#Like I've already blocked the infamous

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

@anonymous-archive Oh yeah? And who in the absolute fuck are you? Some kind of crop cop? I have a name, jsyk... Adults would be able to figure out my intentions through a thing called "reading comprehension" which is a thing they'd quickly figure out how to have if they looked at what I was really saying for more than a few seconds but what exactly the fuck are you trying do here, nonny? Like what exactly are you're intentions? Like, the fuck are you archiving? Oh wait! I already fucking know!

Because judging from these two different antis/fantis in your related blog, section, it might've lead me to this entirely correct notion that you might an anti/fanti yourself and that your suspicious fuck ass anon blog might have leaks on it and you might be trying to get me to inadvertently spread them... And low and I won't behold ... Your "archive" has leaks... And now I have to see if I can reblogs the fuck off for this post in an effort to further contain what I will not see because now one of my posts has a leaker on it and you've tainted this post for everyone going forward!

But I want to make this statement first because you know ... I thought about doing a funny and blocking you, but screen capping your above reply in one of my "confusing" crop shots just like the one you're concern trolling me about and naming you and shaming you and outting you as a leaker... But then I'd thought I'd be naming a leaker and a way to access leaks on my blog either way? Which is technically what I just did with venting about bnf bullshitter petitprincess1 willing leaking shit to people too, just like you are, which I guess is what lead to the rest of you leak geeks coming out of the woodwork to get me now huh? So I can't win!

Technically though, what I can do now is give people the actual link to your blog they'll need to click in order to both block and report you while I give myself ample opportunity to block and report you after I make this public statement about how much I hate you and that that what you are doing is objectively wrong, before I disable reblogs so your bullshit can't spread further, just so everyone will know I condemn you...And much like good reading comprehension skills imply, I think that my friends and followers in the fandom are smart enough to understand how I'm unironically condemning your shitty behavior here and will thus be smart enough to know not to look at any actual leaks as I am naming you and shaming you and link them back to your blog so we can all block and report you and hopefully get you deleted for doing that ...

All of this is to say ...

@anonymous-archive is apparently a Hazbin Leak Archive, everybody! Don't even look at their shitty stolen "content" just please use the drop down menu from the @ to block and report them like I'm about to! And anony, again, for the record you've just completely ruined my post with all your unnecessary commentary by being an unnecessary stinky leak spread sandwich and a completely unnecessary waste of space and time so fuck the right the hell off and choke for that too! :D ♥ X.O

Fyi I don't care how old you are, if you post any obnoxious banners in the main tags, you're no better than antis and should get the fuck out of the fandom.

There's a nuanced argument to be made about how Striker and Blitz would 100% be in the right about Stolas if this was real life, but you're watching a raunchy adult cartoon musical fantasy where all the characters are flamboyant hot macho dicks who sometimes break out into whimsical musical parodies of Disney.

If you wanna watch a mediocre lizard who's not as much eye candy be right about a cartoon monarchy, you can go watch Star vs. The Forces of Evil because it's already all been done before and the children have already been taught that lesson.

But adults don't need to be taught that lesson, and Helluva Boss is for adults, so why don't you shut up and let the adults watch the much more aesthetically pleasing and attractive evil demon lizard/owl/whatever the the fuck monster bimbo men kiss and be horrible hot mess trash to each other and then maybe make the fuck up so that the other one can have their Sinderella Story?

It's all a fantasy wrapped in aesthetically pleasing adult animation.

For Fun.

This isn't me implying children's cartoons are actually deeper than any adult content, this me telling you that you're annoying if you clog the tags with petty childish shit like this and need to leave the rest of the adults who actually know what we're watching in peace.

[crimsonender]

Mikaila Orchard sucks at Paneling

I debated making this a video or not. But, I decided against it. If you guys are interested in me making videos about this sort of thing, let me know and perhaps it's something I could cover in the future.

So Mikaila Turkleson aka Mikaila Orchard has always made... questionable art. To me it seems like a weird amalgamation of Equestria Girls and Sophie Labelle's art. Anatomy bad character design bad etc etc. I don't however see a lot of people talk about her paneling.

Recently, Mikaila and presumably her partner, Lily Orchard started a new art endeavour. I assume to turn over a new leaf and bury the now-infamous Pokemadhouse. You can find it over at bhaalspawnfunnies. It appears as if the blog will focus around the player character of Baldur's Gate 1, Gorion's Ward, and their half sister, Imoen. This is the first entry.

Source

Where to start? My first impression is that this is very poorly drawn, and low effort even by Mikaila's standards. The speech bubbles are low contrast against the background. The ground/floor blurry blob looks extremely bad. As a fellow artist I get the distinct impression that Mikaila did not want to draw this piece.

Moreover, there's a huge issue with the panelling and pacing. Comics are really cool in that you can kind of use panelling and negative space to "time" jokes, leading the eye where you want it to go and using framing and other art tricks to make a punchline land a little better.

This "comic" has none of that. There is no pacing, there is no comedic timing. It's all bland and presented as a block. I took it upon myself to re-panel this piece, and I've made two versions: One, with Mikaila's art style and visuals, but with the panelling slightly adjusted to be more punchy and effective, the other I completely redrew, using the same joke.

Excuse the sloppiness. I'm not going to expend too much energy polishing and gilding this turd.

That being said, this is already a huge improvement. Even if Mikaila isn't at the technical level of a professional artist, this is very attainable with only a few more minutes of effort. The timing is punchier, the speech bubbles draw your eyes down the page, and even without colour coding, it's clear which of the characters is talking. This isn't exactly a hot take but in my opinion you shouldn't need colour coding on a comic page to denote who is speaking. It should be very obvious! Moreover, speech bubbles should be included in the composition, not added as an after thought.

I'm guessing the original comic took her less than an hour to make. I think I'm being generous here, honestly if this took her more than twenty minutes I would be concerned. Being generous though I gave myself one hour to make a version completely redrawn.

This was again, very quickly put together and of course is in no way perfect, but its to demonstrate what a little bit of thought can do to improve a comic page. I decided to change the pose of Gorion because making family guy references should be a a cardinal sin for artists, as well as make the characters a little more recognizable. "Aryana" is, notably, Lily's OC and bears little resemblance to the canon character of Gorion's Ward, but considering Baldurs Gate does allow character customization and dialogue choices, I decided to make their gender a little more ambiguous so players of any gender could see their version of Gorion's Ward in the comic, but kept the elf with long dark hair appearance from Mikaila's original. I also looked over the pic after I was all done and ready to upload and noticed some small flaws I could easily fix, and went back and did those things. You should always go over your pieces when you're finished them with fresh eyes before you submit them as a final piece.

Again, this certainly isn't perfect and I'd probably put more effort into a piece with characters I care about and a joke I actually find funny, but I hope this demonstrates that pacing and expression really are everything in comics.

[infamous-if]

To Gender Select, or to Not Gender Select

So as everyone knows, I'm using the opportunity for this rewrite to really step back and look at what I have so far. I have just subscribed to the whole "follow my gut" thing and for the last two months or so, my gut has been telling me something.

For context, I created Orion (and I have mentioned this a couple times when I first opened this blog) that he came to me fully formed. While other ROs were more of a puzzle that appeared more and more fleshed out with every detailed I added, Orion was like a jenga block tower that grew more and more unsteady every time I changed a detail about him. He just came to me exactly as he was and I didn't really think beyond that. For example, with G, pieces of both Gina and Griffin came to me at the same time and G isn't G without both versions. With Orion he was just...Orion.

But lately—and this was not without many suggestions asking for it!—I've been playing around with the idea of a female version of his character.

One of my biggest things was to make sure that this wasn't a matter of just changing a variable. When it comes to my gender selectable ROs, I want to make sure I'm including the subtleties and nuances that come with being a man/woman in the public eye, especially for O. Their route is heavily centered around the idea of professionalism and...other things I can't mention and I think it'd be super interesting to add another component of being a woman, not only typically stern and taciturn but in a dominant position in music mostly taken up by men. Which is why, in the rewrite, there will be lines that are unique to Orion and unique to her. Reactions that are different, conversations that change. People who continue to romance Orion will prob not see a difference.

Not only does it separate them as two different people, it creates some distance from Orion, who is an established and beloved character already. I want his female counterpart to stand on her own as her own character.

Just because they have the same route does not mean they are the same person. I've always said that about my gender selectable characters.

This was not a spur of the moment decision. I was thinking about this for a while. I just needed to make sure every piece of Orion's route would make sense for her, and I do believe it does.

I've also been told many times how many people like Orion's route and the whole "manager-client" trope but are unable to play it as they are not attracted to men. I think this would be a nice addition and a way to make it more inclusive/give more people more routes to play!

The things I have written for Orion will probably stay the same since they've been written. Everything after the rewrite will have both options to select from.

So meet Oriana Quinn. With a short black bob usually greased back and a perfectly pressed suit, Oriana is as intimidating as she is determined. Yes, she's just as tall and muscular as her male counterpart and as obsessed with the gym as he. Her route with Cory will be different in its nature (since Cory is straight) but...guess we'll see!

fun fact: The beauty of Oriana being the name is that coincidentally, it also has to do with the sky. One of my requirements for finding a name like Orion's was that it was sky themed since it does come up. It almost seems like fate! haha

TLDR: Orion will be gender selectable. If you have plans to romance Orion and Orion alone, this will make no difference to you. For those who were hoping for this, I hope this news makes Infamous a bit more enjoyable for you! <3

[fraugwinska]

Hiya Guys - Anyone up to read a fic I wrote to battle my little writers block? :> I know jack shit about Alchemy, so I drew a lot of my references and ideas from FMA - But I've already planned for a second part, and thanks to the lovely @impale-me-radio-daddy I have some good pointers and sources to dip my toes in more into the mechanics of Readers ability! ;> Until then: Have fun with this!

"Again, thanks, but no thanks, Carmilla. The whole 'overlord'-thing isn't my cup of tea."

The demon in front of you sighed, closing her eyes for a moment - maybe to not appear as aggravated as you knew she was. Carmilla Carmine has hounded you to join the other big players of Pride who called themselves overlords and acted like they were above everyone else. But you had no intentions or aspirations to mingle among the power-greedy wannabes and parochial moguls, as you told her - in much more diplomatic words - multiple times. The fact that she hadn't tried to force you into compliance only spoke about the power you held, almost wasted on you. Almost.

"I really think it would be...", Camilla started again, but your patience had run thin.

"...beneficial for all involved. It's like a broken record player at this point, no offense. And I hope you'll finally take my 'No' as an answer - Cross my heart, you'll be the first person to know if I change my mind." The warning tone in your voice and you standing up from the chair opposite to her office desk made her give you a sharp, cautious look, but she retreated.

"I understand. I won't press you on the matter anymore." She said, tactically calm, and raised her hands in surrender.

You just nodded her a courteous goodbye and exited her office, chin high as you walked down the corridors of her headquarters and out into the streets of the city. Hell was always busy, but the afternoons were the worst - everyone tried to do their last errands before nightlife took over Pentagram City and people weren't out for shopping or dinner, but for cheap and easy fucks or fights. A little kid - a cannibal child by the looks of its pitch-black eyes and sharp, pointed teeth - ran into you, preoccupied with its popsicle that looked too much like a tongue for your taste. Its mother, horrified, stammered apologies and pulled it hastily away, eager to get in some distance to you. You smiled at them - it may have looked a little malicious to them, although you meant it as genuine. But you knew she knew you were her. The one they called the Alchemist.

