#Just something different I thought I'd try.

[beautifullilacsky]

"Will you overthinking this?" He asked as we were walking hand in hand in the park.

Me, fully aware I have already started overthinking the moment he mentioned that her friend broke off her relationship: "....... juuup"

"What are you overthinking about? Lets discuss it together, let me help"... I explained how, maybe, now that she is single, she might try to get over a guy by getting under another one. Or maybe, since you guys tall about problems and are pretty close, she turns to flirting now that she is single. "Okay and? Why would I get into that while I have my girlfriend at home? I would say no thank you. Also, I don't think she is the person to do that. I have met her before she was in a relationship, and she also wasn't like this then". Okay, well, .. maybe she will have heard bad things about me and will not like me or she will think I am not good enough for you, or too much, and tell you to break up with me. I mean, I'm in a relationship with you, not with her, but ja, well... He put his arms around me and stopped us from walking on, hugging me from behind. "Sometimes I forget how insecure you can be. Do you really think I'll just break up with you because someone tells me to? And besides, I think you should meet her. She is really kind and everytime I mentioned something, she was always more on the reassuring side." Well, I also thought your other friend was kind.. "..... true. ..... I don't have an argument against that."

"So... if she were to still be in a relationship, would it be okay? .. meh, I feel like that's a bad excuse. "Yeah she is in a relationship anyway" , as if that changes anything. Doesn't that sound like a bad thing to you?" Hmm. Well. Honestly, I felt better when she was in a relationship, assuming it wasn't an u know who typa relationship. It's always a 2 people's decision. And that way, I am at least sure that one side is on the no side (as I said it out loud, I realized how fuckedup it sounded.) "Shouldn't you trust me to already be on the no side?" .... I should, yes. I just don't know what to make of the fact that you told me that you can't promise me that it won't happen again. "That was a year ago" .... "back then I wasn't super sure, and before that I was def not sure. Also, I did not want to force you to trust me (def different exact words from his, buthey, u get the point.). It's been a year." Would you get back to it and say something different now then? "Yes. I am sure that it will never happen again".

And there it was. I know he is a firm believer in actions over words, but sometimes I need words to be sure. He told me that he tells me the truth, and I know he does. Thus, if he tells me, I believe him. So. Maybe this is what I needed to truly get to trusting him again. His word. It's not a signed contract, I know. I can't sue him if his words turn out to be false. Though, I needed this. I needed his faith in himself to make sure it won't happen again. Fuck damn hey. I needed him to believe in himself. If he doesn't believe he will stop it the next time, who am I to believe so? Well well well. Before he left, if our roommate wasn't sitting right next to me, I would've said after he asked me if I'm still okay (for like, the 3th time): "if you say it won't happen again, I trust you." Fuck. And I'd mean it. I feel like I have entered a new reality. One in which it is safe for me to have faith in him. In which, sure, maybe a girl will flirt with him, but I can laugh about it. I can be proud to be with that hotstuff that she can't help but talk to. I can make jokes about it and raise my eyebrows up and down. I can do it all, and enjoy the situation, knowing. Truly knowing. That it doesn't matter at all if the other party is on the "yes-boat". He isn't, and he won't get onto it either. Even if a chance presents itself, he won't even see it as one. He has the set in stone plan to come back home to me. Even if she would get him drunk and touch him all over, ... he will say no. Even if it scares me more with booze, he is still himself. He doesn't get into a crazy trans and turns into a different person with different values. He is still the same person who held my hand as we walked in the autumn colored park, and said that it would never happen again.

It feels like something in me has been freed. As if trust was a fluffy creature within me, which was tied down. His words freed it. It still can't believe that the tiny trust guy is free. That it's safe to stand up now and run and smile and truly trust. It's astonished, grasping for those words that set it free. Wanting to hold them and craving for them to invade its veins with its lightning energy and brightness. May it no longer feel the need to stay on the ground; the ties have been undone. Fuck.

[vi-arcanes-left-bicep]

Spoilers for Arcane S2 Finale❗❗

So, i keep thinking about Arcane's last pieces of dialogue and though they sounded kinda funny when I watched the end at the first time (in a 'really? This took 27h to write?' way), the more I think about it, the more I like it.

I think it has a ton of layers to interpret and I'm still missing a few of them.

Please forgive my multiple tangents while I try to gather my thoughts.

First, how Caitlyn finds Vi: no bandages, a glass of alcohol in her hands.

No bandages means many things for Vi: she's vulnerable -both because of what she's going through and beacuse she can allow herself to be vulnerable for the first time in the show, with Caitlyn-, and her fight is over, she doesn't have to fight anymore (Re: Ep7 Powder saying Vi fights because she's scared of losing everyone, and she has lost everyone). (Everyone but Ekko and Caitlyn, who have repeatedly proven they can fend for themselves and are leaders on their own right, I'd love to say Vi is in a point where she's able not to feel responsible for them too, though this is something I'm not so sure about). Bandages were also an important part of her character design, of herself, so this gives a sensation that she's lost a part of her identity too. Who is she, if not the big sister, the protector, the brawler?

Alcohol is another small details that just says she's not okay. We've seen her drink herself senseless for, presumably, months, in Act II, to cope with all that happened in S1 and particularly S2 Act I: accepting the loss of her sister after the attack on the council, becoming an enforcer even though she was completely against it because she still feels responsible for ending Jinx, recognising her sister again for just a glimpse and gaining faith that Powder is still there (with the realisation that she almost killed her sister -not the monster she convinced herself jinx was, her sister) falling in love with Cait and seeing her become a completely different person out of grief.... So after everything that just happened in Act III, where she saw that many people die, either strangers or friends, and where she lost her sister and father AGAIN, of course she's considering getting back to drinking. So much happened to her in the span of few months that she's considering drowning the pain away again.

Caitlyn's question: "Are you still in this fight, Violet?"

The line delivery is incredibly soft and intimate, and Cait calling her Violet is the cherry on top. She's knows Vi is not okay. She's knows she's going through a lot right now.

Caitlyn's question seeing this is really, at least, three questions:

First and clearest is a check-in: "How are you?" "Will you be okay?" "Do you want to talk about this?"

Second is "Are you staying?" Vi could leave to be alone as she did at the beginning of Act II, could go with Ekko to Zaun... I can also see an "Are you staying with me?" After everything that happens, after the little time that they've had to be together and to solve the many things between them, her asking "Are you still in this fight" can mean both "hey, are you holding up" and "Are we still together in this?"

Third would be "So, are you up to face this, solving things between Piltover and Zaun?". I know some people have criticized the lack of resolution in the Zaun/Piltover conflict. I'd argue, as much as I'd love for the class conflict to be expanded, it is not the core of the series, and both the writers and the characters know that a conflict like this cannot be solved in such little time. The series was not going to solve it. What it does is solve it's main plot and character arcs, and leave a space for this theme to have the start of a resolution. Piltover an Zaun joined against Ambessa's army, and the ending gives us a glimpse of the will to change the relationship between topside and bottom (e.g. having Zaunites in the council). It's not a perfect ending nor it is a resolution for Zaun's class struggle -I'm pretty sure that was never the intent, though I would have liked for both cities' relationship to be more comented upon in this season-, it's the opportunity to advance towards a resolution. So Cait is asking Vi if she is willing to deal with that too. "Are you still in this fight?" can also have an implication to mean fighting to make things better. This also means fighting for them to be together.

Then, Vi's answer: "I am the dirt underneath your fingernails, Cupcake. Nothing's gonna clean me out".

Now, I like this because it sums up to Vi saying "I'm not going anywhere" but the line itself and the delivery gives it a few more layers of meaning.

First of all, Vi is clearly not okay. She's very emotionaly scarred and considering an unhealthy coping mechanism. She looks incredibly sad. And she's deflecting with humour to the question because she's probably not ready to talk about it. So her delivery here, plus the strange joke/comparison and calling Caitlyn "Cupcake" (which she's only done when she's teasing her in a flirty or funny way or deflecting the conversation by doing so) is telling Caitlyn that she's not okay right now, but that she isn't going to leave. "

I interpret "Nothing's gonna clean me out" as her basically saying "I'm tough, I'll get through this" to Caitlyn's "How are you?" and saying "You're not getting rid of me" to Caitlyn's "Are you going to stay?"

Furthermore, calling herself "The dirt underneath your fingernails" has an obvious implication about her being a Zaunite and Caitlyn being from Pilotover. I've seen some people saying this is insulting to Vi's character and to Zaun's storyline.... I don't think so at all. Yeah, I can get to see a layer of self-depreciating humor, but for me this is Vi using her humour as well to reinforce herself and her identity as a Zaunite (which arguably she left aside/lost sight of during Act I) while also teasing Caitlyn for being a topsider. I like to interpret this as Vi saying "Yeah, Piltie, I'm sticking with you and I will keep bothering you". The tone and calling Cait "Cupcake" reinforces this as a tease as well. Reinstating her identity as a Zaunite also gives insight on Vi's position on the Zaun-Piltover new relationship: yes, she's willing to help out manage this, always from the position of a kid from the Lanes.

Zaun and Piltover are also stuck together after the ending - they've fought together against a common enemy and that has also forced Piltover's elite to sit and listen to Zaun's demands. For sure Piltover's aristocracy still has to get their heads out of their asses but this is how I like to read the phrase in regards to Zaun-Piltover, layered upon what Vi is saying: I am the dirt underneath you = I (Zaun's state and problems) am a consequence of your (Piltover's) actions and I am not going anywhere. (You will have to listen).

Anyways, lots of rambling and I'll still be missing stuff!

Another thing is, native spanish speakers as I am use the phrase "Nail and flesh" to say that two people are inseparable, and this has enough similarity to that for it to feel like Vi is also saying they are inseparable. So yeah

[ragvas]

Giant Stepmom

Amanda was a vision of perfection, a stepmother who had always been more than just a maternal figure to you. She stood 5' 9" (175 cm), with an enviable hourglass figure and a full D-cup chest. Her presence was captivating, from her warm smile to the way she carried herself with effortless grace. For as long as you could remember, you had admired her from afar, her beauty and charm quietly stealing your thoughts.

One day, while browsing the internet, you stumbled upon something that caught your attention: MILF MAX pills. The website claimed they could enhance a woman’s body in unimaginable ways, making her taller, curvier, and more confident. The idea intrigued you—Amanda was already stunning, but what if she became even more so? The thought sent your imagination spiraling.

After weeks of debating, you made a decision. You ordered the pills, convincing yourself that it was harmless. Amanda didn’t have to know. You’d slip one into her drink, and she’d experience the benefits without any suspicion.

It was a quiet evening when you finally put your plan into action. Amanda was relaxing in the kitchen, wearing a snug blouse and jeans that highlighted her curves. You prepared her favorite smoothie, carefully dissolving one of the pills into it before handing it to her.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said with a warm smile, taking a sip. She didn’t suspect a thing, chatting with you as she drank.

The next morning, you noticed something different. Amanda was standing in front of the mirror in the hallway, adjusting her blouse. It looked tighter than usual, the fabric straining slightly around her chest. Her D-cup breasts seemed fuller, rounder—perhaps an E-cup now.

She frowned slightly. “Hmm, did this shrink in the wash?” she muttered to herself, tugging at the hem.

You tried to act casual, but your heart was racing. Had the pill worked? You couldn’t help but notice that she looked... taller, too. When she turned to grab her bag, you realized she was now closer to 5' 10" (178 cm).

Amanda looked over her shoulder, catching your gaze in the mirror. She tilted her head slightly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she finished buttoning her blouse. The fabric was indeed straining against her new, larger breasts—now a full E-cup. She stepped closer to you, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and a hint of excitement. "Is everything okay?" she asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through you, and you felt the warmth of her palm even through your shirt. You nodded, trying to play it cool, but the tremor in your voice gave you away. She raised an eyebrow. "You seem... nervous."

You swallowed hard, trying to find the words to explain your feelings. "It's just... you look so... amazing today, Amanda," you managed to murmur. You couldn't tear your eyes away from her newfound grandeur. The way the blouse struggled to contain her breasts was mesmerizing. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. "Did you, uh, do something different with your hair?"

She chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "No, darling," she replied, her hand moving to her hair, which cascaded down her back like a chestnut waterfall. She twirled a lock around her finger, drawing your gaze even further up to her bust. "But I did feel like I'd outgrown my clothes. Maybe I need to go shopping." She stepped closer, her breasts brushing against your chest as she peered into the mirror. "What do you think?" Her voice was a purr, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I-I think you're... stunning," you stuttered, your eyes widening as you felt her breasts press against you. They felt so soft, so warm. You hadn't realized how much larger they had gotten until now, and the sensation was overwhelming. You took a step back, trying to compose yourself.

Her smirk grew wider, her eyes flicking down to her chest and back up to yours. "Thanks," she said, her voice a playful purr. She took a moment to appreciate her reflection, watching her E-cup breasts shift as she moved. "But I don't think I've changed that much," she mused, though the gleam in her eyes said she knew something was up. She playfully poked one of her nipples, causing it to peak under the fabric, and took a step closer. "Maybe I just need to get a better bra," she said, her breasts brushing against your chest again.

Your heart raced as her breasts brushed against you, and you couldn't help but feel a little guilty for your part in her transformation. But as you watched her play with her hair, the way the light danced off her deep brown eyes, and the way her full, red lips curved into a knowing smile, you felt something else—excitement. "I'm sure you'll find the perfect one," you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. You stepped aside, allowing her to pass, and couldn't help but stare at her hips as they swayed with her new height.

Amanda's eyes never left yours as she stepped away from the mirror, her smirk deepening as she saw the effect she had on you. She knew something was amiss, but she couldn't resist playing along. As she passed you, she leaned in close, her breath tickling your ear. "Maybe you should come with me and help me choose," she whispered, her voice thick with innuendo. Her hand trailed down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. She walked away, the sound of her heels echoing in the hallway as she grew to 5' 11" (180 cm). The fabric of her blouse stretched tautly over her chest, now a generous F-cup, and her jeans hugged her hips, highlighting every curve. Her confidence grew with each step, and she could feel a strange power thrumming through her veins.

You nodded, your throat dry, trying to keep your voice steady. "Sure, I'd love to help," you managed to say, your eyes still glued to her swaying hips. The guilt was slowly being overtaken by curiosity and a thrill you hadn’t anticipated. You followed her, trying not to stare too blatantly at her growing frame. As she grew to 6 feet (183 cm), you felt a mix of awe and anxiety. This was more than you bargained for, but somehow, it was also everything you'd ever hoped for.

Amanda felt the pill's effects coursing through her, her body responding to the newfound power with an eager hunger. She turned to face you, her eyes gleaming with excitement and mischief. "I'm sure you would," she said, her voice dripping with double-entendres. She took a deep breath, her F-cup breasts rising and falling dramatically. She reached out and gently adjusted your collar, her fingers lingering around your neck, a hint of possession in her touch. "But first," she began, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I think we should have a little... talk." She led you into the living room, her towering figure casting a long shadow as she grew another inch to 6' 1" (186 cm). The fabric of her blouse strained further, hinting at the massive orbs beneath, now threatening to spill over. Her gaze was intense, and you couldn't help but feel both thrilled and intimidated as she sat down on the couch, her legs crossing elegantly and her breasts threatening to escape their fabric prison.

