NOT a nice way too go.

Knowing this of course? We should all be SAFE right? Respectful if Awed distance from Reality Seeds, run like he'll if "waves"? We Gucci?

.....Sooooorta.

*flips Whiteboard to other side, to reveal a cartoonishly drawn Supervillian labeled "Asshole"*

Behold! A Terrorist!

It's a charged word. Not used lightly. But THESE fuckers? Oh ho ho! THESE fuckers?! "Ooooh~! Look at MEEEEE! I'm gonna play with FORCES I DONT UNDERSTAAAAAAAND! Destabilize my whole funckin UNIVERSE! Kill countless TRILLIONS OF TRILLIONS! Cause life was bad to me personally and I'm mad about it! Wah wah wah!!" ASSHOLES!

These fuckers? Cause Collapses. Blow Outs. Weird Fucked Up Cancerous Real Growths. You ever seen the Cleaners? No? You don't WANT TOO. They are basically eldritch, deep sea, angler fish looking mother fuckers THE SIZE OF SOLAR SYSTEMS. They travel in SCHOOLS.

BIG ONES.

When Realities collapse, they "fall off" as it were. Detach. And have to get recycled. All the countless impurities of Life eaten way to a blank slate. So it too, can start again. Thus the Fish. But! They ALSO eat anything "problematic".

Like tumors. Cancers. Poisoned, Multiversal Threats. Those quote on quote "God Killers".

Yes. Yes this IS part of why you DONT want to be near a Collapsing Reality.

No I WON'T explain how I know.

I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

*smack the board with pointer* pay attention.

Jason Todd. Not! An Asshole. Sexy thighs. Fancy lil hair strip. We all miss him. But! He's off living his "no really, I'm totally alive, guys" hot girl summer or whatever. We are going to respect that! But!!! How did that happen? When he was DEFINITELY Hella dead?

Superboy Prime-y Pants. Who IS an ASSHOLE.

Because THAT fucker? PUNCHED HIS REALITY SO HARD IT NEARLY SHATTERED. Oh, no, I'm sorry! He punched SOMEONE ELSE'S reality! Because he is a tantruming MAN CHILD! And NOW? Now, Your Majesty, that WHOLE ASS Reality is more hair line cracks then border walls! One good shove? It'll cave in. Killing every soul inside.

The Cleaners are ALREADY circling.

It needs to be patched. Immediately. But that's not something normal ghosts can DO. The Zone won't LISTEN to us. Nor allocate the energy for it. The Concepts of Healing? We can't even FIND them.

We need help.

Please help them, King Phantom. You're the only one who CAN.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[hellenicrisis]

A Collection of Greek Keywords for Hellenic Pagans (kharis, miasma, etc.)

Kharis:

Kharis means 'grace' or 'favour' and it is in reference to the reciprocal nature of our relationships with the gods.

Liddell and Scott describe it as, "A grace or favour felt on the part of the doer but more frequently on the part of the receiver in the form or thankfulness and gratitude."

It essentially means a favour done in delight. This can be both the offering we give to the gods, and the favours and blessings the gods bestow upon us.

Kharis is both the action of offering and worshipping and also what is built between a worshipper and a god through the actions of offering and reverence. It can be used like this:

'Giving an offering to the gods is an example of kharis.'

Or:

'I have built up kharis with Apollo over the years.'

Khaire/khairete:

Khaire or khairete are words that mean 'hail', 'farewell', or 'blessings'.

It can be used to greet someone, either as hello or farewell (I use it at the end of some of my posts). It can also be used at the end of a prayer.

Khaire is used to address one person or god, and khairete is used to address a group.

Miasma:

Miasma means 'stain', 'pollution', 'defilement', or 'stain of guilt'.

It is a type of spiritual pollution that a person or a place can collect through either happenstance or deliberate action. It makes us spiritually unclean but there is no damnation involved in miasma and thus is not similar to sin. Sin is more comparable to agos, which is mentioned later.

We tend to collect miasma while going about day-to-day life, almost like getting our hands dirty while working. The stain it refers to is always one of a spiritual nature; miasma is a strictly spiritual concept.

It makes a person or place ritually impure, hence it is inappropriate to interact with the divine while in a miasmic state. The gods are said to reject the offerings of a miasmic person or to vacate a miasmic place until it is cleansed.

Human blood is also considered to be miasmic when spilled outside of battle, though this is not the case for menstrual blood (although I tend to avoid praying and doing rituals during that week anyway as I consider it to not be my cleanest state possible. I use this time to tend to my altar physically instead, cleaning it and reorganizing it).

Miasma is very common, everyone gets it, mostly due to plain daily life, though sometimes due to deliberate actions. Miasma can always be cleansed.

Sources of miasma include:

Death in the home - Pollutes the grieving and the home. People and home need to be cleansed before interacting with the gods or going to temple.

Birth - Because of the blood involved. Mother and baby are considered by traditional standards to be miasmic for three days postpartum and both are generally cleansed at five days postpartum.

Intercourse - Both parties are polluted by the act and must be cleansed before interacting with the gods or going to temple.

M*rder/m*nsl*ughter - This collects both miasma and agos. The m*rderer becomes miasmic, and a place can become miasmic if a m*rderer is free and unpunished there. This does not apply to blood spilled in battle.

There is a line in Hesiod's Works and Days that refers to the action of cleansing oneself of miasma before interacting with the gods. It reads, "Never pour a libation of sparkling wine to Zeus after dawn with unwashen hands, nor to others of the deathless gods."

Khernips:

Khernips means 'handwash', or 'lustral water'.

It is basically Hellenic holy water. It is used to purify ourselves of miasma before interacting with the gods.

It can be made by dropping burnt herbs or laurel leaves (bay leaves) in clean water, or by dropping a lit match in clean water. Simply washing our hands in plain water can work symbolically as well if done with the specific intention of purifying oneself.

Agos:

Agos means 'curse', 'pollution', or 'abomination'.

It can be considered as a step up to miasma and, while not quite the same, it could also be considered comparable to sin. It is brought about through deliberate actions and it is very difficult, if not impossible, to cleanse. Agos can also invoke the divine wrath of the gods, so it does involve a form of damnation

Some things that cause/invoke agos include:

Having intercourse inside a temple

Temple robbing

M*rder

Bloodshed inside a temple or on sacred grounds

Broken xenia

The refusal to properly bury a family member or a soldier (even an enemy soldier)

K*lling someone who is under the gods' protection

Offering human blood to the gods (due to its miasmic nature)

Agos is hardly as common as miasma, so it is not something the general practitioner should worry about.