You made your way through the parting crowds, just wandering around. You had nothing to do really, and you generally enjoyed just walking through the city you've come to know for only a year. It didn't take long after your fall to get you the infamous name - Only the Radio Demon Alastor rivaled you in the speed you climbed up in the hierarchy of Hell. Tales were told, some true, some heavily exaggerated, some utterly ridiculous. Have you disintegrated demons into their very elemental parts? Yes you had. Have you taken out a whole district because you were catcalled? Not quite, you did that because those bastards from Mayhem Square decided to raid your laboratory and sprayed very vulgar and disgusting things on the walls after they destroyed your latest experiment. Have you sacrificed your loving family in exchange for the ultimate knowledge in alchemy before you died? Definitely not.

You laughed softly about the rumors. What loving family had been there to sacrifice to begin with? You were a war orphan. Abandoned and alone, only taken into a makeshift home and earning your living by signing up for human experiments when you were old enough to be smarter than just steal from abandoned crops and trash cans. If someone ever wondered if one could inject radioactive waste into a person and what the outcome would be, they would've found their answer in your blood and cells - a pinch of insanity, a lack of empathy and painful hallucinations. In exchange for your years of help and your resilience, you were offered a university tuition. You quickly took to science, studying biology, chemistry and, outside of the curriculum, alchemy. To the very last day, you wished you'd studied physics just to finally figure out the universal gravitation formula.

Your career had ended very shortly after your graduation, when you came back to work in the very same lab you've come to be tortured as a teen. But now you were the one experimenting on desperate souls that no one would miss. The only set rule you wouldn’t deviate on: No experiments on children. One of your subjects, overtaken by the pain your hands caused, had gone mental and stabbed you with the syringe you've used on them. Stabbed you many, many, many times. A fitting death, you thought. Your next time awaking, it wasn't with the sight of the tiled, sterile laboratory, but the busy street you just walked on. 

It had been a throwback to your childhood, really. No home, no one you knew, no money. But now you had your power. And OH, what a power it was, effortless and gloriously embedded in your being. Paired with your absence of empathic feelings you quickly gained souls under your belt. Mostly lower-rank and no-name-demons, you left them intact, unless your scientific curiosity got the best of you.

Of course the Radio Demon had sensed the birth of another powerful sinner right below his nose and you had the displeasure to meet him not even a month after arriving. While Carmilla seemed to have the strong aspiration to have you among her fellow Overlords, Alastor's ambition went in a completely different direction. First he wanted to be sly and get you under contract, and when you laughed in his face, well... he wanted to consume you and your power, rip you limb from limb and put an end to your existence.

Alas, you were way too powerful for his liking. The moment his claws sunk into you, the moment he would break a limb and rend flesh, the wound was closed up and the bone repaired. You weren't just good at disintegrating - the principle of equal exchange applied to rearrangement and repair too. His conjured voodoo-minions fell apart into cloth, ash and thread at your will, and his ego took more than just one hit that you resisted, that you held your stance, didn't even move out of his way but buried your feet deeper into the ground with a cold smile on your face - that you were equally as powerful as him. If not a little more. Time and time again your paths crossed. Where Alastor was Entertainment, you were Rationality. Where he was Chaos, you were Order. He was looking for the end of his boredom, you for the ultimate knowledge. His smile a facade to hide his frustrations, your stone cold face a facade to hide the joy you felt with every missed blow from him. You were attracting opposites, the only overlap was your shared egocentrism - You knew he believed himself above you. And he knew you thought the same about yourself to him.

So that's why Carmilla was trying to convince you to join the overpowered. So you would change from an unpredictable threat to those hot-shots into a controllable part of them. What a shame, truly, that power was never something you aimed for. Your only ambition was to further your knowledge about existence, about the nature surrounding you, about yourself. You craved understanding and finding order in the chaos. Especially since Hell was the ultimate chaos.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you suddenly felt a strange sensation. You were just walking past the outskirts of the Cannibal Colony to round (and avoid) the Doomsday District to make your way back home, but now something had drawn your attention. A sixth sense, a force, an itch at the back of your head. Electricity was in the air, and you only had time to rearrange the particles of dust and debris around you into a makeshift shield when a black tentacle burst from the ground and smashed it into pieces. When the cloud of dust around you settled and you coughed, you were met with the sight of Alastor in the middle of the street, his smile as wide as ever.

"Normal people go for a courteous 'Hello', you know.", you stated and straightened yourself.

"Ah, but my darling, you and I both know we are not normal. Or people." Another tentacle darts at you from behind, its tip sharpened like a spear, but you were quick to dodge and let the appendage crash into a digital advertisement for VoxTech newest useless and frivol products. The screen flickered for a moment before returning to its previous content, but the damage was already done - the pole was bent and the screen had a hole in the upper-left corner. You turned back to Alastor, giving him a displeased glare.

"What is your issue with me today? Do I wear the wrong shoes? Maybe my hairdo isn't to your liking? You seem to be a little more... enthusiastic than usual. And not in a good way."

The Radio Demon twists his cane in his hands with a sneer, his burning, narrowed eyes not leaving you as you crossed your arms in boredom and tapped your foot.

"The issue on hand, my dear, is that you encroach onto my territory yet again. How about this: A final fight, you and I. The winner gets to decide if the loser is eaten alive or is granted a merciful death."

"Huh. You sound like you've had a really bad day."

With the flick of your wrist, you rearrange the ground beneath him, shifting solid stone and concrete into sticky bitumen and tar. You can't hide the grin when he struggles to stay upright, his polished shoes glued to the spot, but his smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens.

"I take this as a yes, then."

Before you can even think of a comeback, your view is obscured by a swarm of his minions. They're coming at you from all sides, claws outstretched and snarling. With a roll of your eyes and a wave of your hand, you let them fall apart into their basic elements, pieces of stained cloths and clouds of foul smelling ashes falling all around you. Alastor's grin is as wide as ever and you see the telltale glow of his power around him - and before you can even blink, he's right in front of you, his shoes still sticking in the viscous black matter where he formerly stood, his claws reaching for your neck, your head. You feel his razor-sharp fingertips scraping the skin of your throat, not deep enough to really do any damage, but still droplets of your neon green blood dripping from the cuts. With a grunt you grab him by the lapels of his coat and throw him over and above your head, and while he flies through the air, his laughter echoes through the streets. He's having fun, you know that. But deep down inside... so are you.

"Your back alley voodoo tricks are getting a bit repetitive, Alastor. At least make it interesting."

He lands a few feet away, gracefully like an antelope on his bare hooves, and the static of his laugh sends shivers down your spine.

"Who am I to deny a dying lady her last wish?"

His shadow detached from his body, the pitch-black entity’s teal grin a stark contrast to his red, glowing eyes, the wickedly growing antlers and his pale skin. The immaterial monster opened its maw wide with a deafening screech, and it shot forward at blinding speed. You finally moved, darting away from the shade as it swished towards you - it almost looked like a morbid ballet as you avoided as much contact with the ground as you were able to, frantically thinking of what his shadows are made of so you could destroy it. He had never stooped down to use it in your fights, and you knew that they had to be more than just abscence of light, as sentient as it was. The basis of Alchemy was simple: You can't form something out of nothing, but if you knew the compounds, you were able to rearrange, dispatch or destroy almost anything. You tried to buy yourself more time to think by another high jump into the air, only to hear Alastors static next to your ear, a hand wrapping around your waist with a grip that was intended to hurt and another on your chin, holding your face in place. Your instincts told you to twist under and out of his grasp, to rearrange your skin into something harder to prevent his claws from tearing into you, but find yourself unable to move. A hiss from below you makes your eyes dart to Alastors shadow - it has your own in an iron grip, holding it hostage in its black claws.

"Is that interesting enough for you, darling?", the demon above you purrs into your ear, but the question was unnecessary, answered in his laughter and his ironclad hold of you, your body pressed against his, arms frozen mid air and useless like a marionette without it's player. His hold around you is painful - it would crush a lesser demon easily, but luckily, you weren't lesser. And you still could, even without the usage of your hands, will your side he pierced with his talons to at least harden enough with the iron you drew from your blood so he couldn't tear you apart that easily.

"It's certainly interesting that you have to resort to gagging my shadow to subdue me."

The words were all but pressed through your gritted teeth. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape at this point. This part of his magic, his shadowmagic, was one of the only things you practically knew nothing about. And lack of knowledge, as usual, meant lack of power. In this case - the power to get out, to flee and regroup.

The touch on your waist disappeared for a second before appearing again, stronger now and accompanied with a pain shooting from where his fingers had dug themselves into the weak metallic coat underneath your skin. You hated the quiet whimper your body unwillingly let out at the sting, reminiscent of the scalpels that were used on you many times, so long ago. He chuckled, deep and guttural right below your ear before leaning his head down to your eye-level.

"Subdue you? Oh, no, no, no my sweet Alchemist. This fight is over, as you are well aware and I'm pleased to say that at last, I am the one victorious. The deal was the choice between eating the other alive or granting a merciful death. I just have yet to decide what option to choose."

He releases his claws from your jaw and rakes his nails down your neck and collarbone, his face inches away from yours, red eyes glowing even brighter and his smile that reached his ears with open delight as his claws tear deeper and deeper into you, his static now drowning out the sounds of your pained gasps as darkness grew from the ground, encasing you.

"I... really hate you, you know?", was the only thing you could bring yourself to hiss. His snicker was dark, malicious and infuriatingly cocky.

"Oh darling. I hate you more." And then it all went dark.

You opened your eyes. A blank, charcoal canvas stretched as far as the eye can see. A monochrome dimension for monochrome creatures. Everything had a certain damp feeling to it - the air, the atmosphere, even your own skin felt slick, damp and oily to the touch. Freezing. Unfamiliar and strange.

"Where are we?"

You still felt Alastor’s long fingers holding you in place, but the pain was gone, replaced by a burning heat where he pressed your back into his chest, a stark contrast to the coldness of the air surrounding you. Clean air. You felt no specs of dirt, dust or carbon on your tongue, the air tasted neutral and smelled void, the flavor almost painful in your throat.

"This, my dear, is a little pocket dimension I've crafted. To be specific - it's the one I've crafted the moment I met you."

Your eyebrows arched up, and his shadow let yours tilt your head just enough so you could see his face and his overly excited grin. His words struck a chord and the penny dropped - He, in his deluded mindset of superiority, had anticipated this day to come ever since your first encounter. This wasn't just a spur of the moment, he had planned this, crafted a punishment for the - to him - inevitable scenario that one day he'd finally get his comeuppance. Where he'd finally beat you. Planned to get you here to destroy you.

"It's not very... showy, considering it's created by Hells Greatest Showman himself." Your voice betrayed you. You wanted to sound bored, neutral, indifferent - but every syllable dripped with hidden defeat. Alastor had purposely created a place that you couldn't decipher, that held nothing you could use to defend yourself.

"Au contraire, darling. I think this is the most appropriate stage for our final performance."

