#TY HEL!!!

[hammity-hammer]

HERE'S MINE !!!! :

we're twins helli belli look at us go (the character type)

also the hair was so hard cause my bangs do not match any of the hair with any of the styles😭😭😭

im gonna no pressure taggggg: @highkingpenny @someforeignband @corrodedcorpses @singledadharrington & anyone else that wants to!!

tagged by @kermit-the-hag thanks lovely!! 💜💜💜

use this picrew to make an icon that looks like you irl

no magical color eyes | make it look as much like you as possible | you can do whatever with the background

(they said as realistic as possible, so that includes the resting bitch face lmao)

and take this quiz (how would a fandom treat you)

fuck yeah

no pressure tags:

@steddie-island @augustjustice @hammity-hammer @oakenorcrist @skiddit

[aquaquadrant]

Rhngn situation to make me cry just hit me over the noggin,,

Imagining Bravo shouting about how Vile and Disgusting and Evil hels players are, trying to convince Jimmy that Tango is Not Right For Him - only for Jimmy to look right past Bravo and at Timmy - starving, dilapidated, suffering Timmy. A version of himself that he presumes Bravo has been dragging around, and he sees how Timmy absorbs that information. Imagining the WHIPLASH on Bravo as Jimmy points out "All hels players? Timmy is RIGHT THERE, look at him -"

I sob hysterically - I DESPERATELY NEED for someone to point out to Bravo THAT TIMMY IS R I G H T THERE AND HE IS H U R T I N G and how Bravo's words ARE JUST AS CRUEL AND JADED AS ANY HELS PLAYER.

Alternatively, that one meme of that lady holding up some guy while pointing a finger at someone, except make it Jimmy holding Tango and Timmy whilst pointing at Bravo.

Aaaand oh god the parallels of how Jimmy and Bravo truly *aren't* well matched in how while Bravo is dogmatic in his hatred and detests hels and their players, Jimmy has such a capacity for compassion, I couldn't possibly see him hating even a hels version of himself that could be everything he may hate in himself. FUCK THE NARRATIVES ARE SO GOOOD. I will forever chew on this au, thank you Aqua and thank you Lunar for this masterpiece.

accurate meme is accurate^^

[silverskye13]

rotating some asks you answered back in July in my head

uve told us so far that if a hermit grows past their problems, the helsmet that was a manifestation of those problems dies, and if a helsmet grows past that problem that they were made to address, they become their own person, and sometimes even a saint

...what happens to the hermit, in that second case? do they still have those problems? does it change shape? is a new helsmet created to take the spot the other helsmet left behind?

Some important distinctions:

If a hermit addresses the problem that made their helsmet: An RnS example being, if Tango realized he had a codependency problem and worked on that problem, so that codependency was no longer a problem that impacted his daily life, his helsmet would die. This is growing past the problem by solving the problem, and changing so that the problem no longer harms you.

If a helsmet addresses the problem they were made from: An example being, if Tanguish realized he was the manifestation of Tango's codependency issues, and recognized that wasn't the only thing he has to be, he is other things as well. This may end in solving the problem, no longer being codependent, but doesn't necessarily have to end that way, the emphasis is on becoming your own person, not on solving a specific issue. This is growing past the problem by not letting it define who you are.

When a helsmet self-actualizes, becomes their own person undefined by the problem that created them, nothing happens to their hermit counterpart. Their other half was already their own person. I think at most they might feel temporary relief -- something that was weighing on their soul, dragging them down, reminding them of faults and failures, is gone. However, the root of their problem isn't solved. So the universe could make a new helsmet. Or, because that problem no longer weighs as heavily, a new problem could take its place and the universe will make a helsmet for it instead [this is what I imagine keeps happening to Xisuma lol].

In my mind, the helsmets are like the incarnations of a narrative device. The hermits have no reason to change -- they live in a relatively consequence free world. To inspire them to change and be better people, a helsmet is made. In a standard character arc, they would meet their evil half, do their battle at the center of the mind that addresses that evil half, defeat that evil half, and leave changed for the better.

But if a hermit doesn't want to live that story [Tango] or if a helsmet doesn't fit that story [Tanguish], sometimes the universe does weird things.

Hopefully? That answers your question?

[rachiecrown]

Hermitcraft community what are Hels

I'm trying to learn about them but I can't really find a text post that has the basic information, only stories and descriptions of different "Hels characters", and from what I understand is that they're the opposites of Hermits?

Is there an original source this stems from, or did someone make an au one day and others just hopped on to it? And why is it called Hels?

Please someone explain I really love it when there's an evil version of a character ToT

[lokiinmediasideblog]

EP02:

So Ullr can’t have kids because god sperm is probably not compatible with mortal eggs. He hopes by finding Frigg and getting their full powers back, this can be fixed.

Some vegetative patient called Rob is speaking old norse now. There was a flashback. I think Rob was Ullr’s wife’s boyfriend first? LMAO, Ullr is played by the same dude in the flashback and looks the same age as now a la BCS.

So Axl (Odin) has to find his soulmate Frigg to keep his family from dying and regain their full powers. They die if he dies before finding Frigg.

I guess I don't mind Ty (Hodr). The name keeps making me think he’s Tyr. He’s a short king, and very pessimistic.

In Norse mythology, Hodr is the blind twin of Baldr and the God of Darkness (contrast to Baldr’s light). He was framed by Loki who gave him a sprig of mistletoe to throw at Baldr.

Here he has ice powers and works selling fridges and repairing them. I find him the most tolerable of the Johnsons. I'm disappointed they didn't include disabilities from Norse mythology. Hodr is BLIND!!! He'd be much easier to identify like that too!

Axl has to find Frigg, so he is advised to fuck as many women as possible. This just pisses me off.

Axl does not deserve her (her name’s Gaia). She’s too good for him. Glad she sees that now.

TBC... I need a break...