[fordlee]

Ford’s self-control on his… impure thoughts about his brother becoming undone as Summerween nears. All because of those outfits Stan’s been wearing on group tours that’s becoming more scandalous by the day. Call Ford crazy (well, crazier than he already is) but it almost seems like Stan wants him to fall into temptation.

Sorry this took so long, but I made it in time for Halloween! No smut unfortunately! I hope you like it anyway <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁺

If Ford hadn't known any better, he would have thought that Stanley was trying to torture him. The costumes Stan had worn in the week leading up to Summerween had become increasingly provocative. It had started off relatively innocent - ironic, considering that Stan's first costume of the week had been The Devil himself.

Stanford wasn't complaining, though. In fact, if he were being entirely honest, Stan looked downright adorable. The costume was akin to a pair of footie pajamas, all red and even coming with a tail sewn into the bottom. Ford wondered if Stan had sewn it himself, as he could see the stitch lines from where different pieces of fabric had been sewn together. Oh! And the little hooves on his footies. Something about it just pulled his heartstrings.

Stanley was precious. Even when reminding his customers that, “if you don't buy, you'll see me when you die!”

Unlike the coming days, not all that much transpired. However, for some reason, Ford found that Stanley's costume drew considerable attention to his rear. Perhaps because of the tail, perhaps because of the color, perhaps because Ford was an old pervert who enjoyed giving himself the opportunity to ogle his brother's ass. Who can say, really?

Whatever the case, Ford found himself resisting the urge to give Stan a pat on the ass far more often than he should have. Which, really, should have been not at all.

Mabel and Dipper had informed him that the second costume had been from the Summer prior, for a party held at The Mystery Shack.

It was a nice little number, even if it looked as though it hadn't seen the light of day since the Seventies. Then again, it did suit Stan well, if a bit loose on him. A white dress shirt with a v-neck, its collar popped. The gold chain draped around his neck led eyes to wander down to his chest, to the gray curls that covered Stan's wide chest. Ford could only wonder what he'd look like with his girdle off…

Ford preferred not to cross into the business section of the house, at least during operating hours. Though, it was tempting - the thought of getting close enough to run his eyes over Stan's chest, to sneak a peek past the v-neck of his shirt, down the valley of chest hair that trailed down to his stomach. The way the hair covered Stan's pecs, curled around his nipples.

Ford wondered, concealed by the shadows of the corners he was peeking around, if Stan's customers felt the same. If they, too, were left wanting and near breathless by the sight of Stan's tight sleeves wrapped around his thick arms. If they couldn't stop their eyes from trailing down to his brown slacks and how good they made his legs look. An image appeared in Ford's mind - of him storming over there and wrapping his arms around Stan's like a jealous lover.

Ford shook himself from the thought and suppressed a growl as he ripped himself away from the sight. That is, only after Stan had just happened to spot him, sending him off with a smirk and a wink.

The day after, Stan had worn a vampire costume - one he’d used last year, according to Mabel’s scrapbook. This year, however, Stanley had made some alterations. He had foregone that dreadful wig, and had left his undershirt partially unbuttoned, opened even wider than the day before, allowing anyone who desired to take a peek at the curly, gray chest hair underneath.

Ford found himself drawn to the fake fangs protruding from Stan's mouth. And Stan's mouth, in general, but that wasn't anything new. His imagination went wild with possibilities. Stanford was no stranger to sampling human blood, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered partaking in the blood of his twin. Partially just out of curiosity, partially for the romanticism of it all. Drinking his brother's blood, having such an intimate part of his brother inside of him. But now, with Stan dressed up like this, he couldn't help but imagine if the roles were reversed.

Stan's fangs sinking deep into his neck, his mouth would be so hot and wet. Ford's hot blood would flood into Stanley's mouth and make him moan, vibrating against heated skin. The two of them moaning in tandem as Stan drank him dry. Stanley would cut himself open, across his chest, and press Ford's face into his chest, and the elder twin would eagerly lap up Stan's ichor, tongue covered in red, leaving over Stan's chest, his hair, his nipples. Ford would turn himself, and just as Stan did, he too would stake his claim and-

Ford was suddenly highly aware of how tight his pants felt, and made the decision to hole himself away in the basement for the day, trying his damndest to not think of Stanley or any tourists that may be ogling him.

The next day was no better - this time, Stan had decided a fitting follow-up was a sexy werewolf. He donned himself in an open flannel shirt, an off-white wife beater underneath, and a pair of jean shorts that, in Ford’s opinion, were not short enough to count as sexy - though they did give him a good look at his calves. But, then again, his brother wasn’t wearing them for him and he shouldn’t be thinking these things, anyway. If all of that wasn’t bad enough, Stan had worn a frankly adorable headband with two, fuzzy wolf ears protruding from it, and a pair of wolf paws. It took almost all of Stanford’s willpower to not go up to his twin and run his hands through his hair. The rest of his restraint was focused on forcing himself not to think of how Stanley would react if he called him a good boy.

Another day, another costume change. Ford should have known that something was horribly, terribly wrong when Mabel had informed him that she and Dipper had been banned from the Mystery Shack portion of the house.

Ford's fears had been confirmed when he peered around the corner to spot Stan during a tour. What? He couldn't just not look!

Stan was dressed as a sexy inmate. Of course. Of course he was. The bright, orange jumpsuit had no legs and was near skintight. Good God, Stan’s thighs. Ford felt like a dog with how much he was basically salivating over them. The urge to pull his brother away from his tour and the prying, undeserving eyes of his customers was so strong it had fingers itching to touch him. Fingers roaming every inch, caressing up his legs and down his thighs, brushing against his crotch…

The short sleeves allowed for Stan’s thick arms to be on full display. His chest, too, the graying curls making their return with a vengeance. The zipper of the opened jumpsuit lay tantalizingly close to Stan’s stomach. God, he was such a tease… But, no, no, he wasn’t. Stan wasn’t doing this on purpose, and Ford felt a sudden, crushing sense of guilt for even thinking that way. He was just doing this as a gag, and likely to catch the attention of any “babes” who were lucky enough to see their town darling in such a state of dress.

“Great Uncle Ford?”

In that instant, Ford’s blood had turned to ice. He’d been caught. Of course he had! He was peeking around the corners of The Mystery Shack in hopes of leering at his own twin brother!

A vortex of nausea churned in his stomach. For a moment, Stanford’s brain chugged like a dying engine. He was sent into mental freefall, no excuse or explanation to save him. He stuttered for a moment in surprise, clearly caught off guard. He watched as Dipper tilted his head, expression skewing into one of confusion. Great work, Stanford, you knucklehead. Ford managed to catch his breath, mind clearing somewhat. Then, he cleared his throat, forcing his face to remain neutral. He grasped for something to say.

