#Now I only need to make them asymmetrical :')

[cosmicharm]

[ink-man-sam]

I just spend this past hour pinning down a piece of fabric to a hoodie, removing the pins, reapplying the pins so that I can sew it over in order to prevent fraying, and then pinning it to the hoodie again

I made a bunch of progress but I'm also kinda at square one again

[daisymooonart]

May my Emperor live ten thousand years!

An (un)official painting of the Emperor and Empress of Huaxia. I would absolutely bow for Wu Zetian. Maybe not Qin Zheng, but he is hot and communist so I am tempted.

This took me around 15-20 hours to make and it was so worth it <3

Details under the cut!

First off: the faces.

Because of how obscured it was going to be, I wanted to get a good sense of what Zetian would look like before the makeup and the mask. I tried to give her a kind of average appearance, because I wanted to try and make her look like a normal person under all of that Empress garb (she's only 18... she should have been at the clurbbb). Her face is purposefully a little asymmetrical.

For makeup, I went for the blush-that-makes-you-look-drunk look that was apparently fashionable among Tang ladies. Her lips and yedian are pretty standard. I saved the xiehong on the wrong layer like a clown 😭 but it's still visible under the mask. Not entirely sure if her huadian would be accurate, but it's the one on the painting of Empress Wu that I see most often.

Would Qin Zheng have a stroke if he saw Zetian hang out with men wearing this mask? Absolutely. Am I Qin Zheng? Nope I'm an artist who spent wayyyyy too long drawing Zetian's face and didn't want to cover it up fully. Her haircomb is in the shape of an upside-down butterfly. The sharp bit on the collar is inspired by a shirt I saw in the Hunger Games once, it's a style that's supposed to force you into keeping good posture. I hc that Qin Zheng included it to piss her off, and it's definitely working...

Now for Qin Zheng's face. I tried to go for a simple, smooth-wing look. I never really envisioned him as twink-y when I read the book and tried to go for a hot-and-scary-man look whilst keeping it a little bit androgynous. He'd never ever have his hair down for a formal painting but I want to separate his face from the rest of the piece. His eye is weaker on his scarred side. He looks a little feverish and a little bit infuriated: he is probably wondering why the hell he needs to be painted when photographs now exist.

It's a very busy painting and I fully expect people to gloss over this, so here's a little zoom on Qin Zheng gripping Zetian's armour. He's a freak.

Now for the throne. I tried to do a dragon/phoenix piece but it didn't show very well in the actual painting, so here it is. You can really tell how much I love scribble art lol.

And here's the base of the throne, with two dragons to keep our lovely tyrants company

I opted for a double-seated throne because I accidentally drew them too close together and couldn't move them because of the layers because feminism <3

Now for clothing. I noticed that on the HT cover, Zetian has a white gem whilst Qin Zheng has a black gem, but the clothes underneath are the opposite colours. I made the details on Qin Zheng's armour white and Zetian's details black, but Qin Zheng's armour ends up being darker whilst Zetian's armour is a lot paler. Symbolism... or something... Also they both get a heart because its cute, like a friendship bracelet.

I really can't draw scales though so erm. Yeah.

If you notice any er,,,, imagery in their lower robes it was unintentional I swear

Even though Qin Zheng is very much the taller, dominant figure in the piece, I tried to actually put the focus on Zetian, by making her armour a different shade of gold to the throne and by keeping her closer to the centre. I don't know if it worked but my eyes think so. I think out of the entire piece though, Zetian took me the longest because I hadn't settled on what look I was trying to go for her. I redrew her armour about five times, but thankfully by the time it was done I had pretty much solidified where I was going with Qin Zheng's armour and I finished that in no time.

Again I absolutely loved making this painting, it was SO worth it. It might me my most detailed ever. I adore Heavenly Tyrant so so so much it might actually be my favourite book ever lol.

[thealexchen]

Why Dontnod's games feel original and inspired (and why Deck Nine's games don't)

So, I've talked at length about how Double Exposure feels much more like a corporate product than a playable piece of art entertainment [My initial thoughts on the DE trailer] [My thoughts on the early access paywall] [My thoughts on the weird marketing].

But now with the release of Lost Records, I feel like I have no choice but to confront the question: were any of Deck Nine's games truly original or inspired in any way? And honestly, I have to say no.

Objectively, I could say it's because Deck Nine literally has not produced any original IP's since their rebrand from Idol Minds in 2017. Their only narrative adventure games are all part of the LiS franchise. But even their most original game, True Colors, pretty obviously follows the first game's narrative formula (young woman with a superpower investigates a sudden disappearance/death in a small town with a dark secret, has two opposite sex love interests, learns about a twist villain, is nearly murdered, and goes through a psychological nightmare in the last episode) to a tee. But oh look, there's also a LARP!

But I believe there's more to it than that, because when I look at Dontnod's games, they are always inspired by other works. Life is Strange 1 plays very clear homage to Twin Peaks with the Pacific Northwest setting and Rachel Amber resembling Laura Palmer. Max Caulfield is named after the protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye, another novel about the fleeting innocence of childhood and superficiality of society. Life is Strange borrows tropes from Donnie Darko, Groundhog Day, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Stand By Me, and even Blue is The Warmest Color for its themes and plot points. Just take a look at its "Shout-out" page on TV Tropes. And the result is... something completely original, with riveting plot twists, memorable characters, and an ending that will make you cry.

This shouldn't make sense, right? You'd think this big soup of references would turn into an indistinguishable mess of cliches, but Life is Strange managed to be a synthesis of everything the writers loved and were inspired by, to become something completely new. Why? Because nobody had tried to take Twin Peaks, Donnie Darko, and The Catcher in the Rye and turn it into a video game before! And make it gay!

The point being, Dontnod consistently makes original material because they take creative risks. This is definitely not done lightly, since they still need to be a company that generates profit, but they still prioritize making art over selling out. Their stories feel inspired because they are inspired; when writers love what they're writing about, the result is a passion project that has loving, clever nods to all the works that are woven into it.

So perhaps a way to reword that first question is to then ask, "Have Deck Nine's games ever been inspired by anything?" And unfortunately, the answer is still no. Instead, they just copy what they hope will sell well. And a bland imitation for the sake of generating profit is never going to produce anything that feels original.

This takes me back to Lost Records, which is also clearly inspired by the same works: Twin Peaks, It: Chapter One, The Craft, The Blair Witch Project, The Goonies, Stand By Me. But again, no other game studio besides Dontnod has ever looked at these works and thought, "But what if it starred teenage lesbians instead?" Or, more specifically: "How do we capture the spirit of what made these media great and incorporate that into a new story for a new audience?" And those characters have so much thought and care poured into them too: while I've been disappointed that Double Exposure Max looks airbrushed to hell and back, I love that the Bloom & Rage girls have asymmetrical faces, acne, freckles, body hair, skin discoloration, and diverse body types. Double Exposure is marketed as nostalgia bait for fans, where Max is reduced to a prettied-up, polished-up, representation of nostalgia, not even her own character anymore, in a game that otherwise has no connection to the original. Her quips are reduced to "Hey! Remember our good ol', dad-joke cracking, dorky Max Caulfield??" and her grief is shoved aside for "Hey, look at that appealing new love interest! Because we knoooow y'all love your sapphic romance, right?"

By contrast, Lost Records has only been out for 10 days, but I already feel like the girls are some of the most memorable characters I've come across in gaming for the niche they fill. Swann seems like your typical Max-like dork, except she's also a movie buff and giddy about bugs, horror, and the paranormal; and has clearly been affected by her mother's fatphobic beliefs. Autumn is a level-headed leader who always stuck to her desire to help others, and her Blackness naturally informs her desire to feel valued and not cause trouble in a small, very white, conservative town. Nora intrigues me so much for going from a fun-loving rebel punk teen to a more gender-conforming, capitalist-leaning, influencer businesswoman. And Kat feels like an evolution of Chloe's cynicism, where her scrappy charm belies an almost unsettling obsession with the occult and a deep, tragic chasm of rage at having to confront her mortality far too young. They make sense. They feel carefully written, genuine, and like real people.

But most of all, Dontnod's games have never felt like products. In fact, most of their characters have historically gone against the grain of what traditionally "marketable" characters are. The first LiS took all these aforementioned stories about straight white men and chose to remix and retell it through the eyes of a young, queer, time-traveling girl instead. Tell Me Why is the first AAA game with a trans protagonist, and Tyler is voiced by a trans actor in all the language dubs. Lost Records decided that it would tell its story through four queer teenage girls, with women writers onboard, and fucking own it. As long as Dontnod keeps making games that stick to their creative integrity, I'll keep respecting their vision in whatever they decide to create next. Also, maybe I should finally watch Twin Peaks.

Thank you for reading!

