#and it's like... ah. she's just poorly socialized

[taz-writes]

object memories

A fic I wrote as part of my D&D druid’s backstory that I’m in the mood to share. Do you ever write something for the sole purpose of splashing around in your own prose like a dog in a kiddie pool?

TLDR: POV character Hush and her father were held prisoner by a cult for 10 years in solitary confinement, before being ritually sacrificed. Unbeknownst to the cult, Hush wasn’t quite dead and woke up later in the mass grave mortally wounded but alive. As a druid, Hush can shapeshift into animals if she’s seen and studied them before. This fic is about how she 'discovered’ her first four wildshapes in the aftermath of her ordeal, while learning to survive alone in the wilderness and fend off the hunger that threatened to consume her.

~4,600 words; CWs: gore, animal death, take ‘em seriously I’m not kidding around. I feel like there’s also something going on here with the hunger stuff, but I truly don’t know what the fuck to even call that CW. If somebody knows, let me know lol.

The rat was the first. 

She doesn’t know exactly when she reached the tipping point, but she grew intimately acquainted with the ways of the rats over the years. She spent an eternity in that dungeon, curled in the corner among her clinking chains, feeling them scurry over her in her sleep. Grew acquainted with how they move, how they think, grew used to fighting them away from what little she had to eat, bartering with them for the space, for help to stay clean, teaching them to bring her things. She watched them for generations, while they nested in the dirty little pallet that she slept on,  until they were closer friends than she’d ever had among humans. 

She knew them, inside and out, long before she knew how to change into anything. When she awoke in the aftermath and the wildshapes came, the rat was like a second skin. She slipped into the shape like a shield, slick with blood, and slithered out with the last of her breath. 

The world outside was big. 

She couldn’t heal. The first word she spoke when she took her given shape again was a rattling, empty gasp that sent sticky gore oozing through the feeble scabs over the gash in her neck. It didn’t matter how desperately she grasped for the language, how well she knew the incantation, how crisp and adamant the gestures were that should have saved her. There was no magic without sound. And her angelic heritage did little to help when whatever the source of her limited innate healing, it simply didn’t respond. 

She spent the first week or so in the glade on the edge of the forest where she collapsed after running out of time as the rat. The summer heat broiled her skin, even through the shield of the canopy, leaving her parched and aching and crisp like a dead leaf. In the haze of exhaustion, she began to treat her wounds. 

The sacrificial shift they’d dressed her in shredded easily. She wound long strips of it carefully around her waist and chest, stomach churning at the horrid sight of the injuries, and tied the rest as tightly as she could across her ragged neck before the pressure made her choke. Every motion left her dizzy and sick. She might have laid there on and off for hours or days or a month, languishing in the softest patch of moss she managed to find and dragging herself back and forth from the clear little stream that burbled a few yards away. As many moments as she could, she hid behind the rat again. The rat wasn’t bleeding. The rat was safe. The rat could forage, devouring whatever it could find, just enough to sustain her. 

She learned the rabbits next. 

Timid creatures, cautious and quick, they watched her with their wide beaded-bright eyes and darted to safety at the sound of her rattling breaths. While she waited to recover her strength between wildshapes, she watched them back, tracking the little families back and forth among the wild grasses. They were solitary, but not alone—never truly alone. 

There was a nest not far from her resting place. She stumbled across the babies on her way to the stream. Their tiny forms huddled together in a depression in the grass and she looked one in the eyes and its little ears trembled, it tucked itself deeper in the shadows, bracing, and a sudden knife twisted in the center left of her stomach. 

It took too long to realize it wasn’t the wound this time. 

Her sunburnt skin ached desperately, throbbing to the rhythm of a heart that wasn’t hers. She fumbled past to the edge of the water and dipped her face below the surface, where the chill could bring her to her senses, but the soft curves of the current brushed their way along her cheeks like the perfect ghosts of her father’s hands. 

Her lungs burned before she came back up for air. 