“I- this- this is real, right?” Ford had made a showing of cringing as he pointed in Stanley’s general direction. “You’re seeing it, too?”

“I try not to,” Dipper grimaced before he perked back up. “But, Mabel and I get the week off of work just so we don't have to see.”

If only Ford could be so lucky. He snuck another peek.

“It’s like a trainwreck.” An incredibly attractive trainwreck. “I can’t look away.”

“Well, if you wanna get outta here, me and Mabel are gonna go Leprecorn-hunting!”

A tempting offer, to be sure. Perhaps some fresh air would clear Ford’s head. He quickly followed after his grandnephew and niece after grabbing some weaponry. He ended up being so consumed by thoughts of Stan in that costume in various poses that one of those bearded, be-hooved bastards nearly chewed his pant leg off.

Taking defensive measures, Stanford decided to hunker down in the basement for the majority of the following day. Stanley was out of sight, out of mind. Mostly. Well, he had certainly tried, and that’s what counted. He was thankful when Mabel and Dipper had decided to join him, allowing his mind to focus on crafting a quick campaign of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons for them.

Even after a fun session of dungeon-crawling, Ford was desperate to not be alone with his own thoughts. His mind flashed through images of potential outfits Stan could have worn that day (sexy cowboy, sexy barbarian, sexy isosceles triangle…), causing him to shudder with lust. He had to keep distracting himself! He just needed to hold out for a couple more days. Then it would all go back to normal. Or as close to normal as his family could get.

It almost made Ford hopeful, until he finally made the ascent upstairs for dinner. He was certain he'd timed it so that Stan would have closed the Shack and gotten out of his costume, but of course, Ford just had to run right smack into him.

“Whoa, Sixer,” A strong hand came down on Ford's shoulder, steadying him. “You alright?”

An answer started to form, but immediately died in Ford's throat when he finally realized what Stan was wearing.

A pirate costume, funnily enough. A black captain's hat perched on Stan's head where his fez would normally be. Two straps at Stan's broad shoulders trailed down, connected to a tight, black corset that was a mix of both lace and leather, hugging him tight. And below the corset was a skirt. Stanley was wearing a skirt. His brother was in a skirt. A cute black skirt, layered with red, frilly fabric. Tantalizingly short. And when Ford’s eyes trailed down to his legs, he noticed– fishnets. Sweet Moses, Stanley was wearing fishnet stockings.

He dared not look any lower or for any longer, and when Ford was able to wrench his eyes away, he was suddenly, highly aware of how hot his face felt, a blush spreading from his face all the way down his chest and up to the tips of his ears. Ford’s mouth had fallen open at some point. He tried to articulate something verbally, but it seemed as though everything remotely intelligent in his brain had been shut down, all thanks to Stan and his scant clothing.

Stanley barked out a laugh. A large hand reached up and cupped Ford's jaw, making Ford seize up in surprise. The feeling of Stan’s warm, calloused hand on his face nearly made him reel back. His jaw was gently pushed up and his mouth closed.

“You'll catch flies,” Stan chided good-naturedly. “Leaves ya kinda speechless, don't it?”

Then, Stanley winked at him. Ford's mind scrambled for purchase, desperate to not make a bigger fool of himself than he already had.

“Quite,” Ford replied, finally finding the brain capacity to speak. “That- isn't that a…?”

“A broad's costume? Yeah, it drives the babes wild.” Stan leaned in, wiggling his eyebrows.

Stanford certainly couldn't argue that. He cleared his throat and quickly turned about to walk away– only to almost crash face first into the vending machine. Ford quickly recovered, shooting Stan a glare as he laughed after him, and made his escape from his sinful temptations. He didn't hear as Stan lagged behind him, muttering something to himself about ungrateful, perverted twin brothers.

Ford had a difficult time getting to sleep, his mind alight with even more ideas for what twin could be dolled up in. A sexy cheerleader, Stanley bending over his bed for him and rucking up his skirt, sending Ford a wink. A sexy playboy bunny, Stan spreading out his legs and showing Ford his thighs. Ford would crawl in between them, pulling aside the fabric that covered his bulge. A sexy unattainable princess, beckoning for him. Surely not a trap, surely not…

Ford was going to jump him. If he didn’t restrain himself, he was going to pounce on Stanley and take what was his. Because, of course, when he'd finally risen up from the basement, hoping the coast was clear, he'd found the house empty. As far as he was aware, at least. He really should have called out, just in case, but Ford was so overwhelmed with relief that it had slipped his mind. At least, that's what he told himself.

His feet had guided him straight to Stanley's room. Not only was he there, but he was in costume. Near naked. In front of a mirror. Posing.

“God, Stanley, this is the most provocative one yet! What if the children see?”

For just a moment, Ford relished the shocked expression on his brother's face. Stanley's eyes darted around the mirror for the culprit, quickly locking eyes with Ford, and a smug grin quickly rose to his lips. He spun around to face him.

For the umpteenth time that week, Ford gawker at his brother. It seemed to be what a Halloween store would refer to as a, "Sexy Mr. Mystery costume." Stan's suit had been replaced with just a loose vest. The only thing on the lower half of Stan's body beside his garters was a tight, red thong. And, as always, his fez.

“Aw, don’t worry, they’re out with Soos an’ Wendy. We got the place to ourselves.”

For a moment, Ford opened a closed his mouth, akin to a fish, making no sound. It was only when he shook himself did he finally find the strength to speak again - much to his twins amusement.

Ford's brows furrowed together as he approached (God he's so close, he's so so close to him, he could just reach out and touch him and take him and-). “Then, why are you dressed up? There are no tours tonight, correct?”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest, smiling smugly. “Not doing trick-or-treating, neither.”

A tilt of Ford's head. “So, what's with the outfit?”

“Ah, you know, jus’ in case someone wants a private tour.”

“A private tour.” Ford repeated. Part of it was making sure he was hearing Stan correctly, the costume was making it a tad difficult.

“Y'know, of the bedroom.”

Ford blinked owlishly.

All mirth ran away from Stan's face, his expression twisting in frustration. “For a genius, you can be real dense, y'know that?”

“What?”

“Ford, I'm-” Stan raised a hand to the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his face in exasperation. He let out a heavy sigh as he made eye contact with Stanford. “I'm… I'm coming on to ya.”

