#Rendering is so hard for no reason but I love it so much at the same time….

[insomniphic]

Posting these lighting practices to fill in my lack of a posting schedule. ❤️

Ref of image above (taken by Pinterest) 👇

[hana-bobo-finch]

ii know I’ve said in the past that pumpkin daddy is Not in my minicomic he is Definitely not there he is Not but he is now. sorry guys

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 1, day 11

Cage in progress!

Yes this is part of the same tutorial project as the keys and the barrels, why do you ask? :P

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[imreaallyasorry]

Late night doodle….

[spookyji]

omFG WAIT NO MARK LEE BABY TRAPPING OMGGGGGG

# mark + baby trapping !!

tw. baby trapping, religion/god mentions (premarital sex), possessive mark, slut/whore used, umm… i don’t really write this but gave it a try for hon haha ^^ don’t like it, don’t read it.

mark’s fucked. like never before. he’s never sinned so much, ruined his holiness like he has in the span of an hour. and he’s a sinner now, broke and ignored god’s rules, hasn’t he? when he’s balls deep in your pretty cunt, fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he thrusts hard, driven like there’s no tomorrow,,, and with this sin, there might not be, not with the thoughts he’s had tonight.

shouldn’t it feel wrong, wrong to have sex when you’re not married, when mark’s not your husband and you’re not his before the eyes of god, when he’s unable to keep the sinful thoughts to himself, because god’s laws forbid pleasure between two? because fuck, you’re his before him, euphoric, heated pleasure like nothing holy’s left, the way he’s ramming his hips into yours without an inch of space, gasping hot breaths on your shoulder as he groans and grunts without pause, cunt sucking him deliciously as your juices soak his cock, lewd squelches as his cock buries in your pussy, sinful sounds filling the air as your fingers rip at the sheets, clinging for dear life as tears spill down your cheeks and wet his bed, begging’ him for more, m-mark, mark, ‘more! it’s all you can possibly think about, isn’t it?

ah—fuck– ‘s good, feels s’ good– mark groans, unable to even think straight, shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have gone so far, shouldn’t be deep in fucking his girl’s pussy before marriage, an act meant to be for the ones bound by law, not only by love, but fuck, feels like love when your fingers reach behind and try to find his, clinging to his wrist as you bury your face into his sheets, should be so deeply ashamed of the way you’ve made such a mess over mark’s cock, should be embarrassed you’ve given your virginity up to someone who’s supposed to be holy but god, is he feral when it comes to you, bruises staining your skin in splotchy patches, spit wetting the bites on your neck and shoulders from his teeth, legs rendered numb and sore from the sheer force of his rough needs.

and god, the worst sin? the way mark can’t ignore the desire, the way he feels an unforgivable urge to fuck you up with his seed, knock you up and make you his, fuck the laws of marriage,, and the shame, the humiliation of being his before you’ve made it official with a ring? you’d never leave him, you’d be his, faster and now, not later the way you always laugh about, fucking ignoring how in love he is. mark knows, there’s no good reason you won’t be his now,,, and his cock twitches at the though of filling you up with his cum, when you tell him not to, when you’ve always said he can’t because you can’t risk it, not a child out of wedlock like a whore. but you’d marry him, wouldn’t you? be his the moment you share a life, in a rush so no one will know your sins with him, having sex before marriage like a slut.

and when your words fall deaf on his ears, the clench and spasm of your pretty body as your orgasm hits, whining his name as you come undone, mark’s thick cock buried in your warm walls as he cums inside, creamy white seed filling you up full like never before, your gasps pitching with confusion and shock, as he fucks himself through his high, cum seeping down your thighs with every thrust, making sure he’s filled you up deep. and mark’s done the unforgivable, hasn’t he,,, but god be damned, it feels good, feels so good to make you his now.

lol when i say i quit religion i meant it i can’t remember sht from being a christian anymore sorry haha this is wild

[decay-1]

Soldier!Ena makes me so gay, can I please ask for another imagine of her being domineering and where she maybe calls reader cute? 🥺🙏✨️

Here you go! I mixed in 2 requests in this one; hopefully you guys like the way I went with writing this!

I'm way 2 lazy to continue editing, so it's probably kinda ass, but yea, I'd love feedback!

“Not even a fool would leave your side, my dear.”

You would’ve been killed had she not come in at the last second, blowing a shot into your enemy’s guts and rendering them dead. 

Yet… She continued firing, no matter how much you told her to stop. It kept going, bullet after bullet, blood spill after blood spill, until the entity was ultimately unrecognizable. The blood filled the dirt, seeping into the cracks caused by the war and seeping under Ena’s feet. 

The blood rippled disgustingly with each shot ringing in the air.

“It’s DEAD, Ena!”

You ran over and grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her. Your warm touch seems to have woken her up from her dissociative state.

Her stare felt off. Her actions were so… unlike her; she’s never lost her cool this much to start wasting bullets on a nobody.

You were about to ask if she was injured, but she had thrown the gun onto the dirt and practically jumped onto you. She wrapped her arms around you, firmly, as if you would slip from her fingers at any moment. One hand was firmly wrapped around your waist, pushing you into her, and the other was behind your head. 

“Ena—? this isn’t the time nor place—”

“No matter—are you okay? Injured? Did anything get its hands on you?” She shouted breathlessly over the missiles, pulling back and putting her hands all over your person to check for injuries.

You could feel her tremble, and the slight stutter in her voice was hard to ignore. It gave you a bad feeling in your chest, specifically the left side, for some… strange reason.

“No—! no, I’m alright—” You dropped your gun to grab her shaky hands, halting her frantic search. Feeling just how shaky her hands were broke you all the more. “I’m okay thanks to you… But are you okay, Ena?” 

She froze at your question, her wide eyes looking into your worried ones, as if searching for something. Her mouth hung open, yet nothing came out, and she struggled to form a single thought. She looks down at her bloodied shoes for a moment. Your warm hands over hers calms her down, knowing that you’re still there with her.

Taking a much-needed, deep inhale and exhale, she looks up at you, a serene feel surrounding her. Her hands have stopped their trembling; she seemed confident now. And she smirks. 

Seeing her back to her usual self made you nearly start to form a smile of your own.

Her hands carefully rose up to your face; she gently rubbed your cheeks as a way to comfort both you and her. A building crashing down a while away made her hair flow. Beautifully, should you add. 

Wait, what? 

Stepping closer, she spoke smoothly. 

And suddenly you forget about the war raging behind you; you forget the ash and debris falling down like rain everywhere and into your lungs.

"I am by my lover’s side now, aren't I?"

Now it was your turn to be breathless. Did she just…? The area was already as blazing hot as it could be, yet she somehow managed to make you feel even warmer. That can’t be possible, can it? What the hell is she doing to you and…and your heart? The sound of it beating restlessly took over your senses. Was that normal? Is this an enemy attack? Are you dying?!

She chuckles at your state, swiftly snapping you out of your thoughts. 

She's going to be the death of you someday, 

“God, you’re so cute,” she hums, her nose a hair away from yours.

and somehow, you’re not against it.

You sweat-dropped from all the warm feelings bubbling up in your chest. Trying to think of something—anything— to say, you then remembered something:

“Hey—wait—aren’t you supposed to be on the other side?”

She tilted her head and spoke as if it was obvious.

“Not even a fool would think of leaving your side, my dear.”

[quarterlifekitty]

A crumb of attention por favor

Your thoughts on which of the boys have a praise kink vs degradation kink vs general voice kink vs none of the above? Giving or receiving, I leave it in your capable hands

you do not want to know how much planning went into this post

cw: degrading dirty talk, daddy dom type dynamic

Gaz is very into giving praise. He loves seeing you light up. That's a must have for any sexual encounter for him. Like you could literally be giving him a really quick and dirty wank in a public bathroom at a gas station and he's still be like "god, you're so good at this-- I love you, babe". He could be convinced to be degrading, but it's never something really mean. If he calls you a slut, it's because he's saying "I love that you're such a slut for me, love". And he likes a bit of praise! Just affirms for him that you feel for him the way he feels for you. Doesn't really like to be degraded, it's too easy for him to take it to heart.