His voice was dark, low, and vibrated from the bottom of his chest. His breath was hot and wet on the nape of your neck and the tips of his fingers on your chin burned. You could feel his excitement reverberating through his body. He was looking forward to this. To eradicate you. You closed your eyes. Rationality told you there was no use in defiance.

"So, Alastor. What's it gonna be? Are you a man of your word or aren't you going to kill me the way you've promised? What was it? Eat me alive or make it a merciful death?", you asked, but the only reply was his grip around you tightening and his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck. It was a pain so sharp and yet so tender that it made you almost moan. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, and you hated how you could feel his lips on your skin curl into a smirk.

"My poor, little alchemist. I thought you, as a woman of science, knew that one has to define the terms you work with."

His fangs grazed the soft flesh of your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail along the bite marks they had left. A shiver ran down your spine and your skin broke out in goosebumps. The grip on your jaw tightened and he tilted your head to the side, exposing your throat to him even more.

"Killing is just one mundane interpretation of our deal. There is more than one way to eat you while you breathe, my dear, and as for a merciful death... well..." His hand left your waist, wandered down over your hips to the hem of your pants and slid beneath. "... the meaning of that will depend on how this plays out."

The tips of his claws dragged over your underwear and your back arched, subconsciously pressing yourself against his broad chest as much as his shadow allowed it. He chuckled darkly at the reaction he drew from you, his fingers rubbing your core through the fabric, and your eyes fell shut in furious pleasure. You were unable to stop the whimpers and quiet moans that came from you, and he laughed at every sound he forced from you.

You understood the principles of biology and chemistry enough to understand why your body reacted the way it did to his touch. Hormones released, muscles tensed, senses sharpened, brain focused - and all that with one purpose. Carnality. Sexuality. Lust.

You understood the social components : Alastor, despite his infuriating personality, was a powerful and attractive demon. He was a sight for sore eyes and a feast for the hungry ones - you maybe lacked empathy, but you weren't blind.

What you didn't understand was that, despite your deep dislike you felt for the Radio Demon, despite the many times you've fought each other and how he's tried to erase you multiple times - your emotions were telling you that you craved his touch, wanted what he was threatening to do, what he was implying with his words and emphasizing with his actions, his hands working themselves towards your slicked heat and with his lips still on your throat.

And the worst thing was, he knew.

He could sense it, probably even taste it, in the scent of your arousal and the taste of the sweat on your skin. He could read it in your body language, how you subconsciously tried to move against his fingers, how your body melted into his when his teeth scraped over your collarbone and your breath hitched when he sunk them deep into the soft flesh of your neck once more.

The force behind his jaws was sharp and without any mercy, but it only lasted for a moment until it became deliciously soft and firm, his lips soothing your tormented skin after the beast within had taken its fill of your blood just as he breached the last physical barrier of your underwear and dipped two of his digits into you. He forced a soundless sigh from your lungs with the way his fingertips caressed you, igniting a feeling inside you didn't know you could feel.

The satisfaction you got from giving and receiving physical pleasures up until this point mostly to serve your biological needs, impersonal. The connection that existed between partners was short-lived and never personal, almost medical, with the barest minimum of any physical contact necessary, just enough so the mechanics of your hellish body came to the desired effect of pressure release to let you focus on more important matters.

But with Alastor, with his mouth still feasting on the sensitive, marked flesh at your nape and his dexterous fingers working between your thighs, nothing of what was happening was impersonal. Medical. There was no need - But want. A craving desire that arose like a hot flame deep inside you, making the pleasure you were given intensify and left you almost in a frenzy, to try and get more of it. A feeling almost animalistic, something raw and purely instinctual that you wanted to prolong instead of getting it over with.

There was no logic to the way your body reacted, no formula you could apply to ease your frustration at the way he touched you - he played your body like he knew it by heart, a strange turn of events. While you seemed so illogical in your behavior, he was strangely tactical. You were frantic, he was calculating. Every touch, lick and nibble was done with an intended purpose. And in return your reactions to it were completely without rhyme or reason. You couldn't stop the moans spilling from you as he dragged his long fingers in and out of you in an agonizing speed, the pad of his thumb teasingly rubbing over the little nub hidden between your folds, your hips were moving on their own, in sync with his movements as much as they his shadow's grip on yours granted you.

"I... don't t-think...", you gasped with another cruel flick of his thumb against your sore clit, "...you can c-count that as.. e-eating."

To your frustration his motions did slow down, the thrusts and motions he drew from you fading, the tension within building so painfully inside of you, uncoiling so suddenly just to be denied. His chuckle rumbled in his chest and he retreated his lips and teeth from your throat.

"I'm nothing but a connoisseur, darling - one has to prepare and season his meal properly in order to feast."

The sudden loss of contact made you whine in your throat as his hands withdrew, from your wetness as well as your neck and chin. The air felt even colder against your heated skin now, and you shivered when your limbs suddenly contorted, were rearranged by ghostly hands. From the corners of your eyes you could see Alastors shadow force yours into something of a bridge position, back arched, arms bound over its head and legs spread - and through the unexplainable connection between you both, your body followed, having no other choice but to obey what the immaterial shapes dictated.

Alastor stood aside, waiting, watching intently as your trousers were pulled messily down your legs by invisible claws, revealing the soft skin hidden beneath. They dragged the fabric over the swell of your hips, under your rear and over your thighs. For a few agonizing seconds everything was still, the monochromatic world around you in perfect silence, the only visible life your panting breath and Alastors everlasting static. When the last bit of fabric left your body and you were completely bare, he stepped in between your legs, raking his claws over the inside of your thighs before coming to a rest on your hip bones. He looked smug, he looked manic, and most of all he looked hungry. His tongue swiped his sharp teeth, coating them with thick, dark saliva, and you shuddered with a mixture of humiliation and anticipation alike.

"Well now, I think it's time to dig in, right dear? Especially since the table's so nicely set and all."

The impact of his burning mouth on your dripping sex was beyond the comprehension of words, all your synapsis concentrated at the singular sensation of the demon below you working his jaw with gusto and enthusiasm only a cannibal like him could, teeth and tongue and lips unabashed and unapologetic in their efforts to elicit sounds from you that bordered on the screams he loved to broadcast. You could feel him smiling at each and every breathless moan he wrenched from you, you could feel his cold red eyes burning holes into you as he kept eyeing you from below, tongue buried to the root in you, his claws pressing painfully into your flesh in a vice-like grip, threatening to break and rip at the soft skin when you tried to suppress the mewls in an effort to deny him his self-righteous satisfaction.

"Darling, I know you're normally the one who takes others apart - but I just have to wonder what you will look like undone."

You were pushed even closer, even more at his mercy as he forcefully shoved his face deeper between your legs, his black, twisted antlers piercing into your stomach, leaving dainty puncture wounds that stung and begand to trickle with your blood. Your breathing became more desperate with each minute, more keening and so much harder to keep steady - when one of his dexterous hands joined his mouth between your legs and curled the long digits deep inside you in search for the certain bundle of nerves - located an inch inside the vaginal opening, on the upper vaginal wall - that his skilled tongue had neglected so far. Your mind went blank and your whines became constant, unchecked and vocalized so much louder when he found what so many demons (and humans, if you were honest) thought to be a myth - the Grafenberg spot.

He hummed in self-satisfaction as you moaned shamelessly now as he rubbed and probed, curling, stroking, doing everything at once with his fingers on the spot while his mouth worked at your sensitive clit above, suckling hard, bordering on painful licking and even biting. You struggled in the immaterial grasp of his shadow, wriggling on his mouth, the intense, uncontrollable, uncontrolled and unrivaled sensations sparking from your core leaving you desperate for release, for any kind of relief, the pressure of it building so unbelievably fast in you, his movements, the vibrating static and his quiet laughter sending you towards a feeling that you knew, once experienced, wouldn't leave again. You hated that you loved what he was doing, hated that he was able to do what so many others had failed to, that your mind was consumed by pure, undulated desire for the damn Radio Demon as he - in a twisted sense of your own profession -destroyed and rebuilt you simultaneously with the same kind of unceremoniously fervent frivolity that was oh-so-characteristic for him.

Your eyes fell shut, a vocal and shuddering breath escaping you as you felt your end coming nearer and nearer, every flick of his tongue and every slight graze of his teeth were a thousand-fold amplified and yet purposefully too little to finally grant you the relief you yearned for so badly, to put out the element of fire within that threatened to burn you alive.

"Alastor... Please...", you managed between breaths. The words felt sour and sticky on your tongue, but you knew he was waiting for them. You had never begged for something before. Not for mercy when some of the researchers went over the limits of their set experiments on you. Not for recognition when papers you wrote were released in your colleagues name. Not for your life when the thick needle in the hand of the deranged patient rose to the sky, ready to strike. But for Alastor, you begged. 

Your plea earned you a victorious glare and another harsh suck on your swollen nub that made you cry out in pleasure and pain. With a last stroke of his tongue in tandem with his fingers against the exact right spot and a firm flick to your clit, your climax felt like you were falling apart into particles and atoms, crumbling around the mouth of your arch-rival. He had been right. Definition was everything, one of the rare things the Alchemist and the Radio Demon could agree on - He promised death, and that's what he gave you: A metaphorical one, devastating, humiliating and everything but merciful. Each spasm was a shovel burying your pride, each sob as he licked you through the ebbing waves of your high a eulogy for the respect you had for yourself. But this death, as disgraceful as it was, was pure bliss, was what ascencion must feel like.

Your body was slowly released from its restraints, feeling heavier than it should as you were dropped unceremoniously to the ground, and you closed your eyes again, feeling oddly empty when he removed his mouth and fingers and stood up to his full height, towering above you. You didn't even struggle even though your limbs were free now, just sighed and turned your head to look up and face Alastor as you heard the clicks of his heels next to your face.

He looked disheveled and wild - a mess of tousled red hair entangled in sharp antlers and sticking messily onto his sweaty forehead, the corners of his mouth glistening with your fluids and his blackened eyes alight with mischief. You could see the outlines of a massive erection through his strained pants, a small consolation that the ordeal he had put you both through hadn't been above his biology too. But before you wasn't the jovial trickster that all of Pride knew and feared, and it wasn't the tactical torturer that had worked you over the edge of your emotions either. This was the animal, the demon within, the monster hell made out of a man in its essence - limbs cracked and elongated, spine twisted and curved, aura dark and almost glowing in green. And it was stunningly beautiful. It was such an incongruous appearance, contrasting his normally smooth, proper and almost human demeanor so much that it might become your new definition of a paradox.

His hand suddenly went behind your head and roughly grabbed you by your hair and dragged your head up, just enough so he could bend on his waist to be on eye-level with you. It stung beautifully at the roots, and you hissed at the delicious pain as you met his gaze.

"Th͑an͊k y͈͝o͔̲͒u̧ͥ f̌͌or̬ t̜ͦhe̬ͯͅ m͉̋ȩ̞͙al,͍ l̵̅͝it͓͙ͤt͘lè̍ A̰̞l̇c̭̙̕h̏̒emis̏͑t." 