Your heart was racing as you followed her, trying to comprehend the situation. The living room felt smaller with her larger presence, and you sat down on the edge of the couch, knees slightly apart, trying not to stare at the way her breasts jiggled slightly with each movement. "W-what do you mean, Amanda?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

She leaned back into the couch, her legs crossing and uncrossing, giving you brief glimpses of her smooth, toned thighs. At 6' 1" (186 cm) now, her breasts had grown to a G-cup, and the blouse was barely hanging on. She took a deep breath, causing her chest to heave, and you couldn't help but gasp at the sight. "Well," she began, her eyes twinkling, "I can't help but feel like something's... different." She leaned to the side, her breasts spilling slightly over the edge of the arm rest. "I've never felt so... alive. And I have a feeling you might know something about it."

You felt your cheeks burn as you sat on the edge of the couch. Her breasts looked so... huge. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," you lied, your voice shaking. You stared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.

Amanda chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "I think you do," she said, her voice a velvety purr. She leaned back further, the couch groaning under her weight as her breasts strained against the blouse. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, the fabric parting to reveal her cleavage—deep and inviting. "Tell me," she continued, her eyes locked on yours, "what's been going through that naughty little mind of yours?" She grew another inch to 6' 2" (188 cm), and you could see her G-cup breasts pushing against the seams of her blouse. Her gaze was both challenging and alluring, making it hard for you to maintain your innocent act.

You squirmed under her gaze, feeling the weight of the truth pressing down on you. "I-I just noticed you looked a little... bigger," you said, your eyes darting to her chest and back to her eyes. "It's probably just a... fluke." You tried to laugh it off, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your nerves. You sat up straight, trying to regain some semblance of control, but her presence was too overwhelming.

Amanda watched you fidget, her eyes narrowing slightly as she grew another inch to 6' 3" (191 cm), her breasts swelling to an H-cup. She knew you weren't telling her everything, but she enjoyed watching you squirm. "Bigger, huh?" she said, her voice a playful tease. She reached up and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse, revealing the lacy bra that was now barely containing her voluminous breasts. The material was stretched to its limits, and you could see the faint outline of her areolae through the fabric. She leaned closer, her breath warm and sweet. "What makes you say that?" She let the question linger, her hand drifting to the bulging fabric of her blouse, tracing the curve of her cleavage. "Could it be these?" She asked, her voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes searching yours for any hint of guilt or admission.

You couldn't help but gulp at the sight of her breasts straining against the lace. "I-I just thought you might have had a really good breakfast," you tried to joke, your voice failing to hide your nerves. You felt your body responding to her closeness, your heart racing and your palms sweating. Her hand on her chest was hypnotizing, and you felt your resolve slipping away as she grew to 6' 4" (194 cm), her H-cup breasts threatening to spill out completely. "Maybe it's just my imagination," you added, hoping she wouldn't see through your facade.

Amanda's eyes searched yours, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she grew to 6' 5" (196 cm), her breasts now a jaw-dropping I-cup. She leaned back again, her massive breasts shifting and threatening to pop out of her bra with every movement. The fabric of her blouse was stretched so taut that you could clearly see the peaks of her nipples. She took off her blouse and reached behind her back and slowly unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. Her breasts bounced slightly as they were released from their confines, now fully exposed and seemingly gravity-defying. "Is it?" she asked, her voice a sultry whisper. "Or is there something else at play here?" She cupped one of her breasts, her hand barely covering half of it, and squeezed gently, her nipple stiffening in response. "You seem... interested in my 'breakfast'." She watched you, her smile growing wider, enjoying the power she held over you.

You couldn't take your eyes off her, the sight of her bare, colossal I-cup breasts taking your breath away. You swallowed hard, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't give you away. "I-I just... I mean, you do look... different," you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt your face flush and your palms sweat as you stared at her bare chest. The room felt like it was closing in around you, the air thick with tension and desire.

"Different, hm?" she mused, her eyes never leaving yours. She grew another inch to 6' 6" (198 cm), her breasts now a monstrous J-cup. She leaned in closer, her nipples grazing your arm as she spoke. "How so?" Her voice was a seductive purr, filled with amusement and power. She knew you were hiding something, and she was going to make you admit it. Her hand trailed down to your thigh, her fingers lightly stroking the fabric of your pants, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

You gulped, feeling the heat of her breasts against you, and her touch sent a bolt of electricity through you. "I-I don't know," you lied again, your voice barely above a whisper. You tried to inch away, but your body was frozen in place. "It's probably just... stress," you said, trying to sound casual. But as she grew to 6' 7" (201 cm), her J-cup breasts pressing against you, you couldn't ignore the truth anymore.

Her hand slid further up your thigh, her nails lightly scratching the fabric. She leaned closer, her warm breath tickling your ear. "Stress, huh?" she whispered, a hint of mocking in her voice. She grew another inch to 6' 8" (203 cm), her J-cup breasts now threatening to swallow your arm. Her hand moved to your neck, her thumb gently stroking the pulse point that was racing under her touch. "Or could it be something more?" she purred, her voice dripping with desire. You could feel her power, her dominance, and it was intoxicating. Her breasts grew heavier, filling out to a K-cup, and she leaned back, watching your reaction with a predatory smile. "You know, I've been feeling... insatiable lately," she said, her eyes never leaving yours. "And I have a feeling you might be the one to satisfy me."

You felt a mix of fear and excitement as her thumb traced the line of your jaw, her eyes dark with intent. You couldn't lie to her anymore—she had you in the palm of her hand. "I-I might have done something," you admitted, your voice shaking. "But I didn't mean for it to go this far," you protested weakly.

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that resonated through your core. Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin. "Far?" she echoed, her K-cup breasts rising and falling with each breath. "Darling, we're just getting started." She grew another inch to 6' 9" (206 cm), her breasts now a colossal L-cup. Her eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions playing out—desire, power, and a hint of possessiveness. "Tell me," she whispered, "what did you do?"

Your heart raced as Amanda's hand remained on your cheek, her thumb tracing circles that sent shivers down your spine. The weight of her breasts against your arm was unbearable, and you couldn't help but stare into her eyes, lost in their warm depths. "I-I found these pills," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "MILF MAX. They're supposed to make women more... curvy." You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but the thrill of her touch kept you from looking away. "I just wanted to see if they worked," you added hastily, your eyes darting to her chest. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Amanda's eyes searched yours, a cocktail of emotions swirling in their depths. She grew another inch to 6' 10" (208 cm), her L-cup breasts swelling further, their weight slowly surrounding your arm further and further. She leaned back, her breasts bouncing slightly, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind. She took a deep breath, her chest heaving, and you felt the couch sink beneath her. "MILF MAX, huh?" she murmured, a smirk playing on her lips. She grew another inch to 6' 11" (211 cm), her breasts now a massive M-cup. Her hand slid away from your cheek, down to cup one of her massive breasts, her fingers barely wrapping around the base. "And what did you hope to achieve with these... pills?" she asked, her voice a purr as she gently squeezed her nipple, watching the effect it had on you. You felt your breath hitch as her eyes grew more intense, the power in her gaze making you feel both tiny and incredibly important. "Was it for me, or for you?" she inquired, her hand moving to trace the outline of her other breast, her thumb brushing over the nipple.

You swallowed hard, her question hitting a nerve. "For... for you?" You murmured, unable to tear your gaze away from her breasts. "I... I just wanted you to be a bit... bigger. I... didn't know it would be... so much," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of awe and trepidation. Her touch was hypnotic, and you felt yourself leaning into her, your body responding to her dominance despite your fear.

Her smirk grew into a knowing smile, and she leaned in closer, her M-cup breasts pressing into your side. "Ah, so you did slip me something," she said, her voice a warm caress. "How clever of you to choose my favorite smoothie." She grew another inch to 7 feet (214 cm), her breasts now a staggering N-cup, their weight and presence overwhelming the space around you. "And just how big do you want me to get, darling?" she purred, her hand sliding down to rest on her stomach. The fabric of her jeans strained against her hips, the seams threatening to burst with every movement.

You felt the couch groan under the new weight of her body, her closeness making it hard to think. "I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Her breasts were so... massive. You felt a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. "I... just wanted your breasts to be a bit... bigger," you said, your eyes darting to her chest. "But this... it's more than I could have ever imagined."

A glint of mischief entered her eyes at your admission. "A bit bigger?" she echoed, her voice filled with amusement as she grew to 7' 1" (216 cm), her breasts now a staggering O-cup. "I am feeling a bit parched." She leaned back, her breasts spilling over the arm of the couch. "Why don't you make me a smoothie, darling?" she said, her tone a seductive purr. "Just the way you did yesterday. It was so delicious. Uhm..."

You nodded, your gaze lingering on her breasts. "Of... of course," you murmured, standing up shakily. Your legs felt weak under her intense gaze. "W... what flavor?" you asked, trying to sound casual as you retreated into the kitchen, her words echoing in your mind.

Amanda watched you leave, a smug smile playing on her lips. As you retreated into the kitchen, she grew another inch to 7' 2" (219 cm), her breasts swelling to a size P. She leaned back into the couch, her breasts spilling around her, the fabric of the couch stretching under her weight. She called after you, her voice a siren's song, "Same as yesterday, darling. Don't forget the secret ingredient." She winked, the hint of a challenge in her eyes.

You felt a mix of excitement and dread as you went into the kitchen. You knew what she meant by "the secret ingredient." You grabbed another MILF MAX pill from the bottle you hid in the kitchen yesterday and crushed it with a spoon before mixing it into the smoothie. As you watched the pill dissolve, you couldn't help but wonder how much more she would grow. You brought the smoothie back out to her, your heart racing as you handed it over. "Here you go," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

She took the smoothie from your trembling hand with a knowing smile, her eyes never leaving yours. "Thank you, darling," she said, her voice a purr. She took a sip, savoring the taste. As she grew another inch to 7' 3" (221 cm), her breasts expanded further, reaching a size Q. "Mm, just how I like it," she murmured, her gaze lingering on the pulsing vein in your neck. "Now, tell me," she began, leaning back into the couch, "what other... changes have you noticed in me?"

You swallowed hard, unable to ignore the way your body was responding to her. "Well, you're definitely... curvier," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Your breasts are... much larger."

She chuckled, her Q-cup breasts jiggling slightly with the movement. "Much larger, huh?" she said, arching an eyebrow. She took another sip of the smoothie, her eyes never leaving yours. As she grew to 7' 4" (224 cm), the couch groaned under her weight, her breasts swelling to a size R. She reached out and placed her hand on your leg, her touch feather-light yet electric. "And do you like what you see?" she asked, her voice a seductive whisper.

You felt your body respond to her touch, a warmth spreading through you. "I... I do," you admitted, your voice hoarse. "They're... amazing." You couldn't help but stare at her breasts, now spilling over her massive thighs. You felt your heart race as she grew another inch to 7' 5" (227 cm).

Her eyes glinted with satisfaction at your admission. She took another sip of her smoothie, the cold liquid sliding down her throat as she grew to 7' 6" (229 cm), her R-cup breasts swelling to a size S.

"Good boy," she murmured, her hand moving up to gently squeeze your thigh. "Now, tell me more. What about my touch? Is it different?" She grew another inch to 7' 7" (232 cm), her breasts now a tantalizing T-cup, and you felt the couch sink a bit more. Her grip tightened slightly, a gentle reminder of her power.

You nodded, your heart racing under her touch. "Y-yes," you stuttered. "It's... stronger, more... intense." You could feel your body responding, your thoughts a jumbled mess as she grew to 7' 8" (234 cm). Her breasts, now an U-cup, seemed to fill the room, their weight and presence impossible to ignore.

Amanda took another sip of her smoothie, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she felt your body respond. She grew another inch to 7' 9" (237 cm), her breasts now a size V. "Intense, you say?" She leaned in closer.

Setting her drink aside, she reached out and placed her hand on your chest, feeling your heart pound beneath her palm. "Let's see if I can make it even more intense," she whispered, her eyes darkening with desire as she grew to 7' 10" (239 cm), her breasts swelling to a W-cup.

Her hand slid up to your neck, her grip firm but gentle, as she grew another inch to 7' 11" (242 cm). Her massive W-cup breasts creating a valley of cleavage that beckoned you closer. "Tell me," she breathed, "what do you want?"

You swallowed hard, your heart racing under her hand. "I... I want to see how much more you can grow," you confessed, your voice shaking with excitement and nerves.

Amanda's smile grew wider as she took another sip, her breasts swelling to a X-cup. "Is that all?" she teased, her hand sliding up to cup the side of your face, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. She grew another inch to 8 feet (244 cm), her breasts now an Y-cup, filling the space between you. "I think you want more than just that," she whispered, her eyes searching yours.

You felt a jolt of desire at her touch. "I-I do," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I want... I want to see all of you." You couldn't believe the words leaving your mouth, but it was true. You were utterly captivated by her transformation.

She grew another inch to 8' 1" (247 cm), her breasts now a Z-cup. Her eyes searched yours, the power in her gaze making you feel both terrified and thrilled. "You want to see all of me?" she purred, her hand moving down to rest on your chest again. "I can give you that."

With an elegance that seemed impossible for her immense size, Amanda rose to her full, towering height. Her impossibly large breasts swayed heavily, mesmerizing you with their hypnotic rhythm as she loomed over you like a divine being made flesh. Her eyes locked onto yours, a playful spark dancing within their depths, as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans. The strained denim groaned in protest, clinging to her widened hips before finally surrendering to her strength. Slowly, she peeled the fabric away, revealing her soaked panties, the thin material no match for the swelling curves it barely concealed.

With a smirk that radiated confidence and mischief, Amanda hooked her fingers into the flimsy waistband and tore the panties clean off in a single motion, the ripping sound echoing through the room like a declaration of her growing dominance. The remnants of her clothing fell at her feet, and she stepped forward, fully bare, her towering figure casting an imposing shadow over you. Her every motion radiated sensuality, her curves glowing with an aura of overwhelming power and allure.

She leaned down with deliberate slowness, her massive breasts hanging heavily and brushing against your chest, her warmth enveloping you completely. Her lips claimed yours in a kiss that was as tender as it was overpowering, her sheer size and presence making your heart race and your mind whirl. Her hand cupped your cheek with surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to the raw, unstoppable force she had become. You were utterly lost, drowning in her dominance and the overwhelming reality of her transformation.

"Is this what you wanted?" she murmured against your mouth, her voice thick with desire. She grew another inch to 8' 2" (249 cm), her breasts reaching an A2-cup, the weight of them seeming to anchor her to the earth. Her hand slid down to your crotch, feeling your arousal with a knowing smirk. "To see me like this?"

You nodded, unable to speak, your eyes wide as you took in the sight of her. The fabric of your clothes strained against the pressure of her breasts, and you could feel her power, her dominance, her absolute control. "Y-yes," you managed to get out, your voice trembling.

Amanda chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate in the very air around you. "Good," she said, her voice a warm caress as she grew another inch to 8' 3" (252 cm), her breasts now a formidable B2-cup. She reached down, her fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders, leaving you bare before her. "Because, darling," she whispered, her breath hot on your skin, "once we start, there's no going back."

You could feel your body responding to her, your heart racing and your breath coming in short gasps. You nodded, unable to find the words to express the mix of emotions coursing through you.

She took a step back, her eyes raking over your exposed chest, and with a knowing smile, she grew another inch to 8' 4" (254 cm). "Your heart is racing," she said, her voice a seductive purr as she reached out to lay her hand over your chest. "Why is that?"

You felt her hand cover your heart, the warmth of her palm spreading through your body. "I-it's just... the way you're looking at me," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Her touch was like a brand, searing your skin with the reality of her power and beauty.