Soap wants to give all of it and he wants to get all of it. He's addicted to feeling you clench around him when he says that you're so cute and tight and wet and perfect. He likes calling you his dirty fuckin' slag as well-- he knows you're multi talented like that, and he wants you to know it too. It's all said with reverence, he loves that you match his freak. And I have said many times that this man is a dog. As such, he loves praise. Call him a good boy and he's gonna jackhammer you. Call him a naughty slut and he's gonna jackhammer you. He has a major voice kink, sometimes he gets hard when you call him on the phone for a completely mundane reason because he just likes hearing your voice. He could jerk off to you giving a lecture.

Ghost is a hard man to earn approval from. He hates that about himself once he realizes it. Giving praise just doesn't come very naturally to him, but he can spit absolute vitriol like it's his mother tongue. If you can handle it, he's going to ask if you like the way he's abusing your cunt. You'd better-- it's the only thing whores like you are good for. And he's the same way receiving. Praise makes him freeze up if it's laid on thick, he just doesn't know how to handle it. But he loves to be degraded. He knows he's a bastard, and he wants you to remind him while you milk him for all he's worth.

Price will give anything, and take nothing. It's all about what you deserve! And when he fucks you, he wants you so utterly deconstructed that you can barely speak. He wants you to be blubbering and crying and whining, you don't need words to serve beneath him. Your utter inability to string together a sentence is the best praise you could give him, really.

König is a somewhat insecure man. And once you get under his exterior, he's incredibly clingy, and can say some incredibly sappy things when he's going crazy from how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. Quite honestly, he loses composure if you're someone he really likes, so a lot of his praise and degradation is in German, but the tone is easily identified. His beautiful girl, his perfect angel, the deliverance of heaven onto earth. And much like Gaz, his degradation is mostly just assurances about how desperate he knows you are for him, how you'd do anything for this thick fucking cock, wouldn't you? But don't worry, liebe, I'll never deny you what your body was made for. And fuck yes he wants your praise. He wants you to tell him how good he is at fucking you. He wants the most detailed performance report you can give. Oh, and to tell him you love him. He has a voice kink, and is extremely weak to your dirty talk. You can render him non-functional by whispering to him, no matter where you are.

Nikolai lives to praise you. You just have to deserve it. And he has a very specific brand of degradation. He likes to condescend you. My malyshka is just so needy for my cock, isn't she? Poor thing, just doesn't know how to survive without it. And he also likes to tell you to do something he knows you're too fucked stupid to do, then tease you for not being able to do it, or for being to little to struggle. Zoloste-- there's no getting away from your papochka, my love. And there's no way I'm letting this sweet little pussy escape me. And in terms of praise, he likes when you're sweet. When you treat him well. When you're kissing up and down his shaft with wet lips, telling him how much you love his cock, how thankful you are that he gives it to you and uses it to love you the way you need.

And if you did for some reason want to see how much planning went into this, this is how much:

[emmcfrxst]

I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.

Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…

(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut

You don’t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.

“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.

“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.

“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.

“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.

“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.

You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.

“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.

“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.

You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.

“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.

“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.

“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.

“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.

“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.

“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.

“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.

“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.

You were going to be okay.

[kozachenko]

And now we have the most recent finished piece that I felt like posting today, and it's of Sanae! I would like to form a brief apology to all the short haired Sanae enthusiasts out there because her hair being long just kinda worked better for the piece lol.

Artist's Notes;

I loved working on this piece so much, it's probably my favourite drawing that I posted recently and I feel pretty proud of it.

Usually my comfort zone for lighting scenarios is dark, high contrast scenes with a lot of contrast. Recognizing this, I decided to break out of that comfort zone with something a lot lighter. I did the same technique I did for the previous Marisa piece, just with brighter colours. One thing I do find kinda funny is the fact that both times I have drawn Sanae in a full finished piece, she's always frolicking or being happy lmao. IDK but this kind of vibe just fits her for some reason. I'm really proud of how the hair rendering turned out. Even though I did the same rendering for this as I did with the Marisa drawing, I like how they both have different looks. I had a bit of a hard time with the skirt though, and I do wish that I did some more rendering on the skirt's interior. I am really proud of the hands though, one of them is in a position I don't normally draw, and breaking down my own hand as a reference helped a lot. What I did was take a picture of my hand in the same position, break down the hand into different sections/layers, and then do a replication of it on the side where I would also use different layers for different parts of the hand i.e. making a separate layer for the fingers, a separate layer for the palm and thumb, etc. I do wish I could have made her thighs a bit thicker since they kinda look like sticks though. I also wish I could have done different levels of blurriness on the little water droplets to imply depth a lot better, but hey that's just something for me to keep in mind for the next piece.

Also, I wanted to try doing a reflection thingy here with the water, and to make it more interesting I angled the camera so it looks more dynamic. I'm also really, really proud of the clouds, as I tried rendering them differently this time compared to how I usually do it. I noticed that in clouds, the edges are always kinda tapering out and while their shapes can sometimes look very neat and clean, the silhouette of them is never perfectly even if that makes any sense.

This and the Marisa piece both ended up looking a lot like how I pictured them in my head, and I'm really happy with how my style is looking right now. After this I'm probably gonna go on another hiatus so I can keep drawing for me, and then only post when I feel like I'm ready to. It'll probably be around the time when Touhou 20 comes out, and mainly so I can yap about that game eventually.

[artist-issues]

I have never seen anything so satisfyingly bad in my entire life, and we’re going on like ten years of these Live Action Remakes.

Don’t you DARE go see this movie if you love the real Lilo & Stitch.

1 - Where is Gantu? Why did they cut him out of the trailer? Is it because they haven’t finished rendering him yet, because let me tell you, that’s what it looks like for every other character.

2 - Why is Stitch so small. Why is he so small. Why is Stitch that small. He’s supposed to be the same size as Lilo. 1 because it creates more visually-appealing shot compositions when the story is focused on the TWO of them 2 because thematically he is “a future Lilo,” he is the little monster-version of herself that she could turn into if she didn’t have family 3 because the size of a 6 year-old is the perfect balance between “threatening” and “non-threatening” when he has to interact with toddlers and 18 year-old women and 40-foot-tall aliens alike. He cannot. BE. That small. What, we’re supposed to have him stand up on a stool or a stack of books or a countertop every time he and Lilo need to look each other in the eyes?? Did anyone think while making this movie?

3 - How does his orange jumpsuit look so much lazier than it does when it’s a hand-drawn collection of colors and shapes in the original?

4 - Why did they choose the take where the New Nani Actress said “nobody get’s left behind” in a whiny, exasperated voice? When the real Nani specifically delivered that line as if she were somberly, mournfully, reverently remembering what her parents told her? And then moves on to “slightly-annoyed” but only when it’s time to say “I know, I know.”

5 - Why is Stitch so small.

6 - Is that Jumba’s voice?? Why? Why is it not even deep? Why did they re-write the line so he doesn’t mention Stitch as a “monstrosity?”

7 - Speaking of monstrosities—go back and re-do Pleakley. All of him. What—what happened. What happened?? They made every alien I can see in the trailer uglier and less appealing than Stitch—which is SO NOT THE POINT OF HIS CHARACTER DESIGN—but none looked worse to me than Pleakley. He has a fish eye. It is horrifying.

8 - And they made sun-tan-ice-cream-tourist look local. So like…what’s the point of her taking his picture, then? In the beginning of the movie? He’s in the movie to be an example of a hapless tourist, and tourists mean something specific in LILO’s little headspace—she takes safari-pictures of them in her hometown like they’re a rare, foreign sight, because that’s her way of processing the reality that these are people who specifically come to her home just to leave again—and Lilo has issues with people leaving.