His voice was distorted and thick, it sounded sticky and heavy and even unhinged. For a moment, you saw his wish to bite you, to tear into your jugular and finally dismember you reflected in his ticking eyes. And in that moment, defying all logic and instincts, you would’ve let him do it. But the strike didn’t come, and the moment faded, along with his monstrous form. He shifted back to the demon you knew, hair still out of place but expression a mask again, a play, a facade. But there was a strange conflict behind his smile, a weird furrow in his cocked brows.

“I believe with that the deal is fulfilled.”

Alastor snapped his hands, and you fell, through darkness and light, fire and water and earth and wind swirling around you until you hit concrete ground. Quickly stumbling to your feet, you blinked. You were dressed again, back in Pentagram City, back at the exact spot where you turned the corner just before...

You whipped your head around, but the Radio Demon was nowhere to be found. The street before you was empty, car horns and gunshots and bomb explosions filling the air coming from the Doomsday District. For a moment you panicked - had it been just another one of your hallucinations? You thought you had left this special side effect of your brain behind in the living world, but you were smart enough to consider the chances of possibility. It would explain everything. Your hand snapped to your neck - no lacerations, no bite marks. Contradictory evidence. It didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened, but it increased the likelihood of the perceived experience being just your brain playing its cruel tricks on you. Just like it did now, flooding your nerves with a faint feeling of... disappointment.

You shook your head and sighed, turning on your heels to continue your walk home. When you put your hands in the pockets of your lab coat, a wrinkled piece of paper brushed your palm. Confused, you pulled it out and unfolded it, your eyes widening as you read it with a gasp that got stuck halfway in your throat.

Until next time, my dear. And if you ever crave more, there is always a table set for you. A.

It read in an obnoxiously neat, cursive handwriting. In a hue of crimson red.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

idk if you write threesomes or not, but plsplspls do something spicy with izzy stradlin and dave mustaine. yk how i come up with the combo if you've seen that pic of them ��� (my cute boys omgomg)

A/n: I don't think I've written a threesome until this point (except for the gnr gangbang thing) so I hope I wrote this good? Also going through a writers block so please bear with me <3

Warnings: Smut, threesome, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f + m receiving), double penetration, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You had no idea how it ended like this, honestly even how it started was a bit of a blur.

You’d been waitressing at a club, making just enough to pay rent for your apartment. It was a normal night, busy as per usual. Guns N’ Roses had come in, Megadeth trailing behind shortly after. While it was unusual for such big bands to come in it wasn’t unheard of. You sold booze, it’s dangling chum for sharks.

You’d spoken to them a few times because they happened to sit at your tables, never did you expect that to have led to now when lead singer Dave Mustaine had his cock down your throat while rhythm guitarist Izzy Stradlin was behind you, fingering you and getting you ready for the rest of the night.

You gagged around Dave’s girth, tears already trickling down your red cheeks. Izzy’s long, skilled fingers fucked you nice and slow, learning every part of you, what made the sweetest moans come from you. They’d vibrate around Dave who groaned in satisfaction.

Izzy pulled out of you for a moment and got on his back, pulling you down to sit on his face. He lapped at your folds like his life depended on it, his nose bumping your swollen clit over and over again and bringing you closer to the edge.

You could feel Dave twitching in your throat and you knew he was close as well. When Izzy moved to suck your clit you came hard on his face, grinding down on him to get every ounce of pleasure you could.

Dave pulled out and jerked his cock a few times before cumming on your face.“Oh, fuck, look at that pretty face.” He gleamed, tapping his tip on your cheek. “Izzy, come look at her.” Izzy gave a final kiss to your clit before going to see what Dave was seeing. Your tear stained cheeks and bruised lips, covered in cum.

“Fuck.” Izzy sighed, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, biting your lips with such passion.

Dave chuckled and moved behind you, slipping his cock through your slick folds before pushing into you, causing you to moan into Izzy’s mouth. “Like being stuffed full, huh?” Dave mused.

“No,” Izzy hummed his infamous word, “she can take more, can’t you, sweetheart?” He lifted you up, and you fell back onto Dave’s chest. The ginger was quick to wrap his arms around you, keeping you upright.

Izzy kneeled in front of you, stroking himself a few times before pushing into you. You whined at the sting from the stretch between your legs, god you felt like you were being torn in two.

Izzy held your face again and kissed you sweetly, polar opposite to the other feelings you were having. Dave joined him and kissed the back of your neck, wanting to relax you as much as possible.

The initial pain subsided to make room for pleasure as they started moving, filling you up so good and hitting every spot. You held onto Izzy’s shoulders, needing to hold onto something as you were sandwiched between the two.

One of Dave’s hands went to rub your clit and it sent you over the edge a second time. Your eyes rolled back, your nails dug into Izzy’s shoulder blades which seemed to hit a nerve somewhere in him because his hips snapped into you and he came with a soft moan in your ear, his big hands holding your thighs and squeezing them gently.

Dave was quick to follow, fast grunts matched with even needier thrusts. “Fuck, so fucking tight, so fucking good.” He muttered before finally cumming inside you as well.

Several moments passed before they pulled out, having waited until they’d both calmed down. Both their cum dripped out of you and onto the bed, mixed white liquids pooling between your legs.

Dave pulled you close to him and had you lie down, you face now inches away from the puddle of cum. “Be a good slut and clean up for us.” He smacked your ass an Izzy laughed as he lit a cigarette.

[allisluv]

Finnick reacting to someone slutshaming reader in front of him🤭🤭 (it could be both about about clothes or body count)

-🎸

safe and sound

pairing: finnick o’dair x fem!reader

content warnings: slut shaming, finnick being protective, not edited, suggestive themes

word count: 726

"Here you go, honey," Finnick slides up beside you and hands you a glass of red wine. His hand lands on your lower back and he smooths his fingers over the bare skin that the slit in your dress exposes.

"Thanks," you murmur, pressing a chase kiss to his cheek. Red lipstick smudges onto his face and you lick your thumb, trying to rub it off his sun-kissed skin. Finnick smiles into his flask of champagne and you drop your hands to your hips. "What?"

"Nothing," Finnick mutters, pulling you snug into his side. "I just think you're cute, that's all, baby." He rests his chin on top of your head and leads you over to the food tables that are scattered strategically around the outskirts of the room.

You fall into step with your boyfriend, and he grabs your free hand with his own. He sets his drink down on the table, grabs two paper plates from the stack, and starts piling them high with an array of finger food.

You can feel a pair of eyes watching you, and when you angle your head to the side, you catch sight of two Capitol women staring you down. You shift uncomfortably and offer them a tight-lipped smile that freezes on your face when they start to whisper, making no effort to keep their voices quiet.

"Look at what she's wearing," one of them announces. "She looks like a slut. I bet she'd sleep with anything that has a pulse."

"I don't know how Finnick puts up with having her as a girlfriend," the second say through a laugh. "I mean, he has people queuing up around the block to go out with him and he settles for some... some, what? A common whore?"

The words feel like a slap to the face and suddenly, your dress feels far too revealing for your liking.

Finnick's always been in tune with your emotions, and as if he can sense you clamming up, he abandons his drink and food at the table. "What's wrong, honey?" he murmurs, intertwining his fingers with your own.

"See?" A loud, shrill voice cuts through the air. "She'd jump his bones without caring who's watching. What a tramp."

You can almost see Finnick brimming with anger and you grab hold of his suit-jacket, trying to pull him back and stop him from doing something he regrets, but he's far too strong for his own good.

"Finnick, leave it, please," you beg, tears brimming on your waterline. "It's fine, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Finnick insists, breaking free of your hold and charging towards the two women like a man on a mission. The two Capitolites wear smug smiles as he makes a beeline for them. "Hey!"

"Looks like someone finally came to their senses," one of them says.

"I beg your pardon?" Finnick clenches his jaw.

"I mean, you could have your pick of the litter. It's about time you open your eyes and see that you need someone more... classy."

"I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last woman alive," Finnick sneers. You slap a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh. "And if I hear you talking about my girlfriend like that again, you won't have to worry about sticking around that long, 'cause I'll kill you myself."

"You can't talk to me like that!" she scowls, face as white as printer paper.

"I just did," Finnick grabs you by the hand and leads you through the crowd that have formed to watch the infamous Finnick O'Dair rip a poor woman to shreds. He can see the headlines already, but he has tunnel vision when it comes to you, and he doesn't stop moving until the two of you are safe and sound in the hallway, where the dance music is muffled. "Are you okay?" He reaches up and cups your cheeks in his hands.

"I think that may have been the hottest thing I've ever seen," you blurt out honestly.

Finnick grins. "Hm, is that so?" His hands slide down to grip your hips and he leans forward, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Why don't you let me show you how hot I think you are?" You tilt your head to the side, a smile playing on your lips. "I like the sound of that."

[walks-the-ages]

Some important graphs for all the vote-scolds/blue maga blaming third party voters for Kamala Harris losing:

https://projects.fivethirtyeight.com/polls/approval/kamala-harris/

This woman never had her Approval rating rise higher than her Disapproval rating after September 2021.

If Democrats actually wanted to win, they could have stopped committing genocide and actually run a candidate people wanted to vote for.

Instead, they choose a deeply unpopular VP from a deeply unpopular current administration that no one even had a choice in, dumped a few million dollars into her campaign via big corporations to try to make it seem like most Americans were donating large sums of money to her overnight, tried to frame her campaign as being Super Popular and Cheerful and Powerful...... and then made the absolute worst decisions ever by constantly reaffirming literally that she would not do anything fundamentally different than what Biden was doing.

You know, the guy so fucking unpopular he had to drop out of the Presidential race because he was unelectable???

Anyways, I just went through the top #US Election posts in the tag and blocked hmm, maybe 6 people saying "fuck anyone who voted for third party" instead of actually taking a long hard look at their "lesser evil" candidate and it really, really, really is telling how all of these posts:

don't have more than maybe 2k notes compared to a few hundred thousand notes on other posts that don't blame third party voters

the replies are full of actual logical people who care about other people pointing out that third party voters did not make up nearly the margin Harris is currently losing by, and that if Democrats wanted to win, maybe they should have actually tried to win

I can pretty much guarantee you that all of the people making "Fuck third party voters, fuck pro-palestine crowd, are you happy now?" -- I can pretty much guarantee you that if you search these people's blogs for Palestine, that they have literally never interacted with anything to do with it except to vote scold in advance of the election or are full on active zionists who support israel's war crimes.

Anyways, feel free to share these graphs for all the racist assholes, and please make sure you're blocking shithead anons, and especially reporting shithead anons.

If you wanna respond to a shithead publicly, just screenshot it before you report and block.

The people screaming about "those darn jill stein voters!!!"* literally do not give a single fuck about marginalized groups that they, personally, are not a part of, and they are going to bury their head in the sand of the racist, genocidal cesspit they are in to refuse to listen to actual real facts so they can continue to spout their racist, genocidal, fascist victim blaming, not the least of which I've already seen is the infamous "I will laugh when they come to drag you to the concentration camps!"

Like. Hey now, are you sure you're anti-fascist when you say such things gleefully, Liberals? To people who didn't elect your genocidaire in a blue hat because she is part of the people actively committing genocide as we speak?

But yeah, Vote Bluers screaming at third party voters right now are literally just fascists in blue, and they are no one's allies.