The next time she changed, the new shape was a rescue. She was a stranger but she smelled like the glade, and the other rabbits allowed her there. In the shadowed night they huddled together, warmed by each other’s skin, and her tiny rabbit’s heart began to calm as it hadn’t before in a very long time. 

She couldn’t remain forever. She was keenly aware, the longer she lingered, that she was far too close to the cult. Any member could stumble across her here, out on a forage or traveling to the compound, and she wouldn’t get another chance at freedom. She couldn’t risk it. When her stomach sealed enough that the insides of her abdomen didn’t spill to the outside after any major movement, she staggered to her feet like a newborn fawn and began the journey. 

She stuck to the woods. Waterdeep was a death trap, anyone could be cult-aligned, anyone could see her and they thought she was dead but she couldn’t know who might know her face. The roads were too much of a risk, populated as they were. Stealth was her only option. The angels guided her when she slept, teaching her how to find north and south in the stars, how to know clean water from stagnant, how to name the leaves and berries around her and tell which ones were safe. She treated her aches with willow bark and bandaged herself with buffers of soft clean leaves. She passed the days in the shelter of her animal forms or huddled in the shade, thinking of anything but the black spots that swarmed intermittent in her vision and the weakness in her limbs. She stayed alive. It was a near thing. 

When the berry season faded, and the leaves began to turn, the hunger snarled in her like a wild beast. 

She stumbled to the nearest town under cover of night, shielding her body with her arms, following the smell of something delicious she couldn’t name that made her gut twist with starving, nauseous desperation. It was too open, the streets too broad, but every building’s door loomed and narrowed and filled her mouth with the suffocating taste of molding earth until her heart pattered the way it did in the rabbit’s body and the outlines of the structures blurred and blackened before her eyes. A too-cold breeze swirled through the streets and she shuddered from head to toe. 

There was a man ahead in dark robes that swirled and her heart moved like rabbit’s feet fleeing in her ribcage. She forced herself to the alley, forced herself back, and bolted into the safety of the sacred darkness. 

It was like that at the next few towns, too. There were kind people, here and there. One gave her a soft dark shirt and soft dark pants when she met him in the night, thrust them at her and skittered off when she tried through rattling gasps to ask if he wanted payment; a few innkeepers let her stay the night and gave her meals in the morning that softened the hunger’s brutal edge. But it couldn’t last, because the figures in the alleyways always came back, and names that she remembered from another life haunted her until she fled back to the safety of the trees. 

The days grew colder. 

The woods were safer further south, deep and dark, filled with birdsong and the golden colors of the waning year, the colors bright as life. She’d taken a sharp rock and cut a stick to hold her weight, easing the pressure on the days when walking was too much. Her breathing was growing easier, and her neck didn’t bleed anymore. But the words that would call magic to her side still couldn’t find their way from her mind out through her lips. 

She was losing strength. The angels taught her traps and snares, but her feeble hands couldn’t tie the knots tight enough, and the few beasts she trapped slipped free when she tried to claim them. The herd of deer that once bolted at the sight of her now didn’t even flinch, the great many-pointed stag that led their numbers watching her passively while his mate and children drank at the riverside and foraged from the dying grasses. There was little to forage and less to live by, and some days the wavering mists of exhaustion hardly left her vision. 

Sometimes, on the nights the angels didn’t come, she dreamed of the stag instead. Of his glinting eyes in the brush, watching her, unafraid. She murmured prayers in the morning to whatever forces listened. 

She met the wolves in the pits of a moonless night, by way of gleaming golden eyes and an uncanny silence sweeping over her resting place, and she knew they’d come for her. She resolved herself to at least go down on her feet. 

When the first wolf lunged, she lashed out with her staff, squeezing her eyes shut against the wave of fatigue that swept through her body from head to toe and sent the blood rushing out of her head, and felt herself make contact. The beast yelped, and she blinked spots from her vision just in time to fend off a second, sending it sprawling across the scrubby ground. Her hands shook.