9 - Don’t put Stitch on a leash. Don’t do that. There’s a reason they don’t do that in the movies. 1 He is super strong and he is not trying that hard to hide his super strength, especially not when it comes to resisting Nani telling him what to do. 2 Lilo and Nani live in a very laid-back sleepy neighborhood, it changes the vibe when dogs are on leashes. It’s supposed to feel so laid-back that there are lots of free-roaming dogs and no strictly-enforced leash-laws. There are other dogs in the movie and none of them wear leashes or collars. (I know it’s small but the small choices build the movie.)

10 - Lilo. I like that little girl. She can play Lilo all day for all I care. But that is not Lilo. Lilo doesn’t get hip-checked to the ground and then sit there looking sad. I don’t—why do I have to say that? That’s many people’s favorite part of the movie, that she just goes ballistic on Mertle the minute she’s provoked. That better just be a specific edit in the trailer. They better not have cut out her punching Mertle Edmunds in the face. And you know what else? She does not. SCREAM. When she first meets Stitch! You know they could’ve done that, right?? You realize that every other character who sees Stitch for the first time reacts LIKE THIS:

BUT NOT LILO. LILO does not react like any old stereotypical girl. She also does not react like any alien from any planet or any grown women or any tourists expecting to see foreign sights. She reacts uniquely like Lilo: like a nervous little girl hoping to find a friend, who doesn’t bat an eye if that potential friend is blue and shark-mouthed and monstrous. (Everything else about that little girl is perfect, I like her line delivery, I like that she goes “pretty close” when he mispronounces “family,” the original Lilo says “pretty close” in the same tone when she’s trying to teach him how to say new words in the television series.) 11 - Why doesn’t Stitch’s face move at all? Why does it look like his eye muscles and nose muscles have no range of motion, but his lips have way too much? He’s supposed to talk with his jaws more than his lips, like how a crocodile can’t chew or keep food in so it just opens and shuts it’s jaw and throws food to the back of it’s head.

12 - Speaking of re-writing lines, what’s with Lilo and Stitch having an exchange where he admits to being “bad??” And then she point-blank says “family isn’t perfect. But that doesn’t mean they’re not good.”

Is that supposed to be a nod to Stitch saying, at the end of the movie, “It’s little and broken but still good?”

Do you know why the real Stitch is the one to say “it’s (his family’s) little and broken, but still good?” Because he’s saying “good” as in, “acceptable.” “The way it ought to be.” Not “good” as in “morally good” the way that Stitch is “morally bad.” He just uses the word “good” because Stitch can barely speak English and that was the simplest, best way for him to say what he was trying to communicate. If you take him to mean “morally good” then the whole point of the movie gets ruined.

The point of the movie is that the people in your family aren’t perfect, but imperfection won’t break your LOVE for them. It doesn’t mean you ignore your imperfections, and it doesn’t mean you embrace those imperfections and celebrate those imperfections—if it did, you know what, Stitch would still push Lilo to the ground and wreck her stuff and laugh when she’s hurting, the way he does because of his “imperfections” at the start of the movie. But instead, what family is supposed to do with “imperfections,” according to the original movie, is love you anyway and stick around helping you work through them.

That’s the whole point of “nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

It cannot mean “family members aren’t perfect but we still believe they’re morally good people.” Because that implies that it’s the fact that they’re “morally good people” that makes you stick around, when the whole point of the movie is the opposite: Stitch is objectively morally evil, and they choose to stick around anyway.

Stitch is objectively morally evil. I have to stress that. That’s the whole movie. The whole movie is “what if we start with the villain and redeem him.” If he’s not a villain he doesn’t need redeeming and if he’s not bad it takes all the power out of Lilo’s love for him.

And honestly, he never comes to terms with the fact that he’s “morally bad” in this movie. That’s not the point. He would never admit “Stitch bad” in the original movie. Chris Sanders said, “By the end of the film, he’s not a better person. He has just understood family.”

He becomes “a better person” in the epilogue. But in the original movie, Stitch doesn’t think so much about the difference between “bad” and “good.” He thinks more about the difference between “belonging” and “not belonging.”

Why is this so hard

If you like me don’t go see this movie. More importantly, if you like the original movie—if you think it was good—if you think it was excellent—accept no imitations. Do not go see this new remake.

Remember what Anika Noni Rose just said about the new Princess and the Frog shorts that are coming out—Disney is counting numbers. Do not stream. Do not buy tickets. Just stream and watch the original. And tweet Chris Sanders and tell him how much you love the old one.

[yandere-wishes]

Hi!!

I have a question... what do you think sentinels prime punshiments would look like? :3 what would be the worst one?

｡˚ ❀ ˚｡ He's so evil and sadistic...so why do I love him so much?!?!

𝄞 Real Men by Mitski

❀ The Icon of Iacon

❀ He loves the rogue sparks that fly inches from his face as he burns or rather "engraves" you. Sentinel uses his torch to engrave his name (Or rather a pretty cursive signature) somewhere on his darling's chassis. Similar to what he did to Megatron. He'll trail his digits over the resplendent scar later on. Making sure he feels every dip and curve of his name across her armor. Every shiver and shutter that runs ramped through his beloved darling's frame.

❀ Sentinel Prime isn't a gentle bot. He prefers to not see himself as barbaric just determined, steadfast. That's why he plucks the tires from his darling's body, not because he's cruel but because he'll do anything to keep her by his side. Although it's hard to find an excuse for how he relishes in the warm energon that coats his digits as he thrusts them into her open lacerations. Hard to find the right words when he's trailing open-mouthed kisses between gaping iron and savoring her ethereal taste as he eagerly licks her gushing wounds. Not cruel, no immoral...just in love.

❀ Her alt mode is rendered utterly useless. Pretty shiny thing that can't move. It leaves his darling ruined emotionally. She can't bear the state she's in. The grotesque useless thing she now has to transform into...

❀ So Sentinel rips out her T-cog. He does it to preserve her mental state, he swears. Does it so she won't have to turn into the form she's come to despise so wholeheartedly...And maybe if he's allowed a moment of selfishness he'll confuse in hushed tone whispers that he may have also done it to prevent her from running away.

❀ Although the procedure entirely depends on how his darling behaves. If she's sweet and docile, only ever trying to escape from his golden grasp. Then he'll take pity on her and permit her to remain unconscious through the whole thing, he's only doing this for her after all, he doesn't want her to suffer but it's necessary to keep her safe. Things are always "necessary" with him.

❀ However if his darling is feisty headstrong and constantly putting up a fight, a constant threat, metallic rose throne at his side, daring even to try and harm him. Then he'll definitely rip her T-cog straight from her chest, making sure she feels each wire snap, the grotesque unnatural expansion of her metallic chest. The rigorous pop of your diodes. The gory crunch of circuits snapping, forced to release the precious organ. He wants her withering in the pain. Looking into his optics and finally understanding that he owns her.

❀ The thing about a bot like Sentinel is that they can so easily look in a mirror and only see justice and golden paragons. Blood-soaked rhyme and reason that always ends with them draped in innocence relishing in the thing they want most. Bots like Sentinel, bots whose deific power ripples through every vein of a planet. Can never be painted as monsters, as wretched. They have too much authority and excuses to be anything but wholly perfect.

❀ You'd been so used to internal pain. The righteous crack of sparks, blunt anxiety cascading through your circuits. Maybe it's cause there isn't much that can harm a Cybertronian, not much that dents and rips celestial steel. But with him, everything is outwards. The churn of a nervous stomach is nothing compared to the rippling agony of a broken leg. Sentinel rips the pain from your metallic viscera, baths you in your own ichor, bedaubs you in pain as he calls you his "sweet little lover".

❀ "I hope Primus sends you straight to Unicron!" You can't help but scream between tears and traumatized sobs. You straighten your spine, knees folded to your chest. Your energon pools beneath you, pouring from his latest mauling. Open-ended wires spark as they make contact with your blue essence.

❀ Sentinel only chuckles, sky-hued optics playfully darting to the ground. 'Dear Primus, I don't believe in you'... but all he offers his darling is a sweet sugar-laced smile and a saccharine peck on the cheek.