He was joking. He was just joking. Stan had to be joking. Ford trembled with restraint, shaking and itching to just touch him. But, he couldn't. It couldn't be true. Luckily, Stan took the choice out of his hands as he reached out to touch him, a large hand squeezing around his bicep.

“I'm not an idiot, Ford. You're literally the most obvious person in the world about this. I know you like me.”

Stanford was sure that by now, his entire world would have ended. His life should be over. But, Stanley doesn't seem angered. Quite the opposite.

A shaky breath before he dared to confess, “I love you.”

Stan's smile was tender and warm. “I love you, too, knucklehead. An’ I know you want this. That's the reason why I dressed up.”

“Really?"

“Yeah! And ‘cause I like driving you crazy.”

Of course. Of course he'd do all this just to mess with him. Who else but Stanley would?

“Jerk,” Ford gave Stan a playful punch, his grin betraying him. "... Was I really that bad?"

"Oh, yeah, you could see it from a million miles away," Stan chuckled. “For some reason I figured tryin’ to goad you into jumpin’ my bones was easier than just tellin’ ya I feel the same.”

“Don't you hate it when you have to actually talk things out?”

“Ugh, it's the worst!”

Ford chuckled darkly. “You better be prepared to make up for an entire week of teasing me.”

Stan leaned closer, wrapping his arms around Ford. “Whaddaya say you unwrap your treat, huh?”

“God, and you say I'm the lame one.”

“Shut up, nerd.”

And before Ford could respond, Stan pressed his lips against Ford's in a searing kiss. All restraint and worry left Ford as they both melted together, into the loves of each other's lives, and guided one another to the bed.

[baby-kuromi-coll]

Shigiraki Themed Agere Moodboard

Little Shigaraki Headcanons:

Shigaraki spends a lot of time making little crafts and art pieces along with just general colouring and drawing

Shigaraki is autistic and do to this spends a lot of time using stim toys, wearing his noise cancelling headphones, and collecting stuffed animals as they have textures that help calm him!

Shigaraki loves gaming in his feee time and it’s no different when he’s regressed! When he’s tiny though his favourites are Animal crossing and Minecraft!

Shigaraki loves watching Disney movies and kids YouTube videos, his favourites being og Minecraft players like stamps cat and Dan tdm

Shigaraki loves curling up with his friends in a cozy little blanket fort and eating his favourite comfort snacks

Shigaraki has a tendency to impurely regress, however it’s fairly easy to help him make the regression more pure

Kurogiri is Shigaraki’s main caregiver but Dabi tends to be a babysitter, even when he is regressed aswell since he tends to regress to his teens.

Shigaraki and Toga love to regress together and are eachothers Sibby’s

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

[blasphemousclaw]

In regards to Morgott and/or Mohg: How do you think the Hornsent would feel toward them? Seeing as they both embody multiple aspects of the Crucible that aren't just limited to the horns(tail, wings), on one hand you'd think there'd be a certain reverence.

But they're both direct offsprings of Marika. Despite the aspects they bear, surely there'd be some level of scrutiny.

Would they have been revered? Or shunned? To bear such a divinely visage as the result of a curse...

... It's gotta be tough on both the twins.

depends who you’re asking… I can think of a number of different reactions hornsent people might have?

In general, I’m sure people would definitely think of them as highly ironic… like omfg they’re so #blessed to have such magnificent horns but they’re literally the offspring of the loathsome strumpet… what a waste. they bear the Crucible’s blessing, but that’s hardly a blessing in Marika’s world!

knowing how Marika treated them, some might feel sorry for them, or even might be angry on their behalf… but others might scorn them simply because they are Marika’s children, not seeing them as people, but as divine retribution for what Marika inflicted on their people. overall I don’t think any hornsent would see the twins as one of their own because again, omen are not hornsent, the hornsent are a culture which Mohg and Morgott weren’t born into… I can’t really make any other generalizations besides that because I think the twins’ identities are complicated and the hornsent would have many different opinions!

Hornsent (the guy) specifically I think would feel a sense of karmic satisfaction about the twins, similar to what he says about Messmer… “to think he dared call us savages, when he himself was the most base of all.” like ooh, Marika’s called us impure, but her own children are horned! I can see him distrusting the twins implicitly just because they’re children of Marika, but at the same time, he’s loyal to Miquella even though he’s Marika’s son because he pinkie promised to make up for his mom’s crimes (and backed up his convictions by literally removing his body parts)… so I think Hornsent definitely could come to trust and sympathize with someone like Mohg, who suffered at Marika’s hand and works against her and her Tarnished. perhaps Hornsent should’ve had a conversation with Ansbach! Morgott on the other hand he’d see as a highly cringe and offensive bootlicker

Hornsent Grandam would probably feel the same karmic satisfaction about the twins; as someone praying for Marika’s downfall every day she’d be like wow Marika and her kin really did get cursed lmfao. I do think she could be persuaded to take pity on them though, since they’re victims of Marika in their own way… maybe they could bond over some scorpion stew and she’d dispense some grandmotherly wisdom, at first begrudgingly but then with real affection…

it would’ve been so interesting to get a hornsent’s opinion on Mohg and Morgott, this is really making me wish that Hornsent and Ansbach spoke, and/or Hornsent found out about Mohg’s role in Miquella’s plans!

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter!

Part 2 - here is the LINK to the first part! Leni has to act dumb to everything Max has told her when they’re in Monza where Kelly is. She witnesses a somewhat awkward interaction and Max gets suspicious when Leni is close with Carlos.

Warnings: mentions of arguments, probs some swearing, jealousy and impure thoughts. A little naughty thing happens between Leni and Max, but nothing major.

A couple days later we were all back together in Monza for the following Grand Prix. It was more than a success for Red Bull, with Checo taking second and Max taking yet another win. Red Bull now had 10 consecutive wins a row. It was party central around the grid, plus Sainz had bagged 3rd place which he truly deserved, he fought off the RB’s like a mad man for a good 15 laps. After his birthday yesterday, I congratulated him with a massive hug.

“You really deserved that, well done.” I hugged the Spanish man. I’d met Carlos years ago when he signed with Red Bull back in 2010.(I fancied him). Now he just felt like my older brother. Okay maybe that was a weird thing to say.

“Thank you, miss Leni. I missed you.” He gave me a tight squeeze back as I smiled adoringly towards Carlos. “I miss you Carlos, I hope Ferrari are treating you better than before the summer break.” I half joked.

“Yeah, me too.” His eyes widened. “Will you be out tonight?” Carlos then questioned. “Probably, I think we’ll be at the same place, -are you celebrating your birthday too?” “Of course.” He smirked. “I’ll come over and say hi. Get you a couple birthday shots!” I nodded as the older man laughed. “Drinking competition.”