[helsex]

I imagined the ‘only you could turn a nothing burger male character into a fat woman’ anon as one of those old Uncle Sam posters. Only YOU can make this background MALE character a BEAUTIFUL fat woman!! Enlisting fat Hels troops

SO REALLL AMENNN 🔥🔥🦅🔥🦅🦅 where are my fellow soldiers attt

[deathlonging]

loving your meagan era sm ❤️

tyyyyy hehe such a short window b4 shakespeare girl summer hits i thought this was going to be one of my only temporary urls before the familiar embrace of preachersdaughtermp3 brackets all the playsposting but of course that has no basis in history for a reason. she's here to stay for the month at the very least i think <3

[nightmarefuele]

@inkstainmuses || { hehehe. }

❝ Sinister! ❞  comes out a cackle, a question that already knows the answer to itself.  ❝ Nonono. Not you. Well . . . maybe. You don’t seem like the type. Except you’re starting to look to me like a guy who’s a lot less content than he makes himself out to be. All that, caaalm-ness, that soothing sort of way about ya. ❞  Still, they’re not so far apart. When a narrowing thread plays between Joker’s eyes this time, it casts them in shadow; black of melty grease and unreliable paints.

❝ Looks like a not-so-solid picture, you ask me. ❞

Picture, like the kinds people twist themselves through special pains in order to keep.

Ignoring the way Pixie here blows him off, inclining his shoulders, his eyes like the angler fish 𝒽𝓎𝓅𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒾𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 a prey. The Joker hovers in, illusion of deeper closeness. His spine curls like the start of a question-marked in his bones.

❝ Look at ya. Hm? ❞  A statement? A flirthint? Deep-sea eyes track up-to-down (but maybe that’s just ‘cause he’s lookin’ for “the secret”), focus on that pre-tty hair, all like river torrents around a reeeal open throat.  ❝ And what a name, too, sorta like it belongs in a myth somewhere. . . . No, really, I think I’m onto something—starts with an ennN? Nnn…ebraskan? Necrosis, uhhh, nap-tha-lene? Nitrogen? ❞

Curious.

[woundthatswallows]

top five fragrances :)

whisky 1969 by thin wild mercury

tempo by diptyque

accord oud by byredo

dorian by black phoenix alchemy labs

glossier you

[carygrantsbeard]

top 5 gay old men 😻😻💔

1. Cary grant

2. Elton john

3. Gene Kelly

4. Anthony Perkins

5. ROBERT DE NIRO’S GAY DAD!!!

[galaxygermdraws]

Info on hels keralis?

So, anon, my partner in crime when it comes to Helsmits, @micer2012, already made a very lovely and in depth post about Isel. So I am just going to link that

Here ya go. Please mind the content warnings this is a lot. Isel has been through a lot for such a little guy. He has Helskizz’s name engraved into his chest. Don’t ask.

[aquaquadrant]

Why do I feel like Etho and Patho would actually really get along well. Like there'd be a minute of "oh shit" then they'd be making some weird machine together.

Also any chance you would be willing to share the story about Patho's clock and maybe info on Hels Bdubs?

(honestly? true. patho isn’t bothered enough w the concept of being a doppelgänger so he’d be chill w etho if etho was chill with him. and etho’s like. always chill. anyway idk if this’ll answer ur questions but here’s uhhhh something)

~*~

patho pauses at the top of the netherrack hill, boots hissing briefly as he shifts off a magma block.

xyz: -12,485.167 / 67.09835 / 253,295.942

the coordinates ever-present within his field of view tell him he should be another hundred or so blocks away in the z axis, but he can already see the jungle’s grown since his last visit. it’s been slowly overtaking the neighboring nether waste biome for a couple decades, now. rate of growth has held constant, unchanging. that's something, at least.

patho slowly scans the horizon. words and numbers flash across the left half of his vision as his cybernetic eye rapidly processes new information based on visual input: netherrack, netherrack, crimson nylium, grass, jungle wood, jungle wood, jungle leaves, weeping vine. light level 3, 3, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4. there's a lava pool eleven blocks over in the x axis; light level 15.

he starts walking again.

153 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 23/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 18 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,487.331 / 65.21091 / 253,375.987 block: -12,487 65 253,375 chunk: -780 15 7,835 facing: south (towards positive z)(1.5/5) client light: 5 (0 sky, 5 block) biome: error:nether waste local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 5/247 + 0/8

the data shifts with every step. he's learned to tune most of it out by now, only paying attention to the biome indicator as he crosses the chunk threshold.

biome: error:crimson jungle

particles and sounds immediately jump up a couple degrees. glowing red specks dance slowly in the air, mingling with the ambient noises; hoglins rooting around in the brush, parrots calling unseen from the canopy above, lava bubbling in a pool nearby.

p: 35 sounds: 23/247

the temperature is warmer here. patho shrugs off his jacket, letting it hang at his elbows as he picks his way through the jungle. he doesn't even need to think about where he's going, coordinates left ignored at the edge of his vision. he's taken this path many times before, and he never has to wander very long.

his boots crunch softly on the nylium and grass terrain. jungle leaves and crimson fungus alike brush at his shoulders as he ducks underneath branches, taking care not to get tangled in weeping vines.

this is his favorite jungle. it's not the only crimson jungle he's ever come across- not to mention the warped jungles- but out of all the biomes he's seen, it's the one with the greenest leaves. something about this jungle sustains the normal trees just as well as it does the fungi, allowing the grass and leaves to stay bright and full instead growing in wilted and brown. it makes a lovely contrast with the blood red fungi.

not for the first time, he's thankful that the jungle is far enough away from spawn to be left alone. if other players knew about this place, with its well-sustained passive mob spawning and greenery, they'd destroy it for resources for sure. but he never worries too much about that possibility, because no mob or player sets foot in this jungle without permission from-

a weeping vine suddenly sprouts from the ground and lashes around patho's leg.

it's quickly joined by several more, snaking out from the undergrowth to wrap around his other limbs. before he can blink, he's lifted off the ground and pulled up into the trees. he doesn't struggle, doesn't panic- this is nothing new to him. the vines string him up among the highest branches, where a familiar figure is crouched in front of him, nothing but a pair of glowing red eyes beneath a heap of moss.