❀ Sentinel will never admit it, it's hard to show such benignity when you rule an entire planet, but maybe -just maybe- at the end of the cycle his favorite misery to besiege upon you, is when he grips your chin or cheek and tugs you towards his lips. Savouring your ethereal taste. When he guides your servos to his chassis, pulling you closer till both are one. When he can just hold and kiss you. Just be with you. A romantic scene framed eternally by Cyerbtron's setting sun.

❀ If you close your optics, you can almost pretend to be in love...

[alnair-jpg]

In your Olympics au, Will spent a year in Italy where he presumably met Nico. Have you thought about how they crossed paths?

Okay, so first, I'm sorry this took me so long to get to. I've been preparing it for weeks.

Second -

YES. <3

Drew: Thank you both so much for agreeing to chat with me.

Nico: You followed me around for days until I agreed, I could barely piss in peace.

Will: Nico! *Nico shrugs*

Drew: It is true I had to resort to different methods this time as my usual methods are rendered moot.

Will: What?

Nico: She flirts with the athletes, relentlessly. You should have seen how flustered she made Jason. Piper was pissed.

Drew: And yet I still have not gotten to the bottom of their story… Anyways, we’re here to talk about you. You caused quite a stir at the final, Nico. Can you tell us what you were thinking?

Nico: That I had just won gold? And… that there were only two people I wanted to share that with.

Drew: And those two people were?

Nico: My sister… *Nico glances over to Will* and this guy.

Drew: Ah yes, that was quite the gesture, leaping over to the medic area. Will, what were you thinking in that moment?

Will: Just that I was so proud of him. He worked so hard to get here.

Drew: Yes, several years I’m sure. Though is it true Nico that you took a break from the sport after the last Olympics?

Nico: I did, yeah. I needed some space from it. Bianca and I had shared skateboarding for so long it was… difficult. To do it without her. But eventually I missed it and I took some time to find my love for it again. That’s how I met this dork actually.

Drew: Oh yes! I would love to hear more about how you two met! There’s a lot of speculation out there.

Will: It’s kind of cute actually

Nico: I wouldn’t call fumbling over a sprained ankle in broken Italian, cute, sunshine.

Will: Oh yeah? Then why’d I keep running into you days after?

Nico: Okay… it was a little endearing. In a stupid way.

Will, grinning: Anyways, what Nico meant was that we met while I was visiting Venice in my year abroad. I was working as a temp nurse in a few places before I planned to travel around a bit and I happened to be walking by the skate park when he took a nasty fall.

Nico: It was barely anything…

Will: -and without really thinking it through I rushed over to help, because that was what I was there to do, right? Trouble was Venice was my first city and my Italian sucked so I’m pretty sure I asked him if he was in bread instead of in pain. Luckily he took pity on me and switched to English. You must have thought I was so dumb.

Nico: The words meddling American idiot came to mind.

Will: Well when I realized it was barely a sprain I was pretty embarrassed and resolved never to walk past that skate park again. So imagine my surprise when the next day I nearly get run over by a dude on a skateboard.

Nico: You walked into my way…

Will: Sure. Which is why, as an apology, you offered to take me to get gelato which later turned into drinks. And then dinner.

Drew: Real smooth, di Angelo

Nico: Hey, it worked…

Drew: So did you spend most of your time in Venice then?

Will, smirking: No, actually.

Drew: Oh really?

Will: I moved on to Rome a few days after we met and it was another few months before I saw Nico again - sitting outside a gelato place in Florence… nearly 300km from Venice.

Nico: Like I told you, they have the best gelato in Tuscany

Will: And that justifies the three hours of travel?

Nico: Well, I had some other business there too.

Will: Uh huh, sure. Anyways, for some reason I kept running into Nico every few days after that. Eventually, when my temp gig ended and I planned to travel around a bit I told him he should just come with me. Sure enough when I got on the train the next day I found Nico already waiting in the seat next to mine. We travelled around the country together for the next three months. And honestly, traveling with a local made it a thousand times better than what I had planned.

Drew: How sweet! It must have been devastating when it came time to return to the states.

Will: It was… hard. I half expected to see him waiting in the airport when I landed, but he wasn’t.

Nico: I wanted to… but I had to get back to training. Traveling with Will helped me remember why Bianca and I had been so excited about the games in the first place, the new adventures, the new experiences. I realized that just because she couldn’t share them with me, didn’t mean I shouldn’t have them. So I promised Will that if he could get himself to the games, I would see him again, on the podium.

Drew: Truly an Olympic romance for the ages. Does this mean this is the first time you’ve seen each other since Will’s trip?

Nico, nodding: yeah.

Will: With Nico’s training and my work schedule, we couldn’t make another visit work, as much we wanted to.

Nico: It was extra motivation.

Will: I hope he’ll take a bit of a break now, though.

Nico: I think I’m going to have to or both you and Dionysus will have my ass.

Drew: And what do you hope to do with this well earned break?

Will, smiling as he turns to Nico: What was that you said Nico? New adventures and new experiences?

Nico: Yep.

Will: I’m thinking a couple dozen of those.

Nico: As long as I can share them with you.

[bigmacari]

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

Ena (Joel G YT Series) x Reader

☆Your polygon girlfriend tries to

help you through your homesickness.

☆Warning(s) None!

☆Author Note(s) I'm in love with her, your honor! This is just a cute one-shot I whipped up. Let me know if you want more 🤗

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

☆ when you first dropped into this bizarre world, the 50 mile per hour clouds and poorly rendered brightly colored textures made your head spin. As you walked around, you could quickly tell that up was down and left was right in this universe. In other words, nothing made sense, and rules were merely suggestion.

Your human body, which seem much more fragile compared to the entities roaming around, was often overwhelmed with dizziness and nausea. Said entities looked as though they were a from a 90's video game, and a very creative one as everyone here seemed to have there very own design. Minus the mannequins, which you would see around more often than not.

All this to say that you stuck out like a sore thumb, your highly detailed 2160p60+ figure was hard to miss. Most would stare and gawk, some would whisper, little would actually asked about your existence. Here, it seems that your presence was profoundly abnormal and you did not certainly fit in.

Thats until you met Ena of course.

A strange woman with irregular hair and an even more irregular emotion state. You found shortly after meeting Ena that her half blue, half yellow wasn't only for looks, but also a tell-tale sign of her two strong personas. Her two voices collided together in a harmony that you've never quite heard before.

After meeting Ena, it seemed as though she took you under her wing, guiding you through her world hand and hand. She gave you a place to stay, food to eat, and most importantly, her company. So much company in fact, certain feelings between the two of you started to bloom.

Eventually her normal becomes yours, at least to the point were it didn't give you a headache anymore. Though, even if you have an amazing girlfriend and a general idea of the abstract universe you have landed in, you can't seem to shake off the feeling of missing your own home.

The only time you only really got to see it was in your dreams, but even those seemed to fade, being replaced with low rendered replicas of what your life use to be. When a particularly hard day hit, you would sometimes lay under the fast moving, oddly realistic clouds and wonder how your friends and family were doing.

Ena, of course always notices your dismay, and usually joins you with a fall onto the ground and a "My dearest, are you not well?"

☆

This brings you to now, laying next to Ena, on some grass that looks like it could be from Minecraft, looking up at the at the ever moving sky above. It was a quiet moment, which was rare, not only because the world was never this calm, but becuase Ena was uncharacteristically unmoving.

You started to wonder if she glitched, as she would that ever so often for no apparent reason. But as you open your mouth to speak up, Ena speaks up in a whisper you've only heard rarely.

"Tell me about your normal."

You turn your head to look at her, only to see she was staring at you for what you can assume is the entire time. The look on Ena's face concentrated, more than you've ever seen before. It made you a bit flustered, having her stare at you so intently, you had to fight to keep your eyes on her.

"My... normal?"

She suddenly shoots up to a sitting position, her heading spinning as she claps her hands together.