Screaming at and wishing death and torture on minorities is what racists fascists do, if they actually wanted to work towards change they would have changed their tunes on the Democrats when it became clear they fully supported a genocide.

Block them, both on the dash and in your inbox. Unfollow the racist shitstains who reblog their posts uncritically. These people are cowards who are happily willing to punch downwards instead of actually stepping up to the plate and working to do good in their communities to bring people together.

Kamala Harris had a 49.% Disapproval rating the night before the election.

Are you telling me you seriously think she could have won?

* fun fact: more people voted for Chase Oliver than Jill Stein in all the states I've looked at that have that data, looks like the 'moderate republicans' are going libertarian, not democrat! Gee, who could have foreseen that? 🙄

Anyways, don't forget your daily clicks:

and if you have money to spare, please consider donating to Karim, one of the folk who were scammed out of their evacuation funds by a white woman in the USA who organized his campaign months ago, and he had not reached his goal after she tried to steal the funds only to get caught and be forced to return the money for a full refund to gofundme, so none of the raised funds went to him and were returned to the original donors, who didn't see his new campaign:

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖🤹‍♂️🔞, pretty pleeeaasee ?

Collared But Untethered - Abner Krill/Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, slight exhibition (Belle Reve), touch-starved induced desperation, making out, sudden smut, handjobs.

Wordcount: 2970

Summary: Even with every personnel in Belle Reve questioning why you wanted him, you kept coming back for more so long as they kept letting you touch him just out of sight.

Notes: Even when I try to drabble I still can't resist the buildup cause I love him so much oop- This is the first request I've ever gotten/filled so here we gooooo :'D I hope you like it, thank you so much for sending something in 💗💗💗

You were 100% certain that everyone had caught on by now to what you two were doing, but it was hard to care when orange fabric was bunched under your hands and the sound of his poorly quieted voice was in your ear. Belle Reve was well known for its lack of care towards its residents, so at first you’d both assumed that someone would barge in at any second to tear you apart, ban you from ever returning, but you were going on your fifth visit now with no one disturbing you, so even if you weren’t as perceptive as you’d thought and they were watching on a camera you’d missed no one made it known.

You’d first seen him on TV, shakycam footage barely capturing him as he and the other prisoners briefly designated as ‘Heroes’ made quick work of the current bigger threat destroying the city, and the way his powers had lit up the area in a rainbow of colours had instantly drawn you in, made you forget all about the danger as you hid in your apartment and waited in terror for it to be over, trembling hands clasped together in front of your heaving chest as you prayed you’d be safe. He’d destroyed that threat singlehandedly the second he was sure no one else was in his way, the others chiding him in the footage as he’d closed up on himself and apologized, having forgotten their goal of taking the villain alive so he could join them in their home. 

He was so unlike anyone you’d ever seen before, a timebomb of danger wrapped up in a polka-dotted bow, hands fidgeting and head downturned nervously while the destruction of what he could do showed all along the street up to where gory remains decorated the open main road.

As the reporter took over the submitted shakycam with her own live footage, people circled the villains to thank them, albeit keeping their distance even as they reached out to shake hands, pat backs, give gifts that would definitely be confiscated as soon as they returned. No one thanked him for killing their target, everyone too afraid of the gauntlets holding back bright lights and coloured dots, worried that he’d turn them on the crowd next even as the infamous Harley Quinn herself showed off the gun she’d stolen from one of the fallen policemen to a couple kids who’d wandered up to praise her without their parents’ permission.

That wasn’t fair at all, he’d needed some thanks too.

So you’d left your apartment and hurried down to them, the fight just a couple blocks away, the still burning circles in the buildings and pavement growing in number the further you got. They were already starting to get into the armoured vehicle that brought them there by the time you’d arrived, and you didn’t know his name so you could only call past the gathered guards making sure they didn’t run before he disappeared out of sight. He turned to face you, one of his teammates elbowing him to go when it became obvious that you were there for him; he walked back down the lowered ramp to approach, looking apprehensive that you’d want to talk to him when the others were right there, so you’d extended your hand to shake his, prove that you weren’t afraid but rather thankful for his help as you reached as far as you could between the two guards keeping you at a distance for your own safety.

The moment his hand touched your own you knew that you could never let him get away again.

Visitors to Belle Reve were always heavily inspected and supervised, no one ever allowed to meet face to face for fear of what could happen to either party as well as those around them, and they made that explicitly clear to you as you passed their inspections and were ushered down the hallway to the partitioned phones. The moment you told them that you were there for the Polka-Dot Man so they knew who to get they’d hesitated, turned halfway down the hallway to look at you like you were crazy, some weird thing to be studied for wanting to see him of all people. You’d just simply shrugged and told them you wanted to thank him for the other day.

He’d never had a visitor in all his time being there, and the moment he’d seen you holding the phone opposite of his own he’d gone red in the face, a mix of embarrassment for the continued support and obvious confusion as to why you’d sought him out a second time. It was cute, and while the conversation had been short, his voice low and answers coming out in single worded sentences as he thought about what to say, it still brought butterflies to your stomach until your time was up, your final question asking for his name before you were forced to hang up.

‘Abner…’ he’d told you, like he hadn’t said it in a long time. ‘Abner Krill.’

The second time you visited you asked for permission to talk to him face to face, as his voice barely carried over the phone and he had a tendency to forget he was holding it as he talked to the desk. Request denied, but they’d think about it for the right price, it wasn’t like he was going to escape his birdcage when it kept him safe from himself, the shiny collar around his neck stopping the kaleidoscope from painting the walls in cinders. That conversation had come easier, the guards getting bored and pulling out their phones as you talked about everything and nothing at all, his words flowing a little more freely.

The third time you’d gotten your request with the handing over of a few steep bills slid under the table, Abner looking around at the room before seeing you and smiling. There was a little more space between you compared to the phones but the wall was gone, and you almost missed his questions about your life as you watched his mouth speak, hands rubbing and fidgeting on top of cold metal in his persistent nervousness. The moment you’d started talking about yourself the guard watching over you had sighed loudly in annoyance and walked out, leaving the two of you alone to both of your surprise, the camera whirring in the corner telling you that they were still watching from afar at least.

You shook his hand again when time was up, and he trembled a little less as he stood before you, your bodies dangerously close for a quick moment before the guard rushed in to put a little space between you with an utterly confounded look shot in your direction.

The fourth time you looked around to see if there were more cameras than just the one over your shoulder before he was brought in, his eyes instantly brightening in your presence as they’d recently started to do. He looked more alive, his face less sunken like he was taking better care of himself so you wouldn’t worry, and you longed to hold him as the table became a deep crevasse between you. He wasn’t chained to it this time, they didn’t care enough and he knew better, he was well trained by now, and the moment you were left alone again you’d moved your chair to the empty space on the side, a little closer but not touching, testing the waters as you shot a glance to the camera to see if this was okay.

Nothing happened. No one came. Hands rested in sight as they reached but never touched, the crevasse a little smaller as the space between turned from feet to inches, then centimeters.

When your pinkies linked together it was like a bridge formed instantly, the two of you meeting in the middle as he closed his eyes and just breathed, completely calm as his free hand ran over his arm to make sure the gauntlets were gone, make sure he wouldn’t hurt you. He was touch-starved, that much was apparent as long fingers crawled over your own to create more points of contact, Abner fully holding your hand and forgetting that you were supposed to be talking. Your heart raced as you wanted more, wanted to see what other reactions you could pull from him if just this was enough to make him lean towards you, eager to invade your personal space, or perhaps invite you to invade his.

It was a space he guarded dearly, you’d learned as much over your visits as he told you about how the other inmates treated him, your touch so gentle compared to their punches, both of your chairs sliding over the floor as you closed the gap even more. Still no one came, your eyes going to the door to make sure they weren’t watching you through the wire-meshed glass to see what would happen next but the space on the other side was empty, the camera blinking red high above you as your legs made contact, a buzz of electricity shooting up your spine.

He tried to pull away, surprised by his own brazenness, or maybe it’d been an accident since he was so much taller than you, but you refused to let him, your leg pressed into the cold table leg almost painfully as you pulled him right back. The knowledge that you wanted him close, wanted to touch him even though he could burn right through you in an instant without the collar controlling him, made his chest start to heave then, eyes searching your face for fear but finding none.

Your hand unlinked from his before sliding up his arm, feeling the way he shivered as you reached his elbow, his bicep, muscles tensing under loose fabric just out of sight, a sigh leaving his lips as your fingers carefully trailed over his collar up to his cheek. He leaned into you, slowly at first, like you might change your mind and pull away at any second, his eyes closed tight as chair legs scraped over the ground. The gap closed more and more as you stood, leaned in close enough to see the scars of his time in this place, the way his lips parted ever so slightly as he let out shaky breaths, how long his lashes were as they fluttered in anticipation of what you were going to do next.

The door opened before you could make that final leap, the men who rushed in looking just as confused to your actions instead of angry, and while they weren’t rough with you they did tease him all the way down the hallway as he tried to hide the fact that he’d wanted you in those last seconds, your face flushing as pure longing rushed right to your gut at the sight of something hidden behind shaking hands as he was led to the showers to cool off.

The fifth time you’d come in you’d stared down everyone you passed as they whispered and nodded in your direction, not caring as you headed for your visiting room, no one stopping you even as they shook their heads and questioned your life choices. They still let you wait by yourself, your heart pounding as he was brought in and the door was closed behind him, the guard locking it muttering to himself about how he didn’t get paid enough for this. Abner didn’t even get a chance to sit down as you stood up and grabbed onto his shirt, pulled him down to continue what you’d started with a chaste kiss, testing the waters as he let out a surprised noise against your mouth before it turned into a moan, his hands hovering over you as he tried to decide what to do.

‘Touch me,’ you told him as you parted for a breath, the end of the collar pressing into your own throat as he groaned and kissed you back, dry lips parting to let you in as you ran your tongue experimentally over his bottom one. His hands wandered all over you, touching whatever he could now that he knew you wanted him to, his back hitting the wall and the collar scraping against the brick as he arched against you wantonly. It was like the floodgates had been opened, touch-starved desperation making him want more before you were separated again, your body ready to follow his every command should he ask, wanting nothing more than to make him feel good before he was forced to go back to his solitude. 

You palmed him over his pants and he keened needily, hips moving to feel you more before he stopped himself with a choked whine, he was asking too much too soon, surely you couldn’t want him that badly, surely now would be the time you’d come to your senses and see him like everyone else did. You nipped at his bottom lip, got him to look at you before you glanced up at the camera; it was facing the table, the two of you probably just in frame, so you led him to the corner directly underneath it, in its blindspot as you played with the hem of his pants.

‘Do you want this?’ you whispered, voice low so anyone outside wouldn’t hear, Abner’s eyes shut tight again as he nodded his head, slowly at first and then a little quicker as you made contact against his bare stomach. He was breathing so heavily, the growing tent just under where your hand rested making you lick your lips; they were bound to stop you before it got too heated but you could at least give him this, all your fantasies from the past month coming to life as you felt hot skin under your fingertips.