<player>dat -7063fdce-39ac-4a12-d836-a990c45b2bb0

"hey, dbubs," patho says casually.

the figure straightens up, hood falling back to reveal his face. his huge red eyes are sparkling with excitement, despite the dark circles lining them, and his mouth falls open in a wide, sharp-toothed grin. vines of varying shapes and sizes curl lazily around his body, small tendrils sprouting from the mossy cloak he wears. a couple veins of red discolor his skin, crawling up his neck and across his face. his messy hair is a bit whiter than the last time patho saw him, tinged red at the roots. a clock hangs around his neck, to match the one hanging from patho's hip.

"patho!" dbubs practically shouts, throwing his arms out.

sounds: 24/247

before dbubs can say anything else, patho asks his usual question. “what’s your name?”

“what’s my-” dbubs blinks, works his jaw for a second. “GODSLAYER666,” he proclaims loudly, puffing his chest out. then he pauses, frowns. “wait, no, i- i don’t know why i just said that. uh…”

it’s somewhere in the middle, then. not as bad as his worst days- at least he’s aware he’s lying, even if he has no control over it. and patho has to admit, that's one of the most entertaining responses dbubs has ever given to his little test.

"uh huh." patho shifts in the web of vines. they're holding a bit tighter than normal. of course, he could still easily break out of them. if he wanted to. "did you miss me, dbubs?" he asks instead, his voice teasing.

dbubs throws his head back to let out a sharp laugh, sending a shower of red particles fluttering through the air. "what?" he demands incredulously, his eyes blown wide. "miss you? i d- eugh, n'you stupid- i- i didn't even notice you were gone!"

patho hums with amusement. "then you don't wanna, like, kiss me or anything?"

"no," dbubs insists stubbornly, even as he comes closer. he steps boldly into patho's space, hands coming up to grab his face. "no, no of course not, i don't..." his long eyelashes flutter as he looks patho up and down. he smells like moss; like old vegetation and decay. there's soil and dried blood caked under his fingernails. "why would i- you ha- you have a lotta nerve..." dbubs tugs at the left strap of patho's mask, tilting his head. "do i- uh, do i get to see ya?" he asks, expression suddenly eager.

"yeah," patho chuckles.

dbubs grins widely, pulling patho's mask down. for a moment, he just looks at him. his calloused hand scuffs along the metal parts of patho's face- the entire ramus of his left mandible and most of his cheekbone, lost in the explosion that took his eye. the remaining skin is rough with scar tissue. dbubs strokes his thumb along that, too.

"i lo- um, i- i hate your stupid face," dbubs mumbles before he finally kisses patho. he seems to process his words a second later, breaking away with a small gasp of "oh! i d-", but patho simply leans in again, reclaiming his lips.

he knows what dbubs meant.

~*~

dbubs spares patho the trouble of walking, simply having the vines carry him to the hideaway. it's a difficult base to categorize: part tree house, part nest, part garden. in some places the floor is made of wood- in others, just a thick layer of leaves. there are potted plants and hanging vines everywhere, interspersed among stacks of barrels and moldy bookcases. little red mushrooms sprout from walls made of thatch and tree trunks. a couple of shroomlights provide gentle lighting as glittery particles drift through the open air; red, from the biome itself, and green from the spore blossom that patho brought him last year.

the vines unceremoniously drop patho onto the makeshift bed- a mat of moss and old, shredded banners. he's barely gotten settled, pulling his mask up and pulling his jacket off, before dbubs flops onto him with a heavy wuff.

"so!" dbubs starts loudly, propping his elbows up on patho's stomach. "what brings ya to see ol' dbubs today, huh?"

patho huffs a laugh. "what, i can't just stop by to say hi?"

"oh sure, okay." dbubs rolls his eyes, one of his vines flicking through the air dismissively. "you j- yeah, okay, be all secretive, then! see if i care." his haughty demeanor doesn't last long, though, as he shimmies up a little further, arms folded on patho's chest. "d'you- uh, do you wanna hear what i've been doin'?"

patho sighs good-naturedly, shifting so he can tuck his arms behind his head and lean back against the wall. "alright, go ahead."

dbubs beams at him and immediately starts telling lies. he tells patho about all the amazing things he's built (the jungle looks the same), all the incredible battles he's fought (no one's entered the jungle in years), all the wonderful places he's gone (he can't leave the jungle).

but patho doesn't mind that it's all lies. he's content to listen anyways.

they carry on like this until dbubs suddenly pauses, scrambling for his clock. "uh oh! gotta schreep."

patho glances at his own clock; dbubs is right on time, as always. that's one thing he never lies about. "okay, okay," he says, pushing dbubs off- he hits the moss with a soft thump. "lemme get my anchor."

"well, hurry up already!" dbubs shouts impatiently, vines swatting at patho's arm as he pops down his ender chest.

after placing the anchor and setting his spawn, patho reaches up and presses his finger directly into the center of his left eye, shutting it off.

he doesn’t regret putting a data processor into his cybernetic eye; the information it’s given him is invaluable. but every now and then, he needs a break from it. even when his eyes are closed, the display is still active, showing blank values on the back of his eyelid. turning the eye off is the only way to make it go away- of course, at the price of half his vision. so he only does it if he’s sleeping somewhere fully secure, and if he’s alone.

the jungle is an exception. dbubs has full domain out here- no mob or player can come close to his home without him allowing it.

"finally," dbubs huffs as patho settles back down. he's quick to cling with both his arms and assorted vines.

patho can't help but chuckle. "what's that you said about not missing me?"

"oh, shut up!"

~*~

patho abruptly reenters consciousness, emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep. with a soft groan, he fumbles to turn on his cybernetic eye, wincing at the sudden influx of data.