She grew another inch to 8' 5" (257 cm), her breasts reaching an even more monstrous C2-cup. "Is it fear, or excitement?" she asked, her eyes searching yours. "Or perhaps a bit of both?" Her hand trailed down your torso, the heat from her skin leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

You couldn't lie to her. Not anymore. "Both," you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation. Her touch was like nothing you had ever felt before, the power behind it making you feel both weak and incredibly alive.

A slow smile spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she grew another inch to 8' 6" (259 cm), her breasts swelling to a D2-cup. "Both," she echoed, her voice a seductive purr. "Perfect." She stepped closer, her massive breasts brushing against your bare chest, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body.

"Now, tell me," she whispered, her hand sliding down to the button of your pants, "are you ready to experience all of me?" Her touch was a tease, her fingertips tracing the outline of your growing erection through the fabric. You could feel the warmth of her breath on your neck as she grew another inch to 8' 7" (262 cm). Her breasts now an E2-cup, their weight was staggering.

Anon: You nodded, your breath coming in shallow pants. "Y-yes," you managed to get out, your voice barely a whisper. The anticipation was unbearable, your body aching for more.

She leaned down, her massive E2-cup breasts enveloping you as she kissed you again, deeper this time. As her tongue danced with yours, you felt her hand deftly unbutton and unzip your pants, the warmth of her palm sending shivers down your spine. She grew another inch to 8' 8" (264 cm), her breasts swelling to a F2-cup. Her hand slipped inside, wrapping around you, her gentle grip sending bolts of pleasure through your core. "You're mine now," she murmured, her voice a low, sultry growl.

You whimpered into her mouth, unable to resist her touch. Her hand felt so warm, so powerful. You nodded, your body trembling with need. "Y-yes," you breathed, the words a surrender to her dominance.

A triumphant smile claimed her lips as she grew another inch to 8' 9" (267 cm), her breasts now a G2-cup. She felt your hardness in her hand, growing firmer with every beat of your racing heart. "Good," she murmured, her grip tightening slightly as she grew to 8' 10" (270 cm). "You're going to need all that stamina," she whispered, her eyes gleaming.

With surprising grace, she knelt before you. Her hands, now larger and more powerful than ever before, reached for the waistband of your pants. With a single, smooth motion, she pulled them down, taking your socks with them in one swift tug. You felt the fabric slide down your legs, leaving you utterly bare before her. She took in the sight of you, her eyes hungry and filled with a motherly possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

She leaned in, her smile widening as she took in the sight of your arousal. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of power and affection, and she planted a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of your erect cock. The sensation was like nothing you'd ever felt before, a gentle yet overwhelming wave of pleasure. Then, with a swift, fluid motion that defied her new size, she rose to her feet, now 8' 11" (272 cm) with breathtaking H2-cup breasts. She towered over you, her eyes sparkling with mischief and desire as she licked her lips.

With a dramatic flourish, Amanda took the smoothie from the table and downed it in one gulp, her Adam's apple bobbing with the effort. Her eyes closed in ecstasy.

As the potent mixture of the MILF MAX pill and the smoothie surged through her body, Amanda couldn't help but revel in the feeling. She placed the empty glass down and cupped her breasts, now massive H2-cups, with both hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. As she did, her eyes snapped open, and a loud, guttural moan escaped her lips, reverberating through the room. Milk burst forth from her swollen nipples in powerful streams, soaking her hands and cascading down her torso like a torrent. Her body shuddered, and she quickly grew another 5 inches, reaching an imposing 9'5" (287 cm), her head nearly brushing the ceiling. The overwhelming sensation left her panting, her eyes gleaming with a newfound hunger as she looked down at you with an almost predatory grin.

You stared in amazement as milk spurted from her nipples, painting her chest and hands in a display of unbridled power. You felt your own desires stirring, a strange mix of arousal and awe. "A-Amanda?" You stuttered, your voice filled with wonder and confusion.

She looked down at you, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. "It seems the pills have a few more surprises for us," she said, her voice thick with lust as she wiped the excess milk off her hands with her thumbs, smearing it across her swollen, pebbled areolae. "Do you like what you see?" she asked, her smile wicked and her eyes gleaming as she grew to 9' 6" (290 cm), her breasts now an I2-cup.

You nodded, unable to find the words to describe the scene playing out before you. "It's... amazing," you murmured, your voice thick with desire.

"A-amazing," she echoed, her voice dripping with amusement as she grew to 9' 7" (292 cm), her I2-cup breasts swelling to a J2-cup. She took a step closer, the floorboards creaking beneath her immense weight. "And do you know what's even better than watching me grow?" she whispered, her breath hot on your skin.

You shook your head, your eyes glued to the mesmerizing sight of her breasts, now swollen and leaking milk. "W-what?" you asked, your voice barely a whimper.

"Better than watching me grow," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she leaned down and scooped you into her arms with surprising ease. You were so small compared to her, your body fitting perfectly against her chest, her massive J2-cup breasts enveloping you as if you were a tiny toy to be played with. "Is feeling it," she said, her voice a seductive whisper.

With a playful smile, she gently cradled you in the crook of one arm, her hand easily supporting your butt. The other hand guided one of her swollen, milk-soaked nipples to your mouth, pressing it against your parted lips with a firm but tender touch. You felt the heat of her skin, the softness of her aureolae, and the hardness of her nipple as it filled your mouth. She was so large, so powerful, that holding you was as effortless as cradling a baby to her bosom.

The taste of her milk was unlike anything you've ever experienced - sweet, slightly tangy, and filled with a warmth that seemed to spread through your entire body. You instinctively began to suckle, the action feeling so natural despite the surreal situation.

A soft moan escaped Amanda's lips as she felt your mouth latch onto her nipple, the warmth of your mouth sending waves of pleasure through her. Her moan deepened, echoing through the room, as she suddenly surged taller, her height increasing to an imposing 9' 9" (298 cm), her head almost hitting the ceiling. She carefully bent her head, her forehead grazing the ceiling. She began to navigate the room, her towering 9' 9" (298 cm) frame bent slightly to accommodate the human-sized doorways that now felt like tight, claustrophobic tunnels. The floorboards creaked beneath her, a testament to the weight of her J2-cup breasts that she held you against as she made her way to the bedroom.

You couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort as you nursed from her, the warm milk coating your tongue and filling your mouth. You looked up at her, your eyes filled with a mix of awe and love, watching her navigate the room with a grace that seemed almost godlike.

She looked down at you with a motherly affection that sent a thrill through your body. Her hand gently stroked your hair as you continued to suckle, her milk seemingly never-ending. "You're doing so well," she murmured, her voice a soft purr that seemed to resonate through the very air. She grew another inch to 9' 10" (300 cm), her breasts now a K2-cup, the weight of them seemingly increasing with every drop of milk that spilled into your mouth.

As she lay you down on the bed, her massive body looming over you, the mattress groaned under the weight of her newfound size. She hovered over you, her breasts hanging low, the nipples still leaking milk onto your face. Her hand caressed your cheek, her eyes filled with love and desire. "You've made me so happy," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she suddenly grew to 10 feet (305 cm), her K2-cup breasts now a L2-cup, swollen and heavy with milk. "I never knew I could feel so alive."

You looked up at her, the warm milk dripping down your cheeks as you reached up to cup one of her breasts.

"Mmm," she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt your small hand against her massive L2-cup. "I like that," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. With a gentle touch, she guided her other breast to your mouth, and you eagerly took the nipple between your lips, the sweet, warm milk filling your mouth. Her hand slipped down your body, her fingers tracing the contours of your abs before moving lower.

You felt her hand on your thigh, her touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you continued to drink from her. The feeling of her power and dominance was intoxicating, making you want to give in to her completely.

As you suckled greedily, Amanda's eyes grew dark with need. She grew another inch to 10' 1" (308 cm), her L2-cup breasts swelling to M2-cups. Her hand slid down further.

With a gentle but firm grip, she wrapped her fingers around your erection, stroking it with surprising finesse for someone so large. Her touch sent electric currents through your body, making you moan around her nipple. She chuckled, the sound low and thrilling, and grew to 10' 3" (313 cm), her M2-cup breasts now a size N2-cup.

"You like that, don't you?" she whispered, her eyes half-lidded with lust as she grew to 10' 4" (315 cm). Her strokes grew more confident, her hand moving in time with the rhythm of your suckling. "This power... it's like nothing I've ever felt before," she murmured, her voice thick with pleasure.

You nodded, the sensation of her massive breasts and her stroking hand overwhelming your senses. Your body responded to her touch, your hips moving in sync with her hand.

"Mmm," she purred, her voice a siren's call that seemed to resonate in your very bones. "It seems we've unlocked more than just growth with those pills," she said, her eyes gleaming as she grew to 10' 5" (318 cm), her breasts now an O2-cup. Her hand moved with purpose, her strokes becoming more demanding as she grew to 10' 6" (320 cm) with P2-cup breasts. "You like it when I'm in charge, don't you?" she whispered, her thumb circling the sensitive head of your cock as her milk flowed freely into your mouth.

You nodded, your mouth too full of her to respond with words. The taste of her milk was intoxicating, and the feeling of her massive breasts against your body was more than you could ever have imagined.

She grew another inch to 10' 7" (323 cm), her breasts swelling to a Q2-cup size. "Good," she murmured, her strokes growing more deliberate. "Because, my little one," she said, her voice a sultry purr, "I'm just getting started." She leaned down, her breasts engulfing you as she whispered in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You nodded fervently, your mouth still full of her warm, sweet milk. Your body was a symphony of pleasure, her strokes and the weight of her breasts creating a crescendo that left you trembling beneath her.

Her smile grew wider as she felt your response, her strokes becoming more deliberate, her hand a vice grip around your shaft as she grew to 10' 8" (326 cm) with R2-cup breasts. She watched your face, your eyes rolled back in pleasure, as her hand worked its magic. "Mm, yes," she whispered, her own breathing growing heavier. "Take it all in, darling."

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as her breasts grew to an unimaginable size of S2 cup, filling your vision. The taste of her milk, the power in her touch, it was all consuming. You nodded again, eager for whatever she had planned next.

With a smirk, Amanda gently pulled her nipple from your mouth. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, "You're going to make me grow so much more, aren't you?" Her hand tightened around your erection, stroking faster as she grew to 10' 9" (328 cm).

You could only whimper in response, your body trembling with need. The room felt hot, the air thick with the scent of her milk and the power that surrounded her.

Amanda's smile grew more wicked as she felt your body respond to her words. She knew exactly what you wanted, what you craved. She leaned in closer, her massive S2-cup breasts pressing against you, the weight of them a delicious pressure as she whispered in your ear. "You want to make me grow more, don't you?" Her hand didn't stop moving, her strokes growing faster, more urgent.

You nodded frantically, the pleasure building within you as you felt her breasts against your body, her milk-soaked nipple grazing your cheek. "Y-yes," you managed to gasp out, your voice hoarse from the overwhelming sensations.

Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she grew another inch to 10' 10" (331 cm), her S2-cup breasts swelling quickly to a T2-cup. "Keep going," she encouraged, her voice a low, seductive growl. "Make me feel as powerful as you know I am." Her hand tightened around you, her strokes becoming more forceful as she watched you squirm beneath her.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving hers as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Her power, her beauty, it was all too much to handle. "A-amanda," you moaned, the sound muffled by the soft flesh of her breast.

With a low chuckle, she leaned in further, her T2-cup breasts pressing down on you like pillows of pure ecstasy. "That's it," she murmured, her hand moving with the precision of a maestro. "Make me grow, baby."

You could feel the orgasm building within you, each stroke of her hand pushing you closer to the edge. Her breasts felt like heaven against your body, the warmth of her milk seeping into your skin.

She grew to 10' 11" (333 cm), her breasts now an U2-cup size, and her hand didn't miss a beat. Her grip was like steel, yet her touch was as soft as a feather. "Tell me," she whispered, her eyes dark with desire. "What do you want?"

You gasped for air, her breasts smothering you, the sweet scent of her milk filling your nose. "I-I want you to keep growing," you managed to say, the pressure of her breasts against your chest making it hard to breathe.

A wicked smile curved her lips as she grew to 11' 1" (338 cm) with V2-cup breasts. "Is that all?" she teased, her strokes growing more deliberate. "Tell me, what do you really want?"

You felt the room spinning as her breasts grew, your mind racing with the implications of her question. "I-I want... I want to worship you," you confessed, the words slipping from your mouth before you could think them through.

Her strokes grew even more forceful, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she grew to 11' 2" (341 cm), her breasts now a size W2-cup. "Worship me?" she repeated, her voice a purr. "How do you intend to do that?"

You nodded, your eyes wide with desire as you stared up at her. "Any way you want," you murmured, feeling her power wash over you.

She grew to 11' 3" (343 cm), her breasts now a X2-cup. "I want you to crave every inch of me," she said, her hand moving faster as her excitement grew. "To adore me as the goddess I am becoming."

You nodded, lost in the sensation of her powerful strokes. The weight of her breasts was both terrifying and exhilarating, leaving you feeling incredibly vulnerable and small.

A thrill shot through Amanda as she felt your submission. She grew another inch to 11' 4" (346 cm), her X2-cup breasts now an Y2-cup size. "You want to worship these?" she asked, her voice a seductive whisper, her hand still working its magic on your erection.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving hers, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you replied, your voice a needy whimper.

She leaned in closer, her Y2-cup breasts now pressing down on you like heavenly pillows, their weight both crushing and comforting. "Good boy," she murmured, her hand moving with the confidence of a goddess. "Now, tell me, what is it you want from me?"

You struggled to form words, your mind racing with the sensations of her touch and the overwhelming presence of her massive breasts. "I-I want to make you big," you managed to say, your voice quivering with passion.

Her eyes lit up with excitement as she grew to 11' 5" (348 cm), her Y2-cup breasts swelling to become Z2-cups. "How big, baby?" she whispered, her hand stroking you with purposeful intent. "How much do you want to see me grow?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the pressure of her massive breasts against you. "As big as you can get," you replied, your voice trembling with excitement.

At your words, Amanda's smile grew wider, and she leaned closer, her Z2-cup breasts engulfing you completely. "Is that all?" she teased, her hand never stopping its delicious torment.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of your desire. The warmth and weight of her breasts was smothering, yet you felt a strange comfort in her power. "Y-yes," you panted, the pressure building within you.

Amanda's eyes gleamed with excitement as she grew to 11' 6" (351 cm), her breasts swelling to an A3-cup. "Keep telling me," she urged, her hand stroking faster. "How big do you want me to get?" Her voice was a siren's call, her breath warm and sweet with the scent of her milk.

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the room spinning as her breasts grew to B3-cups.

"As... as big as the sky," you murmured, the words slipping out of your mouth unbidden, your body lost to the overwhelming pleasure of her touch.

A low, thrilled chuckle rumbled in her chest, vibrating through her B3-cup breasts and into your body. She grew to 11' 7" (354 cm), her breasts becoming C3-cups. "The sky, huh?" she said, her hand moving faster, her strokes more deliberate. "You know I'd do anything for you, don't you?"

You nodded, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure grew unbearable. Her breasts felt like the universe itself pressing down on you, a crushing force of beauty and power.

Amanda's eyes sparkled with excitement, her strokes growing more deliberate. "Well, I guess we'll have to see about that," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper that seemed to echo in the room.

The room felt like it was spinning as the pressure of her C3-cup breasts grew, the sweet warmth of her milk seeping into every pore of your being. You nodded again, your eyes glazed over with need.