“Please,” she tried to rasp, though nothing but a helpless wheeze came out. The wolves paced. She shifted back, making space, feeling acid adrenaline spread slow like venom down her arms and into her fingertips, biting back the way every motion tore at the scabby flesh of her still-healing abdomen. 

The wolves kept pacing. In the dark, they moved like dancers, every footstep intentionally measured. Silent, despite their size, dwarfing her with heavy bodies—direwolves, not just wolves, but their largest and most vicious cousins. 

Her stomach growled with a ferocity that nearly sent her to her knees. 

The third wolf lunged. She grasped for the little magic she knew, one of the rare spells that remained without her voice, and scared it back with a shard of ice that burst into bitter steam across the pack. Its yelp was piercing and sharp and left her dizzy. Through the haze as she recovered, she watched the wolf pack flee. 

She dreamed of the stag that night. She dreamed of blood and the careful steps of hunting beasts, tender in the foliage. She dreamed that she staggered to uncertain feet and the stag was there, his muzzle nudging against her arm, strong and stable, as she found her way upright. She wrapped her arms around him. He was warm and smelled of musk and the gentle decay of the forest floor in fall. He didn’t flee. His fur was soft like the velveteen skin of something whose name she’d forgotten, a precious something she’d loved in another life, beyond her memory, behind the veil of the endless dark. She awoke grasping for it, the name on her lips but not close enough to catch it, even if she’d had the voice to speak. 

She dreamed fitfully, in bursts, interrupted by the empty claws of a hollow stomach scratching at the inside of her vessel like nails on slate.

The next day, something whimpered in the bushes when she went to change her bandages at the stream. She braced herself against her staff, and nudged aside the leafy branches, and found the wolf. It was panting,  golden eyes glazed grey with pain, curled up defensively with hackles raised. It growled at her approach, but the sound was weak, and tapered to a whimper. 

Near its feet, the ground was muddied with black-red blood. She traced the line from its paws to the place in its side where the fur was shaved down to muscle and a thin line of bone. The ghost of a spell and an icy projectile flashed across her memory.

Her hands were shaking again. 

She went to the water. This stream ran clear and cold, down from somewhere in the mountains, carrying the mineral taste of glaciers high above. Flakes of mud and blood trailed free from her hands when she dipped them in the current, and she watched them swirl away through the eddies and whorls. 

It was all mechanical, in the end. She pried a piece of moss from the bank, hefted it, ran it through the water and watched the dirt run off the roots towards the valley. Washed it clean, squeezed it under the surface and watched it fill with water. Stood and turned back to the forest. 

The beast didn’t calm, but it didn’t bite when she pressed the pad of moss as gently as she could against the gash. It snapped, and she looked it in the eye, waiting. Its jaws were wide, teeth yellowed and worn from use. It could tear her to ribbons even now, if it had the nerve. She wouldn’t last long. 

She washed the wound, and padded it with clean dry lichen, and flinched when she touched the beast’s side and a warmth filled her fingers that hadn’t answered her since she first returned to consciousness in the grave. She caught it like a soap bubble, soft as a memory. It settled in her chest and the breath that filled her lungs was deeper than she’d had in years. 

She’d forgotten how it felt, when the warding darkness at her center answered. When the healing power in her blood responded to her call. 

She forgot it again when the hunger returned in a wave of dizzying force, chasing all other thoughts from her mind. The wolf, rising from its rest in the hollow, tilted its head with a calculating glint and watched her. Gold eyes met gold. 

It turned to follow the water, limping ever so slightly, and padded off. 

She followed. 

The pack was waiting in a stony cavern where the stream met a sparkling river. She felt their wary gazes long before she saw them, hidden as they were among the warm grey stone. But they recognized their lost member and pounced on him, tumbling together in a massive joyful bundle over the sandy patch of riverside, and before long it was like they hadn’t even seen her. She found a bright place on a rock by the shore, and waited for the sun to warm her bones more than the hunger chilled them. 

Across the river, the bushes rustled. She knew what she’d see there. 