149 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 1/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 52 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,587.412 / 96.77253 / 253,401.623 block: -12,587 96 253,401 chunk: -783 15 7,845 facing: north (towards negative z)(1.5/5) client light: 7 (0 sky, 7 block) biome: error:crimson jungle local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 27/247 + 0/8

"goooood morning!" dbubs calls, over on the other side of the little nook. he's busy rummaging through barrels, perhaps trying to find some breakfast. it’s unlikely he has any food stored; when he’s hungry, he hunts, and the jungle always provides.

"mornin'," patho says, rubbing his face. he sits up- and then pauses. there are weeping vines wrapped tightly around his legs. he sighs. “dbubs, you’re doing it again.”

“what?" dbubs manages to sound surprised. "no! no, i’m not, i’m- i’m just over here, minding my own business, crafting a loom.”

“a loom,” patho repeats flatly.

“yes! for um, for banners.”

“do you even have any wool?”

“do i ha- uh, of course! yes, of course i do.”

“can i see it?”

“no. no, i- i just ate it, actually. um-”

“you ate it?”

“yeah. sorry.”

patho sighs again. he kicks the weeping vines away. "i uh, i didn't mean to be gone for so long," he says, rising to his feet. "but, you know, i- i got held up with a job."

"a job?" dbubs glances over his shoulder at patho, squinting. "what kinda job?"

patho stretches his arms above his head, hearing both his natural and mechanical shoulder joints pop. "some guys out west are tryin' to make a portal out of hels."

"a portal?" dbubs's mouth falls open. "oh, for goodness sakes- and you call me a liar!"

patho knows better than to take offense. "it's true. they've got a player who came here from another world."

"uh huh." dbubs scoffs, but he can't quite hide the anxious shimmer in his eyes. "yeah, yeah, sure... so- i mean, did you do it, then? make them a portal?"

"basically." patho shrugs. "i uh, i told them everything they needed to know, to make one."

"right. you told th- okay." dbubs nods, bites his lip. "um- you didn't stay? to see the portal? or, uh…”

patho chuckles, crossing the distance to put his arms around dbubs's waist. "nah. i mean, come on, you know me, dbubs. i'm a- i'm a hels player, through and through. what's the rest of the universe got that's better than this place, right?"

dbubs grins at that, slotting his arms through patho's. "oh, you- you're such an idiot! y'know, i uh, i've been outside'a hels before and i- um, let me tell ya, you're missing out!"

"mhmm." patho smiles even though his mask is on. he knows dbubs can tell.

"yeah! "dbubs nods vigorously. "and, uh, there's- i got a whole world that's just mine!"

"is that right?" patho rests his chin on the top of dbubs's head. "tell me about it."

"it's a beautiful world, of course. my perfect builds, i ha-"

"of course."

"- uh, hey! quit interruptin'!"

"sorry, sorry."

"i di- thank you. so i um, i built a big ol' crastle, with a- hyeugh, a sorta um, horse course... y'know, with th- with the fastest horses anyone ever saw, one-stick horses, and- and uh, everyone was really impressed…”

this won’t last forever. it’ll only be a matter of weeks, months if they’re lucky, before patho won’t be able to ignore the itch to wander again. before the comfort and familiarity of the jungle becomes unbearable. before dbubs grows so used to his presence that the jungle itself tries to overtake him, the way it has dbubs- vines and veins of red.

he’ll leave without warning in the middle of the night, while dbubs is sleeping, because trying to leave while dbubs is awake never ends well. he’ll leave without a word and try not to think about the frantic whispers he knows dbubs sends him on lonely nights, despite knowing patho will never receive them (it’s the only time he regrets fusing his communicator with his arm- but how was he supposed to know he’d hear it in his mind? how was he supposed to know that disabling the chat was the only way not to lose himself completely to the endless flood of data?)

he’ll stay away long enough for dbubs to shatter apart, losing himself to the wildness of the jungle, and come back together. he’ll wait until dbubs has recovered from his grief, so that the next time dbubs sees him there will only be joy. because no matter how many times patho hurts him, dbubs always forgets it eventually.

“… so, you see, ol’ dbubs been workin' on a new technique, using the uh. grade- uh, gradient? block palettes... to create depth. ah hah! so- so listen, now, to teacher! it all starts with the color scheme..."

this won’t last forever. so for now, patho closes his eyes and listens.

error fps t: b: tx rx c: (s) d: , pc: , pu: , ab: e: , b: , sd: p: t: error fc: xyz: / / block: chunk: facing: ( )( / ) client light: ( sky, block) biome: error: local difficulty: // (day error404 not found) sounds: 1/247 + 0/8

~*~

[pawzn]

IVE BEEN STUNG BY A WASP

IVE BEEN STUNG BY A WASP

ANHEHEEEE IM DYING!!

If I was your partner, I’d have you fast for long periods of time so we could indulge in hunger kink. I’d pay close attention to your belly, kissing it and rubbing it and giving your poor empty stomach some love. It would grumble and I could feel it vibrate intensely under my hands. I’d be able to hear it without having my ear on it, but eventually I’d lay my head down so I can get a closer listen. I’d listen to all the loud noises as you whine about how starving you are.

You watch me with a grin as I lean forward on my chair, all of my attention on the task at hand. I am close to finishing my latest project, the “Love Knot Scarf” I saw online and decided I must learn how to make. Lucky for you that I am engrossed in my project because it spared you having to put to words your desires.

It’s going on 4PM in the afternoon and I have eaten nothing all day. To be fair, I also didn’t eat anything the night before either. You were planning to ask me to start fasting so that we could indulge in some hunger kink anyway but I came home from work too exhausted to bother. You fell asleep listening to my stomach gripe and rumble, a sign that dinner wasn’t the only meal I had skipped that day.