"Percise!" She then grabs your hand with her both of hers, pulling you up to sit with her, then rests your hand against her chest. Almost as though she was putting your hand over her heart.

"Tell me what made your inner spiritual and physical being sing! Or a existential cwisis that made your swoul sink!" Still holding your hand, Ena is now pulling you back and forth, her face flashing between yellow and blue.

You hesitate, not because you didn't want to tell her about your life before, but because it was just...hard. Remembering something so far, so untouchable, made your heart hurt a little.

"Well, my life before here was pretty boring..."

Ena stops shaking you, then let's go of your hand. She scoots over to be closer, just until your shoulders are touching. Then, she bonks her forehead against yours, staring at you intensely.

"I don't think your existence is mundane, I want to know what makes your psyche."

You feel a smile grow on your face, staring back into her eyes softly, you plant a chaste kiss on her nose. Her eyes widen and her face flashes through a couple colors before landing on a pink. You lean back and giggle, then you lay back on the ground while pulling her with you.

You start thinking about the world you came from, bring up memories of fond moments. You even found yourself smiling at some.

The rest of the day was spent laying on the small grass patch with you rambling on about different things. You switch between topics easily, telling her about your job, schooling, hobbies you liked, music you listened too, and movies/shows you enjoyed.

The entire time Ena never seemed to lose interest. She listened intently and with curiosity, and eventually snuggled up to lay on top of your chest.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

[mystictimemachinedream]

Irrevocably Yours

a/n: I always wanted to make a yandere x yandere fic. I feel like it didn't come off as dark as it could have been lmao.

Cw: Yandere x Yandere(which means usual talks about killing, love potions, confinement, etc), Yandere!Levi, Yandere!MC(but you're trying to do better), Double Penetration, Rough Sex, Levi having two dicks, some dub-con(there's protests at first but MC actually wants him), Fem!MC, kinda ooc.

----------------------------------

It was becoming too much—how you felt, the way your emotions churned inside you like a storm you couldn’t control. You were trying so hard not to give in to your usual behavior, to be normal, to keep it together. But the obsessive thoughts, the relentless impulse to take, to control, to own, were beginning to creep up, growing stronger with each passing day.

You’d managed to keep that side of yourself under wraps—relatively speaking—by focusing on anything and everything else. You buried yourself in distractions, anything to keep your mind off the darker urges. That was why you avoided relationships, why you pushed away any romantic feelings.

But that wasn’t enough anymore, because you were in love. Completely and utterly in love. The target of your affection was Leviathan, the shy, awkward, but endearing otaku. You hadn’t meant for it to happen; you’d kept your walls tall and unyielding, only offering detached friendship to the demon, just like you did with his brothers. But somehow, that detached friendship had morphed into an actual friendship.

You reasoned with yourself that it was okay to have a friend, as long as it didn’t become more. Friendship was harmless, right? You could handle that.

Wrong.

You quickly went from being just another normie to becoming his Henry, and with that came a shift you hadn’t anticipated. He started dragging you into his room more often, refusing to let you leave with those big, sad eyes and that lovely blush on his face. He’d ask you to stay just a bit longer, his voice tinged with a plea you found impossible to resist. Maybe your mistake was relenting so often, convincing yourself that you were doing it for the sake of your friendship, feeding into the denial that you weren’t crossing a line.

It was during one of those many nights spent gaming together that the truth hit you—like a bucket of ice-cold water. You were infatuated with him. The realization came when you found yourself wondering how you could keep him isolated, how you could ensure that no one else could be around him but you. The thought startled you, made you question everything. You were trying to be good, to do better. You couldn’t possibly be infatuated. That wasn’t you, not anymore. So you decided you needed to distance yourself from him, just a bit, so you could get over whatever it was you were feeling. It should have been easy, right?

Wrong again.

You didn’t anticipate Leviathan’s persistence. You thought of him as too shy, too easily flustered to chase after anyone, least of all you. But he never gave up. He whined in your ear, his voice desperate and needy, tugging on your clothes like a child afraid of being left alone. He even went as far as staying in your room with you, refusing to leave your side. It was so out of character, so unlike the Leviathan you thought you knew, that it rendered you speechless every single time. (And maybe, just maybe, another mistake you made was not paying closer attention to the hidden obsession lurking in his eyes, the way they darkened with something deeper, something more dangerous.)

Seeing such persistence warmed your heart, though. It showed you that he was willing to fight for you, to keep you close no matter what. Infatuation quickly turned into love—so completely in love. But just because you were in love didn’t necessarily mean it had to be obsessive or controlling, right? It could be a pure love, right?

Completely and utterly wrong. (And you wondered, in those rare moments of clarity, was anything you decided ever the right choice?)

The thoughts about being the only one around him consumed you. The maddening jealousy you felt when you heard him talk to his friends online, the burning urge to destroy all of his Ruri-chan merchandise—because how dare he love anything else but you?!—the overwhelming need to check all his electronics to make sure there was no one else… it all started to eat away at you.

All you could think of was him: Leviathan, Leviathan, Leviathan.

But still, you tried. You tried your best to fight it, because you were trying to do better. To be good. You wanted to love him in a pure, wholesome way. You didn’t want your love to be so obsessive, so twisted. But it was getting harder and harder to suppress the urges. (But were you really even trying hard enough, or were you just kidding yourself?)

It took all your willpower not to give in, but even with that, there were small things you did without his knowledge—like taking articles of his clothing, savoring the way they smelled of him. You took harmless peeks here and there at his computer and even his phone (and it wasn’t like he made it hard to figure out his passwords when he put it in right in front of you). Occasionally, you’d discourage him from going outside, convincing him it was safer, better to stay in. But it was all harmless, at least that’s what you wanted to believe, because at least you hadn’t snuck in a love potion to make him yours. (Not yet, at least.)

Still, you knew deep down that you couldn’t continue like this. The thought of hurting Leviathan twisted your heart—but you would, without hesitation, if he ever so much as looked at someone else. HE WAS YOURS. The intensity of your love for him made it clear that you needed to try again to put some distance between you, even if it meant spending time with one of his brothers instead. (It was almost laughable how desperate they were for your attention.)

That decision is what led you to your current predicament. It was your fault, yes, but your intentions were pure—at least, that’s what you told yourself. (Or was it that you were just too afraid to surrender completely?)

“I can’t,” you repeated firmly, holding your ground as you rejected Leviathan’s invitation to hang out. “I have plans with Beel.”

“P-Plans?” he echoed, his voice thick with disbelief, as though the word itself was foreign to him. His tone softened into a desperate plea. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Beel will understand if you cancel.”

The way he looked at you—so sweet, so hopeful—almost broke your resolve. But you knew you had to stay strong. “I already said I can’t. I’ll hang out with you afterwards.”

With one last, fleeting glance in his direction, you turned and walked away. If you had only looked back, you would have seen the dark, ominous scowl that had settled on his face.

When you returned from your outing with Beelzebub, who was sweet but unbearably boring, you found yourself debating whether to go see Leviathan. But you decided against it, reminding yourself of the need to maintain your distance, no matter how much it hurt. You clung to that conviction even as you ignored the constant stream of message notifications chiming from your D.D.D while you got ready for bed.

And maybe—just maybe—if you hadn’t been so completely lost in sleep, you would have noticed Leviathan standing silently at the foot of your bed, his demon form fully revealed, with slitted, orange-glowing eyes fixed intently on your figure.

This pattern continued for an entire week. You spent time with one brother after another, each day rejecting Leviathan’s invitations with an ache in your heart. But then, something strange started happening. Random pieces of your clothing—mostly your panties—began to disappear. Objects like your notebooks, chapstick, hair ties, and even pillows vanished without a trace. By that point, you knew it wasn’t just your imagination.

It made you want to scream. Someone actually had the audacity to take your things—and how dare they covet you when you belonged to Levi! The thought burned in your mind, making it nearly impossible to focus as Satan tried to engage you in conversation at the cat café. The soft meows and gentle purring of the cats around you did nothing to soothe the growing anger bubbling inside. Every time you saw a playful swish of a tail or felt a soft nuzzle, your thoughts drifted back to the house, to the annoyance you were going to have to deal with. You knew you’d have to investigate more thoroughly the moment you returned.