“Are you trying to kill me? I’ll see you tonight, Carlos.” “Yes, let me know when you are in there. I think somebody wants to speak to you.” Carlos nodded behind me as my brows furrowed slightly as I spun around, hand sliding off Carlos’ arm. Max was lingering, a huge smile plastered across his face as he attempted to bite it back, nodding towards Carlos. My heart fluttered pathetically as I laughed out of pure ecstasy.

“Max!” The two of us embraced tightly as he lifted me up. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you.” I felt the breath of his laughter against my bare shoulder as he gently eased me back to the ground.

“Thank you, thank you. I’m so happy.” He modestly spoke, cheeks flustered from his excitement. The whole morning I had to act sheepishly around him and Kelly, purely because of what he told me when he was drunk. For a second of seeing him, I forgot what I felt awkward about. But when his hand lingered on my upper back, I felt the exact same itch of guilt that had pestered me all day.

“Good, you should be. You’ll be celebrating tonight, right?”

“Maybe, maybe.” He shrugged, hand slipping off as I crossed my hands over my chest. “Maybe? Max you’ve literally beaten a world record, you can’t not!” I nagged, pulling on his arm dramatically.

He smirked sheepishly, laughing to himself as we began walking back to the Red Bull garage. “Carlos is going out!” I spoke, as though that would sway him. “I’m sure Checo is too!” “Go party with Carlos.” Max shrugged nudging my arm. “Huh?” I asked loudly. “Huh?” He mimicked as I scoffed out a laugh. “I thought you… you know- I mean now you’re single-” “Ew, what’re you trying to say?”

“Yes, what are you trying to say, Max?” Another female voice interrupted and I tilted my head up, stomach sinking to see Kelly. “Hi Kelly!” I politely smiled. “Hey.” She smiled back. It was about as far as our friendship ever got, I always made an effort with her, but she was quiet in general, maybe the 13 year age difference between us was a bit too extreme. I was just being a hater.

“Well I thought now Leni is single she might have been… interested in Carlos.”

“Oh.” Kelly’s face relaxed as I felt my frown grow harder. “Carlos? He’s known me since I was like 9!” I grimaced towards Max, feeling Kelly staring right back to her boyfriend. Max shifted uncomfortably. I felt uncomfortable- god he needed to just tell the woman what he was feeling.

“Oops.” Max shrugged as we shared another laugh. Kelly on the other hand, didn’t seem amused. “No hug for me, Max?” She sassed as I felt my stomach churn in guilt. Max’s mouth opened to respond and I wanted to yell out, hug her you fool.

“I’m gonna go, see you both later.” I awkwardly excused myself, wanting to literally throw myself off a cliff. A shudder ran down my spine, cringing at the whole interaction. This whole crush on Max had to stop, how the hell could I limit interaction between us without it looking so obvious?

Limiting interaction is what I tried to do. I kept my distance from Max the whole evening, opting to chat with Checo rather than be around where he and Kelly bickered. It wasn’t anything new the arguments, my dad often said it was Max’s number 1 distraction. Knowing what I now knew, I agreed. I just had to keep my head down and act like whatever they were arguing about wasn’t loud enough that you could hear Kelly over the music.

Minutes later she stormed out, tipping a few drinks off the table in the process. Max groaned into his hands, luckily, Hannah, the strategist, reassured Max she was leaving anyway and she’d fix it. I kinda felt bad for him, he’d just won yet another world title and this had to happen tonight. He looked a little sad, the minute my heart churned I turned my attention elsewhere. I hated the way I wanted to go and speak to him, it wasn’t right. Max needed to end the torment Kelly was probably feeling and sort out their god damn mortgage issue.

Desperate to avoid any form of drama, I escaped to go spend some time with Carlos and the Ferrari team for a while. I looked like a little backstabber, playfully sticking my fingers up at people from RB. I’d fully danced my feet off, and I was exhausted from all the day drinking combined with the heat at Monza.

After saying bye to a bunch of people, I slipped outside, bagging a cigarette off somebody as I stumbled to an empty table, booking an Uber.

“12 minutes? Ugh.” I muttered to myself, quite literally desperate to throw myself in bed. My ankles were desperately hurting where I’d grown uneasy in my heels, and it was beginning to radiate up to my shins. I lit the cigarette and began puffing on the stick that I normally wouldn’t smoke sober.

“I didn’t know you smoke?” My heart skipped a beat as I dropped the freshly lit cigarette into a puddle next to the chair. “I don’t anymore.” I cleared my throat, glancing up to Max quickly. Where had he come from?

“Don’t tell Geri or my dad.” I commented as he let out a soft chuckle. “I won’t.”

“Thanks… what’re you doing out here?”

“Leaving.” He shrugged, sitting across from me. “Oh, me too. You can get in my Uber if you want.” I offered.

“Yeah please, I’ll pay. I gotta go and… find Kelly.” He awkwardly spoke as I glimpsed away at the mention of her name.

“No, you don’t have to pay.” I ignored the last part of his sentence, shaking my head firmly. “I do.” Max firmed. “I don’t mind Max, he’s 10 minutes away, anyway.” I looked back down to my phone as he nodded. “I’ll split share.” He offered, reaching over to tap my phone onto his contact to share the cost. “Okay.” I shyly spoke watching him slide my phone back to me.

“You ok?” He then questioned as I glimpsed back up. “Yeah, I’m good. Are you?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, running his hand through his slightly messy hair. He had stubble growing in areas that made him look extra manly, and I had to pinch my bare thigh to focus on what he was saying.

“Not exactly the best night.” Max awkwardly chuckled as I began picking at the wood on the table, thinking carefully about my words for a good few seconds. “You should tell her, Max.” I boldly said. I felt him shift uncomfortably, when I looked up he was too staring at the table. I assumed he knew what I was talking about. “I know.” He chewed on the inside of his cheeks.

“I didn’t think you’d remember..” he then added on as I let out an awkward laugh. “I didn’t think you would. You’re rich enough, just pay off the mortgage and then that’s out of the way.” “I was talking to my accountant about it.” He rubbed his face. “That’s why she was upset.”

“Oh.” I commented, my eyes roaming around any part of the smoking area, as long as I didn’t make eye contact with him, it was fine.

“Yeah.” Awkward, my teeth sunk into my bottom lip, probably taking off half the lipgloss I’d just applied. “Awkward.” I blurted out, earning a laugh from Max as we caught each others eyes again.