I set down my project, worrying at my lower lip and casting a glance at the kitchen. You can practically see what is going through my head: the debate over whether to get up and expend the effort to make something to eat or to finish my project before I decide on food. Two more solid hours of crochet and I should finish the project; my goal being to use up the remainder of the skein of yarn. I’m in the zone. I’ve got a good rhythm going and my stitches are more consistent and even. Stopping now to do something else would be detrimental to the project. Your grin widens behind your mug of tea as you watch me pick up my craft again, but my left hand is slow to pick up the working yarn, stopping to press against my stomach in a move that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Just about ripe.

You slink over to the couch, settling in beside me and pulling me in to lean against your right side and ensuring that we are in a position that does not disrupt my work. Your right arm slides around my shoulders and your hand settles on my flat belly, giving it a testing rub with your thumb. You feel the reverberations of the distracting hunger pang that caused me to contemplate making food.

“Mmmph…” I wince at the intensity of the hunger pang, cranked up to eleven with the pressure of your palm nudging at my belly. My gaze is fixed firmly on my project. You continue to knead at my stomach one-handed, the other flipping through channels on T.V. as you try to project indifference to my plight.

My hands jolt and I occasionally let go to press my left hand to my stomach, seemingly countering the reactions your ministrations are causing. I’m whimpering and grunting frequently as the intense gripes and growls tear through my sore stomach. I know what the game is. I’ve known since I woke up to your head pillowed on my tummy this morning. Plans to make myself breakfast went out the window as I played with your hair, marveling at how the low grumbles I could feel reverberating in my hollow guts didn’t wake you.

A particularly loud and painful sounding rumble splits the air, the accompanying cramp so intense that it causes me to drop my project and press my arms to my sore stomach. ‘Intense’ doesn’t even begin to cover this one pang in particular. Normal hunger pangs and the accompanying cramping tend to be centralized in one area or another of my gut. This one was huge and it felt like three epicenters erupted simultaneously, the resulting angry grumble quaking me to my core. To your delight, your hand is sandwiched against my stomach as my arms wrap tightly around my aching middle. Pressing your palm deep into my quaking guts, you feel every snarl of my angry digestive tract vibrate around your palm.

“Ungh…ungh….mmm…ouch…” Bitten back moans greet your ears as mine begin to color. “Ugh…’m hungry.” I mutter in a quiet voice as the cramp eases and I uncurl slightly. The statement goes straight to your pleasure centers.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow and pat my tummy teasingly, dislodging another growl that has me curled tightly around my sore stomach. “I didn’t notice.” If it didn’t feel like my tummy was measuring 7.5 on the Richter Scale I’d have caught the teasing lit in your voice.

“Ungh…it hurts!” I can’t help but whine. I’d skipped dinner the night before because I was exhausted from a full week at work. Lunch and breakfast had gone right through me too yesterday. Some ingredient in them didn’t agree with my guts and so the whole mess was pushed through rather quickly, leaving my stomach empty and rumbling up a storm on the way home.

“Aww…poor tummy.” You coo at me, rubbing my back and sides, wherever you can reach. You feel the tense muscles in my back and you’re a bit surprised you can feel the reverberations of the growls through to my back. They are faint, but there. Still doubled over with hunger pangs as I am, I’m helpless as you scoop me up and bring me to the bedroom, tossing my balled-form onto the mattress.

You soon join me, sitting on your knees as you observe and wait for me to uncurl. When I do, you situate yourself between my legs, my knees up to lessen the stretch on my stomach. I look up at you with eyes wet with tears. My stomach growls again and my eyes close in a wince. Before I can curl up, you reach over and place a hand on my tummy, the other on my left knee as you lean forward. You place a chaste kiss on my belly, right over the epicenter of the growl.

“Shh…such an angry tummy. It needs to calm down.” Your voice comes in hushed tones. Your other hand joins in on my stomach and you move both hands up my stomach, starting at my lower belly and ending with your palms pushed against my ribs before you slide your hands back down before repeating the motion. Three seconds pushing your palms up, from my lower belly to my ribs, and three seconds with just as much pressure going back down. The pressure dislodges many growls and cramps from my innards, but the unrelenting pressure you are applying counteracts most of the pain that would normally come with such intense hunger pangs. A low, deep, and long rumble burbles from somewhere deep within me and I bite back a moan. You find the epicenter of the growl and lean into it, kissing my stomach yet again. “Naughty thing. Angry tummies don’t get dinner.” You swat at my stomach playfully, as though reprimanding a naughty pet.

A wet burble squelches out from my left, a result of the few mouthfuls of tea I drank before getting absorbed by my project. You grin, prodding your fingers deep into the spot. I cry out, feeling your fingers pinching my duodenum in a painful vice.

“Such a noisy thing.” You apply more pressure, pinching the delicate organ between thumb and forefinger. I’m rendered speechless. It hurts. A hunger pang is building in my upper stomach and the pinching sensation on my duodenum is rivalling that in intensity. My brain is lost to what will burst first: the gnawing grumble I can feel building in my upper torso or my tender, captive duodenum under your unrelenting fingers?

“Ah—AH!” I let out a cry as the growl wins out and bursts forth from clenching organs. The growl is almost deafening even to me. “Ungh…uhm…S-Sweetie? Uhm…c-can we…c-can we have dinner soon? M-my s-stomach rea-ally h-AH-hurts. ‘m so, so hungry. P-Please?” I moan again as you find a new area of my stomach to abuse, pinching delicate organs between your fingers. This time it is some random part of my large intestine. I can actually feel the rest of the length twitching and convulsing inside of me, seemingly in protest to your action.

“Hmm? You said your stomach hurts, right? Aching tummies and dinner don’t mix. First, I’m going to get your tummy to stop hurting—then we can have dinner.” You grin at me, a grin that tells me that this is all part of your script.