Once the two of you finally arrived back at the house, you were on a mission. Barely muttering a goodbye to Satan, you made a beeline for your room, your heart pounding with anticipation. The hallways blurred as you stormed through them, your mind solely focused on getting answers, to check and see if anything else went missing. Reaching your door, you flung it open with a force that made the hinges creak. But the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

Leviathan was sitting on your bed, his posture casual yet somehow possessive, as if he owned not just the bed but the entire space around him. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, you faltered, the anger you had felt earlier mixing with surprise and something else you couldn’t quite name (was it excitement?). You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should have in the stillness.

“Levi?” you questioned, your voice wavering slightly. The intensity of his gaze when he finally looked up at you made your breath catch. His usually soft and shy demeanor was replaced with something far more focused, almost predatory.

“Did you have fun with Satan?” he asked bluntly, his voice low and steady. The stillness of his figure, the way he didn’t move a muscle, made you instantly cautious. It was like he was waiting for something—for a slip, a crack in your composure.

“I did,” you lied easily, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue. The truth was, you had hated every second of your time with Satan, and it wasn’t just because of him. You loathed going out with any of Leviathan’s brothers.

Leviathan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he observed you. It felt like he could see right through your lie, peeling back layers to uncover the truth you were trying to hide. The intensity of his scrutiny almost made you shiver. But then, as quickly as the tension had arisen, it dissipated. Leviathan looked away, his fingers beginning to fidget with his D.D.D. The shift in his demeanor was almost surreal.

“W-would you like to come to my room? We haven’t s-spent time together,” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. When he looked at you again, his eyes were no longer sharp and probing but soft and vulnerable.

You hesitated, weighing your options. It should be fine to go with him this one time. You told yourself you’d make it quick—just a few minutes in his room, and then you’d leave. The sudden foreboding feeling you had should had deterred you yet you chose to ignore it (or maybe you just didn’t want to see the signs right in front of you).

“Sure.” A word that sealed your fate.

As you walked with him through the dimly lit hallway, the anxiety grew stronger, tightening its grip on your chest with every step. Leviathan was close enough that you could feel the occasional brush of his arm against yours, and each touch sent a jolt through your body, heightening your unease. The closer you got to his room, the heavier the air felt, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. You wondered if you would be able to bolt if things spiraled out of control, your mind already calculating the distance to the door and the speed you’d need to escape.

When you both stood in front of his door, the tension in the air was palpable, a suffocating presence that made your skin crawl. It was almost ominous when he opened the door and gestured for you to step inside, the sound of the door creaking open like a warning you were too stubborn to heed. As you walked in, your eyes darted around the room, searching for anything out of place, but everything looked the same. His usual setup, the familiar clutter of manga and figurines… So why were you feeling like th—oh.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on his desk. Those were your items scattered across it, some new things that you hadn’t even realized were missing yet. And there, in his tub, nestled among his many sheets and body pillows, were your clothes, panties and pillows, arranged almost reverently.

You stood there, paralyzed by shock, even as you heard the door close behind you, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing loudly in your ears.

“Levi, that’s… my stuff, my clothes,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he heard you. He was standing so close behind you now that you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your back, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked, his voice low and eerily calm, completely ignoring your statement as if it were irrelevant. His breath tickled your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t what you expected. Leviathan wasn’t supposed to be like you, caught in the same struggle, battling the same obsession. The thought made your heart race. That wasn’t good—you didn’t want to be pulled further into obsession, into depravity. You wanted to be normal, to be better, to be good. You chanted those words to yourself like a prayer, a desperate attempt to cling to sanity, even as you finally turned to look at him.

He was looking at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his eyes locked onto yours as if you were the only thing that existed in his world.

But you couldn’t give in. You were determined to have a wholesome, pure romance with him. You had to resist, had to keep things from spiraling out of control.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he grabbed your chin with a firm hand, his hold almost bruising in its intensity (and his aggressiveness shouldn’t have been so arousing to you).

“Things were getting too… intense. I just wanted a bit of space so things could mellow down between us,” you answered hesitantly, your words stumbling over themselves as you tried to make him understand. But even as you spoke, you could feel the flimsiness of your excuse, the way it barely held together under the weight of the truth.

“Intense?” He grinned, a smile that was more a baring of teeth than anything else, with an almost maniacal edge to it. His eyes gleamed with a knowing light, as if he could see right through you, as if he knew all the things you’d done behind his back, all the secrets you thought you’d kept hidden.

But you stubbornly kept your mouth shut. You could do this—you could talk him down, make him see reason. You would keep your distance and regain control (liar, liar, liar. All you did was lie).

“I know you want me. At first, I couldn’t believe it because why would you want me? But then, you started taking some of my clothes.” He looked deeply pleased as he let go of your chin, bending down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he spoke. “I could even feel your envy, your jealousy when I’d game with my friends or when I gave too much attention to anything else that wasn’t you.”

You sucked in a breath as he slowly nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a jolt of sensation through your body, heat pooling in your core despite yourself.

“I thought things were going well,” he paused, his voice darkening as he continued, “but then you started spending time with my brothers. You were ignoring my messages and invitations to come to my room.” As those words left his lips, the nipping grew harsher until he bit down on your neck deep enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood. The sudden sharp pain made you yelp and squirm in his grasp, but his hold was unrelenting.

He snarled at your attempts to break free, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you froze again, your body betraying you as a wave of desire crashed over you. You wanted to give in so badly—you wanted him to be yours. You wanted to be his. This side of him was so unexpected but definitely not unwelcome.

“I need you to explain yourself. Now.” His grip tightened as he fisted his hand in your hair and yanked it back harshly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You licked your lips, trying to steady your breathing. “Levi, this just isn’t… healthy. I’m trying to do better.”

He scoffed, as if your answer was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “We want to be with each other. Does anything else matter?”

His words were tempting, far too tempting. But you wanted your love to last, to be built on a solid foundation (but really, you were just a fucking coward).

“It does matter. How about you let me go back to my room so we can think about this?” you suggested, your voice trembling slightly. The grip on your hair tightened, pulling at your scalp, and you winced in pain (but you wanted him to be even more aggressive, to show you how much he loved you).

“You, better than anyone, should know that you aren’t going anywhere. If I have to tie you up, then I will.” He released your hair with a sudden force and pushed you down onto the floor. The impact was harsh, and you barely managed to catch yourself with your hands before your head could hit the hard surface. He stood over you, a blank expression on his face as he watched you struggle to steady yourself.

“L-Levi, just calm down. We can talk about this,” you pleaded softly, your voice trembling as he dropped to his knees, caging you in his arms against the cold, hard floor. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the coolness of the floor beneath you. If he kept pushing, you knew you would give in.

“For someone who wants me just as badly, you’re protesting too much.” His voice was low, dangerously calm, as he leaned his forehead against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips. “But don’t worry, I’ll fuck the fight out of you. And if that doesn’t work, well, I don’t mind using other methods if it means keeping you with me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted. Heat pooled between your thighs, your panties already soaked through. You almost moaned at the sheer threat in his voice, and you wondered just how much rougher he’d get if you kept resisting. Would he lose control entirely? (You hoped he would.)

“Levi, please. We can’t,” you whined weakly, your resolve wavering as his lips brushed against yours. You somehow managed to turn your head away, but the gesture felt futile. The air around you shifted as he pulled back, his energy darkening. When you glanced up at him, his demon form was already out—scales glistening under the dim light, coral horns out, his tail swaying predatorily, and his glowing orange eyes fixated on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Fine, I guess we’ll do this the hard way,” he growled in your ear. The words sent your mind spiraling, and before you could fully process what was happening, everything became a blur of heat and sensation.