He sighed and let his head fall back, hands gripping you like a vice as you touched him, and you couldn’t help but wonder when the last time anyone else had touched him like this had been, if anyone ever had; it made you a bit jealous to think about the former, of someone else making him look this way before you, so you couldn’t help but selfishly wish you were the first as you wrapped your hand around him. His knees shook, he wasn’t used to it, your name falling from his lips as he started to buck desperately into your hand. 

He was beautiful as his jaw went slack, so open with what he wanted as he held you close, your own pleasure building just from watching him come so easily undone like it was the strongest aphrodisiac. His quiet voice came in handy as he moaned out his desires, how good it felt, how he needed more, pleas to not stop sending shockwaves all the way down to your toes as the words started to cut off the closer he got. You felt your throat tighten as his tongue peeked out to wet his lips, needing to taste him again as you swallowed and leaned up to capture him in a deep kiss, his tongue dancing over your own and refusing to let you get away in such a lewd way that it made your head spin.

He didn’t last long between your kisses and your hand attacking him at the same time, his hips jutting with a broken cry of pleasure into your open mouth as he came into your fist, palm gathering as much as you could for his sake. You didn’t realize you were panting as well with how turned on you were as his expression softened into one of pure bliss, a need filling your gut and making you burn with desire unlike anything you’d ever felt before as you wanted more. You pulled your hand free, mouth watering as you felt the sticky substance leak through your fingers, Abner just staring at you through half-lidded eyes as you raised your hand to your mouth, tongue darting out to taste when the door suddenly opened, two guards rushing in.

‘Alright, that’s enough of that,’ one of them said, your fist held by your side as you were pushed out of the way, Abner letting out an actual whine at not being able to return the favour before he was dragged out the door. Once he was out of sight you were led to the nearest bathroom, the guard not fooled at all by your attempted nonchalance and letting you wash up, your hand shaking as you still felt his heat against your wet skin. You wouldn’t do anything about your own situation until you were home, the guard just shaking his head as you rejoined him and followed him to the front doors, the detour allowing you a glimpse of Abner as he walked down a connecting hallway.

Despite the cuffs around his hands and the collar around his neck he looked relaxed, free, not even reacting as one of the inmates passing by tried to insult him, sharp canines biting his lip as he just stared the men down. You grinned, proud of him as you walked out of sight of him again, the highly protected doors leading to the outside world coming into view moments later. You didn’t leave right away, turning to talk over your shoulder as your escort waited impatiently for you to go, a gleam in your eye as you stared into his mask.

‘I’ll be back again next week,’ you promised, everything that came with that unsaid but understood, and he sighed before giving you a shove, everyone around you already whispering about the day’s visit as you just grinned and walked out into the warm Louisiana sun.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 66] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

This final morning was a rainy one, leaving you utterly soaked after your short walk from that dingy motel. The atmosphere was different in the temporary workspace, more dreadful. KKpt at the professor didn't even rear their heads in acknowledgement as you stepped past the glass doors, wringing your soaked shell jacket. You'd finished the night with the idea to use an inversed transpositional cipher and went to bed with the phony joy of a possible solution, leaving the dread of proofreading for the morning. And almost immediately, hazy eyes blink in disbelief at your work from the previous night. Utterly useless, ink now bleeding with stray droplets from your dripping hair. 

Humidity from the air made your clammy skin feel feverish and sticky, clinging to the plastic-ey jacket that crinkles every time you lean to rest your face in your palms. Maybe you're looking at this wrong? What if it's an inside job, and the professor is secretly an armed cultist, the outsider, the one without militaristic security clearance. A glance over your shoulder, he was lying on his back on the wood floor, houndstooth blazer creased as he was clearly lost in deep thought. No, it's not him. Could they be using commercial radio communications? Manipulating stations or songs to send signals, where songs from the 80s mean affirmative and songs from the 90s mean negative. Intelligence would've picked up on that, that kind of surveillance falls into Laswell's field more than yours. They would've noticed something obvious like that long ago, but the sound of movement behind you shattered your concentration. The sound of scuffing boots over your shoulder made you halt your pen entirely, placing it across the paper with an awkward candour.

"I hope we're not being a distraction," that infamous Scottish accent spoke up from behind you; it would've spooked you if you weren't already so hopeless.  

You were seconds away from turning to snap at them for being unhelpful when the unmistakable sound of thick plastic snapped you from your irritation. It's a sound everybody knows, so uniquely distracting, the iconic sound of a plastic cake container being awkwardly pried open.  

"We forgot to ask them to write on it, but Gaz had the idea to write you a message in Morse code," Price nodded, placing a cake beside your damp notepad as you rubbed your eyes. 

"Seeing as you're a linguist and all," Gaz chuckled, clearly pleased with his contribution. 

Not for much longer, it seems.

You craned to look at the unfurled cake, a small treat of puffy chocolate icing with delicate shavings of white chocolate and plump strawberries. An exquisite treat from a bakery a few blocks away, just out of the reach of the barricade. Treats arranged in dots and dashes from licorice and MRE M&M's crudely manifested into a morse message. 'Happy Bsrthday Crscket'. An easy mistake, but you plucked the unnecessary dots to correct the i's and popped them into your mouth, a mistake that made Price jab an elbow into Gaz's shoulder. 

"I've got a birthday candle, too," Soap slipped the dark canister of a CTS Flash-Bang from his vest, trying to fight a creeping grin. 

It managed to pry a weak laugh from your chest, where you'd previously been stunned by the gesture. You'd forgotten your own birthday. Another year of your life passed both horrifyingly quickly and agonizingly slowly. The thought made you lightheaded and mortified at the realization that so much of your life had been spent with this crew. When did you last see Chucky? It'd been a year since you've seen your friends, since you've been in contact with them altogether.

This time last year, you'd made a haphazard attempt to take control of your life by making out with your colleague. A memory that makes you wince. It does explain why these guys remember the date, seeing as they made a point of visiting you at that bar in the first place. As kind as they might be, a reminder of your birthday and the passage of time might not be as welcome as you'd thought. A million thoughts and more crashed into your mind, and sweat pooled in your palms. How old even are you? 28? 29? No, 30? Probably 30. You'll have to do the math later. Holy shit.  

"Kate bought you a gift," Price's voice snapped you out of your trance, rattling your bones. "Simon is still on the overwatch shift, but I'm sure he says 'happy birthday' as well." 

He placed a delicate paper box beside the cake, one that you were eager to pry open to distract your racing mind from the oncoming existential crisis. In a nest of lavender-coloured shredded paper, she'd bought you a scented soy candle and a crinkling bag of fruit-shaped German candies. It made a smile pull at your cheeks at the gesture, willing your conviction to soften, otherwise you'll have a psychotic break. Lilac and vanilla scented, probably bought at one of the boutiques along the tourist quarter. So thoughtful. 

"How've your duties been?" You asked, manifesting your most polite smile as you rolled the small candle in your clammy palm.

In truth, you didn't have the stomach to eat the sweets they gave you, as out of character as that might be. Stress had eaten away at your appetite, and some odd part of you felt strangled with guilt at the thought of the manmade famine those hostages were facing. It doesn't feel right to gorge on cake and candy while you're on the crew bade to find a way to free the pack of frightened students. Or maybe it would feel worse to abandon the food that's so scarce for others. Maybe that's just another pointless ethical dilemma. 

"A pigeon shat on Gaz when he was on overwatch this morning," Soap snickered, sitting himself on the table beside you. 

"I had half a mind not to blast it into a puff of feathers," Gaz nodded along, breaking into a snort, "but it got too close to the theatre."

"Count your rounds sergeant, we're in a fucking city," Price scolded.

"Sir, yes, sir," Gaz chuckled, grinning wickedly under the bill of his cap.

"What if—" KKpt suddenly spoke up from behind you all, leaving you with a pause in her words as she thought. 

The words sounded so abstract for a moment. They sounded like it was just a random sound she'd formed from her vocal cords, but when you turned, her pressing expression sold her seriousness. It didn't look like the eyes you'd become familiar with when she thought she'd had a minor breakthrough in one piece of the cipher, they were so much more thoughtful than that. Intense, void eyes finally snapped to meet yours, sucking the air from the room. 

"What if they're using carrier pigeons," she finally vocalized the thought that had her shocked that she'd even spoken it. 

"Ah, like the Narcos in the 90s," Professor Kraus grumbled as he fought gravity to sit upright.

"It would explain the physical format," she continued, planting her palms on the white tablecloth before her.

"And the need for a seal," your spinning thoughts lunged into speech, springing to your feet.

Your eyes flashed back to your comrades, whose faces each furrowed into intense confusion as the linguists scrambled. Their three pairs of eyes were intently tracking your expression, drinking in the sudden surge of electricity in your posture and straightening their spines. Price cleared the space across the room in four broad steps, flipping through a blueprint that'd been lazily folded on the table. Other than the sound of quickly flipping papers, the room fell into a charged silence, compounded by thick humidity. 

"We have a list of suspicious characters," Price spoke, quickly putting the pieces together. 

Before you could understand what was what, he was flipping open one of those burner phones, hearing the dial tone from across the room. The Korvettenkapitän had taken a posture over Professor Kraus' shoulder, reading line-by-line through a passage of text he followed with his finger. The dial tone rang again, and seconds passed like hours. 

"Do any of the suspicious characters happen to have an interest in aviculture?" you ask, nodding with Price as he parrots your question to what sounds like Laswell answering the phone. 

He stepped from view, ducking into a small server's closet that would've once been lively, filled with pitchers ice water and lemon slices. Even with the assumption of privacy, apprehensive silence in the room left you able to hear the phantoms of their conversation. He mentioned a possible lead; she responded with something you couldn't hear, and you caught the tail end of something about an 'intelligence database.' Gaz tried to play it off like you all weren't rudely eavesdropping, nervously clearing his throat and sighing loudly, but Soap only leaned forward to get a better listen. The difference in both of their levels of manners was hilariously apparent. Finally, Price concluded with a clear 'understood,' and stepped back into view. 

"Kate will run through the sources. She's just next door," he grumbled, slipping the dinky flip phone back into his belt. "She'll come over if she finds anything." 

"So this is our best lead? Carrier pigeons? " Soap tucked his thumbs into the straps over his shoulders. 

"Yes," you three linguists all proclaimed as one. 

"They're out of supplies in there, time is ticking fast," Price's booming voice echoed in the empty restaurant. "These cultists know we're scrambling. I am sick of them having us on the back foot." 

It's scary to see Price be visibly agitated, even if this is probably far from the extent of his genuine wrath. He's right, though. Playing into the first rash idea you have could be playing into their scheme; it could be a diversion to get you out of the area for them to carry out a more dastardly attack. It's a dice roll, but at least that means you're playing the game now. The influx of energy made the room plunge into another apprehensive silence as everyone collectively paused to digest the conclusion. You couldn't handle the stillness, pacing frantically in laps around your colleagues' workspaces. Gaz pried open the heavy curtain over the front window, creasing darkness with pillars of murky light as he craned to look at the theatre. 

"The hostage-takers won't execute until they're given the order, but that order could arrive at any second," Gaz spoke, dropping the curtain and forcing your eyes to adjust to the darkness again. 

"Then we can't let another order arrive," Soap added, settling down into one of the cluttered table settings. 

"Shoot down all of the pigeons until we get one with the note," Price met your eyes. "From there, we can crack it and get into their communication line."