“You don’t have a filter do you?” I felt my cheeks warm desperately as I tried not to smile. “I mean- just not after a few drinks.”

“It’s funny, Leni.” He giggled as I took a sharp breath, “it gets me in trouble sometimes.” I shrugged. We made small talk back and fourth for the next ten minutes before climbing in the Uber together, it was safe to say neither of us was as drunk as we were that night on the beach, we actually had some restraint about us.

“I forgot to take my brother to his tutor today!” I spoke up, turning to face him. Max’s head was rested back, lolling to look at me with a soft gaze.

“How? Why does he have a tutor on a Sunday?” He spluttered out a laugh.

“You tell me. My dad was speaking to me and I forgot to listen- took Monty up to the paddock, he knocked himself out on Gelato, the same way I did the free champagne, and I just… forgot.” “Oh, Leni.” Max laughed, reaching over to slightly touch my hand through his amusement. I spared a quick glance down to his hand, it was inching closer to my own, nudging against it with every bump of movement in the car.

“It was stupid.” I muttered on a sharp intake of breath. Max looked back to me, smiling, I shyly caught his eye, feeling his fingers graze over mine to hold onto my hand. He was smiling, glancing down to our hands and I couldn’t process the butterflies he gave me. The way my heart set off racing, how I felt like I couldn’t speak. What on earth was happening right now?

What followed was a terrible guilt. “Max.” I exhaled, softly parting out hands. I didn’t know what that was, or how it happened so quickly, of course it wasn’t a kiss, but the movement made me truly question if Max and I were actually just friends? Max straightened in his seat, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. I trapped both my hands between my knees. I didn’t quite know what to say, I glanced out of the window, pursing my lips slightly. “You need to tell her.”

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Royal Pain In The Ass

Yandere Male Alpha x Male Omega Reader (CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, INCEST, non-con, male reader, a/b/o, ass eaten like it is groceries, blowjob, marking, biting, knotting, musk, general yandere behavior, necromancy, assassination, minor character death, angst, pain, violent sex, breeding, forced feminization, size difference) Word Count: 2.9k (This is probably the worst thing I have ever written, but I think I covered all the appropriate warnings. Sorry for any mistakes I did proofread, but I did not have this beta read.)