A wonderfully savory aroma wafts in from the open bedroom door. The kitchen is just on the other side of the wall we are facing, being a small apartment and all. I remember now: we set the slow-cooker on a timer to start cooking around 11AM this morning. Curses. It is 4:45PM now. Curses. That means that the delectable beef stew I’ve been looking forward do will not be ready to eat until at least 7PM. I’d have to endure at least two more hours even if you didn’t want to indulge in hunger today.

The smells mess with me and cause my belly to grumble yet again. I try to turn over to my side, desperately grabbing at a pillow to muffle my stomach into. Having you between my legs makes that action difficult as you’ve inched up far enough that I will have to scoot upwards in order to get my knee passed you. At the same time, you lean forward, hovering over me. Rather than lay on top of me, I’m surprised when you reach over to the nightstand and retrieve something. The answers come as I hear the tell-tale unscrewing of a cap and the scent of ginger floods my senses.

Ginger oil.

I’m prone to frequent stomach aches. A disordered eating schedule, the occasional calorie-counting spell, a tendency to prefer going to bed hungry rather than eat a full dinner, anxiety/stress, as well as my body’s own biology—frequently results in an upset tummy for me. You were horrified to learn that I’ve been dealing with these stomach aches for years without really doing much for them. You had found me pacing around the apartment one night, cradling my tummy, soon after we moved in together. After assuring you that it wasn’t something medically wrong requiring a hospital, I leveled with you and told you that I’d been stressed out over the moving and such and all of the prep had resulted in a pretty poor diet for the last week or three. I didn’t want to wake you with my tossing and turning so I ended up pacing around the living room, a blanket and pillow already set up on the couch as I tried to calm my restless belly.

I’m not going to go to a doctor over a simple upset stomach so we had to find a compromise. After many disagreements over my unwillingness to try that or do this or eat/drink whatever, we finally settled on ginger oil. Whenever you catch me suffering from a nasty stomach ache you bring out the little container of oil we made and massage it into my tummy. It’s worked wonders for us and I’ve gotten a lot more sleep in my time living with you than I have since before I can remember.

I don’t think the ginger oil will do much for hunger pangs, but you’re already warming some up on your hands. Well…it couldn’t hurt.

You massage deeply into my stomach. The scent of ginger fills the air, adding to the savory smell of dinner cooking on the counter in the next room. The scents combine and really awaken my appetite. I bite my wrist as I feel my stomach gripe and cramp beneath your palms. The room is filled with the noises of my grumbling tummy as you press out all of the cramps and growls.

I’m forced to burp more than a few times during your massage as you condense pockets of air in my guts and force them out with the pressure of your massage. As the air is released the grumbles slowly grow less and less frequent.

It’s 6:45 the next time I open my eyes. My tummy has calmed significantly. I must have dozed off at some point. My stomach isn’t sore from hunger anymore. I’m still hungry, but it’s not a painful hunger at the moment. I sit up a bit and find a heavy weight on my stomach. It seems you dozed off too. I stroke your hair and marvel at the smile on your lips. You must have heard quite the concert from my guts before you dozed off.

I tense and clench my abdominals as I feel another grumble try to start. The movement of me sitting up jostles you and you wake up too, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Why’s it smell so…” You mumble.

“Dinner, Sweetie. Beef stew, remember? It’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’m going to go add the rue. Wake up properly and then come out and eat, okay?” I tickle your stomach and it growls loudly. “Unless now it’s you that has an aching tummy? Do I have to calm it down before we can eat?” You swat at me as I laugh, stumbling off to put the finishing touches on our dinner.

[notthesomefather]

Goddess Hel, divine hostess whose arms lovingly embrace all guests, Watch over those who have crossed your gates against their will. Care for those taken from us and bless them with tranquil rest.

Godx Loki, story-teller and guardian of outcasts, Give words to our sorrow so that we may honor their memories. Breathe air into our lungs so we may bellow our love over hatred.

Goddess Hel, cherisher of life and daughter of metamorphosis, Bestow in their loved ones moments of laughter, healing, and peace. May their names echo not just in sorrow but in smiling remembrance.

Godx Loki, change-bringer and waker of revolution, Spark the flames of unrelenting authenticity within us. Stoke the ember of truth until the hateful are blinded by its light.

Under the cut are the siblings, youth, and elders whose lives were taken due to hatred, bigotry, and fear. I understand it is incredibly triggering, but I believe we owe it to them to read their names.

We love you. We are unendingly sorry and we will never stop fighting until the hatred that stole you from this life has been extinguished. We love you so much.

(December 2023 - November 2024) Savannah Williams Bernardo Panteleon Pepper Mychel Peterson Mariah Ruby Rachel Williams F. L. “Bubba” Copeland Lola Laperla Ebony McDaniels Shandon Floyd Tiesha McFarland Kejuan Richardson Amiri Jean Reid Mya Finch Travis Stimeling Demita Jo Armstrong Onteris Owens-Campbell Jesse Viviano White Star Possum Jermaine Golden Meghan Riley Lewis Zoey Flye Madison Montana Care Hansen Amber Minor Ashlei Jasmine Colgate-Edwards Fleetwood Mars Mozee Shelby “Lexus” Riddick-Walker Kimbella Blackshear Easley Jeffcoat Tripp Schultz Lady Fabian Sanchez James Moen Dana Randolph “Desiree A. DeMornay” Quin Joy Sasha Williams Jennell Jaquays Sarina Mihailoff Sasha Washington-Cohen “Sasha Fierce” Guelila “Gigi” Iyob Videl Lombardo Savannah Rose Rivers Amore Kathy “Otter” Ottersten Robin Valentina Forrest Douglas Buckley Giselle Stone Tristan Michael Bustos “Tristyn St. Clair” Kitty Monroe Natalia Skye Teddy Reese Curran Erick Krouse Noah Jackson Chase Ellie Walsh Nex Benedict Emma “África” Parrilla García Blakely Hanson Righteous TK “Chevy” Hill Ashton Myles Clatterbuck Madison Nicole Spann “Madison St. Claire” Cecilia Gentili Diamond Cherish Brigman Elliot Ganiel Fae Morganna Barbone Aurelia A. Legassey Alex Franco Meraxes Medina Ty Geissinger “Ty Holiday” Andrea Doria Dos Passos “Maggie” Yella Clark Allister Matthews Tiffany Azalea Monceaux Tara Fable Randy Dudley River Neveah Goddard Tee “Ace” Arnold George A. Schappell Starr Brown Robbi Mecus Basil Brown Tayy Dior Thomas Kita Bee Kamryn “Cantrell” Smith Jazlynn Johnson Daelicious O’hare Mizani Darri C. Moore Niomi Jenkins Michelle Henry Saanti Bonét Valentino Pauly Likens M. Tapia Lynn Conway Liara Kaylee Tsai Dylan Gurley Griffin Shaun Sivret Kenji Zemonta Spurgeon Ev Smith Shannon Boswell Levi Castillo Lily Autumn Rose Monique Brooks Noelle Woolley Indiana Grayson Vanity Williams Tai’Vion Lathan Jhzara “Femmie” Williams Baxter Zachary Hawk Kassim Omar Liam Johns Mahdia Lynn Cass Trystero Chilli Pepper Barbie Iceland “Redd China” Honee Daniels Serenity Birdsong Adela Vázquez San Coleman Zeta Muirgen Seraph Haber