His directed attention made you feel like he was asking for your authorization. He was looking to you to approve this outcome, assuming you can take the baton from there. Your overstimulated mind stuttered at the foray, swimming in possibilities. It felt thrilling to be seen as an authority, but also devastating at the thought of making the wrong decision. Shoot down the pigeons and collect the notes before the terrorists do. 'From there, we can crack it and get into their communication line.' 

"No. Both the sender and the receiver must have the keys to the one-time pads," you finally found your voice to contribute, and Price's eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed. "If we get the message but don't have the key, we're back at square one,"

"She's right. One is useless without the other," KKpt came to your defence, and you felt the tension in your chest loosen slightly. 

A flash of blonde bangs pushed through the glass doors and entered your peripheral. The temporary break from concentration only served to remind you of how tense your jaw is, reminding you to blink. It felt like the air was sparked with anticipation as everyone fell dreadfully silent, listening to every tap of Laswell's petite boots as she approached. 

"One of our key suspects lives just six blocks away from here. She's been on the German Intelligence's radar for some time… and," she slapped a manilla folder on the table, loose polaroids of CCTV footage showed a hooded figure at a phone booth. "Her parents own a dove aviary business."

"That's our 'Oracle,'" Price's gravelly voice made your heart sink and soar in equal measure. 

"What if this is all just a red herring, and we're wasting precious seconds that we could be using to crack the cipher?" Professor Kraus bumbled, shaking his head in shock. "How would we know if she's even the right person?"

"Under normal conditions, surveillance and patience," Laswell rallied, rocking on her heels. "We don't have patience, and this is all we've got."

"We shoot down any pigeons we see until we get one with a note," Price nodded to Soap and Gaz. 

"Shoot the pigeons? In the city with roosts and windows on every corner?" KKpt folded her arms, scoffing in disbelief." You'd have to have an incredible shot to hit a mark like that."  

"Like shooting a bullet with another bullet while riding a horse, yada-fuckin’-yadya …" Soap murmured sarcastically, fiddling with a stray pen that you'd run bone-dry.

"We have to get her in our custody and stop any orders from coming in," Laswell approached Price, tapping the printed CCTV photos atop the file. "John, I need 141 to raid her apartment nearby and bring her into custody. But be careful, we don't know what kind of security she might have."

"Have we forgotten that there are fucking hostages in the theatre still? " KKpt stepped between Laswell and Price's dialogue, standing her ground against these titans. "We have hours until they start executing them, they should be the priority."

"We can't approach the hostages until we've eliminated the threat. They have that entire theatre rigged with explosives," Laswell countered. "We cannot have any more orders reach the terrorists."

"Hang on…" you interrupted her, pinching your lower lip in thought and feeling every pair of eyes settle on you. "I have an idea."

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Master List

[skibasyndrome]

soooo since promo season is ending and since I'm getting a bit emo about that I wanted to make a little masterpost of my fics inspired by s3 promo to put them all in one place. I'm eternally grateful for that first little snippet for inspiring me enough to write my first ever fanfic in 6 years. I've had so much fun (and more often than not a bunch of other emotions) with these and I think rediscovering my love for writing has been one of my favorite things of these past few months 💜

I wish everyone a very happy and hopefully not too anxious YR S3 eve 💜💜💜

It seems a place for us to dream (T, 1.8 k, fluff)

“No,” Wilhelm exhales, “this isn’t how I dreamed for it to be.”

It's so cheesy, fuck, it's ridiculous, he thinks, and for a split second fears his worries confirmed when Simon's lip curls upward and he's getting ready to be laughed at when- oh. There's a glint in Simon's eyes that Wilhelm can place immediately and it makes his already shallow breathing hitch, an entirely new emotion creeping in and setting the pit of Wilhelm's stomach on fire.

Or: Wille's thoughts as he sees Simon standing in the palace

It's in the water, baby (E, 4.9 k, fluffy smut)

One of Simon’s hands starts playing with the hair in the nape of Wilhelm’s neck and Wilhelm’s hand finds Simon’s hip. The soft t-shirt he’s wearing is not doing anything to block the warmth radiating off his irresistible skin. Wilhelm slips his fingers underneath to feel more of it. When their kiss ends, they just stay close, foreheads touching. “You know I wasn’t actually gonna drop you, right?” Wilhelm asks.

“I know,” Simon answers and gently nudges Wilhelm’s nose with his own, and it feels like home.

Or: a story about some wilmon lake shenanigans sponsored by the infamous Lake Still (TM) s3 promo pic

Never Letting You Go (E, 5.7k, emotional smut with some angsty undertones, but optimistic ending)

There's no answer to the what-if, he's got no idea. He's scrambling mentally, trying to come up with something, anything, but nothing yields. All he comes up with is the fact that he needs to leave a lasting impression while he still can.

So he just kisses Simon harder, fighting back against the constricting feeling that's trying to close up his throat. And Simon kisses back gladly, melts against Wilhelm, moves like he’s trying to blend into Wilhelm.

And they're close, so close, but not nearly close enough, and all Wilhelm wants is to feel Simon, make Simon feel things.

Or: The infamous Hallway Smut (TM) Scene as briefly seen in the S3 trailer and (re)imagined by me

[infamous-if]

Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

[starlight-bread-blog]

"Generally I'm just.. really confused? Why wouldn't she credit one of her artist? What does she have to gain? I don't get it. It takes me back to KenDraws, why wouldn't she credit her friend? This shitty repeated behavior is unacceptable. But let's accept that Viv is willing to do shitty stuff. What would be her reasoning?" I feel like all of us are wondering this lol. We can only speculate of course, but it kinda seems to come down to Viv just being a dick about it? (From what we can see.) This isn't the first time Viv has gotten in trouble for not crediting someone properly. Such as not crediting Dollcreep for JayJay's design in her infamous Die Young video, where instead of crediting Dollcreep for JayJay's design, only put Dollcreep in the Special Thanks section IIRC. (She also had some drama with Dollcreep generally, I can't recall if it aligned directly with her not giving full credit or it didn't and she just made a poor choice, but I digress...) Gathering context clues from Squid's tweets about how they WERE properly credited before, but seemingly after speaking about their experiences working for them (which, btw, as far as I've seen Squid never named names, you had to connect the dots through context clues) crediting stopped, and at some point Viv blocked them (also don't know if Squid had already blocked Viv at that point or blocked in return.) I'd also add while generally either employee or company can terminate their agreement at any time, I'm pretty sure the employee still needs to be credited for their work? At the very least if their work was used and not completely tossed? From KenDraw's testimony I got the impression much of Viv's upset came from over-protectiveness of her project/characters. The idea that someone else might "own" a piece of them got her riled up. She called KenDraw's additions "nothing of value" and refused to credit them for any of their involvement despite them contributing a lot of their time and ideas. I feel like she wanted to be free from owing anyone anything or being "held back "or "held down" by other people sharing a piece of her work. While those are valid and common feelings, you don't get to take advantage of friends OR volunteers OR employees without making it clear to them what the terms are, and when you mess up on that there are professional ways to resolve them that don't involve demeaning them or giving legal threats. Combining all that... overall VivziePop seems to give and take credit based on how she feels towards people. She might be afraid that connecting someone she gets in a fight with to her work will lead to them trying to take her down, hold something over her, or trying to "steal" her project/characters/ideas from her--and again while that's a valid fear it's not fair nor professional and she needs to educate herself on what her rights are instead of burning bridges. And I'm pretty sure cutting people out of credit is another legal issue anyway...but it's one no one seems to know how, or have the energy, to fight. But this way Vivzie ensures she holds the "power" over her work that she wants to keep. !! THIS IS ALL SPECULATION !! But reaaaally shitty if true...

Quote taken from here.

That's just me but I don't really like speculation, I don't know the people. With that being said, I appreciate that you decided to share that with me and it's a good read.

I think at some point I saw AyyLmao out of all people, cover the Dollcreep/JayJay thing. If she had beef with Dollcreep, and considering she did remember them, but put them in "Special Thanks" – then yeah it'd be kinda ignorant of me to brush it off as an accident.

Squid's page is 18+ so I didn't want to spend too long there, but in the little time that I did I found this:

"Another"? To me this confirms that Viv and Squid aren't on good terms. Taking into consideration that Squid isn't suprised, it's likely to be the motive for the lack of credit.

But great news from Squid:

Super happy they're getting the credit they deserve and the massive support💕

I don't know a lot about the relationship between VivziePop and Ken, I don't know if I should say anything. I did read the document, but they were friends. It could be protectiveness. Which makes sense to me if we accept that Viv's go-to when having beef with people is to stop creditting them.

Like you said, at the end of the day Viv's motive could be spite, protectiveness or anxiety – but she's an adult working on a serious project with a lot of people involved. She's the boss and gained a lot of power over people (just a fact yk). Non of this makes it okay to refuse to give credit to their work. That's all, thank you so much for the ask and have a nice day💗

[the-kaiju-family]

Hello! Question for you, are their any other Kaiju's? And do Kaiju's powers vary between person to person, if they have any? Thats all! Get a good sleep!

Hello! so so sorry for the late reply, I've been working on designs and my art app keeps erasing all of my progress so I'll have to answer your question via text and screenshots that I have :< I'll def update when i have more art coming out.

Starting off we have:

Liu'er mihou: The Tribes leader

The infamous six eared shadow king has the ability to create a entire ecosystem to wilt and bend to fit his tribes life style. This is hidden behind a even larger almost dome like bubble that is made up of the tribes sacred caves that hold crystals of the dead, giving it a dark purple and black color as the shadows make it constantly spin, blocking out the outside world and protecting the people inside. These crystals hold memories of the past loved ones and where it is a time to mourn and remember those who have passed on to live their next life. These memorabilia also play key roles in ones birth where they are given a stone to proudly wear for their life and given when they die, letting them rest peacefully with their ancestors. (unfortunately this is all i could save before the crash, will update later!)

The Six eared Kaiju has a outside reputation for being a ruthless cannibal and is hungry for power. How this may be true when he was still growing out of his youth, this chief has gone soft as he found peace with his three cubs that were born from his now late wife. Liu'er has the ability to spread out a net of shadow demons to hunt or search for important things both inside and outside of his territory, however he can only go so far before he starts getting hallucinations. He is, as you may think, a ageless and immortal, able to live out the centuries. However, he is still vulnerable to death and can fall in battle. Liu'er still has the same smoke/shadow abilities as he dose in LMK. After getting into a unbreakable truce with the Ice-Bone kaiju, he has the unfortunate capability to create things out of ice, but his tribe and family helped make it worth it, especially during the summers. The lead Huntress

The Chief's daughter: Rose/Rosie (As this is my self insert i will be using first person for her but that will vary) Being the Chief's oldest and first born cub, there was already a lot of pressure and praise from the tribe. It wasn't until the day that marked me 14 years of age, that my father pushed me more to do outside activities rather than just playing with the local children of the tribe. Similar to my mother, I has a deep connection with the forest witch led me to inevitably get my very first kill and get me into training to be a huntress. Abilities are slightly different from my fathers as it had evolved. Things like being able to walk into shadows and come out to the other side of the territory were a main one that he has to become accustomed to.