She leaned in closer, her C3-cup breasts pressing down on you, the warmth of her milk spreading across your chest like a warm blanket. "Anything for you," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. Her hand didn't stop moving, her strokes growing more intense as she grew to 11' 8" (356 cm) with D3-cup breasts.

As she felt you nearing climax, Amanda's eyes widened with excitement. She leaned down, her massive D3-cup breasts brushing against your legs, and took your throbbing erection into her mouth. Her warm, wet mouth closed around you, and she began to suck with surprising strength and skill. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You moaned loudly, your body arching off the bed as you grabbed onto her hair, pulling her closer as you reached the peak of your pleasure. Your eyes squeezed shut as you released, and she eagerly took it all, drinking your essence as if it were the finest nectar. Her throat contracted around you, milking every last drop. As she swallowed, you could feel the heat of your release spread through her, and she grew another 3 inches to 11' 11" (364 cm), her D3-cup breasts swelling to become E3-cups.

With a satisfied smirk, she pulled back, releasing your now-sensitive member from her warm, velvety embrace. Her tongue swiped over her lips, collecting every drop of your cum, and she watched you with hooded eyes as she brought one of her massive E3-cup breasts to her mouth. She suckled her own nipple with a slow, deliberate motion, drawing a stream of milk into her mouth. Her eyes never left yours as she swallowed, the muscles in her throat dancing with the effort. "Mmm," she hummed, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Ah... So refreshing... My milk is relly good... Hmm... No wonder you seem to love it so much, little one. If you are a good boy, I will let you suck some more later."

You lay there, panting, your eyes glued to the sight of her suckling her own nipple. The power dynamics in the room had shifted so much since this all began, and yet it felt so natural, so right. Her dominance was absolute, and you found yourself craving it. "I... I will," you breathed, still trying to process what had just happened.

She licked her lips, her E3-cup breasts heavy and full of milk. "Good," she murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. With a grace that defied her new size, she leaned over you, her breasts looming like two moons. "But for now," she whispered, her breath warm on your skin, "I need more of your love."

"Why don't you go to the kitchen, sweetheart," she purred, her eyes filled with a mischievous glint, "and whip up one of those heavenly smoothies of yours? We have a long way to grow before I reach the skies."

-----

You can find more like this at my deviantart. 😊

Link: https://www.deviantart.com/ragvas

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

[enbycarp]

Yeah, their products are expensive. But also, it's a company working to be sustainable, eco friendly, and ethical. Their employees are paid well and get unlimited pto, for example. I doubt hanes employees get that.

They also have products like tucking underwear for trans women. When they talk about having products for diverse genders they don't just mean "women and nbs." They didn't start with products for everyone, but they grew and took customer feedback.

Also, they go up to 6x, which i can't get just anywhere. I get their undies when it's on sale, which comes to about ten bucks a pair, which is also what I'd pay at the men's big and tall store.

And it's a queer owned business, which i kind of thought we all were supposed to be supporting when we can?

Yeah we're being sold a product. A product we're going to have to buy somewhere, so why should i feel dumb for buying from a place that is queer and fat friendly and that's at least trying to be an ethical company?

I also pay more when i choose to go to poc and indigenous owned businesses. Am i being a sucker then, too?

Anyway, I've worn a lot of different brands of mens underwear, and the tomboyx undies have been the most comfortable for me. Especially when i went from just xl to 6xl. Other briefs tend to bunch up and slip down when i wear them. Panties, too, have never for me well. Plus, when i had the money for it, i liked to buy fun patterns. As a super fat person, i generally have to just be happy with what i can get (which usually doesn't include fun patterns and colors) .

If tomboyx doesn't appeal to you and your comfortable with underwear that you can get cheaper elsewhere, then that's great. If you don't need specifically gendered underwear, good for you. But we're not all being scammed into paying for something we don't need.

i really dont know why trans men convince themselves that they need special afab boxers from the women and nonbinary store at $20 a pop. you are being sold a product bitch

[cripplecharacters]

So this is kind of a basic question. I'm writing a character with motor tics, specifically blinking and a shoulder shrugging movement but I'm sure I'll add others later. I have motor tics but I'm planning for him to be introduced from 1st person POV of a different character. The tics aren't a focus but I'd like to touch on them. So I was wondering what tics look like from an outside perspective and how to describe them?

Hi!

I myself have the shoulder shrugging thing and have been asked multiple times if either my shoulder hurts or if I need them to hold whatever I was holding so that I can adjust my clothes - but I never actually had anyone recognize it as a tic as far as I can tell.

Your POV character might need to see it happen a few times before catching on that it's not a situational thing for the other character, maybe they will assume that the other character is just sore and keeps stretching their shoulder. The POV character will probably see it as something unimportant at first, it might take them meeting a few times for the character to realize "oh yeah there's Something going on". People without tics are pretty bad in telling what is a tic if you're not randomly swearing or yelling.

The perception of the blinking tic would depend on how exactly it looks. If the character blinks a lot, most people's first thought would probably be either allergies or the character trying not to cry (which sounds awkward for the character with the tic). Anything else would probably be described as exactly what the tic does because it would be a clearly unusual thing to another person who doesn't know them - the POV character could ask them if they're okay or just be distracted by it.

I'll say that people pretty quickly stop paying attention to tics once they know what they are. So the POV character would probably mention them happening a lot at the start, but less and less as the story goes on, since they don't notice them as much - unless the character was to develop a new tic mid-story, in which case it'd be back to a lot of noticing for that specific tic before they got used to that one as well.

I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[something-wild-calls]

After trying to draw out two different comics to act as the next part and not feeling it.... I've decided the best bet is to just use the written out chapter I'd had planned already. XD

In the end I went with a combo. Part writing, part comic~

Previous

WARNING: This part contains visuals and mention of blood and injury.

~ ~ ~

She met his eyes.

Wide. Fearful. Pools of green that were haunted with all he'd been through in the last several minutes. Fresh bruises and scrapes marred his face, but still he didn't turn his attention from her.

"A... dragon..." His voice was breathless. "Y-you're... a dragon..." A new light shone in his green eyes. A mix of emotions that she couldn't quite place. "An actual dragon.... I can't believe it..."

Slowly the dragon stepped toward. Sure that his arms were bound behind him, she leaned her face close to his, causing him to jolt back in shock.

She couldn't help but relish the fear that washed off of him.

She studied his frightened face, framed in long, tangled hair that was escaping it's tie to drape scattered over his shoulders. He was muttering something, but her own thoughts bullied his words out of sticking in her mind.

That face...

His face....

It wasn't him.

She knew it wasn't.

But... there was no denying the closeness of them...

No denying the fury it brought to her...

Suddenly her thoughts were snapped into silence by a new voice.

The dragon watched him unflinchingly.

She admired the dedication this werewolf had for his little companion, but seeing the state he was in--shivering from effort and the wear of what had befallen him, and the faint hint of fear he desperately tried to conceal from her--she couldn't help feeling that the little creature would be more effective at protecting herself than anything he could do at the moment.

She snorted, trying to take on a more neutral look. Meeting the wolf's blazing green eyes, she spoke. To him.

"I can break the ropes binding you. But you are not welcome in my home.”

The golden mane down his neck spiked at the shock of her addressing him. But just as quickly his expression softened, and he lowered his gaze in thought.

But Pari bristled in turn. "You're really just gonna leave him like this??"

Before the dragon could respond, Cody turned to the little creature. "Pari..." He transformed back to his human form, his eyes accepting as they fixed onto his companion's anxious gaze. "If she would feel endangered by us going to her home, then so be it. We can find help elsewhere."

He turned back to the dragon and nodded in thanks. "I'd appreciate the unbinding, thank you...."

And so she approached him, cautious should anything happen. But as she carefully placed her sharp claws on the tightly tied ropes binding his raw, reddened wrists, the only opposition was the helplessly defeated glare of Pari.

After a moment, the ropes snapped, finally freeing the boy of his torment. He fell forward with a pained gasp, catching himself with stiff arms. The dragon walked back to stand in front of him as he attempted to stretch the ordeal out of them.

“Thank you for helping us this much, Dragon... Even if we can't rest with you, it was nice to see you, at least!" He smiled warmly, a light of deep admiration in his eyes.

The dragon hardened her own icy gaze and nodded in acknowledgement, ignoring Pari's final silent plea with a pang of regret she kept to herself.

Shakily Cody began to stand, but as soon as his left foot bore weight, he stumbled with a cry. Tense and groaning, he looked at it. His face went pale at the sight of his shoe, heavily coated with spatters of his own blood.

And promptly, he fell to his side, passed out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Previous

[cheshiresense]

I’m loving all the parts of your Ichigo & Starrk time travel AU! This is a bit random and would take place some time down the road but I had a thought that Starrk probably still has the scars from when Shunsui almost killed him rigjt? So I was wondering if some combination of TBTP!Shunsui recognizing the kind of blades that would’ve left those scars (his zanpakutou is pretty unique after all) and maybe Katen Kyokotsu sensing her own “mark” on Starrk would result in Shunsui guessing a few things if he sees those scars. Or maybe it’s at a point in the timeline where Starrk and Ichigo have already revealed the time travel thing to a few people but not many details and Shunsui ends up putting more pieces together on his own.

Ooh yesss I do love a good scar reveal. For a scene like this, I'd prob go with the second scenario. I imagine Starrk's a pretty private person and also not one to be stripping down in front of just anyone lmao so there has to be a good enough reason. (I actually have a different ready-made one that would fit a time travel reveal scene that I've already hinted at previously but I think I'll write that another time, so we're going to use this one instead.)

This would take place maybe a year or two down the road, and because Shinigami elites are generally not idiots (most of the time), especially the ones Starrk and Ichigo have grown close to, I imagine Shunsui, Ukitake, Shinji, and Kaien (and prob Lisa) have pooled their observations and guessed that Starrk and Ichigo are from the future and have Experienced Some Shit, possibly under Aizen, possibly under some other major big bad that was bad enough to necessitate time travel. And time travel's hardly something just anybody can throw around so most likely there's some divine intervention involved. And once they've come to these conclusions, they decide enough is enough, leaving the fate of Soul Society and possibly the universe on two people who look like they're running themselves ragged trying to save them all is ridiculous. If nothing else, they're friends and family, and it's not right to just leave that burden to them.

I'm also going to throw Kisuke into this group because 1) Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him because to Kisuke, Ichigo is everything from moral compass to magnum opus to greatest sin to the person he owes everything to, and he'd more or less handed over his entire soul into Ichigo's possession very early on. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo who doesn't flinch from him or his reputation and looks at him like he's more than just a Rukon street rat turned assassin turned Shinigami in a captain trenchcoat who has no idea how to be a captain on a good day. (And everybody knows that once Ichigo is attached to you, it's all over, you're never going to be rid of him again, and more than anything, Kisuke has always just wanted someone to want him to stay.)

And 2), there's no better place for secret meetings than the Study Chamber under the Soukyoku Hill, Aizen doesn't know about it, and the Quincy might but with the place buried under enough seals to avoid all detection and probably withstand a siege, even they can't get in to spy. I want to say Kisuke and Yoruichi are a package deal so she should be around, but I also headcanon that they sort of drifted apart for a while after Yoruichi forced Kisuke out of the Second and onto the captaincy doorstep (which made the fact that she threw her whole life and career away when Kisuke was accused of treason that much more meaningful tbh). So for now she's not around, but she does still hang out with Kuukaku, and while it is very helpful that all these people are regular guests at the Shiba compound so nobody is going to get suspicious if this particular group is absent together from time to time because people would just assume they're holed up at the Shibas' for another party or something, Yoruichi is going to notice sooner or later that they're very much not at the compound when they're missing, so she goes looking for whatever fuckery Kisuke has gotten up to this time, and that'll be her way into this time travel adventure, so to speak.

But all of this is actually just to say, healing hot springs for the win, you gotta be naked in a Japanese onsen lmao and guess who's about to have a midnight rendezvous :wink: let's all thank Urahara Kisuke for reinventing such a convenient trope.

-0-

It's nearing two in the morning, and after the staggering revelations earlier, everyone is asleep.

It wasn't as if they hadn't already expected the time travel, but to have it confirmed, and to know now that the reason for it had been the near-total annihilation of all three realms at the hands of a race nursing a thousand-year-old grudge, one thought to be largely extinct but has actually been hiding in their walls - almost literally - and biding their time until their king's awakening--well, let's just Shunsui isn't going to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many hidden eyes are watching him from the shadows until the Wandenreich has at least been dug out of the woodwork for all to see.

(It's also perhaps a little more… off-putting for him than the others, though perhaps that's his pride speaking. Shadows are supposed to be his domain, and yet he's never sensed anything amiss in all the long years he's lived in the Seireitei.)

There had at least not been too much of a fuss about bringing them into the loop. Shunsui had admittedly thought they would have to at least argue back and forth about it a few more times, if only because no matter how much Ichigo likes to deny it, the family resemblance is uncanny, whether in appearance or personality, and a Shiba is nothing if not stubborn once they've set their mind on something. Ichigo is exactly the type to refuse outside aid in the name of better protecting the people he cares about, has yet to understand that ignorance does not always mean safe, or outgrow that inexplicably instinctual mindset of his where he seems to believe that he must take on all burdens by himself instead of allowing others to help shoulder those burdens with him.

But then they'd confronted the boy, and while Ichigo had scowled up a storm and tried to bluster his way out of it at first - kid really is a terrible liar - he'd also capitulated far sooner than any of them had expected. In the end, he'd crossed his arms and scowled some more before deciding with the finality of someone who wouldn't budge any further, "Fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

He'd smirked at them then, still displeased considering the topic of conversation, but vaguely triumphant nonetheless as he'd eyed Urahara and Hirako and Kaien in particular. "It's why you cornered me when you know Starrk-san's out on a mission and isn't due back 'til late, right? Cuz you think you might be able to wear me down by nagging me to death, or worse comes to worst, you can figure it out by watching my reactions. But you won't get anything out of Starrk-san if he doesn't want to say, and he's hard to read even when he's actively emoting."

He'd snorted then, mockery softened by a reluctant sort of mirth. "Joke's on you, he's the reasonable one."

Which, to be fair, had been Shunsui's opinion. Starrk really is frustratingly, delightfully difficult to read, and this is coming from Shunsui, who's always found most people easy enough to figure out at a glance. Case in point, most of the things they'd pieced together for themselves had been clues Ichigo had inadvertently given away, not Starrk. And even then, if Starrk doesn't want them to know, no matter how many well-reasoned conjectures they lay at his feet, he probably wouldn't say a word.

But by that same token, it must mean that the hints he'd started dropping over the past few months could only be his way of encouraging them to ask without directly giving the game away, without giving them any hard evidence or firsthand testimony that would condemn himself or Ichigo, just in case the people they've chosen to trust fail their expectations and choose to hand them over to the government instead of trusting them in return.

To Shunsui, that had basically been an open invitation to sit down for a chat, and Ukitake had agreed with him, but they'd been outvoted - sometimes, he thinks with some amusement that the younger members of their little group don't seem to have eyes for anyone except Ichigo - so he'd let it go since he'd thought there wouldn't be any major issues with trying it this way first either. After all, he doubts Starrk would've shown his hand without Ichigo's agreement. It's just that they'd probably have to jump through a few more hoops if they went to Ichigo, what with the kid's knee-jerk reflex for keeping them at a distance no matter the cost to himself. And he'd been correct, more or less. It's just that they'd had fewer hoops to jump through than Shunsui had anticipated, but he's hardly about to complain.