[littlelovelunette]

i NEED more sevika anal ᰔᩚ

Big Beads

bit small because I already wrote two before get a bit more creative? add something with anal maybe??

contains smut, anal play, anal beads

sevika pulled back as she admired your tight asshole clenching around the huge anal beads she had inserted inside, a proud smirk etched on her scarred asymmetrical lips

"it burns," you wiggled your butt up making sevika land a smack onto your ass, "quiet down now you don't want the paddle now do you?"

you let your face bury on the pillows as you felt her tugging against the hook of the anal beads before with one swift motion she pulled them out, "d...daddy not so fast please it burns!" you whined.

sevika sighed, "guess it can't be helped then," she slipped her middle finger inside letting it ease inside and outside massaging your inner walls with utmost care, "mhm? that feel good?"

"y-yes it does daddy," you moaned

sevika nodded, "good girl," she took her fingers out so she could start to put another set of anal beads inside, your hole twitched as it tried to accommodate the big spherical object, but soon the bead was swallowed in with ease and the lewd scene only made sevikas pussy get wetter with need.

"slutty body," sevika grumbled, slipping in more of the anal beads, watching as they disappeared one by one inside. as it came down to the last bead, you whimpered, "it won't fit... too big daddy too big..." sevika didn't response to you or reassure you that it would fit instead she gave it a harsh push making it slip inside with ease and a burning feeling shot through your rectum.

"h...hurts.." you forced your face into the pillows so you didn't scream when she gave it one last push and it disappeared in your asshole.

"if it doesn't fit, daddy will make it fit got it?" sevika said and you nodded with a little smile.

[tuftastuff]

the inherit body horror of to be hero x - or when your life becomes a prison and the only way to freedom is death

Three episodes that we already got showed us how horrorish the trust system is. People's cognition of you affects not only your abilities, but how you look as well. It controls your *whole body*. You lose autonomy of your whole body. It's not just yours now - it's the body that's controlled by the masses.

FirmMan was not able to sleep properly, kneel, or do such a simple thing as using the toilet. How many things he had to give up on? He's a hero, yet he wouldn't even be able to help a kid that tripped over. To pick up something that he accidently dropped. His whole body was just reduced to standing. How frustrating that must be? How depressing? You can't even dress properly, you just need to be standing, you are reduced to nothing but a symbolic statue.

Moon also lost her freedom. The powers that were supposed to let her be free - she's got teleportation! She should be able to go wherever she desires! - became something that infinitely traps her with Nice. She can't leave not only because of her contract. Her power makes her trapped with him.

And Nice and Ling Lin. Body moving in a way that HAS to be perfect. All the time. Everything around you has to be perfect. Simple slouch is unacceptable. A drop of water that's not symmetrical? Gone. Always stuck in the endless loop of pursuing perfection. But the world isn't perfect! The world is messy and asymmetrical and chaotic, and so are bodies. How many bodily functions did they lose because of that? How frustrating it must be to always have the need to correct everything and you can't just stop it. You can't control it. You have to strive for perfection all the time.

And yet - their minds are still free. Moon doesn't fall in love with Nice, even though fans want them togheter. And, based on the episode two I think it's safe to say that Nice doesn't love her either - he's connected emotionally to Wreck, even though in the public eye they are enemies. FirmMan still had his basic needs and was aware, that he can't meet them. He suffered mentally because of that. It took a toll on him. And Lin Ling - the public believes that he is Nice. But he isn't and he knows he isn't and deep inside he's still Lin Ling. He needs to get it out, it's weighing on him.

They are trapped inside their own bodies. Their powers become their prisons. They can't leave on their own, they can't change it, they are stuck, with no knowledge for how long will it last. How devastating it must be, to not have the control over your own bodily autonomy? They are just puppets, with free minds. That's the true body horror.

And that is also why I think Nice committed suicide. I think it was a conscious, deliberate decision. There is one thing that was not taken from him (and all of the heroes, I'm assuming) and it's death.

You see, death has a symbolic meaning of freedom. Not only in literature, but in real life too many people think of death as the ultimate freedom. You might be dead, but you will be *free*. And that is the price that some are willing to pay.

Nices death was his escape from his prison - his own body. It was the only thing that they haven't yet taken from him. And he didn't even know how long did he have. What if the public started believing that he was immortal? That he was indestructible? He would be stuck eternally in this existential horror. His death was him desperately trying to be free. And he achieved that. His fall was actually awful. It wasn't a pretty death. He fell into the wall and only then on the ground; it was messy, it was traumatizing and it was, in every way, an opposite of perfection. He made his choice and he was finally free.

And, because of that, nor Moon nor FirmMan have to die in order to be free. For them freedom would also only come in the form of death. We see that in episode two, when Moon "dies" and thanks to that achieves her freedom (see, how death is linked to freedom further than only nices suicide). The haunting connection that Nice and Lin Ling have shapes how the future of heroes that interact with Lin Ling looks. Nice dies. But nor Moon nor FirmMan have to die, to achieve their freedom. Their freedom is achieved through Lin Ling. In a way Nices passing/passing his identity broke the cycle. Because while Lin Ling was not in the position to save Nice, he can make sure, and does (consciously or not), that it never happenes again.

[whatswrongwithblue]

Reader does actually try to walk off a cliff and Alastor catches them and gets furious and sexy about it and pounds Vexi... I mean reader into the mattress so hard she can't walk anymore and he ends up laughing saying 'let's see you try to do that again now your legs won't work'

Beta'd by @inuhalfdemon

For my darling @redvexillum, I know you're Overtime Vexi right now; working hard on the Discord server, keeping up with daily Kinktober posts, and also literally working an IRL job. This is a no pressure gift to you. Read when you have time and need a little pick me up. I even based Reader off of your avatar on your blog and used language specifically from my favorite fic of yours . . . you know the one *wink wink*.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: suicide ideation, suicide attempt, depression, mental illness, dissociation, possesive Alastor, Alastor owns Reader's soul, sex as punishment, angry sex, oral (fem receiving), p/v sex, shadow tendrils/tentacles, bondage, use of a gag, overstimulation, lack of aftercare, begging, dom/sub dynamic.

Falling

The warm night breeze ghosted through your hair; a gentle lover’s caress across the back of your neck. It calmed your nerves as you looked down at the drop below and you closed your eyes, thinking you could almost hear the wind telling you to take that final step.

Just one little step.

A few seconds of falling.

Then darkness. Nothing. Peace.

The wind kicked up a little harder, fanning out your wings, and nearly making you lose your balance. You gasped and flailed your arms, catching your balance before you fell.

A stupid lingering human instinct to save yourself. Your body’s nervous system fighting against what your mind desperately wanted.

You took a deep, steadying breath in, and tucked your wings in. They were tiny; pink and membranous things that seemed more for aesthetic than any kind of purpose. It’s not like you could fly with them. They were no more useful than your asymmetrical horns when it came to that skill only very few Sinners were lucky enough to have. And they weren’t even very demonic looking, as far as demon appendages went. Both your horns and your wings were pink, slightly darker shades than the pastel of your skin and hair. Even your fucking irises were pink.

While you quite loved pink as a human, it just felt insulting down in Hell. Like every other aspect of your demon visage. Useless. Infantile. Boring.

Nearly making you fall to your death by being caught in a sudden gust of hot air was the only favor your wings had ever done for you.

Not that you would permanently die, you lamented. Eventually you would re-spawn somewhere within the city. But re-spawning took hours, sometimes even days. And in that time would be nothing. When you were alive you always joked about wishing that you could just take your brain out of your skull, like a temporary death, just to quiet the awful thoughts and feelings your malfunctioning organ plagued you with day and night.

Here in Hell, you could actually do that. Again and again, if you so chose to.

All you had to do was jump.

Maybe it wasn’t worth it. When you came back, Alastor would certainly hunt you down and find you. And you could just see the disappointment in his face. Hear the disgust in his voice. How lowly he would think of his darling then, that she would perform such an empty and pathetic act.

But then again, he was going to find out who you were at your core eventually. Better to rip the bandage off and make him face just how truly damaged you were before you continued to waste his time further. He was bound to get tired of pulling you out of your depressed funks after enough time had gone by. And what good did you bring to his life anyway?

You were a distraction.

He had snapped that to you earlier that evening when you had interrupted his work at the hotel. Those last stinging words echoed through your mind, branding themselves into your grey matter so that you never forgot them.

Well, you wouldn’t be distracting him anymore after this stunt. He wouldn’t bother with you afterwards.

And if you found you really did enjoy the nothingness that came between death and re-spawning, the extermination wasn’t far away. All you had to do was stand in front of an exorcist and simply not move as they brought their blade down on you. Then it would truly be an eternity of peace and quiet for you.

No more distractions.

The thought came to you bitterly as you considered that Alastor was the one who had been distracting you. All these months of his attention, of him making you his darling, of him making you fall in love with him, had just distracted you for a while. But now the pain was back, worse than ever, with one small argument between you two and you realized if it wasn’t for him, you likely would have jumped off this roof months ago.

You could have let it all go during the last extermination, while everyone else was huddled safely inside the hotel.

What a waste of time. A useless, boring, distracting life.

A deep breath. A single tear sliding down your cheek. A last thought of warmth and safety whispering through your mind . . .

“Alastor.”

His name left your lips like a prayer and an apology.