Your father, King Esmer, had been among the wisest and most powerful kings in all the world. He had led decisive victories in war, chosen brilliant advisors, and knew when to rule kindness and when to rule with a bit of a sterner hand. Overall he had been much loved by all the classes and had truly united his kingdom, alphas, betas, and omegas alike. But as he grew older many in the royal court began to fear that your brother, Prince Vairthold, would become a tyrant of a monarch. He had always been a bit of a demanding brat, but as he grew so too did his arrogance and entitlement, and when he presented as an alpha he became an accomplished warrior, his powerful muscles and keen instinct allowing him to become a terror on the field. It did nothing to staunch the growth of his ego. Your father could not see it, as blinded as he was by denial and love for his first born, so he would not hear of it when his advisors wanted him to choose another heir. Perhaps one more malleable and temperate such as you, his younger son, an omega. “He will grow into the role,” he would always say, “I had to learn and change a lot too when I first started. Besides, most lords just would not accept an omega ruler.” And that would be the end of the discussion. But once Esmer had passed his successor wasted no time in changing how things were to be done. They were, in the grand scheme of things, very minor changes at first. Statues built, mundane orders carried out, nothing too unusual or threatening. But within months your older sibling allowed a dark sorcerer in the court in a high advisory position. Dark magic was not something that had been allowed in any capacity previously, but your brother had searched long to create someone to place in this position. When he finally had the magic user that he so desired he became not just arrogant and demanding, but colder and crueler as well. He did not go out slaughtering people, though laws did become more draconian, with several inmates disappearing in the dead quiet of night. He also revoked many of the laws and rights that omegas had previously enjoyed under his predecessors, making them basically under the ownership of their alpha or beta relatives unless they were single and had no family. You, being an omega yourself, were almost never allowed out of your brother’s sight, even being forced to stay in his bedroom. The only time you were not with him was when he was off in the darkness of night consorting with his dark advisor, and even then he left the bulkiest beta knights he could find to guard the door and make sure you had zero chance of escape. Your older sibling had always been far too possessive over you, some people, including your late father, might have mistaken his behavior as merely how a protective alpha is supposed to act around their smaller omega family members. But you knew better, you could tell there was something impure about the way you caught him leering at you, something off about how he had kept away any and all courters, something wicked in the way his expression changed when you were in heat and he caught a whiff of your scent. He had never been particularly mean to you, perhaps a bit of bullying here and there, but ever since he had changed the laws and the status of omegas he had been a lot more gruff with you. Not tolerating any dissent. If you resisted he would not hesitate to slap you across the face, but if you cooperated and did not complain he would often reward you with little gifts for your good behavior. Over time you learned never to complain, and so far nothing terrible had happened, but you did not trust his intentions at all. You dreaded to think what would happen if you had your heat now when he was always so close. He had not just forced you to sleep in his bedroom but to make a nest for yourself there too. You knew what it implied and you did not like it one bit. But a few months into his rule, as he started ignoring his court less and less, right as your heat was starting, he died. He was assassinated in his sleep. You were not involved at all in his murder, how could you be when you were constantly under the watch of him or his guards, but you did not raise a huge fuss over it either. You had been freed. Just in time. But it was only a delay of the inevitable. Soon after you had been crowned all those who had been involved with the assassination died, one by one. It was as if there had been some curse on the act of killing your brother and there was fear and dismay among the court and kingdom as a whole. You had never really been raised to rule, you mostly went by the advice of your council, they may have been using you as a puppet king to talk through, but they were good honest people who had wanted the best for the kingdom. With so few of them left you were buckling under the weight of your responsibility. But it would not be yours for long. After the last traitor of your sibling had been done away with, a few months into your reign and right as your heat was starting again, your brother and his wizard, who had gone missing after your brother’s murder, came sauntering into the castle, right in front of the throne as you were holding publicly addressing the problems of your lower-born subjects. There were whispers and murmurs among the guard and the present nobles. He looked different, blueish grey skin, dark rings around his now violet eyes, and his bright blonde hair had faded a bit, but he was still unmistakable as anyone but Vairthold. The deceased king. You, and everyone else present, were shocked and speechless. Had he faked his death? Why did he look so odd? Terror and hopelessness filled your heart as you knew immediately he had been responsible for the deaths of those involved in the plot against him and you were sure you would be next. He ordered the guards to remove everyone from the room except you. They hesitated briefly but decided that if your brother was not dead, and he seemingly had the ability to kill anyone who had tried to stand against him, then he was still their rightful king and they better be quick about following his orders. Vairthold smirked at you as they did his bidding while slowly approaching you, causing you to slink back against the throne with your arms in front of you protectively. The guards had left along with his magic using companion, so you were alone with him and he could do whatever he wanted with you. He wordlessly plucked the crown from your trembling form and placed it atop his head instead. “Awe, don’t be scared, little prince. I was mad at you for not avenging me, but I know you are just a weakling little omega doing what you were told. I am sorry I left you like I did, you must have been so terrified, but I wanted to become a lich, and I had to get rid of all those who would have stopped me.” You could not bear to meet his gaze, your lip trembled in fear, and your eyes were beginning to fill with tears. A lich was an immortal abomination made of magic that few believed in. If he truly was one then this couldn’t get any worse. Except it could, because under all the fear and anxiety there was another scent that had just graced your brother’s nostrils. Your heat. He began nuzzling his nose at your neck and underarms. In a rare act of defiance, perhaps forgetting exactly what he was for a moment, you tried to push away his head with all your might but he just chuckled and pinned your hands to the side. He had never been this brazen before. “It’s good that you’re feisty sometimes, shows that you’re strong, bet you’ll make us lots of strong heirs. I’ll forgive you for being uncooperative this time, putting you in front of subjects today when you’re in heat is bound to make your head a bit off. I should kill them all.” At his mention of heirs you redoubled your efforts to push him off, to somehow wiggle out of his grip, there was no way you could let this monster put anything inside of you. “N-no, this is my throne n-now! Y-y-you have to stop!” It was a pathetic display really, but a bit surprising coming from you. He smacked you with enough force to sting, but you knew he was not really trying to hurt you, just trying to remind you of your place. “Awe, that’s too cute, if you wanted the throne all you had to do was ask~ I will let you use it later.” He quickly disrobed and ripped off all of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath his hungry gaze. All your squirming and panicked pleas did nothing to stop him bending down and assaulting your neck with sloppy licks and kisses. You could smell the musk practically radiating off of him, it was making you dizzy, his smell had never interested you in the slightest and it still didn’t You could tell by his pheromones that he was a virile and fertile alpha, in any other alpha it may be attractive, but it only made your brother more terrifying. He did not have the same opinion of your scent, it had been driving him wild for years, but now was the first time he could freely indulge himself. He alternated between sniffing and licking your underarms and neck, he had longed for this for years and no one could stop him now. After making sure that you both utterly reeked of one another, he got between your legs on the ground in front of the throne and put your legs over his shoulder. Your mind felt distressed to the core, but your body had different plans, you could not control how it reacted. Especially when under the direct affections of such a powerful alpha during heat. You felt disgusted with yourself when you realized your cock was rock hard and felt slick start to leak out onto the throne beneath you, but your brother was thrilled. The smell emanating from your desperate little virgin hole was divine and he wasted no time at all in pulling your ass close to his face and sliding his tongue right in. The flavor was even better, so full of your pheromones, the taste was so intimately yours and he knew he was the only one that ever had or ever would get the chance to savor it. It was a royal treasure that only he and he alone was worthy enough for. A small involuntary moan escaped your attempt at stifling it and encouraged him to keep going. You really couldn’t help it, you were so grossed out, scared, and overstimulated that you were crying even as you instinctively spread your legs wider for him to get better access. You could feel his warm tongue sliding all around your entrance, stretching and warming it up. He pulled his face away from your ass and sniffed and licked at your precious little nuts, they were so tiny and delicate, unlike his big alpha balls. The scent you had there drove him wild. He started sucking on them before licking up your relatively small shaft and sucking your cock until he felt you buck into his mouth and cum all over his tongue. He moaned softly as he swallowed it all down. “I’m disgusting. That was wrong,” you muttered under your breath as you stared blankly at nothing in particular. “How could someone so sweet and perfect be disgusting? How could you think something that felt so good could possibly be wrong? Don’t worry princess, I know something that will feel so good you won’t even be able to form thoughts like that~” That was enough to jolt you from your post-orgasmic daze and revulsion, as your brother leaned over you, greedy hands busy groping and caressing up and down your sides. “I’m not a princess!!” You shrieked as you rocketed upwards from the throne and headbutt your lustful sibling as hard as you could. The unexpected impact caused even a large alpha such as himself to stumble backwards. You did not waste a fraction of a second to exploit the opening and started to get up past him. But he was no stranger to physical combat and knew how to recover quickly. He grabbed your arm and pulled you over to himself with great force. He sat on the cushioned throne and lifted you easily, forcing you to face him as you straddled his lap. When you felt the force with which he was grabbing you and saw the violence in his eyes as a small trickle of blood flowed from his nose you immediately regret assaulting him. “Let me be VERY clear, I am the king. And you ARE my princess. And when we are married you WILL be my queen. And there is nothing you can do about it.” You instinctively whimpered softly at the anger of the bristling alpha. He ignored it and focused on putting you in your place, submitting to him and impaled on his cock. Vairthold lifted you up and slammed you down on his cock. You screamed loud as it stretched and hurt in ways you had not conceived of. You knew he had stretched you. You knew there would certainly be blood. Even your slick couldn’t make this painless when he was driving into you so forcefully while you were so tense. “This could have been a lot easier on you, but you wanted to play rough!” With his hands gripping your sides painfully he lifted you up and slammed you back down on his dick repeatedly, thrusting upwards into you each time for added force. With each thrust you whimpered and yelped out in pain, your mind breaking a bit by bit. It felt like you were being stabbed. His nails began digging in, bruising your sensitive flesh as he only escalated the force he was using, you thought you were going to pass out, you even began to welcome it. “Puh-plea-ease, p-please. I’m s-s-sorry. I’ s-sorry. I-I’m sorry.” You sniffled and stammered, tears and snot running unattractively down your face, though your “partner” didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Say... You’re... My... Princess…” He spat each word through gritted teeth, emphasizing each by painfully pulling you down on his cock. “I-i’m your p-pr-prin-ce-cessss.” You struggled to form the words but once you had the change was immediate. He began slowing down to a much more merciful pace before pulling your trembling form close to him. It was still extremely painful, given the abuse your hole had just endured, but you tried to not focus on it. You could not bear to look at him so you just buried your crying face into his chest instead. Vairthold took this as a sign that you were willingly seeking comfort from him as your alpha so he slowed down a bit more. As he slowly slid his cock in and out of you, a mixture of slick with a bit of blood leaking down his shaft, he licked, kissed, and nuzzled the sensitive scent gland on your neck to try to comfort you. You had hurt him, but you had submitted to your king, so you didn’t deserve anymore pain. “You’re being such a good girl for me, I am gonna put so many babies in that belly.” You sobbed a bit louder but made no movements against him. He stroked your back soothingly as his knot swelled up inside you, tying the both of you together right before his cock spasmed and began filling you up with seed. As he came he bit down on your neck hard, officially marking you as his mate. By the mercy of the gods you finally passed out, sparing you the pain of being conscious while tied to your alpha. King Vairthold licked your neck clean of the blood he had just drawn and cuddled you protectively, his instincts telling him to keep his mate safe at all costs. When his knot finally allowed him to, he slid out of your ass before bundling you up and carrying upstairs to your private chambers. He cleaned you off carefully and laid you in your bed, before sliding in beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist. As he lay there with his princess in his arms he could scarcely wait for the preparations to turn you into a lich to be completed. He was going to keep you with him for all eternity.