You gasped, eyes widening as his hand slid under your skirt with purpose, fingers expertly finding your soaked core. He moaned—a deep, guttural sound that sent a thrill through your body—when he felt how wet you were even through the thin fabric of your panties. It was the only confirmation he needed, the last bit of proof that you truly wanted him, needed him, despite your feeble protests.

With a heated urgency, his hands tore away your panties and skirt, ripping through the delicate fabric like it was nothing. Your shirt and bra followed, shredded under his impatient touch, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air and his hungry gaze. He didn’t waste a second, pulling you into a smoldering kiss that was all heat and desperation. Just like that, your resolve shattered, crumbling beneath the weight of your desire. You returned the kiss with equal fervor because you wanted—no, you needed—him so badly it ached.

He smirked against your lips when he felt you go pliant in his arms, the tension leaving your body as you surrendered to him. His mouth broke away from yours, only to descend upon your chest, his hot breath trailing over your skin as he left a path of bruising bite marks in his wake. Each nip sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, drawing breathless moans from your lips.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he zeroed in on one of your nipples, his mouth hot and eager. He sucked on the small nub, his tongue swirling around it before his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. Meanwhile, his thick fingers pumped into your wet, warm cunt—two at first, then three, and finally four, stretching you open with a pace that was fast and merciless. The sensation was overwhelming, the roughness almost too much to bear, but you craved it. You needed more.

He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t let you catch your breath as he fucked you with his fingers, driving them in deep with each thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles that had you crying out, your body arching off the floor. The pleasure was intense, almost unbearable, but you loved it.

You hugged him closer, your whines and pleas for more filling the room, mingling with the sounds of your slick arousal as his fingers moved in and out of you with relentless speed. He was going to make you cum already, and you hadn’t even gotten started. His mouth finally released your nipple, leaving it glistening with his saliva, and he pulled you into an almost desperate kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he curled his fingers just right inside you.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth, and your cunt clenched around his fingers, gushing wetness all over his hand. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, riding you through your orgasm as if he wanted to wring every last drop of pleasure from you.

It was all so rough, so fast, but it felt so right, like this was exactly how it was meant to be. You could only watch with half-lidded eyes, your breath coming in short gasps, as he finally pulled his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Your juices coated his hand and he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He leaned back, his glowing eyes never leaving yours as he reached for his zipper. The sound of it being pulled down was almost deafening in the silence that followed. He didn’t bother fully undressing, only tugging his jeans down just enough to free his cock—no, cocks. He had two of them, thick and throbbing with need.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him, and your cunt clenched on nothing as you imagined the sensation of him fucking you open on those thick, pulsating cocks. The mere thought made you shiver. You spread your legs wider, a silent plea, an open invitation that had him settling between them eagerly.

“This messy cunt belongs to me,” Leviathan rasped, his voice low and gravelly, as he rubbed both of his cocks against the slick folds of your cunt. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp as he gathered the wetness on the heads of his cocks, teasing your entrance with slow, deliberate movements. “You belong to me. I need you to remember that because I will kill anyone you so much as look at for too long. I don’t even want you leaving my room at all.”

You mewled softly at his words, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, and you knew in that moment that there was no going back. You couldn’t deny it anymore—couldn’t even pretend to care how twisted your love had become, how unhealthy it likely was. All that mattered was that he was finally yours, and you would do anything to keep him that way.

“Do you understand?” Leviathan’s tone was harsh as he gripped both of his cocks firmly, positioning them at your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, just the tips breaching your slick, swollen folds. The stretch was intense, borderline painful, but the pleasure that accompanied it was undeniable. A high-pitched moan tore from your throat as your eyes became teary at the sensation.

“Levi!” you whined, desperation lacing your voice as you attempted to roll your hips down, to pull more of him inside. But his tail coiled around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“I asked you a question. Do you understand?” Leviathan remained still, his gaze dark with lust, waiting for your answer. When you didn’t respond quickly enough, his hand moved to your breast, fingers tugging one of your nipples harshly. The sting made you gasp, a mixture of pain and pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. “Or are you so cock-drunk already that you can’t even answer me?”

“I—I understand,” you panted, finally finding your voice. You reached up, your hand tangling in his hair as you yanked him down, bringing his face closer to yours. “But that also means you belong to me. I will kill you and myself if you ever try to leave me.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and you felt his cocks twitch at your words. His lips crashed into yours in a sloppy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue, as if he was trying to devour you whole. The kiss broke only when he pulled back to latch onto the side of your neck that was still unmarked, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in, marking you with more bruises that would be visible for days. And then, with a snap of his hips, he thrust both cocks fully inside you.

The stretch was overwhelming, the sensation of being so utterly full making you sob with pleasure. He didn’t give you time to adjust, his pace punishing as he pounded into you, each thrust harder and faster than the last. It was as if he were releasing all the pent-up anger from the week you had avoided him, taking out his frustration on your body. But you welcomed it, craved it even. You’d always loved the bite of pain with your pleasure, always been a bit of a masochist for it.

Moans mixed with cries of pleasure, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. It was loud, lewd, and unmistakable, and you knew anyone within earshot would know exactly what was happening. But the thought only fueled your desire for him, making you arch against him, desperate to take him even deeper.

You felt another orgasm building, coiling tight in your core as one of Leviathan’s cocks hit your sweet spot with each thrust, while the blunt tip of the other bumped against your cervix, making you see stars. The sensations were overwhelming, your mind going hazy as you babbled incoherently, slurred pleas and moans spilling from your lips.

Leviathan’s eyes were glued to your face, watching every expression, every reaction. The sight of you—completely fucked out, cock-drunk and lost in pleasure—sent a surge of smug satisfaction through him. He moaned loudly, the sound almost desperate as he lifted your legs, pressing your knees against your chest, and somehow, impossibly, drove even deeper inside you.

You wailed as another orgasm tore through you, your cunt clenching and throbbing around him, the pleasure almost too intense to bear. He whined at the sensation, his own pace faltering as he neared his release. With a final, forceful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed flooding your cunt. The feeling of him filling you, marking you from the inside out, made you moan weakly.

He panted heavily as he finally stopped cumming, his breath ragged as he slowly pulled out, even as you whimpered from the overstimulation. Cum leaked from your thoroughly used cunt, trailing down to your ass as he admired the state he’d left you in.

For a moment, he just looked at you—as if memorizing every mark, every bruise, every inch of you that he’d claimed. Then, with surprising gentleness and a now adorable flush on his face, he picked you up, holding you close to his chest. He carried you to his tub and he climbed in, laying down with you on top of him, his arms wrapped securely around you as he pulled a soft sheet over both of you.

You snuggled closer against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion washed over you. The romance between you two was never going to be pure, never going to be simple. It was twisted, dark, and even dangerous—but it was real. You belonged to each other, and that was enough.

You would do anything to keep him because Leviathan was finally yours. And really, this was the best outcome you could have hoped for. Now, you didn’t have to go through with your darker plans of somehow knocking him out and trapping him somewhere. You only hoped he took you seriously about never leaving, because you truly would kill him if he tried. He belonged to you, after all.

[feinecutasy]

New Tenant

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ stood anxiously in front of the flat. The landlord, ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ, so far had been very wholesome and welcoming. Almost unnaturally so. The young man’s mind drifted to memories of their first meeting.

---

It was too good to be true. A fully furnished studio flat, right in the city’s centre, with monthly rent not even above 70% of market price. Photos and the description showed nothing unusual – not even a hint of outraging demands or potential contractual traps, aside from a preference for a quiet, not too party-going tenant. The offer had already been up for a week. There must be a catch. An offer this good would have vanished in less than 2 days. There's only one way for Steve to find out.

Steve stood anxiously in front of the flat. Setting up an appointment was relatively straightforward, and the warm and energetic way in which the deep-voiced owner communicated had definitely helped in keeping his doubts at bay. He had imagined Peter Choi, the owner of a flat that was – perhaps not too coincidentally – barely a few steps away from the Korean district, to be some slim, slightly conservative middle-aged ethnic Korean man looking to further increase his hard-earned wealth. The very moment when he heard an enthusiastic „Hi, you must be Steve! I’m Peter. C’mon in!” booming out from within the flat, his preconception was completely shattered.