You took a step over the ledge.

The street below became your entire field of view as you lost your footing entirely.

And then the world glitched.

Colors blended in choppy formation and static screamed in your ears, threatening to burst your ears drums. Everything was fuzzy and going dark and a strange tingling filled your body, like your very blood had turned to static.

And then you were back on your own two feet, standing face to chest with the red and black pinstriped suit you knew so well.

Unnaturally large claws had you by the shoulders and you tilted your head up, taking in the full view of a very angry Radio Demon.

Alastor towered over you, his antlers spread wide, his eyes turning like radio dials, and he lifted you up like you weighed nothing until you were face to face and your feet were dangling several feet in the air.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, his voice even more full of static than you were used to.

Your eyes went wide at the use of vulgarity from him. You could count with your two useless wings how many times you had heard him swear before and never had it been directed at you.

When you didn’t answer right away, he shook you, calling you by your real name rather than darling, which he never did. He demanded an answer but all you could manage was a little whimper before you broke.

Your chin quivered and you felt the swell of tears in your eyes as a sob squeezed your chest and erupted out.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and then slowly, ever so gently, you felt yourself being lowered to the ground and then your face was pressed against the soft fabric of Alastor’s suit. His bow tie tickled the side of your face and his scent, heady with Spanish moss and cypress, and some other uniquely Earthy smell that was entirely him, filled your senses.

“Darling,” he said quietly, “my darling . . . why?”

You could barely breath through your sobs, let alone speak, so it took you a moment to gather the strength to answer. Clutching at the back of his jacket, you pressed your face into him harder, trying to hide your reasoning, bury your shame, pretend like every pathetic part of you didn’t exist.

But he had seen, hadn’t he? He had watched you take that step, had come up here to find you and seen that final microsecond when there was nothing but air between you and the ground below.

And he had altered reality to bring you back to him. To save you.

Half of you hoped that meant he really did love you like you loved him. Like he promised every day that he did, even though you never quite believed it.

The other half of you whispered an insipid little lie that was too tempting to not consider  . . . that this whole stunt of yours was just another distraction.

“I don’t want to be a bother anymore,” you finally whispered, hiccupping and choking as you struggled to speak.

Alastor went stiff around you, and you thought then that he would finally push you away. Agree that you really were just a bother. That if he were to ever shackle himself to another soul, it certainly wouldn’t be to such a weak little wretch as yourself.

Instead, his long, clawed fingers grasped you by your chin, forcing you to look up at him. And though his expression was often hard to read, the strain in his smile showed anger while the burning in his ruby eyes showed pain.

“What gave you the idea that you could do such a thing? That I would allow it?”

“Wha . . . what?”

“You’re mine now, darling.” He pulled on your chin, forcing you on tip toe as he brought your face closer to him. “You belong to me and I don’t let what belongs to me just fly away. It seems you have forgotten that.”

His claws were digging into your cheeks and along your jaw line, stinging and threatening, even as he brought his lips down and gave you the gentlest kiss on the forehead.

 

“Perhaps I need to remind you of that,” he whispered to you, his voice low and tender, crackling with a passion you couldn’t misplace. He was angry, you realized, oh yes he was furious with you. But as the world went fuzzy once again, and you felt the familiar sensation of melting into shadow, and your soul blended with his, you could literally feel that burning rage inside of him being twisted and morphed into more direct emotions. Lust and desire filled what was left of your identity as Alastor transported you through the ceiling and walls of the hotel and into your room.

Now this was flying.

Alastor had sat you at the foot of your bed, making quick work of removing your underwear, lifting your pleated skirt above your hips, and kneeling before you, all before you had come down from the bizarre and disorienting high of being nothing but shadow with him.

Now you were reduced to a shell of a person, thoughtless and detached from your feelings and in the best of ways, as Alastor’s tongue made your nervous system aware of nothing else but the bundle of nerves between your legs.

Your knees were resting on his shoulders and already shaking as his tongue twisted and lapped at your clit, occasionally giving the swollen pearl a hard suck, as two fingers pumped into your core, working to pull a second climax from you.

Distantly you were aware of the flutter of your wings; a helpless reflex, along with the tremble of your legs. Tears streamed down your cheeks, though you paid that no mind either. Even if you had noticed them, you wouldn’t be able to place which emotion was drawing them from your eyes.

You only knew that this feeling; the intense physical sensation of Alastor turning you into a whimpering, wanton mess, allowed you to dissociate in the best of ways and everything that had tormented you to the point of standing on that cliff’s edge was completely forgotten.

The fingers of one of your hands wrapped themselves in a white-knuckled grip around his antler while your other hand found purchase in his red locks and you sobbed out his name as you came again.

Just as your walls began to clench, Alastor pulled himself from your clutches, leaving your cunt to clench needfully onto nothing. The abrupt lack of touch right at the beginning of your orgasm was torture and in his absence you pressed your legs together, searching for any friction that would allow for a fraction of the satisfaction his tongue and fingers should be giving you.  

“Now, now, dear,” Alastor tutted, and you felt your legs forced back apart. “Remember, I’m here to make a point. And that point is . . .” You looked down to see tendrils of shadows spreading your legs farther open, tangling themselves around your thighs and hips. “. . . You’re mine.” He began undoing the top of his trousers. “And  any rash decisions,” he pushed his trousers down below his waist, “like trying to jump off buildings,” he pulled his cock free and you salivated at the sight of its red and swollen tip already weeping pre-cum for you, “or pleasuring yourself without permission,” he leaned over you, his tense and wicked smile inches away from your lips as his took a painful fistful of your hair, “will be met with severe punishments.”

You swallowed, daring to meet his eyes with your own submissive, watery ones, and nodded.

“There’s my darling I know and cherish,” he said sweetly. His fingers left your hair and traced along your jaw until they came to your lips.

“And now that we’re at an understanding,” he snapped his fingers and your clothes vanished, “let’s see how well you can take your punishment.”

His cock thrust into you as black tendrils slithered their way up the rest of your nude body, pinning you in place. They teased and stroked every erogenous zone with lovely tenderness, their touch soothing and affectionate even as they forced you to near absolute stillness. In stark contrast, Alastor pounded into you, stretching you to the point of burning and igniting the still burning embers of your last orgasm that Alastor had left unfinished.

You came within seconds, your walls spasming hard against the fat width of his cock. Alastor drove on as if he hadn’t noticed, deep enough to hit the blind end of your depths with every forward thrust. The bruising combination left a dull cramp in your belly as your climax went on for several more moments, an intense combination of pleasure and pressure.   

After the quaking within your core subsided, you went limp within the clutches of the shadows. Three orgasms as intense as the ones you had just experienced were more than enough to placate your mind and body and your teary eyes now began to droop with sleepiness.

And yet Alastor was clearly not finished with you.

“Alastor,” you pleaded, knowing he still hadn’t come but you intended to beg for him to be a little gentler with you until he had. Instead of letting you speak, however; a tendril that had been near your throat laced itself through your open mouth and synched itself around your head, effectively gagging you.

The only response you got from your lover was an angry red glow of his eyes as they narrowed onto you, before he gripped your thighs with his claws and continued on with his brutal pace.

Too much, too much, too much, you internally screamed, a fresh torrent of hot tears burning down your cheeks. Your teeth sunk into the meat of the tentacle between your lips and you strained against the ones holding your wrists down to the bed.

The brutal pace of your punishment went on for several more minutes; an eternity for your overstimulated sex. Everything between your ribs and your thighs burned and ached from the ceaseless, intrusive rhythm of Alastor’s body against yours. Inside and out, he continued to savagely ravish you, until there was nothing else for you to do but begin to silently cry and take the punishment he was dolling out.

Alastor pulled out of you with a suddenness that both relieved and confused you. Your throbbing cunt ached from what it had just been through but as your eyes met his, you felt an emptiness within you. Still wrapped in tentacles, you glanced down at his glistening cock before you looked back up at the sharp tooth smile on the face of the man that you feared and loved above all else.

He still looked as pissed off as ever but there was a softness at the corner of his eyes that hinted at concern and you knew him well enough to know he was worried he might have taken things to far.

As you felt the shadow tentacles begin to loosen around you, you felt a emotion so long-forgotten you almost didn’t recognize it.

Confidence.

And with that thought, you wordlessly turned yourself around until your lay on your belly, exposing your backside and the tiny pink wings you knew Alastor loved to play with whenever he was angry.

A moment came and went and you were just beginning to wonder if you had misread the owner of your soul. You opened your mouth to speak his name once more but before you could utter a syllable, you felt your arms yanked back by the wrists and a powerful tendril wrap around your throat, holding you face down into the mattress.

The shadows that were still around your hips tightened and forcefully lifted your ass into the air and you braced yourself a second before Alastor’s cock slammed back into you, filling you back up to completion and eviscerating that feeling of emptiness.

Tired and spent as you were, you moaned aloud and squeezed his member with every last bit of strength you had within your spongey walls.  

You felt the long, slow drag of his retreating cock sliding against every sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you before another snap of Alastor’s hips had it rocketing back into you.