[anghraine]

Another Tolkien rant before I (finally!!) go back to BG3:

By and large, heredity and ethnicity in Tolkien cannot be understood through blood quantum logic. I don't think this is even seriously debatable, really—it does not work.

Yes, Imrahil of Dol Amroth is many generations removed from his nearest Elvish ancestor. Yes, he's still visibly part-Silvan to someone like Legolas, and is Silvan-style pretty to everyone else, and his sister was mystically susceptible to Mordor's miasma and died of sea-longing.

Yes, Théoden has as much Númenórean ancestry as Eldacar, a literal Númenórean King of Gondor, and has the same Elvish ancestor as Imrahil. No, Théoden is not a Dúnadan and does not inherit Silvan features. Tolkien specifically contrasted the visible Silvan Elvish heritage of Imrahil and his nephews Boromir and Faramir with Théoden and Éomer's lack of them, though in some versions, Éomer inherited remarkable height from his Númenórean ancestry (but not specifically Elvish qualities like beardlessness).

The only known member of the House of Eorl to markedly inherit the distinctive Elvish appearance of the House of Dol Amroth is Elfwinë, son of Imrahil's daughter Lothíriel as well as of Éomer, and Elfwinë's appearance is attributed firmly to Lothíriel-Imrahil rather than Théodwyn-Morwen.

Aragorn and Denethor are descendants of Elendil removed by dozens of generations, and Elendil himself was many generations removed from Elros. Aragorn and Denethor's common heritage and special status results in a strong resemblance and kinship between these incredibly distant cousins, including innate beardlessness and various powers inherited from Lúthien, and a connection to the Maiar presumably derived from Lúthien's mother Melian (great-great-grandmother of their very distant ancestor Elros).

Galadriel has one Noldo grandparent (half as much Noldorin heritage as Théoden has Númenórean). She has ties to her Telerin and Vanyarin kin and inherits some of their traits (most notably her silvery-gold hair), but she is very fundamentally a Noldo.

Túrin Turambar is a member—and indeed, heir—of the House of Hador via patrilineality. However, he's strongly coded as Bëorian in every other way because of his powerful resemblance to his very Bëorian mother, while his sister Niënor is the reverse, identified strongly with Hadorian women and linked to their father, whom she never met.

Elrond and Elros have more Elvish heritage than anything else, but are defined as half-Elves regardless of choosing mortality or immortality. In The Nature of Middle-earth, Tolkien casually drops the bombshell that Elros's children with his presumably mortal partner also received a choice of mortality vs immortality (and then in true Tolkien style, breezed onto other, less interesting points). Elrond and his sons with fully Elvish Celebrían are referred to as Númenóreans as well as Elves, with Elladan and Elrohir scrupulously excluded from being classed as Elves on multiple occasions. Their sister Arwen, meanwhile, is a half-Elf regardless of how much literal mortal heritage she has but also is identified with the Eldar in a way they never are.

There's a letter that Tolkien received in which a fan asks how Aragorn, a descendant of Fíriel of Gondor, could be considered of pure Númenórean ancestry when Fíriel was a descendant of Eldacar, the "impure" king whose maternal heritage kicked off the Kinstrife. Tolkien's response is essentially a polite eyeroll (and understandably for sure), but it's not like ancestry that remote (or far more so) doesn't regularly linger.

The point, I guess, is that there's no hard and fast rule here that determines "real" ethnicity in Middle-earth or who inherits what narrative identification. It's clearly not dependent on purebloodedness (gross rhetoric anyway, but also can't be reconciled with ... like, anything we see). It's not based on upbringing or culture alone. Túrin and Niënor, for instance, are powerfully identified with the Edain narratively despite their upbringings. Their double cousin Tuor, however, is a more ambiguous figure in terms of the Elves, whom he loves and lives among and possibly even joins in immortality—yet Tuor's half-Elf son Eärendil, whose cultural background is overwhelmingly Elvish, is naturally aligned with Men and only chooses immortality for his wife's sake.

Elladan and Elrohir, as mentioned above, are sons of an Elf, Celebrían, and of Elrond, a half-Elf who chose immortality and established a largely Elvish community at Rivendell. But the twins have a centuries-long affinity with their mortal Dúnadan kin and delay choosing a kindred to be counted among long after Arwen's choice.

Patrilineal heritages are more often than not given priority, which has nothing to do with how much of X blood someone has, only which side it comes from. Queen Morwen's children and descendants are emphatically Rohirrim who don't ping Legolas's Elvishness radar (though Elfwinë might, later on; we're not told). King Eldacar is firmly treated as a Dúnadan with no shortening of lifespan or signs of Northern heritage. Finwë's children and grandchildren are definitionally Noldor.

But this is by no means absolutely the case. The Elvishness of the line of Dol Amroth is not only inherited from Mithrellas, a woman, but passes to some extent to Boromir and Faramir through their mother Finduilas. Denethor and Aragorn's descent from Elros primarily comes through Silmariën, a woman (and also through Rían daughter of Barahir and Morwen daughter of Belecthor for Denethor, and Fíriel daughter of Ondoher for Aragorn). And of course, Elros's part-Maia heritage that lingers among his descendants for thousands of years derives from women, Lúthien and Melian.

So there's not some straightforward system or rule that will tell you when a near or remote ancestor "matters" when it comes to determining a character's identity, either to the character or to how they're handled by the narrative. Sometimes a single grandparent, or great-grandparent, or more distant ancestor, is fundamental to how a character is treated by the story and understands themself. Sometimes a character is so completely identified with one parent that the entire other half of their heritage is negligible to how they're framed by the story and see themself. It depends!