"My plan was to force Aizen to out himself somehow and then take him down in front of everyone," Ichigo had continued, oblivious to the dawning look of horror on his cousin's face at the sheer lack of regard Ichigo clearly had for his own wellbeing, or possibly for the excessive margin of error implied in every sentence. "And then, you know, hopefully do the same for the Quincy, although I guess they'd be harder to draw out, so maybe we would've had to go to them? But anyway, Starrk-san's the one who's been saying practically from the beginning that we need more people."

He'd made a face then, reminiscent of children everywhere who'd been lectured by a parent for doing something potentially reckless and stupid, but there'd been a grumpy sort of acceptance there too that had lent maturity to his features.

"'Wars can't be won alone,'" Ichigo had audibly quoted with a rueful sort of twist to his mouth, as much to himself as to them. "'And this is their home. If they want to fight for it, let them fight. They're strong enough to make a difference. Besides, there's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you.'" He'd huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face, and then he'd just looked tired. "Well, he's not wrong."

He'd looked at them all again, gaze firm. "So if you really wanna do this, fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

They'd waited. It wasn't as if anyone had actually wanted to exclude the man anyway, couldn't even if they did since he and Ichigo were clearly a package deal. And Shunsui's of the opinion that anybody who can consistently convince Ichigo to stop and look around and realize he isn't as alone as he often seems to believe is someone Shunsui definitely wants onside.

Ichigo had told them that Starrk had been expecting a confrontation sooner or later, and there were only so many places for it to happen if they didn't want anyone else finding out, so if Starrk got back and found their shared apartment empty, he would know to check here.

Sure enough, an hour after, a reiatsu signature - usually so carefully tucked away but one that Shunsui had pressed into his own memory from the very first time he'd had the chance to really feel it - had flared politely right outside the door before wisping away to nothing again, and a moment after Urahara had flashed away to let him in, Starrk had ghosted in, still in his Shihakushou with the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder and an exhausted air about him, but the silver-blue gaze he'd swept over them had momentarily felt like the fangs of a beast locked around their throats.

He'd looked to Ichigo, who'd grimaced but nodded, some wordless conversation passing between them, and only then had all those predatory edges been folded away again, leaving only the quiet unassuming man people still barely looked twice at despite the fact that he'd graduated with honours just as impressive as Ichigo's had been, and had even been promoted to lieutenant on Unohana's personal recommendation straight out of the Academy. But most Shinigami saw Fourth Division and looked no further, blind to the power concealed behind Starrk's reserved apathy.

(In contrast, restlessness stirred beneath Shunsui's skin at the sight. He'd wanted to feel that reiatsu again, to taste the corrosive bite of it against the endless abyss of his own, to revel in the reminder that neither of them could overwhelm the other. He'd wanted to see more of the wolf lurking behind Starrk's eyes too, wanted this man to know he had no need to hide any part of it, not from Shunsui, not when he had the same kind of monster residing in his own soul. But that was all still too much, too soon, and so he'd locked it all behind his teeth once more, waiting for the day he wouldn't have to anymore.)

Starrk had sighed and run a gloved hand over his mouth before wandering over to join them. "Alright, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

That had been five hours ago. The conversation had lasted until midnight before they'd all decided to retire for the night and continue in the morning.

(Ichigo had looked positively agonized at the prospect. Starrk hadn't looked much of anything, mainly because he'd been half-asleep - or doing an excellent job at pretending to be - for a good hour and a half by that point.)

They'd opted to stay in the Study Chamber. Urahara had had more than enough futons to go around, thick enough that they wouldn't feel the ground underneath, and there were bathroom facilities and even a kitchenette included in a sectioned off corner. He and Yoruichi had certainly outdone themselves.

Urahara in particular. He'd invited them to use his hot spring too if they wished - a derivative of Kirinji Tenjirou's very own hot springs, less effective and fast-acting than the originals, only able to speed up recovery, but also far less dangerous - perfect for soaking in after a tough spar or a hard day or anything that results in moderately serious injuries. A veritable work of art.

Still, Shunsui had been more preoccupied with the way Starrk's eyes had lingered on the hot spring even as they'd all headed off to eat something and wash up before going to bed. In that split-second moment, the normally inscrutable man had looked adorably like a cat with a patch of sunlight. It shouldn't have been so attractive, but Shunsui had found himself unspeakably charmed all the same.

Ten minutes after everyone else's reiryoku had levelled out with deep slumber, and Shunsui had likewise tamped down on his own and smoothed it out to mimic sleep, he'd heard the faint rustle of Starrk's futon being pulled back, and then the whisper of footsteps padding their way towards the hot spring.

A better man than Shunsui would probably not have followed. But if that had ever been an option, he'd thrown it out the window from the first time he'd almost drowned in the shattered devastation of Starrk's soul and still decided to go after him.

He'd known since they'd met that there was some kind of connection between himself and Starrk.

He'd known for nearly as long that something about himself made Starrk uncomfortable, at best, and hurt him on a soul-deep level at worst.

He'd known with every interaction they'd had after that - every moment Shunsui could spare to track him down without making it seem too obvious that he was doing it on purpose - that Starrk wanted him to stay away just as much as he wanted him to stay, and Shunsui had taken shameless advantage because he himself had also been unable to do anything less, because he'd looked at this man and the desolate void inside him and couldn't bear to leave him alone.

(Because every moment with Starrk had filled something in Shunsui's own heart that he hadn't even known had been missing until Starrk had slotted into his life so neatly, so easily, that it had felt like he was always meant to be there.)

And he'd known for months, ever since time travel had become the most likely explanation for Starrk and Ichigo's origins, that there was no way Starrk hadn't known him in another life, and known him well, because that was the only thing that explained it all with perfect, horrifying sense.

A better man than Shunsui would not have followed, would've given him space. But a better man wouldn't have reduced someone's heart to a grief-stricken ruin either, cut so deep that it had carved that anguish straight into their very soul, so Shunsui figures that since a future version of himself has already sunk about as low as he possibly can, he might as well keep going and see if there's anything at all that he can do to fix what another him - still him, in the end, with a mere hundred years and change between them - has so clearly, carelessly, cruelly broken.

One of the things that had been revealed earlier had been Ichigo's background, because they'd all noticed the flashes of Quincy and Hollow in his reiatsu. Kaien had broken three sake cups and almost Urahara's face, and even by the end, he'd still looked murderous enough that Shunsui had almost pitied Shiba Isshin's foreseeable future. But Ichigo's ancestry had led to Starrk's, whose reiatsu may be as inherently dangerous as Shunsui's but has never read as anything less than perfectly Shinigami. They'd all been curious for a while, because Starrk was the kind of old and powerful that very few people could get to, and none that could and still remain unknown for so long, but there'd also been no Coyote Starrk in the Gotei 13 until this version who'd time-travelled had arrived in the Seireitei.

Starrk hadn't beaten around the bush. He'd pulled open the front of his Shihakushou and bared the web of scars below his collarbones, slightly branched out but thick and concentrated over his sternum in a distinctly circular mass.

"I'm not a Shinigami," He'd said calmly, plainly.

"You kind of are," Ichigo had mused, even as he'd glowered death eyes at them all when Starrk wasn't looking.

Starrk had shaken his head. "There's no name for what I am. I just evolved enough to fix my own soul."

He'd placed a hand over the scarring, and his gaze became distant enough that Shunsui's hands had twitched with the urge to reach out, even while the others had gaped, visibly shocked because it's one thing to have a soul like Ichigo's, one ultimately man-made, cobbled together from hope and desperation and a scientist's gamble; it's another entirely to realize that Shinigami have perhaps been looking at Hollows the wrong way for as long as any of them have existed.

(Because all Hollows are ultimately the product of the Shinigami's failure to save them in time, though most don't view it that way anymore, if they ever have. Because the possibility of a Hollow saving themselves has never even been a thought exercise in anyone's mind.)

Shunsui hadn't cared. No, that wasn't entirely correct. He'd been just as stunned as the others at this revelation that overturned millennia's worth of ironclad beliefs. But he'd been far, far more perturbed by what he could see of a second scar on Starrk's chest that bisected the circular one, faded just enough to indicate that it wasn't a very recent injury, but still deep and ragged and vivid enough to show how lethal it had been, how fatal, and-

And Shunsui had seen enough- dealt enough damage with his Zanpakutou to know the kind of wounds his blades left in their wake. And as if that wasn't enough, Katen had murmured in his mind, terrible and possessive and ruthlessly final, "Yes, his is a life we claimed for ourselves."

Shunsui had been almost relieved when Starrk had blinked back into the present and pulled his Shihakushou back on properly before continuing in a sedate tone, "We concluded that this is the final step for a Hollow, that they're allowed a chance to become whole again. It's just that even the strongest Hollows usually only survive for a few hundred years before something kills them, or they just don't have the power levels to climb that high, especially in the time they have."

He'd smiled then, but there'd been no humour in his expression, only infinite emptiness. "I survived, and I'm strong. So I guess this was my prize."

Nobody had really known what to say about all that, though Urahara had done an admirable job of recovering, and then an even more admirable job of pretending he didn't immediately want to whip out one piece of equipment or another and start scanning Starrk for data. They'd moved the conversation back to more information on the Quincy instead, although there would definitely be more questions in the future. But it'd been a lot to take in, and everybody had needed time to digest.

Now, hours later, Shunsui waits a bit before getting up as well and quietly making his way to the hot spring. He isn't surprised when he finds Starrk already rising from the water and reaching for a towel, evidently prepared to leave.

"Don't go," Shunsui says before he can think better of it, and he doesn't mean it as a demand or order, but he doesn't take it back either when Starrk goes still, water sluicing off of him - all tanned wet skin and strong shoulders and lean muscle for miles and now is really not the time - half turned away, and it's only because of that that even with the steam, Shunsui notices the conspicuous scar left by a stab wound in Starrk's back, just left of the spine.

This time, he doesn't need Katen to say anything at all.

Perhaps he'd dropped his conscience in a ditch on his way here, because he repeats, can't stop himself from repeating, "Don't go. I don't mean to chase you away. It's more than big enough for the both of us, isn't it?"

He pauses, reaches for a hat he'd left behind on his futon, and settles for shrugging out of his clothes instead. "…I'll stay on this side."

He slides into the water and forces himself to wait. When Starrk slowly sinks back into the hot spring, Shunsui very carefully doesn't react to that either.

The silence that settles over them is less tense than one might expect. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Starrk slumps against the edge of the hot spring, eyelids drooping. He has his hair tied back in a bun to keep it out of the water, and it's rare enough that Shunsui can't help taking a few extra looks.

Then again, that's nothing new. Starrk has always drawn his eye. Ukitake likes laughing at him for it.

"Does it bother you?" Starrk speaks up abruptly, unexpected enough that Shunsui almost startles. "That I'm a Hollow."

Shunsui wants to say that this man is so far from everything he'd ever thought even the most advanced Hollows could be that a part of him simply can't reconcile the disconnect. The rest of him…

"You're the same person now as you were before you told us what you are," He points out. "I don't think anything else matters."

Blue-grey eyes slit open, not quite looking in Shunsui's direction, not quite not, expression utterly indecipherable.

"…Did my future self think differently?" Shunsui ventures, but that can't be right. He can't imagine any version of himself who would think that way, especially one who'd lived even longer than he has. Still, his mind flashes back to the scars on Starrk's body, hidden beneath the water now but seared into Shunsui's memory like a brand, and he can't help coming up with increasingly depressing scenarios.

But Starrk blinks, and his focus finally hones in on Shunsui, genuinely surprised, and Shunsui releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No," Starrk says after a beat of studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. "You've apparently always been more open-minded than most." He cocks his head. "But you were staring, so I thought…"

I always stare at you, haven't you noticed? Shunsui wants to blurt out, but he swallows it down with only a little effort. Too much, too soon.

After tonight's revelations, after all the speculations he's pieced together bit by bit over the past few months about their past-future relationship, maybe it will always be too soon. But Shunsui's never been in the habit of admitting defeat without even trying, and this time is no different.

"Something is bothering you though," Starrk tacks on, still watching Shunsui through narrowed eyes, and Shunsui wonders if the man realizes how much he looks like he's stalking prey in moments like this.

It should be unsettling, being on the receiving end of such a gaze, and it is, a little, but Shunsui's grown used to it too, grown to appreciate it even, to the feeling of being seen, of being known, and still being wanted.

(Because that's the one thing that's never been in question. Because however much Starrk sometimes reacts like Shunsui's very existence pains him, or how much he sometimes makes Shunsui feel completely bare, every sin and secret laid out for judgement, he's also never looked at Shunsui with anything less than the sort of quiet devotion the tide holds for the moon, or the stars for the sky, or dawn for the horizon, steadfast and eternal. Is it any wonder Shunsui can't stay away?)

"Is it this then?" Starrk asks next, and the water sloshes a little as he straightens up, revealing his scarred chest to tap a finger against the near-horizontal scar cleaved across it, right through where his Hollow hole had presumably still been at the time of the injury. Seeing it in its full gruesome glory now, Shunsui can tell that this wound had to have nearly cut the other man in two.

He feels a little at a loss for words, then sighs and fesses up. "Maa, I suppose I'm just a bit curious." He tries to keep his tone light, but there's really no two ways to say it. "…I did that, didn't I?"

Starrk levels an arch look at him. "Well, you didn't." He slouches back into the water, and somehow, he actually looks a bit amused. "I'm long over it, Taichou-san. We'd just met, and we were enemies at the time. You did what you had to do. We both did. It was war. If it makes you feel better, I gave as good as I got."

Shunsui snorts. That does actually make him feel a bit better. At the very least, this is preferable to the increasingly dramatic betrayal scenarios he'd been thinking of. He doesn't like the idea of his future self almost killing Starrk, but at least it hadn't happened after they'd become friends.

It does mean he has to reshuffle a few things on his mental timeline though, and across the hot spring, Starrk glances at him again and seems to understand.

"I guess we didn't get around to talking much about Aizen," He muses, then reveals, "We mentioned that before the Quincy became a problem, it was Aizen you all fought. Aizen set up his base of operations in Hueco Mundo, sought out Hollows from all over, and created an army of artificial Arrancar out of them to serve him, using that Hougyoku Ichigo was talking about earlier. I was part of that army."

Shunsui blinks at that revelation, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what Aizen - in his quest for world domination - could've possibly offered a man who didn't even like fighting to secure his allegiance. Then again, Shunsui's willing to bet at least a little hypnosis had been involved to ease the way. Aizen doesn't seem the type to bank on genuine fealty without including insurance.

The question stalls in his throat though as Starrk lifts a hand out of the water--his left, the one with the vivid burn scar stretched over the back of it. That isn't something often seen either. Starrk almost always has gloves on. He stares at it for a moment before letting it fall back beneath the water.

"The ten most powerful Arrancar in his army were called the Espada," Starrk explains. "I was the Primera. The first."

"The strongest," Shunsui nods. That sounds right, especially if Starrk had been sent to fight Shunsui.

Starrk shrugs noncommittally and says nothing else, leaving Shunsui to mull over the new information for a minute.

"Ichigo-kun warned us earlier," Shunsui eventually says. "About being Hollowfied by Aizen's Hougyoku. That turning into Visored stunted any chance of growth, and that you weren't even halfway through the Blood War before Lisa-chan and the others' power levels had degraded to barely that of a seated officer's."

Hirako had been grim-faced at the news. Lisa had looked ready to march out and rip Aizen's head off right then and there. Honestly, Shunsui had shared the sentiment.