However, things like the smog/smokescreen that was laced with freezing temperatures made my father realized that his truce had a genetic effect on him.

The sonic screech that was so loud it was silent was something that i had developed when i became a hunter, it was something that was taught to me by my mother to help stun prey and get a clean kill. The guard and the Healer

The Twins: Rumble and Savage Most twins argue who was born first, but for the case of these two, they were born mere seconds apart! Rumble, the one on the left, had earned his spot as a territory guard when he completed his ceremony when he killed a rabid bat that was infecting the fruit supply and making the people ill. He has yet to develop abilities other than shadow travel due to him needing to create some of his own as to make him more of a threat and less predictable. Savage, the one of the left, had gotten his rank as the tribes healer after he managed to kill a unknown creature to the land. Seeing how nobody knew of this creature and how it had rows upon rows of teeth, he was granted the highest praising job as healer, learning little from his mother and is currently being taught by the tribes elders.

The celestial dragon

Ne Zha Found by the Shadow tribes daughter when he was injured, Ne Zha is forever in her debt for not killing him during the struggling and harsh winters they were currently going through. After he killed himself on the mortal realm, Ne Zha had gotten a curse by Ao Bing's father that left him permanently as a Lung dragon, payback for murdering his son Infront of the entire dragon clan. He currently is a rare sighting in the Celestial realm and spends most of his time in the waters of the garden of the Jade emperors palace. Ne Zha has the unique ability to breathe pink and yellow fire that can turn a scalding white if he is angered enough. Sightings say that his flames resemble a storm of petals and leave a root like burn on his victims. Ne Zha can create sharp, body piercing, daggers with local lotus flora that he can control or summon on command of needed. When he is hit with great force petals may also generate. Ne Zha can conjure a protective magic barrier, which serves as a defense against incoming attacks for both himself and others. He also has little familiars

The Yin and Yang Tribe and The Star Tribe

Not much is known about these two tribes other than that they live extremely close to one another and live in peace.

Again, I am so so so Sorry this didnt get out sooner but I will do my best to get the Sun Tribe out next! -

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Villain Deku Wife AU | The Missing Chapter

I've just now realized I never uploaded this part to the masterlist or anywhere on my blog

I'm so sorry

This part actually explains what the heck is going on

For those who are curious about the series its Masterlist is here

🖤🖤🖤🖤

The next morning walking into the board meeting room of the "Alternative Heroes Association" was like stepping on an execution block. The hostile atmosphere was perpetuated by the heavy hitters in the room the infamous Deku-the green powerhouse of the underworld and Shoto Todoroki rumored active Villain and well known arms/security dealer. Aoyama and the rest of the gang walked in all that could be seen were the glowing emerald eyes glaring through the mask at the stone-faced Shoto Todoroki. It was clear things had gone down and were obviously not at all resolved. The round-table lecture style room was covered in dagger-icicles and man sized holes in the wall. Aoyama could feel the tension teeming off of then both; it was like having two aggressive dogs just egging each other on. "Alright. Now let's talk about the scheduled heist of the Genesis arena." "I already secured a locksmith and I 'borrowed' some detonators from the heroes vault." "Borrowed? Are you sure that's the right word? It's more like stealing, isn't it?" "….yeah but I didn't steal anyon-" Deku pressed, "You were moving in on a turf you really didn't need to, right?" "It isnt some random turf that I moved in on! I haven't even done anything, yet!" "Yet! You were always just so jealous-" "Oooohkay I think it'd be just sparkling if we all took half the day off right!?" Quickly ushering the confused occupants out the door he turned to them mouthing a 'get it together, you two' before enticing everyone to some food at a buffet. The two glared as the room's silence swelled. Todoroki decided to break the silence first. "I was jealous but I'm not anymore-" "Don't lie to yourself." "…ok..maybe I am a little-" "I knew it! You're still head over heels for me and you think buying my wife off with those comics will worm your way back into my heart!" "-jealous of you." "Wait, what?" "That wasn't my intention. I'm well aware you have plenty of unchecked feelings for me." "WHAT! No! I don't!" Izuku was glad he had his mask on him otherwise the redness in his cheeks would have given him away. But it didn't seem that mattered because Shoto smirked smugly continuing. "I'm well aware of my feelings it's a matter of you realizing yours." "So what!? I break up with my wife, you get with her, and you both live happily ever after while I'm chasing you but it's all in vain and quite poetic that now I'm chasing you-" "No! You completely misunderstand me. The last thing I want is for you two to break up. In fact-" He closed in on the villain mindlessly unclasping his mask moving it up to hold those freckled cheeks in his cold and warm hands.

"I want nothing more for all of us to stay together." "Y-youre suggesting we-?" "Yes." "But (Y/ n) would never agree to it." "We'll make her then. I'm Todoroki Shoto, I get what I want one way or another."

Bonus: "Achoo!" "Bless you." "Thanks, so you were saying something about this case you were studying." "Yes I was hoping you could tell me where your husband was during this incident?"

[cboffshore]

Hey there - I'm Lila!

If you're seeing this, it could mean any of the following: you're already a mutual, you like Ninjago, you really like Ninjago's infamous (ha!) sixth season Skybound, or you know me from something else entirely. Or it's none of those and you've just taken a super wrong turn. No matter what - I'm glad you're here!

Join me under the cut for a more detailed look at my account, or just venture off on your own - the choice is yours.

WHO I AM & WHERE TO FIND ME

You can call me Lila! I've been around the Ninjago fandom since 2011 under a whole bunch of different names and accounts, with all the bizarre stories and memories to show for it. Now, though, you can find me under one of two handles: @cboffshore (here and on Twitter, where I'm not as active as I used to be) or OffshoreWriter over on AO3.

My title as Skybound Analysis PhD holder was born from a joke (initially given to me when I overanalyzed Skybound's color scheme and then Flintlocke's development in a Discord server) but grew into, well, not a joke; I take Skybound about as seriously as someone can take a toy commercial cartoon. Through all of my years in the Ninjago fandom, I've never seen a season as misunderstood and contentious as Skybound. Unfortunately, I happen to like it a lot for what it is, and I'm willing to defend it very hard (but don't get me wrong, I know it's got flaws! I'm not completely nuts!). Read this ask for a detailed overview of my position on Skybound analysis.

Outside of Ninjago overanalysis, I'm into a few other things: crocheting, the occasional piece of digital art, music (special faves include I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME, Fall Out Boy, and My Chemical Romance), and Bionicle (but only on a casual "wow cool vibes and killer writing" basis because that timeline does NOT make sense to me.).

SOME STUFF I DO

The best way to get into my work is just to explore all the nooks and crannies of my blog, but for those of you in a rush, here are links to some of my favorite projects:

On Sea, Sunlight, and Sky, aka OSSAS, is what I'd consider the crown jewel of my AO3 catalog: a Nya-centric series diving into her experience during the last few episodes of Skybound. Updated every December until I decide to lay her to rest (which, by the looks of it, will be the 2024 installment), this is my longest-term project that exemplifies how I approach Skybound as a season. If you only check out one corner of my work, make it OSSAS. You can find all things OSSAS under #ossas tag here on my blog (newcomers beware of spoilers!)

Yours To Keep: Rethinking Skybound Through Fashion is an older project of mine that blends fashion design and Nadakhan character analysis. As in, I drew a trio of banger outfits and then wrote essays about what all their details meant. Trust me on this, it's a cool one! (This is a holdover from when my fandom involvement was almost exclusively Ninjago character analysis-based couture fashion art... you can thank Giles Panton for that.)

Sorrow is All The Rage: An Analysis of Sexual Assault in Jay-Centric Skybound Fanfiction is a two (technically, three) part essay detailing my attempts to come to terms with the (frankly rather concerning) trend of gratuitous SA inclusion in a surprising swath of popular Skybound fanfiction. (Spoiler alert: I still think it's weird as hell and I haven't come to terms with it... but I have gotten way better at using the block button to keep it out of my line of sight.) The link in the title will take you to part one; part two is linked at the end, and part three's mini update is lurking somewhere in those tags. Please note: this essay is not an attack, or a condemnation, although it may come across that way at times. This was written largely as a vent piece about an issue that has disturbed me deeply and affected how I go about interpreting Skybound, and that definitely impacted my tone. If you'd like to reference this for any reason, or if you have any questions, please shoot me an ask or DM.

[inventors-fair]

Sterling Sorts: Subtype Runners-Up ~

Our runners-up this week are @helloijustreadyourpost, @mycosynthgardens, and @feyd-rautha-apologist!

@helloijustreadyourpost — March of Morsels

Food is all about flavor, both in-game and out, and this is certainly no exception. Honestly, this is such a distinctly Eldrainian image that I'm genuinely surprised we haven't already seen it, although that's not to discredit you in the slightest. Syr Ginger's on the warpath, leading armies of gingerbread soldiers to glorious conquest. Getting into the meat of this card though, it's very solid all around. Bringing two Foods with it means that baseline, it's providing a respectable 4/4 of stats. Allowing you to gain life when the animated Food die from any means is a great addition that better plays into the unique aspects of the type, and the anti-sacrifice clause preventing you from double-dipping is very clever. Big fan.

@mycosynthgardens — Kami of Lost Knowledge

If you told me at the beginning of the week that I would be heaping praise on an Arcane support card, I'm not entirely sure I would've believed you. All the same, though, here we are. Arcane is a bit of a black sheep among subtypes, being an infamously parasitic mechanic that's entirely confined to one of the worst blocks in the game's history, and I struggle to refute those accusations. But I've always had a soft spot for splice, and this plays into that mechanic in a really cool way. Much of the gameplay around splice is focused around hoarding an arsenal in hand, but the fact that this only pulls for the graveyard forces you to cast them more aggressively or find ways to get them there otherwise. You're very much incentivized to do so, too, because getting the effects added to a single spell each turn at no additional cost is a very attractive reward. Careful with the language, though. Optional once-per-turn triggers usually use the phrase "Do this only once each turn," because the way you have it here means that if you choose not to add the effects to the first spell, you've essentially missed your chance. Part of me does wish this didn't have to be shackled to Arcane, but until they revisit splice for a proper archetype, this is more than good enough.

@feyd-rautha-apologist — Khenet, the Siegebreaker

Battles are a relatively new type, and while Sieges are currently the only subtype they have, this card is geared so specifically towards the mechanics and gameplay of Sieges that it really does feel like a Siege support card. Amassing an Army to fight a battle is such a natural pair, and it helps better guarantee you have enough power to push through all the Sieges you'll be playing, especially with trample. The last effect is also a great inclusion, removing the decision of whether it's better to attack an opponent directly or a Battle they protect by cutting the knot and making it so you're essentially attacking both with the same creatures. I would caution against deathtouch and trample, as there's not currently a card in the game that can grant both at the same time (beyond cards that share or assimilate keywords, anyway), and for good reason. For the uninitiated, trample allows any damage past lethal damage to carry over, and deathtouch makes any amount of damage lethal. Put them together and a creature with both only has to assign 1 damage to any creature it's blocking, with the rest of it carrying through to whatever it's attacking. That's strong, but more importantly, it's very unintuitive, so it's usually avoided.

~

That was a lot of all-stars! Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to type out the rest of the commentary. Heh, heh...I'll go. @spooky-bard