The man in front of him was an imposing tower of sheer muscles, with pale skin, a buzz cut, bushy eyebrows and a full, even bushier beard. Patches of hair chaotically lined up his chest, a glimpse of which was made possible thanks to the top two undone buttons of his shirt; the poor thing struggling to contain his hefty, herculean pecs. His youthful face was acne-covered, his neck thicker than Steve’s thighs, and his dilated grey eyes not too different from those of a weed-lover after a fat joint. Fortunately, and unfortunately at the same time, Steve couldn’t sense from the man the distinct stoner’s smell, only one accumulated from spending too much time in a sweaty locker room. Still, the signs did little to curb in Steve’s mind the image of a druggy youngster to whom the thought of free time not spent pumping iron would seem greatly outrageous. The brutish built was more befitting of someone who suffers brain damage in the wrestling ring for a living, but nevertheless there was a classical, Michelangelesque handsomeness in his visage, and the faint insidiousness of a shrewd businessman in his manner. And there was also … something else. Something uncanny that Steve couldn’t figure out. Oddly enough, perhaps it was this „something” that had rendered Steve’s instincts dysfunctional, for in other circumstances, he would have immediately bolted away from the sight of such a man and the number of red flags.

Steve convinced himself of the flat’s mint condition after having checked all of its nooks and crannies. The company of Peter was greatly appreciated, as the man turned out to be a great conversationalist. Steve was already hooked, and when Peter said that he would love to have someone calm and understanding like Steve as his new tenant after the last one wrecked his place, he was determined. The generous landlord even offered Steve dinner at a Korean restaurant nearby, and after having all his questions answered („Yes, I took my wife’s last name. Hard to find a pasty white guy with a Korean last name, aye?��, „I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s just genetics. I don’t do drugs.”) and his belly stuffed with soybean stew, kimchi and grilled pork belly, Steve happily signed the tenancy agreement.

---

Steve stood anxiously in front of the flat, bags and suitcases by his side. It didn’t take long for Peter to arrive. The two exchanged greetings and quickly entered the flat. Just like the first time they met, Steve felt unease for no particular reason. A shiver went up his spine as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but the discomfort shortly dissipated he was reassured by his landlord’s radiating energy and rambunctiousness.

„This is the key to the flat, this one … for the gate, but you can also use a code. I’ll send it to you on WhatsApp. Much quicker that way, actually. This one for the letterbox. And … I think that’s basically it”, Peter smiled warmly as his he handed the keychain to his new tenant. After having the latter thanked him, he stepped towards the table to fetch something.

„By the way, I brought you some pizza!”

A mix of gratitude and embarrassment momentarily seized Steve. It’s their second time meeting and he was already receiving so much from his landlord. He blurted out a few words of gratitude, unable to hide his excitement upon seeing the pizza box in Peter’s meaty hand. Placing the box right in the centre of Peter’s field of vision, the bulky man opened it with his left hand in one quick, swift motion.

There was no pizza. Inside the box was a smooth, slick, black creature that somewhat resembled the legless amalgamation of an ant and a spider had it not been for the writhing fleshy mass of thin, long tentacles – which looked more like the skinny tassels trailing behind a jellyfish – floating in front of what’s supposed to be it head.  Light bounced off its chitinous carapace, bringing out a vibrant purple sheen. In the place where there were supposed to be eyes, a slit ran across the curved surface, parting the roots of the tentacles into two orderly clusters. The thorax, which connected the head to the rest of the body was in essence a bumpy, ragged, solid and relatively passive hump.  The most striking of its features was the abdomen – a voluptuous, oblong sac covered by a veiny, glossy membrane that revealed strange organs pulsating within a clear gelatinous substance inside.            

When Steve could finally process the outlandish scene unfolding in front of him, it was already too late. In the blink of an eye, thousands of fleshy threads shot out and latched onto his face while at the same time contracting, bringing the creature closer to him. Each of the threads touched the surface of his skin, flattened out before taking on the same colour and texture as his own flesh. They then softly dug into his face, slowly assimilating with his facial nerves. Instinctively, Steve tried to scream, but a wall of flesh was already formed before his mouth, blocking any sound from coming out. His attempt to use his hands to yank the thing away was in vain, for Peter was already keeping both of his scrawny limbs in a tight grip.  

With his sight partially obscured by the wall of flesh that was now linked with his mouth, Steve could see the creature’s thorax split into two, revealing a more organic, fleshy organ slowly making its way out. His eyes could only perceive colourful waves of light hovering above the organ, for his human vision lacked the precision required to notice the row of microscopic, hooked needles slowly protruding out from the creature’s middle. The organ slithered to his side until he could no longer see it, slowly positioning itself straight behind his back. Steve could only feel a slight tickle on his nape, oblivious to the fact that his nervous system was already subdued.

Steve’s eyes dilated. All struggles had ceased. Peter loosened his grip on Steve as the latter’s limbs relaxed. His breath stabilised. The adrenaline rush has been quelled, and his heart rate and blood flow had returned back to their normal paces. Steve looked dully ahead, though whatever his eyes perceived, his brain registered none of it, for it was being distracted by something else. Someone or something was crawling through his mind. Memories in random chronological order flashed on and off abruptly inside his head. Highschool feud. Second job. Drunk on the tube. Lost in the shopping centre. Deployment. First love. Bike incident … He then started to realise that some of these memories weren’t his. He could vaguely made out the personas who owned them. A macho construction worker from Eastern Europe. A young, inexperienced American soldier. A middle-aged Korean immigrant …  All but one sets of memories ended in one exact same moment, which Steve now knew would also become a part of his memory shortly after.

The fleshy wall in front of his mouth pulsated, pushing the creature’s sac pushed closer and closer, until it finally entered his oral cavity. The carapace dropped to the floor, producing a faint clank. The pulsating continued as the viscous, translucent liquid was pumped into Steve’s mouth. His compromised nerves pulled on, gently nudging him to swallow, after which the whole content of the sac was free to travel further inside his body.  

Intense heat spread through Steve’s whole body. His now heavy testicles sagged down greatly as the scrotum struggled to adjust to their new combined weight after the latest influx of extraterrestrial, invigorating material. Acnes broke out over his face and elsewhere on his body due to its unfamiliarity with and inability to process bursts of testosterone in the span of mere seconds. His cock twitched with anticipation, growing longer and thicker; the head swelled, glistening with pre-cum. Alien energy induced extreme growth in all of his cells. His frame expanded, muscles bulging beneath smooth skin everywhere in parallel with his growth in both the horizontal and vertical direction. His clothes were starting to yield. His underwear gave in to his virile front and his ever-expanding muscular rear. His jeans surrendered to his man-crushing colossal thighs. His t-shirt torn from the pressure of his thickening biceps, triceps and the two still swelling hairy mounds of meat on his chest. His body tried to regulate the never seen before amount of intense heat inside but to no avail: the suffocating smell of sweat had already dominated the room, and it won’t be long before his body develops a reeking body odour that no deodorant nor showering could ever get rid of. The flesh wall that covered his mandible earlier had been absorbed into his body. His face took on all the facial features of Peter – his bushy eyebrows and beard, his strong, straight nose, down to his piercing grey eyes that are now still dilating due to the creature’s earlier interference. The fleshy organ that was attaching to his nape finally detached from its shell. The lump of flesh burrowed deeper into his neck, transforming it into an even thicker and muscular one that would put any professional wrestler to shame. His Adam’s apple as a result grew and protruded out a little more to make room for his enhanced voice box, further deepening his voice.    

In the room, two identical hulking men stood face to face, one clothed, one practically naked. Beneath their feet lied an empty pizza box and a carapace of some unidentified organism.  

---

3 years later …

ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ stood anxiously in front of the flat. The landlord, ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ, so far had been very wholesome and welcoming.

Almost unnaturally so.