"Then wouldn't it have been the same for Aizen's Arrancar?" Shunsui continues, watching a puzzled frown furrow at Starrk's brow. "They were granted power by the Hougyoku. Shouldn't it have stunted them too?"

Starrk nods, still frowning. "Yeah, it did. Grimmjow was furious when he found out." He blinks, and then realization strikes. "Oh, you mean me."

Shunsui hums a confirmation. Why in the world would he mean anyone else?

Starrk shakes his head. "I was the exception. Aizen found me last, out of most of the Arrancar. Definitely last out of the Espada. But even then, I was already more powerful than all the others, so he gave me the Primera seat." A corner of his mouth quirks with a cynical sort of mirth. "I didn't want more power, and he certainly wasn't about to give me more. I suppose it was fortunate. I don't think even Aizen knew back then that the Hougyoku would cause stagnation."

Powerful enough to have risen to Arrancar on his own, Shunsui muses, and he has to marvel at that, has to admire it. That kind of strength - mental even more than physical in some ways - isn't something just anyone can possess. Evidently. The only natural Arrancar in the known worlds. The only one to repair his own soul. What an extraordinary accomplishment. Except-

"I'm sorry it took so long," Shunsui says softly, because he knows Starrk is around the same age as himself, and if he was still an Arrancar by Aizen's war, then he could only have spent all the centuries before in Hueco Mundo. Even if he'd had companions there, Starrk would've outlived them all. "It must've been lonely."

I'm sorry nobody could help, because no Shinigami would've known to help. Perhaps most wouldn't have been willing to even if they'd known. I'm sorry I couldn't help.

For a long moment, Starrk is still enough to resemble a statue. Then a scoff of something that could've been laughter if it didn't ache so much claws its way out of his throat. He doesn't lift his gaze from where it's fallen blankly on the shifting surface of the hot spring. "No need to be sorry. I'm used to it."

Used to it. Used to being alone. Used to being left behind.

Shunsui doesn't thinks he's only talking about those long years in Hueco Mundo anymore, not when he's avoiding eye-contact again, not when Shunsui can suddenly feel the bleak despair radiating from his soul again.

"There's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you."

Not for the first time, Shunsui feels an acute desire to have a nice long talk with his future self and ask exactly how much of the agony rippling through Starrk's reiatsu can be placed directly at his feet.

(It isn't as if Shunsui can't understand. Even disregarding all other circumstances, the fact that they'd been at war would've meant that there could be no guarantees.

But still.

Still.

Couldn't he have tried a little harder? Didn't he know better than anyone the pain of being the only one left behind, the way it lingers like a slow unending bleed you're forced to carry until the day death finally deigns to take you too?

Shunsui at least has Ukitake, has Yama-jii, has Retsu-senpai and Sasakibe-san too, has Lisa-chan and Hirako and Kaien-kun, even has Nanao-chan to watch over in his brother and sister-in-law's stead. And in the future, maybe he'd lost them all, but it also sounds like he'd still had one to staunch the bleed, still had Starrk, right to the very end.

Then, who did Starrk have after Shunsui had died?

Isn't the answer obvious? Isn't Starrk still bleeding right now?)

A heavy sigh jolts Shunsui out of his thoughts, and his hands sting from where his nails have dug into his palms, fortunately out of sight. On the other side, Starrk clambers to his feet, water sloughing off his frame as he turns to get out of the hot spring.

The steam obscures his face this time, but even if he could see it, Shunsui thinks it would be one of those times again where he wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"Don't think so hard, Taichou-san," Starrk says, voice as calm as a blanket of snow over a cemetery. "It's not your job to save me."

I can't be saved anymore. I don’t want to be saved.

Shunsui's out of the water and next to Starrk before either of them can blink.

Too much, too soon, a part of him warns, but this time, he throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and closes a hand around Starrk’s wrist.

Starrk freezes, the pulse under Shunsui’s fingers jumps, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

They must look ridiculous, dripping wet and naked, and yet Shunsui barely notices, and Starrk has probably noticed everything but.

"It's not my job, that's true," Shunsui says without letting go, staring at what he could see of the other's face. "And I don't know if what I'm doing is meant to save you. But if you think I'll just let you go to your grave after all this is over, Ichigo-kun is apparently not the one we should've been worrying most about after all."

They had made a mistake, Shunsui realizes. He had made a mistake. Because looking at Starrk and Ichigo--at Starrk who was so steady and composed all the time, and then at Ichigo who was so much more transparent in his misery, in his fury, in his determination to achieve his end goals no matter the cost to himself, that it was almost instinct for everyone to focus their concerns on him. Because for all that Ichigo was reluctant to involve them, and reticent on the best of the days, he was at least also loud about it, and therefore was that much easier to help--to know they need to help.

Compared to him, Starrk has always shown himself to be the rock in a storm that even Ichigo clearly clings to. He has never been anything less than an ocean of serenity, but perhaps they should've remembered that no ocean is calm beneath the surface.

…No, it's Shunsui who should've remembered. He has literal unparalleled insight into Starrk's soul, feels the ache of it regularly, even if not all the time, except he'd just… not forgotten, that's impossible, but he'd been trying to fix it in his own way, with tea and conversation and countless attempts at coaxing out even just one more smile, except he can never tell when he might be going too far, pushing too fast, wanting too much, always feeling a bit like he's standing helpless in front of a skittish cornered animal too hurt to accept any kind of affection, and so perhaps as a result, Shunsui's ended up failing to show Starrk just how far he's willing to go instead.

Case in point, he's still holding onto Starrk, touching him, skin warm against Shunsui's own. Shunsui would've thought he'd be shaken off by now, possibly tossed into a wall out of reflex if nothing else, but Starrk hasn't even attempted to pull away. His pulse is calming again, but Shunsui can feel the tension in his arm, and he's staring down at their limbs with a lost expression.

Shunsui tightens his grip and runs his thumb along the inside of the other's wrist. He feels more than sees the shiver that runs through Starrk's body, for all that Starrk still hasn't moved. But the lost expression on his face also retreats. It leaves exhaustion-bruised eyes and enough sorrow thrumming through his reiatsu to smother the breath from Shunsui's lungs in its wake, but at the very least, he also finally looks up to meet Shunsui's gaze.

"…I don't know what you want from me, Shunsui," Starrk says wearily.

It's the first time he's ever used Shunsui's name. Shunsui only wishes he wouldn't sound so unbearably sad when saying it, but he'd take what he could get.

"That's easy," Shunsui replies, catching that pale mercurial gaze and holding it. "I want the same thing you've asked of Ichigo-kun. I want you to live."

A long silence follows before a rough sound spills from Starrk's throat like shattered glass.

"'Easy'," Starrk echoes, shoulders shaking, with laughter, with tears. But his eyes are dry, and he's the farthest thing from amused, and his soul feels like it might swallow itself whole just to cease its own existence. So this time, Shunsui lets instinct guide his hands and doesn't let himself second-guess it--in one swift motion, he tugs the other man into his arms and wraps him in a hug like he's wanted to ever since Starrk's soul had grasped for his own like he was drowning and Shunsui was the only one who could pull him to shore. Who could convince him to come ashore.

Starrk collapses against him, shuddering like he might fall apart with even just one more word, one more breath, one more touch, but Shunsui only draws him closer, holds him harder, and refuses to let him go.

[etclouie]

congrats on 600!! could i ask for both 19 and 76 from the 100 dialogue prompts with sirius black please?

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; 19) "you really didn't notice that i was falling in love with you?" 76) "i'd do anything for you" — from 100 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; best friend!sirius x reader, sirius sabotages readers dates (it’s not explicitly described, just mentioned), they confess feelings, possible ooc sirius, insinuation to a date between them 

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; i’m still trying to get reqs out, trust🙏

— celebrate 600 with me?

you and Sirius were best friends, have been for as long as you could remember. the two of you practically joined at the hip, which never changed when he became friends with James and Remus. 

despite your closeness, you seemed to be unaware of Sirius’ feelings towards you. sure you’d noticed he had become more protective of you during fourth year, practically shooing off all the people you tried dating and audibly voicing his disliking to anyone you did manage to sleep with. 

after another ‘sabotaged’ date by Sirius, you were both in the Gryffindor common room. Sirius sat on one side of the couch with your legs draped across his lap, his hands soothing back and forth. everyone else was already in the dorms asleep, but not you two. you could both sit up for hours just talking, or like that one night you both sat in silence until you fell asleep together. 

“how come you keep getting my dates cancelled?”

the question came out before you could stop it, and Sirius stilled his hand on your shin. your words made him freeze, deep down he knew it was destined to come up at some point but just not now. 

a sigh fell from his lips before he ran a hand across his face, his eyes met yours again as he answered. 

“i may have.. you know, feelings for you”

in true Sirius Black nature, he tried to make any admission of his feeling inaudible. 

it wasn’t that he was embarrassed necessarily, he just was scared you’d reject him after all this time. 

“you have feelings for me?”

your voice stayed soft, not wanting to scare him off from your tone. he nodded in response before sighing again, a pink tinge coating his cheeks. 

“really? i mean, i’m flattered just— i didn’t expect you to like me”

that had him curling in on himself, worry settling in his stomach and something akin to a pout on his lips which you noticed straight away. just like you always did. you always noticed when he curled in on himself. 

moving your legs from his lap and reaching for one of his hands, pulling him in your direction and laying his head on your shoulder. 

“you really mean it Siri?”

your tone was different this time, hopeful almost. 

which had him lifting his head, his eyes pleading as they met yours while your fingers brushed his hair out of his face. 

“because i have feelings for you too, was too chicken shit to admit it”

a sigh of relief feel from his lips, his eyes shutting in the process as he lay his head on your shoulder again and further into your neck. 

humming softly as he pressed a kiss to your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair and softly scratching across his scalp as he spoke up. 

"you really didn't notice that i was falling in love with you?"

his voice came out muffled against your neck, your fingers softly pulling him back to meet his eyes again. moving your hand to cradle his jaw and soothing your thumb across his cheeks. 

“thought you just wanted to protect me from shitty dates”

both of you laughing softly at that, laying your head on his shoulder in return and curling into his side. his left arm hesitantly wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer against him, while he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

"i'd do anything for you"

shaking your head at his words before he was laying down on the couch, keeping you against his side and holding you as close as he could. your head lay on his shoulder and your left hand on his chest, his hand running up and down your side. 

you glanced up at him, his eyes already on you. your faces inches from the others and your breath fanning across his face as you whispered out to him. 

“clearly— with all the date sabotaging it should’ve been obvious”

he huffed, a pout tugging at his lips making you roll your eyes at him. 

your closeness made his heart thump in his chest, his mind racing and his feelings for you reaching an all time high. all he wanted was to lean in and kiss you, but he wanted to do right by you— even let you make an honest man out of him. 

“i won’t sabotage your next date i promise, ‘cause i was kinda hoping i’d be the one taking you”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[makiitabaki]

Finally answering this:

Thank you, @saintjustitude for asking me to rant—I adore doing just that :]

(First of all, thank you to everyone for waiting. I know I took a lot of time to write this, but I had only around an hour free every day, and I usually spent it searching for sources. My knowledge is limited; the play isn't available. I rely on memoirs, interviews, and reviews. 

My inbox is always open, and if anyone has any Wojtek questions, I'd be absolutely delighted to answer them. And I mean it. It can be anything. 

 Every quote was translated by me. All my sources are listed.

Unfortunately a part of it wasn't saved, and I don't have access to some info anymore but this post will probably serve as the beginning of a longer thread.)

And now: “Sprawa Dantona” (1975).

1. How did it all come to be? Why was ‘The Danton Case’ and not any other play?

When I say ‘Danton’ directed by Wajda, most probably think of the 1983 version, a political metaphor: Comsal representing the Polish government, Dantonist representing Solidarity. Was it like that originally? Was Wajda just calling for a fight with the government, transforming Przybyszewska's work to fit his own narrative?

In short: No! (At least if we're referring to the 1975 version, the film is completely another story; I'll gladly make another post about it.).

Zygmunt Hübner (I have mentioned him already in this post) chose Wajda to direct the play even though the latter was a relatively young director; something was telling Hübner that giving the play to him would be absolutely necessary. Pszoniak later referred to that event as Wajda being cast in it as much as he himself was.

The play was simply a way to introduce the artistic team Hübner created. There was none of some “noble patriotism’ or 'anti communism'. (None of what Wajda described as the purpose of the later film.)

Why was that play in particular chosen? That is unknown.

“The idea [of exhibiting that play] came from the fact that Hübner was looking for a play (…) that would present his artistic team as a whole, which he assembled with great imagination and intuition.”

At first, Pszoniak laughed into Hübner's face when offered the role. He thought it fine, intruiging, but the character of Robespierre was so foreign to him that he couldn't give anything from his own person or his own experiences to his Maximilien.

He asked for the role of Danton; that role seemed to fit him way better with "his [Danton's] sensuality, his dynamic physiognomy, and his balls."

Wajda and Hübner were quite insistent and more or less forced Pszoniak into the role.

“Hübner and Wajda were so stubborn that they did not take my objection into account. Nothing there [in the role] suited me; there was no starting point for the role. I had no right to play it. But they convinced me for so long that the whole situation with ‘The Danton Case’ became a dead end.”

The transformation from simply a good play to something entirely political in Wajda's eyes was very slow but steady. On that a little later.

2. Pszoniak wasn't ready to play Robespierre? How did he prepare for the role then?

It's very important to note that it was not bad will that made Pszoniak initially refuse the role, but the theater typecast he was put into and which he almost got used to. All of his power and stage presence were connected to his own physicality, to this sort of mobility and expression that he had to (presumably at Wajda's request) abandon while playing Robespierre.

Wojtekspierre getting his hair cut from a man with surprisingly modern glasses

Whether he was in a tragedy or comedy, it was the unique liveliness that made him so different. Suddenly he was offered the role of Robespierre, a man he only knew from unfavorable history books, portrayed a certain way by Przybyszewska, and he's made to stand before the expanse of that character's personality in a try to make him someone physical.

While it might seem quite shocking, when preparing for the role, Pszoniak didn't even read any Robespierre biography. Why? According to him:

“I didn’t think at all about a historical figure, and besides, you can’t play any historical figure. I put aside the books on the French Revolution. I read them much later, when, years later, in Paris. (…) I didn't want to portray a historical figure, so I didn't judge or evaluate him. I simply tried to get closer to him, to understand him as a person. Przybyszewska herself made it easier for me. The text of the play clearly indicated that she was fascinated by him. (...) Przybyszewska constructed this character in an unusual, enigmatic way. I clung to this fascination, it was a reason for treating Robespierre with empathy. This is a necessary condition for creating a character, without empathy you will never be able to get closer to the man you are to become on stage. Wandering through the labyrinth of his emotions, motives for action, opinions he expresses, I became so strongly attached to him, he took over me so much, that as a result I became Robespierre-Pszoniak.”

Pszoniak admitted he didn't want to play a politician [but, of course, as we all know, he was later forced to in ‘Danton’ (1983)].

The preparations took time and patience (especially from his wife - Barbara). Pszoniak tends to describe it as a painful process. Robespierre's physical expression was compared to being bound tightly by his own flesh, almost imprisoned by it, but freed by his mind. Pszoniak realized that all of the power in portraying Robespierre could only be gained from a deeper reflection. How to show a mind on stage?

That Pszoniak didn't know, and so he made the decision to show Robespierre's determination and faith instead of simply a calculated brain. To show a path, an objective. That's why the last scene was so hard to play (conversation between Robespierre and Saint-Just after Danton's death); he even asked Wajda for a white cloth as a makeshift shroud. To Pszoniak, that scene meant the symbolic death of his character. Robespierre (described by Pszoniak as a “very intelligent man") feels that inevitable peril awaits in the near future. The actor often described a feeling of mourning something or someone after the performance.