[cemeteryvalentine]

astro observations part 4 !!! ^____^

(specifically based off my family :3 pleaseee don't get offended at anything that doesn't resonate)

🗝️: one thing about a sag placement, they are gonna hang up FIRST !!! i swear, if anyone misses flip phones, it's a sag placement/dominant. i just know they miss snapping that phone shut in a petty manner LOL. my mom is a sag moon AND rising, and she'd call me and demand me to do something in such a bitchy tone and then hang up on me like girl who tf do u think u areee 😭😭😭😭 LMFAO. but honestly good for her, i love being petty like her.

like i swear i take after my mom because everytime she does that annoying hang up before i can respond thing, i call her again just to say a snarky remark, and hang up on her back!

🐇: i swear, virgo placements have no problem being the grossest people alive, but suddenly it's a problem when someone else does it :/// it's really annoying. my brother has a pigsty of a bedroom, doesn't wash his hand when he pisses unless i make him, and leaves his trash everywhere, but constantly gets on my sister for the same things 😭. like the calls coming from inside the house !!! i think basically, (some) virgos are like picky(?) with what areas they'd want clean. like they're only really comfortable with THEIR mess and no one else's.

🗝️: i love how pisces mercury communicate because it's like what the hel are u awn about 😭 in the NICEST way though :3 they're so kewl and interesting to talk to, plus they're so nice and understanding. maybe because they're water mercuries after all. speaking of, my favorite artist ever kurt cobain was a pisces mercury and it SHOWSSS. a lot of nirvana lyrics feel artistic and metaphoric, or just realllyyyy silly. liiike "angel left wing, right wing, broken wing. lack of iron and or sleeping" from milk it, one of my nirvana faves. and "i vomit C*M and DIARRHEA". like girl whatever that means !!!! (song, mexican seafood)

🐇: mars influence on the asc makes for prominent features. especially eyebrows. my brother has an aries rising and he has such a bad case of RBF. i swear he never looks happy 😭 his virgo sun and cap moon definitely don't help at all either. then im a mars rising and i have big eyebrows like my brother. like we're the only ones with big eyebrows, while our parents brows look invisible LOL. also i'm a virgo rising !! and ppl are always saying i look mad which honestly pisses me off :P so in conclusion, mars influence + virgo placements = major rbf

🗝️: i HATE to add on to the cancer hate train since i'm one myself and i loveee being one + we get soo much hate, but i feel a (unevolvled) cancer makes for the worst pick me girl ever !!!! this def doesn't apply to all cancers, but the few cancer women i know can be so mean to other women so unprovoked. especially my mom, it gives me the ick when she calls random women b*tches or makes fun of them to me for their features or success or soemthing. i used to be a pick me too up until i was like 13 (im soooo happy i grew out of that mess QUICK!). i would constantly strive for male attention, it was embarrassing 😭. ik another girl who values her shitty boyfriend over her (girl) friends and i haaate it. like ive only known a few cancer women, but a lot of them are like the meanest pick me bitch ever, or such a sweeet, caring soul :). i feel like being a pick me stems from cancers being feminine AND traditional. yk? i pray i make sense, but yk how it's traditional for girls to be perfect for her man, and value him no matter the circumstance ?? and cancer/moon being **traditional** ? yeahhh 😭

anywayzzz that's all :3 tyyy for reading !! i had sm making a new observations, considering it's been a year since my last LMFAOO. and again, if it doesn't apply, let it fly. ty bye ^__^

[vivwritesfics]

Jester Stole His Thorny Crown

Chapter Ten

He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.

Mafia!Au

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warnings: smut! oral (fem!receiving)! p in v! this chapter is just porn lmao! unprotected

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She couldn't help but feel ridiculous as she looked in the mirror. The pretty green lingerie adorned her body, the small bows in the centre of both pieces making it perfect. To cover that up was a silk robe.

Charles wasn't going to know what hit him.

But she turned away from her mirror before doubt could creep in and make her change. She looked damn sexy, and that was what mattered.

Tying her robe shut, she anxiously waited. Her apartment was so tidy and clean; she'd spent the morning, before her performance, obsessively cleaning for this moment.

And now it was here.

Charles hadn't been at her performance that night. She knew that, he'd let her know ahead of time that he was busy. But he had also promised to make it up to her.

That was why she was waiting, sitting on the arm of her sofa. She felt sick with anxiety as she fiddled with the bottom of her silk robe. Could he please hurry up? Or, at least tell her that he wasn't coming so she could get changed, crawl under her bed covers and never be seen again.

There was a knock at her door.