“Say it,” he commanded and you shuddered with your whole body, knowing what he wanted to hear.

“I’m your darling,” you replied, breathless and yet moaning again as he rewarded you with another thrust.

“And?”

“I belong to you.” He matched this thrust with a gentle stroke of a shadow across the membrane of one of your wings. “Mmmmmm, more,” you begged, as your wings gave a tiny, involuntary flap at the feather light touch.

But he had stilled behind you, waiting for your needfulness to build until you were begging.

“Please,” you sobbed out, feeling your chin quiver as all the emotions of the night came rushing back to you. “I’m sorry, Al’. I’m so sorry.”

As you spoke, the touching of your wings and the powerful movement of his cock began anew. You blabbered on, afraid if you stopped talking, the pleasant sensation of his touch within you and above you would end.

“I love you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never even think about leaving you ever again. Not in anyway. Not even when your angry with me. Not even when I hate myself. Because I’m yours and I’ll always be yours. I’m so sorry, Alastor. Please don’t stop. Please, you feel so good. Fill me up, love. Because I’m your darling and I’ll be good from now on, please just fill me up. I’m your good girl and I love you and I want to feel you inside me. Please, please, oh God Al’, you feel so good, I’m – I’m – I-”

With a painful pull on your wrists you felt all the way into your shoulders, you felt him spill his seed within you as his body tense and every shadow of his went impossibly taut around you. The heat of his cum burned your walls and spilled down your inner thighs, coating you and marking you as his, and you came along with him, screaming into the sheets. Every tendril bruised into your skin, leaving marks around your throat, breasts, wings, hips, and thighs, as Alastor lost all control, even as he continued to pound into you with an uneven and desperate pace.

Everything blurred as you came down from the high together. You felt your muscles turn to jelly and give out in the final moments of your climax, just in time to feel Alastor finally still and begin to soften before he pulled out.

After several serene moments had gone by, the sheets beneath you began to move and pull away. As if in a dream, you felt your body being moved up the bed and then Alastor’s weight joined next to you as you were tucked into bed. Without being cleaned and without a word of praise or love, which he usually included in an aftercare routine for you.

But you knew, deep within the fog of your exhausted mind, that you deserved this. You would wake up in the morning marked by the bruises and the sticky mess between your legs, and only then would you be allowed to shower and heal yourself.

“Thank you,” you murmured with closed eyes as he finished tucking you in. “I don’t think I can move after that, let alone walk.”

An amused, deep chuckle came from Alastor before he pinched your cheek hard enough to make your eyes snap back open.

He got up from the bed, now fully dressed, and straightened his bow tie and monocle before marching towards the door with a pleased and arrogant look on his face.

“Good, my darling. That’s good. Let’s see you try to pull that nonsense again now that your legs don’t work. Sweet dreams,” he added as he opened the bedroom door and gave you one last warning smile before he slammed the door behind him, hard enough to knock a few decorations off the walls.

You sighed as you heard a lock clicking into place, knowing his point was made, and that he was still very much angry with you. But the storm had passed, for both of you. You relaxed into the soft pillow and closed your eyes, the first smile in days touching your lips as you drifted off to sleep.

[anim-ttrpgs]

drow rpg thoughts

Yesterday I got excited and did a design outline for another game, this time about drow. Don't worry, the Eureka Patreon updates will keep coming monthly and we are even close to another free public beta release, but i have been under a lot of stress and might need to work on something else for a few weeks after that, even if only because i think it could actually be something i could make fully playable within a short time.

It is based on a particular setting written a while back by me and a close friend, the purpose of which was to reimagine drow with reasonable post-hoc explanations for the way they are portrayed in Forgotten Realms. It would be a very specific game, sharing a few design ideas with Eureka's rules, but not as broad and generalized.

This rpg will certainly come with a bunch of lore, but for right now the only thing you need to know is that in this setting, "Drow" is a title and referrs only to the female warrior-caste of dark elf society.

Many of the mechanics will be asymmetrical. A “party” will consist of one Drow and any number of her servants, with the goal of surviving incredibly dense hierarchical social situations

>problem will come up that could embarrass the Drow, threatening her Reputation (stat)

>Drow has to delegate tasks to servants that will fix the problem

>due to stupidly dense and impossible etiquette, actually delegating these tasks is not very clear or easy. Screwing up tasks and failing etiquette will reduce a servant’s perceived Competence (stat)

>due to high pressure, impossible working conditions, and garbled instructions, these tasks are not easy and are very likely to be screwed up

>the Drow has to contend with and smooth over the screwed up tasks. She can lose Reputation if she doesn’t discipline incompetence, but harsh discipline is only going to make the servants less able to complete the task.

>Failure state for the servants is if their Competence ever reaches 0, and failure state for everyone is if the Drow’s Reputation ever reaches 0.

Half the Game Master’s job will be keeping track of the strict and deliberately impossibly overcomplicated etiquette by which servants have to address Drow, and docking their Competence when they screw up(and possibly docking Drow Reputation if anybody else sees her letting that slide), and keeping track of the strict militaristic code of honor and (evil) morality that all Drow are expected to exemplify whether they actually enjoy being cruel psychopaths or not, and docking Reputation when the Drow fails to uphold the right standard of evilness in front of other Drow.

The servant part of the “party” will either have to humorously manipulate Drow while hiding that anything is wrong, or they and their Drow will all have to all work together to maintain a facade of this brutal hierarchy

Drow lose Reputation and servants lose Competence when they fail to adhere to social etiquette that covers like 15 pages of instructions (designed to be impossible to follow). In that way, it might be considered similar to Paranoia, with a similar sense of humor.

Some of the servants’ etiquette would be like

>don’t speak out loud to a Drow unless told to by that Drow

>at the same time, don’t remain silent when a Drow expects them to answer a question even if she didn’t explicitly say they could speak

And this is why the Drow has to be a PC, because this same servant etiquette is a pitfall for the Drow. if she doesn’t make her expectations explicitly clear, it puts the servants in an impossible situation, where they will embarrass her with their incompetence(even though it’s her fault) and she will be socially obligated to go out of her way to discipline them. Of course in the in-setting society, the fault lies with the servant, because they should have intuited when they were being given permission to speak or not. Some Drow will be self-aware enough to realize that they caused this situation, most won't.

The structure of their society will often incentivize a tactful Drow to "roll with" mistakes made by servants, e.g. "No, my servants did have permission to address me out loud, you just weren't clever enough to catch it."

Each will have to cover for the other, and/or hide things from each other and the Drow's social rivals.

[howlingmod]

Warm

summary - katana x reader. reader is described to have a broken horn and it's implied to have been some sort of big deal but it's not super detailed

wc - i dunno again. woops

misc - heretic katana ily ... also sorry for any mistakes i love writing tired on a whim. smiles

It was late. The sky had long since turned pitch as the rain continued to pour on and on. Crossroads had fallen quiet for the night, rain driving passerby indoors and locking them inside for the evening. The silence was broken only by the constant pittering of the rain, tapping on the window sill and running down the sides of your apartment building.

Katana couldn't complain. While he stayed at your place rather frequently, he had yet to adjust to the louder bands of night owls that often roamed at this time. It'd keep him up, picking up the faint noise of conversation and movement. It'd keep you up, if only because of his stiffness. The hustle and bustle of the city had long become white noise to you, leaving tonight with a strange absence the rain couldn't fill.

That was probably why the both of you were still awake at this point, even if only partially so. Your body felt heavy, lead weights accumulating in your limbs to keep you firmly planted as you were. You didn't have a huge bed, but you two were still far closer than you needed to be, tangled together and facing one another.

A hand trailed from your arm up to your face, warmth bleeding into your skin before slowly ebbing back out. From there, it travelled further upwards to the base of a horn, left fractured and badly cauterized.

After an injury, horns can eventually grow back, so long as the trauma hasn't completely destroyed the tissue. By all means, you should've been able to grow yours back, but not everything turns out as it should. There had been too much blood loss, too much sensitive tissue and nerve endings left exposed that was sure to get infected in the mess. If your horn was to get infected in such a vulnerable state, you likely wouldn't be here. And so, as opposed to the fine, smooth edges you once had, there was now a mess of shards and sinew firmly covered by synthetic material affixed to the remaining pieces.

Nerve endings had been burned off, but even the faintest touch still resonated deep in the hollows and grooves of your horn. Ordinarily, you would flinch back, grab at your horn until you could numb it again with enough stimulation, but instead you laid still. You couldn't see his and moving, but you could feel him exploring the cracks left over.

You could feel the featherlight touch of a fingertip tracing the spidery splinters in the surface till they faded back into the thick of the material. You could feel it roll back up to the division of synthetic material and your own- if his touch hadn't been careful before, it was near paranoid now, just barely grazing the surface for fear of hurting you. After following the groove all around the reachable exterior, it fell back down to tracing along the length of it, long cracks and imaginary shapes alike.