The challenge of creating the role, in the words of Wojciech Pszoniak:

“I started to control all my reflexes morning till night; from waking up to falling asleep, I was destroying myself. In everyday life, even the smallest activity, I slowed down; I was reducing and cleaning up [every one of] my habits. Torment, the absolute torment of controlling yourself, of managing yourself. Zero spontaneity, the phone rings, my first reaction—run to answer it—I stop myself calmly, in control of every slowed-down gesture. I imitated Zygmunt Hübner's focused gait; I noticed how he placed his feet. And I started walking like that myself. That's how I set a different, more controlled way of moving. After that, I turned to gestures, head movements, the way of getting up, and gesticulation. I felt that I was different. Acquaintances and friends both asked where this change came from. I suppressed the dynamic, extraverted myself.”

And

“I was pushing the boundaries of supervision [over myself], checking how I would behave after drinking a larger amount of vodka. One day I went out with Basia [wife] and friends (...) After a few bottles, at four in the morning, they were amused, cheered up, asking if I was sick because I was behaving like a machine. After three weeks of suffering, I reached ground zero. This happened during the rehearsals. A conversation about Robespierre and Danton. I joined the discussion, exclaiming, 'I disagree!’ - and suddenly I saw that my hand was no longer my hand, that it was not the hand of that Pszoniak that I am, but that it was already a hand—the beginning of someone else.”

3. What of Danton?

Here the problem with the play began. The man cast as Danton, Bronisław Pawlik, was just... terrible.

He was a good actor in general, definitely, but in short (explanation for the anglophones), it was like casting Danny DeVito as Danton.

He was short of stature, weak of voice, much older than Pszoniak, and simply unfit for the role.

He didn't have a stage presence; his voice was silenced by the other people on stage, and Pszoniak kept acting as if there was some great, dangerous opponent when there wasn't—the audience seemed to notice it.

It all added to a kind of feeling of resentment after preparing so long for the role of Robespierre.

Danton (Bronisław Pawlik), Camille (Olgierd Łukaszewicz) and Westermann (Franciszek Pieczka) celebrating

Pawlik was more concerned with the position of the props or the costume instead of conversing and shaping their roles. To Pszoniak it was the role of a lifetime, to Pawlik it wasn't.

“The audience was sitting on the stage because the entire theater had been transformed into the Revolutionary Tribunal. Here, a powerful voice and a [kind of] broad gesture were needed... Pawlik's charm disappeared in the feverish crowd. What consequences did this have for the play? Enormous, Danton was deprived of the strength [for both the audience and actors] to believe that he posed a deadly serious threat to the revolution. And this lack bothered me terribly...”

4. How did it become political then?

As I have previously mentioned, it was a slow, steady process. Even Wajda himself didn't think much of the play; it was the audience that began the change. 

As the first example, Pszoniak recalls a scene when Eleonore comes in with tea but not sugar—in the audience at first only a few laughing, but gradually along with the many performances it turned into the whole audience cackling. The play was exhibited just when a time of increasing problems with sugar supplies began in Poland (food stamps for sugar were introduced).

Pszoniak admitted that the cast would often laugh along with the audience. It seemed almost absurd—a tragic play blending with the real world. 

When it comes to Pszoniak himself in that time, the more he played the role, the more it felt like “punching the air.” Instead of having a genuine conflict, he had no support, no reference point in Pawlik as Danton or the audience. For the role to have meaning, to be something, it all had to be a matter of life and death. His co-actor was slipping into comedic grotesque while playing the second main role. 

"The success of the play was huge, but the audience was eager to read the play [only] in the context of political allusions. (…) The audience felt that something was happening [on and off stage], (…) the tension grew."

The audience's reaction seemed to be a direct answer to the Danton shown on stage. Instead of a political opponent, there stood a sad, tired victim of the committee who seems completely and utterly innocent, all his words said with a kind of saddened charm (doesn't that remind you of a certain film Wajda made later?).

5. What of the other actors?

Here is where I have the least information. If anyone has any more sources of information, actor memoirs, etc., feel free to reblog this post with additional info or simply contact me about it so I could make Part 2. :]

The cast.

I have to tell you something shocking... Wajda is capable of giving actual, normal characterization to secondary characters (gasp, thunderstrike, wolf howling).

Or perhaps that was just the actor/Zygmunt Hübner (I guess we'll never know).

The most information I could gather was about Saint-Just (played by the excellent Władysław Kowalski).

Based off the limited amount of reviews I could gather, he was a positive character in general. Described as “a man gifted with exceptional warmth and [someone] unconditionally devoted to his cause” or “full of raw passion."

AND HE GIVES MAXIME FLOWERS IN THIS VERSION AS WELL, EXCEPT IN THIS ONE ROBESPIERRE (KIND OF) SMILES!

I couldn't find much on Eleonore, Louise, or Lucille, though I've searched and searched for a few days. All I could find is that the actresses were excellent—that is, unfortunately, no source of any relevant information. Frankly speaking, since Wajda, in kind words, doesn't excel at writing women, I don't have much faith in their characterization on the director's part.

Camille played Łukaszewicz is usually called a “complicated youth"—that is, of course, an opinion—or “spontaneous in reflexes"—that's a bit better of a description. As you can see, I am limited by the fact the play isn't available, and I must depend on biased or subjective sources.

Worried Camille Desmoulins (Olgierd Łukaszewicz) - I do think this Camille looks quite nice.

6. And did the critics like it? Was it well directed?

In short, it was a very, very liked play by both the critics and the audience. It ran for 5 years; it ended around 1980, when many of the actors simply left Poland.

About critics and reviews written by them: What surprised me immensely is the fact that most available reviews (written before the release of the film ‘Danton’) of the play weren't anti-Robespierre. The play is often described as something of a moral discussion, something for the viewer to assess, a work that doesn't suggest one solution to understand the conflict, or revolution (in other words, a great play).

A thing I've noticed is that along with time, the descriptions of the main characters seem to change. Danton—in earliest reviews described as “absolutely repulsive," then later as a tragic man, someone who adores life. Robespierre—in earliest reviews described as an absolute “marble statue," an idealist, someone pure, then in later reviews as just a fanatic.

 

7. What about Wajda? Did he change the text much? What about the scenography?

I was surprised to learn that Wajda absolutely could make a good, Przybyszewska-accurate play.

 

From all I could find, there is not much I can accuse Wajda of when it comes to ‘The Danton Case’ stage adaptations. It was made very well. What most likely contributed to the later change in people's mentality when met with the play is the fact that the audience was sort of a part of the performance. How? Like this:

“It [the play] takes place on a stage placed in front of the audience; on the actual stage and in the rest of the audience sit in rows of chairs rising upwards. Everything encompassed by the scenography is one theater. This played out brilliantly in the second parts, in the beautifully composed group scenes, where the audience not only looks at the stage but is drawn into it as an extra audience at the hearings of the revolutionary tribunal.”

And

“Wajda made "The Danton Case" as if against himself—against his previous self: he gave up on visual effects, music, and symbolism. He built a spectacle—a spectacle indeed!—raw and beautiful. (…) During the (…) presentation of "The Danton Case," seats for viewers were also installed on the stage, which was fortunately spacious, the audience surrounds the actors, the actors are among the audience, on the balcony, in the passages.”

If Danton or Robespierre were so close to the audience, I think it really did influence the people's opinion of it later on. Pawlik was terrified, jumping like a fish out of water from one audience member to the other, and there was Pszoniak, white and still under his shroud just a few meters away. That did certainly change the performance's reception.

8. Where can I watch this?!

As I have mentioned here: the play isn't available online, but most certainly is somewhere in the archives (confirmed by Pszoniak), when it was supposed to have a TV debut the martial law was introduced, and a few years later everyone seemed to have forgotten about it.

So, erm… Who's raiding the archives with me? (By the way, fragments of the play exist online, but only 10-20 minute excerpts, so if I find the time, I'll try to track them down.).

Sources:

Books:

Aktor. Wojciech Pszoniak w rozmowie z Michałem Komarem, Wydawnictwo Literackie 2009;

Maciej Karpiński, Pszoniak, Wydawnictwa Artystyczne i Filmowe Warszawa 1976;

Małgorzata Terlecka-Reksnis, Pszoniak. Fragmenty, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie 2024

Photos used and play reviews (pardon the rhyme):

http://encyklopediateatru.pl

[halcyon-deluxe]

Keep breathing, be gentle with yourself. Your grief is sacred, an honoring of your love. Take the time and space that you need. Thank you for sharing your light, don’t worry about tumblr -we’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.

Thank you anon. My grandmother was one thing but I was not prepared for my close friend to pass away last week either. So it's just been a lot.

I thought that I'd have a handle on death since my dad and my dog both passed within the last year, but all of these instances have just made me realize how differently love can exist and change our lives.

And above all else, how truly unserious life is.

I've been trying to come to terms with my dog and my dad even now, so my grandmother and my friend passing on top of this has been almost unbearable. But, I have so much to look forward to in the future. I think it would make all of them very happy for me to stay focused on applying to gradschool and making something of my life. I'm just sad none of them will be here to celebrate with me 🙁 because they were all rooting for me.

That being said, one thing I learned after Abby passed- my friend and the wife of my best friend- was how little I've done with my life. I really need to step on the gas and start living more.

So, if I do get accepted into the program I'm applying for, I am going to do so much with my life when I move. I've already made a list of changes I am going to put on myself to make more out of the time I'm given 😁

Things are bleak now, but the future is so bright. I just have to stay optimistic about it.

Thank you for your kind message anon. I'll be here on and off, but I've deleted all my other social media to help clear my mind. I'll be back regularly one I get my life back on track 🙂

[toasthaste]

ok here are some In Stars and Time thoughts: (wow! that's a lot of thoughts actually! long post warning! also warning for like every possible spoiler, don't read this if you haven't engaged with the game to your satisfaction)

I'm obsessed with the fact that the loop that ends up being the final one is the one where EVERYTHING goes wrong. I spent the whole game subconsciously building up my Perfect Final Loop in my mind, how I'd get every item to make sure I didn't miss an opportunity to use em, do all the friendquests and such... I didn't even realize I'd been building up that ideal scenario until after credits rolled! Really really cool. The timeline where Siffrin does the worst stuff he does in any loop is the one that stays. And it's still a happy ending! it's a better ending because of that! His friends saw him at his worst and still loved him! He didn't have to do everything perfect to keep them around actually! Something about that feels so right, to me.

I keep using "ludonarrative resonance" to describe this game and yeah ok I'm huffing my own farts here whipping that out but whatever, it's REAL. The player and Siffrin are on the EXACT same emotional journey as each other, we're getting tired of seeing the exact same lines over and over again right alongside them, we're taking shortcuts because we've seen it all before and just want to grab key open door grab crest etc etc make the progress go. We're starting to find these previously-charming characters grating because we've just seem them repeat the SAME lines over and over and over and OVER again until they start feeling like caricatures of themselves who we can barely feel any real compassion for any more.... It's just so.... clean, it's so perfect, to me. It helps that Siffrin is also one of the more relatable characters I've encountered in, like, media. I don't usually relate to fictional characters much, but, man, the emotional constipation, the building scorn, the depression, the Being Weird About Touch... I mentioned in another post that it's really just Siffrin and Murderbot who I've ever found viscerally relatable, of all the characters ever in media. So like, it's a pretty rare position. (I do not relate to the pun-love though. I'm funny I'm good at goofs but bad puns are extremely tedious to me. Which perhaps goes to show how well-realized Siffrin is, given that I'm able to look the other way....)

I think they could have stood to make Loop's Whole Deal a bit more obvious. I had no clue what their fucking deal was at any point. I totally missed the interaction that lets you learn about The Incident and thus get more Loop info at the end, and... it's valid to have different endings in a game of course, but... I felt like I really missed out tbh! And I had no way of knowing I had to keep interacting with the silver coin.... idk. It felt a bit like a gotcha I suppose. And Loop's deal is really cool! Holy hell! I'm doing a quick replay of the game to see more convos with them with this context, and to get the ending with them, and like--!!! There's so much here! Loop tellins Sif to use the royal We, they even tell Siffrin, like-- Loop asks Siffrin why he doesn't just tell his friends about the loops, maybe they can help, why keep it a secret? Meanwhile... Loop!Siffrin is stuck in their own helpless timefuckery world and refusing to let Siffrin know about it! The Siffrin from the Start Again timeline never learned those lessons, they're still trying to help someone else while refusing to ask for help themselves, refusing to even let on that there's a problem! And getting more and more emotionally fucked up about it! Man it's good. I guess it does make a replay more rewarding, not knowing this until the end, the first time, but so much of the game is already a replay that, idk, it does feel weird to replay it. I've already done so many repetitions y'all.... But I guess that's pretty meta, also...

Oh I'm under the impression this is not terribly uncommon but I absolutely did get got by the ?diary? that had the story of the person making a duplicate of themselves so they had someone to talk to. Like I fully thought that was describing the King and Siffrin, I spent a long time under the mistaken impression that Siffrin was a copy of the King in some capacity. Oops.... I might try to gently lead Beloved Roomie away from this interpretation when she plays it. Planning on being pretty hands-off overall but this is one area where I feel it might be justified to violate the prime directive.... But we'll see!

I wish I liked the music more..... This is a game that I think really begs for some real heartwrenching tunes to enhance all of the everything but instead none of it does it for me at all. I think that's a real shame, it's by far my biggest complaint. I'm not asking for Undertale-tier, but, at least something I'd want to put on my playlist for the emotional resonance, y'know?

THEY ACTUALLY KILLED THE KID !!!! LIKE!!!! I guess I have some biases I might should think about but I was not expecting a game that begins with so many explicit pronouns introductions (rather than just giving us context clues) and that has no real cursing to be willing to kill the kid, even impermanently? Let alone so gruesomely? I think I was expecting a much greater level of.... idk, tweeness, fanglessness, than we actually got. In spite of being a fan of insertdisc5's comics for YEARS and years! And like! Damn! Props to them!

God. God. So, like. All the ending fakeouts were fucking great. I genuinely thought the All Friendship Quests ending might be the Real One, I was prepared to be disappointed because it felt too soon and just not.... quite.... right? But I did think that was probably where it was heading! But it wasn't! I got got and it's so heartwrenching and also so satisfying, the mood whiplash from loop to loop is fucking sublime.

And-- AND! The real ending! So like. Some of the stuff I missed was just me not pursuing specific content correctly. But some of it is genuinely just, like, stuff that has no actual purpose besides flavor. Flavor, and.... The locked passphrase door in Dormont. The four-pointed leaf you can get (but not in the final loop!), the bell chime, etc etc. You can't actually really do anything with any of this stuff. But you don't know that! It feels like there's still all these loose ends! And!!! Those loose ends do their job SO WELL! The dev knows Gamer Instincts, knows people are gonna have that mental tally of boxes-yet-to-be-checked. Left some forever unchecked on purpose, which-- At the end, the real end, when Siffrin is about to talk to the Head Housemaiden and find out, for real, if this is the final loop or if it's all going to happen again, again, again. He's scared. He's traumatized! He's thought he Had It so many times! SO many times!!! Hope is terrifying! Hope is a poison! And the game has left these loose threads, and at least for me I really was not sure it was going to work. Like it seemed likely but the same metaknowledge of story structure that made me think it was likely also told me "but wait, there's all these loose threads, and the only way for them to trick us again WOULD BE to make the ending SO elaborate and epilogue-y....." I was nervous right along with Siffrin! I was uncertain! Fucking fantastic work, using my own gamer's instincts against me. Thrilled about it.