With her heart in her throat, she walked towards the door. She looked into the peephole and pulled it open.

"Hel-oh my God."

In the doorway, Charles paused. He had flowers in his hands, but they were gone as he looked at her, watching her robe fall open. His eyes roamed until they met her own.

And then he strode forward, kicked the door shut behind him and placed the flowers on the dresser by the door. "You look so fucking good," he said as he strode forward.

He pressed his lips to her own, hands reaching inside of the silk robe. Warm to the touch, his fingers moved over her skin, over her sides, up her back and then down to her ass.

But that wasn't what she was focusing on. No, she was entirely fixed on the way he was kissing her. He walked her back, lips never leaving hers as his tongue touched her bottom lip, tasting her flavoured lip gloss.

"Chérie, was this all for me?" He asked against her lips, pushing the robe to the floor.

When her legs met the back of the sofa she sat, pulling him down with her. "All for you, Charles," she whispered as she laid herself down. His body was on top of her, her arms around his neck, keeping him close. "All for you."

His fingers met the material of her bra and a groan left his lips. Head falling forward, he kissed her chest. "This set is incredibly pretty, but I might have to tear it off."

"Don't you dare!" She cried, reaching back to unclasp her bra.

But Charles stopped her. He caught her hand and held them above her head. Even when he sat back to admire her, she kept her arms above her head. "Fuck," he groaned, and began shedding his own clothes.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he dropped it to the floor and leaned forward to return his lips to her skin. Every touch had her moaning and whining. Every touch had her crying out for him, gasping out his name.

It was music to his ears, but not echoing around her living room. "Come on," he whispered as he took her hand and pulled her up from the sofa. She took on step but didn't make it too far before she was in his arms, legs wrapped around him as he attempted to carry her to the bedroom.

And I say attempted because Charles wasn't looking where he was going. How could he? When he had this sweet thing hanging onto him?

They bumped into a few walls on their way, but neither of them much cared, giggling against each others lips. Finally, Charles walked into her bedroom and dropped her onto the bed.

Even then, seeing her between the sheets, it was something new to admire, had him wanting to reach for his phone, to snap a picture.

He sucked in a breath and dropped to his knees.

She never thought she'd see the day, where Charles Leclerc, one of Monaco's rulers, essentially, got to his knees in front of her. He kissed the inside of her ankle and along her leg, until he met her thigh.

When his teeth met the soft flesh of her thigh, she let out a gasp. It wasn't a proper bite, didn't hurt. But, God, she loved it. Her hands were in his hair, tugging.

"Sure I can't tear these?" He asked, and she stopped her whining long enough to gasp out a "No."

She'd expected him to gently pull them down her legs, to deposit them on the floor. But this was a desperate man. He just had to get his lips on her.

He pushed her underwear to the side. Keeping it on her body, snapping the strap against her hip, he pushed the material to one side and dove in.

"Fuck!" She pitched forward, legs wrapping around his head, keeping him there.

He was like a man starved as he ate her out, licking and sucking at her folds. It was sloppy and messy, and he was loving every second of it. The noises he pulled from her as he payed attention to her clit, he could have listened to them over and over again for the rest of his life.

His hand was on his hip, the other coming to touch her. One finger at first, gently breaching her. He kept his lips on her clit as he thrust that single finger, testing her.

And then he added a second. Her moans, whines and cries only grew as he pushed his fingers inside of her. His name leaving her lips over and over again. She moved her head from side to side as he worked his magic.

When her legs began shaking around his head, Charles pulled away. He lifted his fingers to his lips, tasting her. "Fuck, chérie," he whispered, eyes shutting.

As he stood straighter, her legs came to wrap around her middle, refusing to let him go. He leaned over her and held his fingers to her lips, letting her taste herself. She couldn't stop herself from moaning.

"Charles," she cried, legs tightening around him. "Wanna suck you off."

He grinned, finally wrapping his fingers around the strap of her underwear, pulling them down from her hips. "Later, chérie, let me have you, first."

She couldn't much argue with that, could she?

Charles pulled her underwear down and dropped it to the floor. She pulled off her own bra and reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her. "I'm gonna give you such good head in Italy," she said with a grin, tongue poking between her teeth.

Naked beneath him, Charles admired her for the third time that night. He realised in that moment that he'd never stop admiring her, not if he could help it.

And then, as he cradled her head and pressed his lips against her own, he pushed inside of her.

There is something you have to understand about Charles Leclerc. He had never loved someone like this before. He'd had sex, but it was fast, to get the job done.

This, though? This was slow, sweet. He was hyper aware of her beneath him. She clawed at his back, and every rake of her nails down his skin had him moaning. He'd never been this vocal in sex before, attributing it to her and her alone.

The way she felt around him, the way she clenched around her, dragging him back in with every thrust. It wasn't fast, wasn't rushed, every thrust full of purpose.

His hands were beneath her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples. Her moans were no longer his name, incoherent. But Charles had her. And he wasn't going to let her go.

Her breath was short, cunt squeezing her cock. She was so close, he knew. And, when he finally pushed her over the edge, her body stopped.

Legs stopped shaking, body tights as she came. Her nails dug into his shoulder, but he didn't mind as he pushed her through it, helping her to ride it out. "I'm nearly there, chérie," he whispered as his forehead met hers.

She attached her lips to his own, with desperation that was bruising. He only sped up slightly as he got closer. Closer still until he was still, spilling inside of her.

For a moment he just kissed her, holding himself up on shaking arms as he kissed her with his cock still inside of her. No words were exchanged as he pulled out, watched himself dribble out of her cunt. He couldn't stop himself as he dragged his finger through the mess and stuffed it back in, but her pained, oversensitive cries.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he whispered, forehead against her own.

He scooped her into his arms, giving her a moment before he took her into the bathroom to get cleaned up. "Charles?" She squeaked against his chest as her fingers moved over his skin. He let out a hum, lips against her hair. "'m gonna make you see stars in Italy."

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