You could barely make out the glint of light on his eyes and exposed teeth. You could just barely find the roughened skin and dense gums, could just see the edges of where once smooth skin had been ripped open to leave his insides bare. Your hand was too heavy to move, too heavy to even think about moving it, so you settled for tracing along the edges with your eyes.

He didn't like his face, that much had been made clear to you. To him, it was a reminder of awful times, of pain and torture he would never forget, mentally or physically. To you, it was his face. It was all you had ever known him to look like. The only Katana you knew was the scarred one, the one with leathery skin and bad memories. Likewise, he had never seen your original set of horns, perched proudly on the top of your head like a crown, he only knew the asymmetrical ones, one ripped apart while the other stayed as a reminder of what they were supposed to be.

You had been hesitant to ever let him get close to it, turning your head away to hide it whenever he even so much as glanced at it. With time, with bearing his own scars to you, you'd grown more comfortable with it. He still remembers the day you first touched the lip of your shorter horn to one of his, how neither of you had said anything. Neither of you felt the need to, the message had already been given.

"I love you."

Your throat felt dry, had you really said that? You figured you must have, if only beause he had smiled, skin pulling alongside his lips at your words.

"I love you too."

[argonblue]

Ok I talked abt this a lil before in another post but THE RUTHARI DESIGN LANGUAGE

Ethari outwardly has changed, but that design reflects more of his grief, the passage of time, and his inability to let go of his husband. It’s also all external—his hair is longer, his Moonshadow markings are now asymmetric/unbalanced, his earrings are gay as hell and really show how he is not over his marriage at all. Most importantly, his armor/shoulder things. He looks prickly, closed off, and that’s exactly how he acts when he thinks runaan is a stranger, which is very un-Ethari.

On the other end, Runaan’s design is hugely the same as season one, with the only two changes being A) his weird ass cutout sleeve is missing on his right, and B) his horn. Unlike Ethari, runaan’s biggest character design change is losing a part of his actual body. Hair can grow, clothes can change, but Runaan’s horn is part of him. His being has been fundamentally altered in a small way, and he’s going to carry that change for ever. Both figuratively, with how he’s seen the true outcome of his assassin work, and literally.

Ethari has a design that communicates his relationship with runaan, he always has. In bloodmoon huntress, runaan calls Ethari his guiding light, but in reality I think it’s the other way around. Because Ethari is the most out of character without runaan. He ghosts Rayla out of grief, which is very out of character, because runaan is gone. But after two years, runaan still comes home to an Ethari who is grieving and hopeless, but not broken.

And after they reunite, Ethari returns to the same state we’ve seen him in for pretty much the entire show. And I get why. He’s a minor character, the plot doesn’t need him to have a paradigm shift like runaan, but I like to read into it as Ethari being the moonfam anchor. He’s the home they all come back to, he’s the warm hug they all need, he’s soft and he’s kind and he’s defined by his love for them. So when he loses his family, he loses himself. He’s and anchor with no ship. Runaan is his heart, without runaan, there is no point for there to be an Ethari, and it makes him lash out and ghost Rayla.

So. Here’s why I’m thinking about all this: Ethari making Runaan a prosthetic horn. Ethari, runaan’s anchor, helping him reforge this part of himself and shine truth onto the great lie of assassin-hood that runaan held so close to his persona. Runaan choosing to replace his belief in precision violence with his belief in love. Most importantly to me, Ethari confronting the lie he helped reinforce for runaan. Ethari seeing that he’s been making weapons to fuel the cycle of violence that in turn took his entire family and his heart from him. And Ethari and runaan deciding to help build the new world, Everkynd, where the lie and the cycle don’t have to dictate their lives.

[dom1re]

Introducing my MC

Thank you @lamieboo for the wonderful prompts! I'm taking advantage of #MCtober to finally make an introduction post. This little guy deserves a proper character sheet but alas I just don't got the time this week 😔😔 Someday!! For now plz enjoy some Sunan facts 👇

He was born in Nov of 1874 in a wizards' quarter near Whitehall. He was the only child and grew up pretty close to both his parents. That was, until he was sent to a Muggle boarding school at 13. He kept in touch with his father, but his mother not so much.

His middle name is Ernest. He never thought it suited him.

While at the boarding school he dyed his hair brown to fit in. Reverted it as soon as he returned to the Wizarding World at 15. He still does sometimes when he needs to evade the Rookwood Gang, but hates it. Reminds him of his time as a squib.

The gray hair runs in the father's side of the family. The asymmetrical dimple is from his mother.

Has a small golden pocket watch with him at all times. He fidgets with it when he's bored or anxious. It was a gift from his mother. He won't admit it but it's one of his most prized possessions.

Another one is his broom. He fell in love with broom-flying the moment he took laps around the castle with Everett. When he's not working on homeworks with Sebastian and Ominis he can be found on his broom trying new techniques, or playing two-a-side Quidditch with Everett, Nellie, and Natty. Secretly enjoys watching them bicker over rules and fouls.

He's active and always hungry. Often carries sandwiches or fruits with him. He will eat anything except slimy foods (and durian). Why is jellied eels a thing anyways?

Has a bossy little owl named Oliang, or Oli for short. The brown hawk owl was his father's gift upon his start at Hogwarts. She will ignore you if you don't have treats. She will peck you if you have them but don't give. She can always tell.

He doesn't know his Patronus yet. Perhaps he'll find out soon.

He's not as mature as he thinks. He believes he's done all the growing up after narrowly avoiding death many times during his first year at Hogwarts. But really he's still got a long way to go.

(feel free to check out my fic and learn more about Sunan 😌)

[rosquinn]

Thoughts on the dr stone petrification scars

Big disclaimer,

This is just my personal thoughts and stuff I put together n noticed, a subjective interpretation, don't take it seriously Im probably wrong

Some of these are very elaborate while others are just me pointing out details I liked. Sorry. I'll start with the longer rants

This post contains characters (currently) exclusive to the manga and main plot spoilers. Maybe I'm looking to much into it but I swear to motherfucking God there's scar symbolism. anyway

Senku and Taiju

Something that always stood out to me is how similar their scars are both in shape and position, except that Taiju's is cut on the right eye and the points are on opposite sides. Now listen to me... Senku and him are opposites; one's big brained but physically a twig and the other one is the strongest most resistant man you'll ever meet but doesn't really understand anything about science. That's why opposite scars and why they need each other to go on... But their marks are in the same direction because they have the same goal and interests + deep down they're both extremely caring people who would do anything for those around them, despite how different and contrasting their personalities are at first glance.

Oh and Senku's marks are completely symmetrical and do NOT go away. Idk logic perseverance etc + Taijus are more coarse and asymmetrical. To contrast their way of thinking I think. They could be similar because they were the first ones to wake up from the petrification too but you know

Francois & the Nanami brothers

Francois' scar looks like explosion or sound waves. (Manga) Ryusui snaps his fingers to call them creating a similar shape, which is really cool I'll admit. Their scar is on their hand, just like Ryusui's.

So, both Ryusui and Sai also have scars on their hands, except Ryusui's may resemble a glove so pirate-like if we don't count the color + it's on the hand he snaps his fingers with. Mark resembling a rich man or a pirate's glove on the same hand he uses to call his butler and ask for service, and it only covers his fingers. Could be something like a symbol of power/status.

On the other hand, Sai's scars completely cover the lower part of his arms and hands, which are what he uses to code. Sai ran away in order to be able to schedule quietly and is completely locked in his work. Tell me you get it please

Yoo

I'm getting into crack theory with this but please do bear with me. His scar makes him look like Alex, the protagonist of A Clockwork Orange. A Clockwork Orange deals a lot with the theme of unscrupulous rebellion, hurting someone because you think you have complete freedom, and police brutality, which are big parts of Yoo's character. As far as I remember the eyelash marks are left on the MC after being forced to watch 484737 movies showing super brute crimes so he understands what he is doing is wrong and redeems himself. Yoo covers his face a lot to hide the mark and only removes the piece of stone that covers it at the end of the manga when he is 100% team Senku.

IN ADDITION, something important in A Clockwork Orange are the vulgar idioms and slang that teenagers invent and are completely unknown to the viewer and curiously the name and surname of Yoo are formed by informal interjections in Japanese. I've only read the book tho, never watched the movie so if I got anything about the eye marks wrong mb

Tsukasa and Stanley

I really like how similar their scars are, considering both were absurdly overpowered antagonists that had to be defeated using much more advanced science + both kill Senku at one point + their eyes are similar to some extent. I love parallels

Dr Xeno

Scar becomes? White? Splits into pieces? After he's revived a second time and decides to help Senku. Something about his ideals splitting/changing maybe. And being no longer evil thus willing to kill teenagers

Gen

Gen's scar seems to resemble a mouth that changes shape depending on whatever emotion he's feeling (or pretending to feel). I don't have anything else to say genuinely peak character design, specially taking into account that facades are a huge part of his arc and relationships with other characters (let's remember that he's the one to suggest everyone paints their scar again in solidarity with Senku. Hm).