All the characters are so well realized. They all have specific relationships with each other, not just with Siffrin (Important!!!!! Huge complaint I had with BG3, they didn't put their whole pussies into this!!!!). And, and, I love how they all have different feelings about the time loops. I love that Mirabelle doesn't want "spoilers," and meanwhile Bonnie doesn't mind them and thinks of their alt-selves as like... them-but-not-them in a very cool way.

There's something about-- the way the game starts as a regular degular videogame and then graaaadually becomes, essentially, a visual novel as the actual gameplay becomes trivialized. Which itself is like, really really cool with the themes! And also, just.... I never would have picked up a straight up visual novel, I just, don't get into them, I'd rather read a book, but! I was already invested! It got its hooks into me when there was gameplay mixing things up and those hooks weren't about to let go just because the gameplay didn't super matter any more!

Straight up when we first see Red I didn't at all process that it was a Color in a game with No Colors, Canonically. They had to spell it out for me. It didn't occur to me to be surprised. I'm just too used to colors existing I guess idk. I think I wish the colors thing had gone somewhere a bit more...? I'm GUESSING it mostly originated as just a cute little explanation for why the game is all grayscale and then fit in with enough stuff to be given elevated importance (?) But it felt... hm. Underdeveloped, maybe. I think I really want more stories in this.... "Setting" and "Universe" and "Series" are not quite the right words but hopefully you get the idea. I want more so there can be one that develops that more. Not that leaving stones unturned is, like, illegal ofc. I just find the idea very compelling....

What is it with time loop stories and themes of loss that cannot be outsmarted. Man. I wondered, for so long, if Siffrin's country was going to be restored in people's minds, if that was one of the main big Plot Things we'd see. And it just didn't! Their memory is going to keep being bad, they're going to keep having all these huge tragic gaps and it's just. What can you do. At some point you have to either be permanently paralyzed by the horrific injustice you've suffered-- or you have to try to live a life. And. Man. I don't think I've actually ever encountered a story that was so much about that exact specific form of loss, the loss of one's culture, history, language! All of it. Gone from everywhere. It made me think of the obvious things and just. Man. What a howling void. The contrast with Odile's deal made it a lot more effective too I think. More of an expanded meditation upon these themes than just one toe dipping in, I guess? Hm.

Odile's battle profile pic when she's at low health is so fucking hot this cartoon character is so hot goddammit.

Game good. You're only reading this if you've already played it, I hope, so I can't use this space to recommend it in a meaningful way but. Heck. Game good.

[el-princess]

— the princess take on manifestation:

disclaimer: this is my view on manifestation and the law of attraction, i'm simply sharing my own personal opinions and thoughts that i formed from my own experiences and trials and errors.

MY HISTORY WITH THE LAW

i first discovered the law of attraction on tumblr back when i was fourteen. i remember feeling very excited thinking i found the secret to life. however i had trouble making sense of the things i was discovering, and it didn't help how it felt like every week a new concept or technique was invented. i'd send endless asks to different loa blogs but everytime i'd be told that i had limiting beliefs. i couldn't rid myself of them no matter how hard i tried, it started to feel like i just wasn't meant for manifesting. eventually i grew tired of it and abandoned the law completely. it was still at the back of my mind though, and it wasn't until a few months ago that it all clicked to me.

WHY YOU STRUGGLE WITH MANIFESTATION

when you first start to get into the law, one of the first thing you're told is to disregard logic and that keeping any sort of logical thought means upholding limiting beliefs that will in turn hinder your manifesting process. i completely disagree with that. it's hard to completely rewire your way of thinking and it's unfair to place that type of burden on yourself. i think it's proven by the fact that the same type of asks that were sent four years ago are still being sent now.

one of the most common asks that get sent are "i'm trying to manifest getting (blank) without doing anything but i'm not seeing results" and nine times out of ten the advice that is given is "just believe that you can have (blank) without the work" i think it's ineffective advice. it's easier said than done. i think it's much more effective to work with your already existing believing system than force yourself to form a new one that in the end will crumble. manifestation is built on belief.

let's use weight loss as an example. if you're trying to manifest weight loss without working out but still arent seeing results, chances are you simply don't believe you can. and that's completely okay! instead of repeating affirmations that deep down you don't believe, get up and do the most low effort possible 5 minute max long workout and affirm that it's enough for you to lose weight and get your dream body.

that way your inherit belief that to manifest something you have to take action is satisfied, and when your beliefs are satisfied and you are aligned with them, they manifest. it's simple maths. i'll remind you again that manifestation is built on belief.

work with your mind instead of against it, don't pressure yourself and don't approach manifesting in a way that feels like you are punishing yourself for who you are. do things that soothe you and your doubts. there's no such thing as limiting beliefs.

THE LAW IS PERSONAL

another thing that may be causing you to struggle with manifestation is that when you first get to know the law, you are introduced to a bunch of concepts that seem entirely made up like the 3d, the 4d, the void state, etc.. it feels like just a bunch of unnecessary things that complicate existence and life. and in a way they kinda are.

i think something we've entirely forgotten in the loa community is that the law is unique to each person. we've all been parroting the same methods and acting like they are guaranteed fixed methods and that's completely false. again, manifestation is built on belief, and everyone's beliefs are different. what might work for someone else might not work for you and that's because their beliefs aren't the same as yours. and again, that's completely okay.

if you're someone who's been trying to enter the void state but still havent succeeded, chances are deep down you don't really believe in it. and that's okay. this is not to say you think that whoever says they entered the void state is lying, not at all, you can believe in something without believing it's possible for you. the same way you can believe that something bad is possible but not for you. this is another one of the basics we've forgotten about in the loa community.

you don't have to force yourself to believe you already have your desires if deep down you don't really believe that. you don't have to be harsh on yourself. you don't have to go through mental gymnastics. it's not the only way to manifest.

the law is whatever you decide it is.

SO HOW DO I MANIFEST NOW?

forget about everything you've ever learned or read about on here, and take a moment to yourself and really dissect your mind. make a list of all your personal beliefs, yes even the ones you were told were "limiting beliefs", and don't let the pressure of somebody potentially reading it and telling you it's wrong influence you. be completely honest with yourself. when you're done with your list, make up your own law that aligns with your beliefs and practice it. the only belief you need to have is that manifestation is possible.

ENDING NOTE

i have so much more to say about manifestation but i fear we would be here for a century. i just think it's time we acknowledge the real reasons why there's still people who struggle with manifesting and acknowledge that some things that are difficult to wrap your head around arent really necessary. my point is manifestation is whatever you want it to be. please don't misunderstand me.

[meggahamicide]

How do yall make great art? Also, how do you get out of art and writers block?

I have been trapped in art and writers block for like- a few weeks.

First of all, thank you for liking my art and thank you for the support! It genuinely means so much to me!

As for how I make art? Just a lot of practice and patience, if I'm being honest. I've been drawing since I was a kid and never really stopped, so that helped me cultivate my skills to where they are now.

But for the next question, I'd like to preface it by saying writer's/art block is different for every person, so what works for me might not work for you. Normally, my writer's/art block stems from me being a perfectionist. If something's not going right, I tend to let that build in my head until everything I create doesn't reach the standard that I hold myself to, which is more often than not way too high. Which can lead to burnout.

Acknowledging the problem is my first step. Ultimately, for me, if the creativity isn't happening or I'm stressing myself out trying to draw or write when nothing's working right, I'm just going around in circles and that's not helping anyone. So to work to fix it, I have to take a step back. Anything that I've built up in my head, pieces that I want to perfect or stories that have a set goal in mind, are sent to the backburner for the moment.

I always try to take at least a day when I've reached the point where I can't create anymore. Sometimes, that works, sometimes it doesn't, but if it doesn't, my next step is to focus on creating works purely for me. My thoughts when I do these works aren't to think of the end and what will come of finishing the pieces, but instead on just creating for the sake of creating. This is when I do little doodles in a sketchbook or study a screenshot from a show and I focus entirely on not being perfect. I try to never go into these drawings with the intention of finishing and/or posting them, because that's putting expectation on a drawing that is meant to be relaxing.

The best thing I can do for myself when I'm hit with art block is to take away all outside influences and relax. Creativity is not something that can be forced, at least not for me, so I use these art block pieces to let loose where I usually hold myself to a rigid structure. And i go into each of them figuring that they are never going to see the light of day, so there's no reason to be ashamed by how they turn out.

In the off chance that nothing is working, sometimes I just stop creating for a while. It's maybe not the best course of action, but it gives me a fresh mind when I return to drawing/writing.

[emptymasks]

i've had constant aus and self-insert stories spinning around in my head for the past two months that i've been back into spn for, but i wasn't planning on doing anything more with them until i was browsing the fanart tags and discovered so many cool artists on here have been making spn ocs? it just never occurred to me that there would be any, let alone multiple, and to especially see ones being queer and trans made me really happy to see. so i took one of the too many different plots i'd been rotating in my head and made a little character out of it.

august north. he was killed by a demon when he was 26. his body was experimented on with the intent of creating an alternate long lasting vessel for lucifer. but a small amount of lucifer's grace bonded to august's body, reviving him as something not human, but not an angel. he meets the winchesters during season 4 of the show. he has some powers due to the archangel grace in him (healing factor, telekinesis) but it is not to the level of an archangel's power, possibly similar to regular angel's power or a bit less. he is a suitable alternate vessel for lucifer, if he were to say yes lucifer wouldn't burn through him like he does with nick. if lucifer's grace were to be removed from august's body then august would die, it is keeping him alive. the scar on his chest is from where lucifer's grace entered his body.

because of the whole 'boy with the devil's grace label' he ends up bonding a lot with sam, the two of them both being tied to lucifer through no choice of their own, and them both experiencing distrust and disgust from others because of this.

i really don't want any comments telling me that's not how angel grace works, i just liked the idea and it's my self-indulgent au. and august is entirely here for me to ship with lucifer so if that idea or lucifer in general makes you uncomfortable please just scroll on and don't judge me. i can't help falling back in love with this terrible archangel. i actually made a couple shrines on my website for sam and lucifer and boy i ended up writing way more about why i like them than i thought i would. the tldr is that i find things to relate to with lucifer in terms of the whole being cast out, family issues, being the black sheep of the family etc. and i find him fascinating, especially season 5 lucifer.

i'm not 100% sure on the storyline for august and lucifer, but lucifer does want to seek august out, partially because he's disgusted at a human having any of his grace, and partially because since sam is so hesitant to say yes it's nice for him to have this other option. i can imagine him visiting august in his dreams like he did with sam, trying to convince/manipulate him into saying yes, august not being bothered by his presence and instead feels drawn to him and ends up spending these dreams asking lucifer questions, and while lucifer is still trying to manipulate august into saying yes... he is lonely and this dead-alive human-angel boy is looking at him without disgust, isn't flinching when he touches him and he hasn't had anyone react like this to him in a long time and while he won't admit it a part of him is visiting august so often because out of all these hairless apes, this one isn't awful.

wow i wrote so much more than i meant too, oops. i guess that's good though, been a long while since i had an oc ramble this long.

[ID: a digital sketch page of my supernatural oc 'august north'. there's a half-body and full body drawing, with text around them. some of the text on the image i've already repeated in the text under the post but the rest reads: august north, supernatural oc, the boy with the devil's grace, pronouns: he/him, gender: trans man, height: 5'8", orientation: omnisexual, demisexual, demiromantic, nationality: english, occupation: hunter. august has pale brown curly hair that comes down to his collarbone in length, with a grey streak at the front right. he has two little braids going in front of each ear. in the half-body he's wearing a black coat, black long-sleeved shirt, a red bandana tied around his neck, white feather dangling earrings. in teh fullbody he's wearing black pants, black boots with spats over the top that look like little corsets, red with gold ribbon to lace them over the boots, a shirt button up that's unbuttoned and opened revealing the star shaped scar in between his pectorals from where lucifer's grace entered his body. he has two moles on his face, one under the outer corner of his right eye, one above the left side of his lip. his eyes are a blue-ish grey.]

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday-!!💛

It's Wednesday again! I swear it was only just Wednesday... But anyway! This is a two part WIP, both a sketch and some writing. The writing can be described with a single sentence - Elyse is in Denial™️. The drawing is an attempt at designing a new outfit for Balgruuf - one that seems fancy and formal but isn't as difficult to draw as his usual clothes.

I've been tagged by @hircines-hunter and @skyrim-forever and I will be tagging @thequeenofthewinter and anyone who wants to share a wip (I'd tag more people but I'm absolutely exhausted and not many names are coming to me right now... But if anyone wants me to tag them let me know-!! ;u;)

So first of all, the drawing! It's a partially coloured drawing of an outfit I've started designing for Balgruuf... I wanted to have him wearing something other than his usual outfit, but still has some similarities (it's such a hassle to draw what he wears on his torso aside from the fur over his shoulders!). You get some of my little notes too :) I've not settled on the remaining colours aside from there being a yellow accent somewhere, hence why only part is coloured. I think it's going to be what I'll have him wear in The Perfect Storm when he marries Elyse ;3

And now, the writing-!!! >:3

------

“Is that all of them?”

“I... I think so?” Elyse let out a quiet sigh as she leaned down and placed her hands on her knees as she attempted to catch her breath. “By the Eight, I’m more out of shape than I thought I was.”

“You still did well though, even if you have spent most of winter hibernating in Dragonsreach.”

Her eyes darted up as she glared at her friend, who was now quietly laughing at her reaction. “I swear, that is what – the third time you’ve brought that up today?” Elyse stood up straight and folded her arms over as she raised an eyebrow. “Why do you keep trying to tease me about staying there, Lyd?

Lydia walked over to her and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Please don’t tell me that you’re blind to it. Please.”

“Blind to what?”

“The Jarl has eyes for you!”

Elyse frowned at that statement, before tutting and shaking her head. She then broke free from her grasp. “He’d do the same for any other Thane if they were in a situation like mine.”

“But those Thanes aren’t the Dragonborn. Those Thanes aren’t you,” Lydia grinned, which just made Elyse scoff and turn on her heel. “Come on, you can’t be that naive-“

“I love you Lydia, you’re like a sister to me, but by the Divines, you are annoying when you get these sorts of ideas in your head.”

“Jarls wouldn’t just get expensive jewellery for the birthday of any old Thane, you know. Nor would they shut themselves away when they upset any old Thane either. Invite them to join them at a festival. Or throw everything down when they hear that they’ve ended up under the care of the Temple of Kynareth! Divines, Elyse, he’s trying to court you!”

Elyse momentarily tensed as her face heated up, then shook her head. “No... That- He isn’t-“ She clenched her fists. “He isn’t... Couldn’t. Not me...” She then began to walk away. She didn’t want to handle any of this, not right now.

“I served Jarl Balgruuf for a few years before he assigned me to be your Housecarl... And trust me when I say that he acts different around you, in a way that he does nobody else.”

Pursing her lips together as she continued walking away, she tried her best not to dwell on what Lydia was saying. They were friends, of course she liked to tease her – though it was normally over her abysmal cooking skills, or how easily she got drunk... Not this.

But at the same time, did she have a point? She couldn’t possibly count the number of times he had sat with her to have tea, held her close, or wiped away her tears-

“Elyse!” The sudden yell from behind her made her flinch, before she quickly turned around and gasped.