Yuzuriha and Mirai

Yuzu's resemble the roots and vines that protected her body while she was petrified, while Mirai's make her look like a baby chicken breaking out of its shell. I think they're both cute details considering their characters:)

Homura

Considering she's a gymnast who uses her legs a lot to move, I find cool that it's on her thigh. It makes her legs look like they're cracking

Hyoga

Very circular and repetitive, something related to his weapon maybe. I find interesting that he covers them. Insert cursed speech jujutsu kaisen joke

Addition: Ukyo has no visible mark which is also cool on its own way, given that one of his abilities is easily perceiving sounds other people don't notice at all

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jonathan V. Last at The Bulwark:

We now see that most institutions are weak in the face of authoritarianism. JVL’s Law is: Any institution not explicitly anti-Trump will eventually become useful to Trump. I originally thought this would apply only to media orgs. Turns out that it applies to everyone and everything. From Ross Douthat to John Fetterman, from Paul Weiss to Facebook. All of our institutions are the Republican party now.

This is an extraordinary moment and it requires extraordinary vision and actions. We must stop viewing political life through the lens of American politics as we have known it, and adopt the viewpoint of dissident movements in autocratic states. The Democratic party has more to learn from Alexei Navalny or the protesters in Serbia than it does from Chuck Schumer or strategists obsessing over message-testing crosstabs. This battle is half mass mobilization and half asymmetric warfare. Over the next year those tactics will matter more than traditional political messaging as it has been practiced here in living memory. Once you accept that reality, our next steps become clear.

The rough roadmap for how to proceed goes like this:

Demonstrate popular power in the provinces through large-scale rallies.

Use these events to organize the resistance into a mass movement that can be called into action.

Direct the mass movement into targeted political strikes: Getting blowout wins in special elections; boycotts of Tesla; etc.

Politicize everything: Attack the authoritarians for every bad thing that happens, anywhere in the world. Flood the zone.

Elevate the corruption/graft in a way that pits the billionaire insiders against the “forgotten man.”

When the moment is right, bring this movement to the Capital for a show of strength.

Use this demonstration as a slingshot to take back legislative power in the 2026 elections.

More importantly, use it to send a message to the institutional actors that people will have their back if they show courage.1

2. The Near Term

Winning in 2026 will not be sufficient to stop the authoritarian push; but it is necessary. And the only way to win is people power. That’s it. No institutions are going to save us. The courts won’t stop the authoritarians. Corporate interests won’t stop them. The Democratic party won’t stop them, either. If the authoritarians can be stopped then the Democratic party will be the vehicle through which people wield power. But the Democratic party, as an institution, is too weak and desiccated to stage a real fight against Trumpism. It will have to be pushed into fighting by a mass popular movement. AOC’s public events over the last week have been exactly what the opposition needs.

She is making herself a rally point and telling everyone who wants to resist that they have a place to go. She should do these rallies, over and over, across the country. But not in Washington or New York. Not yet. When you look at the history of dissident movements, they almost always begin in the outer provinces. The autocrats’ power is greatest near the literal center of the government they control. The further you get from their power center, the weaker their hold and the more risks they have to take if they want to put down demonstrations. AOC went to Denver and Phoenix last week. She needs to go to Nashua and Nashville. Houston and Chicago. Oakland and Oklahoma City. The bigger these rallies get, the better. Make them ongoing events. She will need an infrastructure. It’s not enough to get 30,000 people in the streets. You need to get them organized. People in the pro-democracy space will need to help figure out how to do that—how to turn live attendance into lists that can be activated.

3. Solidarity

The last piece of the puzzle is leadership and solidarity. The dissident movement needs a leader. AOC has been the primary person to step up, though Chris Murphy and a few others have been banging the drum. Maybe in time someone else will emerge as a more potent leader for the movement they are incubating. But either way: Without a leader, this movement will not materialize. People need a rally point. History makes that clear. Whoever this leader is, she will be imperfect. In addition to being imperfect, she will not be everyone’s first choice. If you are a Paul Ryan-style conservative, you will have many disagreements with, say, AOC. If you are a progressive and Mark Cuban becomes the leader of the opposition, you will have many disagreements with him. Hear me when I say this: There can be no purity tests in the pro-democracy opposition.4 You are either against Trump, or not. If you are against Trump then the anti-Trump movement must operate in solidarity. We do not have the luxury of saying, “Well yes, I dislike Trump. But Leader X wants higher marginal tax rates, so I can’t sign on with that.” This doesn’t mean you have to agree with everyone in the opposition. Just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend it’s October 2026 and AOC is the face of the opposition. You don’t have to suddenly love the Green New Deal and single-payer healthcare. You can disagree with those policies. But you cannot use those disagreements as pretext to distance yourself from the opposition movement. Remember: Any person or institution not explicitly anti-Trump becomes useful to him. You are either on the bus or you are off. And the point of solidarity is that everyone in the anti-Trump opposition needs to support one another. Again: History is clear on this. So that’s the plan. Find a leader. Bring people together in person, far away from the capital’s control. Build momentum. Organize your supporters. Harness the power of their mass. Build toward an explicit show of strength. Take back control of Congress. And then, if we’re lucky, we can start thinking about an endgame.

Jonathan V. Last wrote a solid piece in The Bulwark on how anti-Trump forces should think and act like a dissident movement: unite on opposing Trump and Trumpist Tyranny.

[steviebbboi]

Hi love love your work ❤️ I was wondering if you’d be open for a request on Good For It Ari? Was wondering if there was a chance they get pregnant eventually? 😊 Would love a one shot about that if you’re open to it :)

Hi hi! <3 omg, thank you sm for sending in this ask!! I love this prompt too. Hope I did it justice!~

Pairing: Lumberjack!Recluse!Ari x F!Reader (Good For It)

Word Count: 1k~

Summary: The multitude of ways that Ari continues to care, love and protect you during your pregnancy. 

You could read the original fic here.

Disclaimer: ***I don't give any permission for this to be reposted anywhere! Pls do not steal work, plagiarism isn't demureeee***

Reblogs help writers reach more readers who may also enjoy our work. As you like, kindly reblog~ <3

Warnings/Triggers: reader is pregnant, pregnancy hormones, negative intrusive thoughts surrounding body image.

“Love, what do you think you’re doing?” 

You turned at hearing Ari’s deep baritone voice questioning you by the doorway. A soft, teasing smirk on his handsome face as he leaned against the doorway, just watching you. 

“The light was hitting me in the wrong spot.” You pouted while sitting pathetically down on the floor. 

Ari chuckled, “So you thought that you would try to move the armchair, on your own?” 

Releasing out a huff, “I’m pregnant, Ari. Doesn’t make me weaker or less capable.” Your pout only deepened as your face formed an annoyed frown. Looking at the unwavering soft smile on his face made you harumph, turn away from him to cross your arms childishly across your growing belly.

Ever since you got pregnant, you felt so incapable of doing the things that you wanted to do. You would waddle over to the couch and need to grip Ari’s tree trunk arms for support. Or, if you wanted to reach for a plate on the high shelf, your belly just pressed onto the counter uncomfortably as you would attempt to reach for it until your efforts could be heard by Ari, who would come over to get it for you in a second. 

In other words, it was exhausting to rely on Ari all the time. 

It’s not like you weren’t grateful for his presence, you were! You always love feeling cared for by Ari, and certainly since you told him that you were expecting, he has been so loving. ‘Love’ was his endearment on a daily basis now, and was freely said in every space. No longer was Ari, Mr. Gruntle Grumps (well, -ish. You just got exclusively better at learning how to speak ‘Ari’).

But you also loved the independence that existed in your relationship before getting pregnant. You miss the freedom of going anywhere that you wanted, the ability to get out of bed without assistance, or like now– being able to move your armchair that always seems to be a degree off center and because of that, the sun would annoyingly hit your face.

You moved it back after every use because the room felt so asymmetrical when it wasn’t in a certain position. But when you would sit in your comfy armchair for your daily read, you would either always forget to move it yourself (however greuling the task is to do), or ask Ari to move it forward before you started reading. 

Henceforth, we get situations like now where you try to deep squat (and fail), attempt to pull the chair forward (unsuccessfully) and then flail back to catch yourself and pout on the floor. You used to be able to still pull it forward yourself in the earlier stages of your pregnancy, but it's become increasingly difficult by the day as time goes by.

Nowadays, you still try to do it yourself, but you quickly give up, and eventually just practice sucking it up and suffering in the shine of the sun, less you get caught by Ari trying to lift heavy things. 

So stuck in your frustrated pouting, you finally got caught by Ari today and could almost feel the silent judgment from your position on the floor. 

Feeling tears brim to your eyes, you sniffled silently as you tried to wipe them away before he could see. You felt so irrational and your hormones just went haywire all the time. 

Suddenly, you feel a hand stroke the back of your head affectionately and you look up to see Ari kneeling over you with an empathetic look on his face. 

“You miss bein’ able to do stuff, huh.” Ari said compassionately, that soft smile not budging from his face as he continued stroking your hair. Tears fell over as you put a fist to your eyes to wipe it away.

Another thing that you have appreciated about Ari is that he doesn't judge you. Not ever, not once.

It seems like he understood how you were feeling without you having to even say anything. It was unlike you to not communicate, but Ari took the brunt of it effortlessly. He bypassed your own criticisms on his sense of judgment, he merely noticed, and just observed.

Sometimes, you would feel insecure in your body as you would notice a stretch mark blooming here and there. Or looking at how disproportionate your body was as your tummy grew.

It was a beautiful process to go through, and you so wanted this with Ari, but every now and again, your brain would tell you all of these harmful and intrusive thoughts that just seemed to eat at you the further you were along in your pregnancy.

Your brain would criticize and tell you that even Ari is burdened by you, or that he would judge you for your looks or incapabilities– even if you knew that he would never treat you that way.

Though, in a way, Ari seemed to be well-versed in protecting you even from yourself. 

Even now as he waited patiently with you on the floor, just stroking your hair and over your hunched back, he never complained. He only waited for you to sniffle your last sniffle, to look up at him with a pout as he helped you off the floor, and put his large arms around you to form a protective support and embrace. 

The next day, you saw translucent curtains hanging from the windows. That way, the sun wouldn’t hit you as harshly whilst you got to enjoy reading your book that was now comfortably lit by a dimmed, warm glow.

You cried when you realized Ari did that for you too. He kissed you on the forehead and whispered promises of adoration. The clarity of his love was so tender as he simply laid a giant hand on your stomach. 

“I got you, love.” Ari said with the same reverence of love during that time at the bar. He’s shown you time and time again how much he cares and loves you – how your comfort and safety was the intention behind everything that he would do.

He was good for it. 

A/N: lil drabble, lil drabble there 🥹 hope you enjoyed the snippet of their life. thank you again for sending in the ask!

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 27

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: we can breathe because the workplace sloth is gone.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Right, can’t start the day without something to drink,” Hela struts in with two stemmed glasses of orange juice. “Not that I think we’ll need to work very hard. Darling, you are the perfect canvas.”

You twiddle your fingers as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Mr. Laufeyson is perched in the armchair, his leg casually swaying side to side as he pinches his thumb to his index finger. You bite the inside of your lip as Hela nears and holds out a glass.

“For you, darling,” she insists, “ahem,” she faces her brother, “I don’t believe we require your presence, brother.”

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, “what do you mean? I have a good eye for colour. Given my line of work–”

“Oh yes, dusty artifacts and tacky antiques, please,” she scoffs, “this is a ladies’ matter. Besides, I didn’t bring enough prosecco for you.”

He squints up at her and retracts his hand to tap his chin. You sniff the orange juice, you smell more than just pulp. You don’t drink, or you never have. You don’t think you’ll like it.

“Always so generous,” he pushes himself to his feet, “I invite you to my home and you cast me out.”

“I won’t be taking manners on hospitality from you,” she retorts, “certainly, your house manager… is that what you call her? Well, she must know how welcoming you truly are.”

“Careful,” Laufeyson warns as their eyes bore into each other.

She cackles and flicks him away with her fingers as she spins on her heel. She smirks at you as she raises her eyebrows and sips from her glass. You peek over at Laufeyson and refrain from tasting your own.

“Don’t make me remove you, Loki,” Hela threatens, “let us not revert to childishness. We’ve enough of that in this family.”

He rolls his eyes and clutches his hands behind his back. He arches a brow at you. A wordless statement. Despite his sister’s orders, you obey him first and foremost. You lower your eyes sheepishly and listen to his soles click out of the room.

Hela startles you as she nudges the bottom of the glass, “go on. Loosen up,” she purrs, “I swear, my brother can be so uptight. This entire place is just as stiff as that rod up his… well, I shouldn’t say that.”

You try to smile and do as she says. You taste the orange juice tenuously. It’s not that bad. A bit sweeter than you expect and bubbly. You always heard alcohol burned. Hm.

“Now, what I would do,” she steps back and holds up a palm, “you could carry a structured shoulder. Oh, or asymmetric. Off-the-shoulder. A cinch here,” she comes closer and touches your waist, “a pencil skirt or cigarette pants.” 

She winks and eyes you up and down. She reaches to place her glass on the round end table near the end of the couch. She puts her hands on your waist and squeezes then drags them down to your hips.

“My, yes, you have a lovely shape under all that,” she praises as you squirm, “what are we looking for? To drive my brother absolutely mad?”

You blink wildly and sip once more, wiggling away to put your glass on the other side of the table lamp. “Just… for work.”

“Work,” she says skeptically, “sure,” she waves you off and goes to the rack of clothes, “come. I don’t mind giving an opinion but this is about you, darling. You choose for yourself. What catches your eye?”

You shyly come forward, rubbing your hands together. You’re not sure what you like better than the next. They’re all so pretty. There are pretty pieces you can only dream of wearing, they just wouldn’t fit you. The tight skirts wouldn’t be practical, how can you walk with your knees bound? And the white. That’s too easy to stain.

After some consideration but not much thought, your hand reaches out to feel a piece of magenta tulle. A sheer layer with polka dots over a satin liner. It’s really cute but maybe too much. You recoil and cross your arms.

“What do you think?” You ask quietly.

She snickers and grabs the magenta skirt, “I think this is gorgeous. A choice. That’ll go in the keep pile.”

“Oh,” you swallow.

“The colour will look marvelous on you, now something to go with it. I think this,” she pulls out a pale pink blouse with white detail on the shoulders, “balances out, but for an evening look,” she turns and retrieves a black camisole, “oh yes, this is lovely.”

You watch her lay each garment over the back of the couch. She pauses and crosses to the end table. She reclaims her drink and hands you yours. She drains hers and bids you finish your own. You do so with tiny sips. You’re still nursing the orange juice as she returns to the wrack.

“How about this?” She pulls out a pair of yellow pleated pants, “very bright but… very you, I’d say.”

“Nice,” you comment, “but… the colour.”

“Oh, I know my brother likes his muted tones but that’s his detriment,” she chides, “I think… oh, there are so many pieces. This,” she takes a strapless bodice with a large bow, “or this,” she chooses a plum satin blouse.

You just nod. You like the clothes, but you just struggle to see yourself wearing them. She turns to the large chest she had Mr. Laufeyson lug in and opens the lid. She presents several pairs of shoes. Flats, heels, booties, everything you could ever need.

“Darling, you must try this,” she holds up a sapphire dress, an off-the-shoulder cut sleeves that drape just off your arms. It’s calf-length and gorgeous. 

“I… that… no, I’d look–”

“Gorgeous,” she insists as she shoves it towards you, “go on, put it on.”

“Um, alright,” you put down your mostly empty glass and take the hanger. 

You feel the material as she picks up the stemmed glasses. “I’ll top us off and you get changed.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn but she stretches her arm out to stop you. 

“Here is fine,” she says, “you needn’t be shy with me.”

“I…” you don’t argue. She’s still Mr. Laufeyson’s sister and that means she’s more important.

You bow your head and turn away. You peer around as she sweeps through to the kitchen. You sling the dress over the couch arm and undress to your underwear. You shimmy up the dress and strain to push the zipper all the way up. 

As you bend your arm back painfully, the gate bell chimes. You flinch. You glance up at the ticking clock and your chest drops. Ronan! You look down at the half-zipped dress.

“Do you require some assistance?” The deep timbre rolls through you.

You squeak and face Mr. Laufeyson. His eyes glimmer as he takes you in. He grins and strides towards you, spinning his finger in the air. You put your back to him, if only to hide your embarrassment. 

He drags his fingertip down the bare skin of your back and sends a shiver along your spine. You press your hands to the fabric as he tugs up the zipper, the fabric drawing taut to your figure. His touch dances along your waist and up to your shoulders.

“Turn, let me see,” he commands.

“The carpenter–”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get to it,” he overrides you. 

You chew on your worries and face him. His eyes scan you head to toe and back again. His lips part slightly as you stand in bated silence. The gate bell buzzes again.

“Ugh, that is a nasty noise,” Hela appears again, “oh, brother, you just can’t help yourself. Go, mind your house, we are not even close to finished.”

“I can look,” he argues.

She scoffs and shoos him, charging at him and kicking out. He backs away, raising his hands defensively. He shakes his head and sneers.

“I’m going,” he sighs, “gods.”

He pivots and strides out. You watch after him, tingling strangely. You can’t tell if you're mortified or something else. You swear, you can still feel his touch along your spine.

“You certainly have your hands full with him,” she tuts, “though I hardly imagined I’d find a creature like you here. Please, don’t mistake my meaning. It is only, you’re not entirely his type. At least, from all I know of him.”

“I… I’m just the house manager,” you utter.

“Certainly,” she drawls and hands you a glass, “because a house manager requires the finest clothing, yes?”

“I…” you look at the glass. You don’t know what to say. You’re a terrible liar. So you won’t talk, you’ll drink and do what you’re told.

✨

You feel wobbly. The world won’t stay still as a giggle tickles in your chest. You don’t know what’s funny. Maybe it’s you. You look at your reflection. You look so silly in the flouncy peach skirt. It’s ridiculous.

“I can’t clean in this,” you hiccup to Hela as she stands behind you, admiring the mirror over your shoulder.

“Clean? Oh, babe, I hope not,” she places her hands on your shoulders, a gesture that reminds you of her brother. She does look and awfully a lot like him. Not Thor though, he’s the odd one out.

“That’s what I do,” you say dumbly, “don’t you know? I’m the maid.”

“Darling,” she hums and brings her hands to the sides of your face, pressing herself to your back, “I don’t think that’s the case anymore.” She caresses your cheeks then your neck, “you’re too pretty to be just the maid.”

“Pretty?” You bat your eyes and tense up.

You pull away from her. You don’t believe that. You can’t. Whatever she’s up to, is just another part of Laufeyson’s tricks. He likes those.

You cross your arms and flop down on the sofa. You stare at the beige heels on your feet. You pout and shake your head. That bubbly feeling bursts and you deflate. 

You bend forward and clutch your head. You feel so heavy, as if you might sink right through the couch and floor. You sense her come near and the cushion beside you dips. You wince as she puts her hand on your back.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant… well, you really are a pretty girl. If anything, I wonder what you’re doing with him,” she says, “you know, he’s so moody. Especially since the divorce, I don’t know how anyone–”

“What was she like?” You whisper, surprised by your own question, though she doesn’t appear to be.

“His wife? Oh, Sif, yes, she was… her own person. That was likely the problem,” he hums, “you shouldn’t worry about her. Trust me when I tell you, he is well and truly past that.”

You nod and sit up, “I’m sorry. I’m…” you blink, “dizzy.”

“Mmm, babe, you are a lightweight,” she reproaches, “you should’ve told me.”

“I’m— I don’t drink. He does. He drinks and he gets all grouchy and he says things. Confusing things,” you ramble without control. She’s right. You’re drunk and stupid, yet you can’t stop yourself.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she chuckles. “He sure does know how to make a mess of things, doesn’t he?”

You shrug. You can’t blame him for the mess. It’s your fault. 

“Who doesn’t like some chaos,” she puts her hand on your leg, “I can see what he does. Such a fragile little thing.”

She pets your leg and you watch her fingers as they move in your fuzzy vision. Her nails tickle you through the skirt. She pushes her shoulder against yours and reaches with her other arm to grasp your chin. She turns your head, leaning in.

“A nice little doll to dress up and play with,” she sings before her lips crash into yours.

You let out a squeak. What is she doing? Your eyes round as her tongue pokes at your lips but you keep them sealed, horrified. She’s beautiful but you don’t expect it. What do you do? Why is she doing this?

She parts, staying close, “you’re delicious,” she pushes her hand between your legs, “come on, let’s have a little girl’s time.”

She dives in to kiss you again. You’re too dazed and flustered to fight her. You squeeze your eyes shut, your thighs too as she drags her hand upward. She pushes you down, twisting your body so your back meets the cushion as your legs remain hooked over the edge. You gasp as you free your lips from hers.

“What Loki doesn’t know–”

“Hela!” Her brother snarls as if summoned by his name. 

You exclaim as she hisses and her eyes roll to the ceiling. She pushes herself off and pats her lips with her knuckles. Her dark lipstick is smeared, likely on you too. You stay as you are, paralysed, as she stands to face Mr. Laufeyson.

“We were just getting to know each other,” she says breezily.

“You certainly were,” Laufeyson approaches her staunchly, “you swore–”

“Oh, you know better,” she drawls flippantly.

“And I thought you would, especially–” he stops himself and growls. “Can I not trust anyone in this forsaken family?”

“It’s a bit of fun–”

“For who?” He challenges.

You sit up and touch your forehead. Your lashes flick as you try to see straight. Laufeyson sidesteps his sister and glares at you. You cower. He has to know, you wouldn’t do that.

His eyes search as his forehead furrows. He fixates on the end table then turns on Hela, “how much alcohol did you feed her?”

“She had two mimosas. It’s hardly a lethal dose.”

“Don’t,” he wags his finger at her. “You shouldn’t have given her any.”

“You didn’t say–”

“I shouldn’t have to teach you common sense,” he snaps.

“Now, don’t be vile. I came all the way here–”

Their argument stirs in your chest, roiling hotly. You don’t like fighting or anger. Your hands shake as you wring them and you fight the burning behind your eyes. You stand unsteadily and rock.

“I have to clean,” you say.

The siblings stop and turn to look at you. Hela gives a slanted smirk as Mr. Laufeyson frowns. He sighs and strides forward to grab your wrist.

“No, you need to sober up,” he declares.

“Oh, boo,” Hela sneers.

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

hi❤️! Could u pls give me ur thoughts on this? :

I was thinking abt the whole Yasmina coming out scene with Ben, and I can't stop seeing a subtext on this. Like, why choosing Ben between all the campers👀? And Is it "over reading" the context to say it looks like Ben knows more about coming out than he confess to Yasmina? 😅

I'm asking bc I'm afraid they'll make him straight, ngl. So I'm questioning, do u think we're really over reading on the context? bc no way fandom is the only one seeing queer subtext on this character 😭

I will answer this question in two ways so that everyone can choose their own adventure.

First of all, plot-wise Yaz coming out to Ben first just made sense! Their friendship has been steadily growing and once they overcame their initial hesitation, I think they just clicked as friends. They were different enough to be forced to learn how to understand each other from day one. Whether people agree or not, Ben is simultaneously very strong-minded and awkwardly delicate, very similar to Yaz. He will always speak his mind and at the same time, he is very accepting. I think that this is exactly the type of person Yaz needed back then - someone who would speak their opinion no matter what, would offer support and comfort But at the same time would not try to baby her. Does it make sense? I think that at that moment there was no one other than Ben who could have offered this kind of non-judgemental and honest support (also because most of the other characters were engaged in other drama!!).

It also makes sense considering their conversation in season 4 when Ben thought that Yaz had a crush on him. I mean, it couldn't get any more awkward than this, right? As silly as it sounds, in the end, it probably helped them solidify their friendship on an emotional level. At least, that's how I've always seen that.

Plus! Let's remember that Ben was the last to find out about Brooklynn and Kenji getting together! So, I guess it was fair for him to learn about Yaz's feelings for Sammy first, haha!

Okay, so that was canon, now it's time for my off-screen rambling.

I said it before and I'll say it again: jwcc Ben is absolutely queer-coded. Has been since season 1 and it has nothing to do with his looks but everything to do with the way he interacts with the world and people around him. Sometimes he is cautious, sometimes he is bold; he bites and curls in himself, he is hesitant but hot-headed; the world is a hostile place that requires taming. He likes the safety of his own shell, but once he peeks out of it - he makes the way for himself on his own terms.

I also believe that Ben was initially written as queer-coded, even if he was never meant to end up in a queer relationship (again - speaking about jwcc only). It would also kind of explain Darius and Sammy's reaction in jwct - their surprise when they learned that Ben has a girlfriend. jwcc Ben was queer-coded, his queerness was never commented upon, but it existed nonetheless. You don't have to come out to be queer, and you don't have to come out for others to be vaguely aware of your queerness. If you're any familiar with older tv shows, in which openly queer characters were a rarity, you would notice that a lot of the characters that are currently referred to as "queer-coded" were presented to the audience in a similar way as Ben was presented throughout jwcc. So yes, considering that I really choose to believe that jwcc Ben was queer-coded, I think it also explains why Yaz reached out to him. She knew that he would understand.

Additional notes:

When I say "Ben's gay-ass speech" at least two things come to mind:

1) Ben's iconic quote from season 1 - "And so what if she is asymmetrical? There's nothing wrong with being different, or bumpy," – don't argue with me "but he was talking about Bumpy" yeah, so? He was talking about "others being different", it's obvious that it's meant to resonate with more issues than just Bumpy's, well, bump

2) His conversation with Yaz when he openly said that he was "just now starting to find himself", self-discovery, figuring yourself out, sounds familiar? yeah.

I also have a whole theory (while I don't believe that the writers intended to write it as such I sometimes think about it) about Ben's entire character arc in jwcc being a metaphor for what it's like to grow up as a queer kid:

Stage one (season 1) - being in a closet, being really cautious about things you show interest in (pre-monorail Ben)

Stage two (seasons 1/2) - experiencing an event/trauma that makes you come out of a closet; as a result, your perception of the world changes and you completely redesign yourself (the "wild child" Ben era)

Stage three (season 3) - gaining courage, making statements, being bold about your choices (Ben intending to stay on the Isla Nublar)

Stage four (season 4) - understanding that just because a part of you is out, doesn't mean that you have to abandon your past self (Ben "figuring himself out", changing the habits he gained during stage two)

Stage five (season 5) - accepting yourself for who you are - queerness and everything that comes with the entire concept of you (Ben becomes a mixture of a jungle boy and that boy from season 1, these personalities merge seamlessly)

This particular interpretation is definitely me over-reading but this metaphor always worked for me, I really like it, mostly because it also reflects a bit of my own experience as a queer kid.

Hope that I answered your question anon :D