The stag disappeared into the brush, and her vision blackened. 

She awoke to the hot wet stickiness of a tongue on her face, and flinched, recoiling from the threat. In front of her sat the injured direwolf. 

“Hi,” she whispered, bracing herself. “Hi there.” The words stuck in her wound and scraped. 

The wolf cocked its head, stood, and licked her face again. It… did not try to bite her head off. This was not a situation she had anticipated. She particularly did not expect to be licked a third time. The wolf’s breath almost made her faint again. 

Behind the wounded animal, the packmates slunk forward, watching her. Waiting. 

The hunger in their eyes was a mirror of her own, and the shapechange came in its aching wake. 

She followed them, that night, in a wolfish skin that matched their own. It wasn’t long before she had to pause, the time limits of her wildshapes forcing her back to rest while the pack moved on, but the howl carried on. They didn’t like to leave their own behind. She learned their faces—the mother the first to lunge, the father the second, the grown pups that followed them with their own faces and minds and hearts. They walked the trails of the forest, and she learned their gait, their stalking dance, their silent patience. 

She slept between great warm bodies, and dreamed of blood and meat and the beasts that once wore the bite-marked bones on the floor of the den. 

In the days, she jostled with the pups as one of them while she could. When she couldn’t, she rested on the rock by the river, while the echoes gnawing in her stomach dueled the white-hot claws of her bone-deep scars. She scrounged late-season eggs from a duck’s nest and swallowed them raw, on her hands and knees in the riverbank mud, eggshells scraping her gums and spilled yolk staining the ground, and coughed up half what she found when her scarred neck screamed with pain from bending low. It staved off the ache for an hour. She scraped up the spilled remains in her hands and wept. 

On the fifth night, she followed the pack to a valley full of marsh-weed, where they found a limping boar. The pack struck in a whirl of fur and fangs, iron-stink staining the water. They fought her back from the bounty until the leaders took their share, but the scraps she claimed sated something, hot and vicious in the pit of her gut. 

It was enough for a day. 

She dreamed of it after, the blood that dripped from her fangs, the viscera on her tongue, the hot iron taste of it, the texture of muscle rending against her jaw. The heat on her lips and gums, bone crushing and crunching and cracking in her grasp, the relief like a soft warm pelt at the end of a long day’s journey as the soft squishing prey slid down her gullet like a prayer… 

She dreamed of it night after night after night, waking with saliva in her mouth, thinking of it between the angels’ words, the ghost of that sensation dancing through her mouth in all her forms. She sat by the river and echoed it, conjuring up the giving resistance of flesh under her teeth, biting her tongue till it bled to remember the taste. She dreamed of nothing but. She dreamed even in her waking hours, as the first autumn frost laced over the land and the pack sat full and happy from the hunt. 

She dreamed of it until the dream consumed her, empty of everything but teeth. 

She left the den on an ice-bitter evening under ponderous slate skies when the dull weight of the thought hung heavy like an overripe fruit, when she wondered what the wolves would feel like beneath her fangs, if their heavy furs would rip and tear the way that scrap of boar did or if they’d linger in the teeth and scratch and bristle. She slunk up the hill to the north on the pack’s favored trail, filling her muzzle with the scent of heavy musk and petrichor. 

The stag was waiting. 

His antlers glinted in the cold dead moonlight, graceful as a halo, round as the crescent moon. He turned his head. She met his eyes and lunged. 

She tore out the flesh of his neck like pages from a holy book, paper beneath her fangs as his blood ran like wine at a ritual. His stomach opened just as easily, staining the fallen leaves in garish scarlet, and his legs kicked feebly as she tore through the viscera that spilled free, relishing in the iron stench. Mouthful after mouthful, she ate her fill. She tore through muscle and tendon until she finally sank her teeth into his bright-hot heart and swallowed it in shreds. It might have still been beating, or the pulse between her jaws might have been her own, racing and vicious. She felt every piece reach her stomach, filling the void, hot in her chest like a hearthfire, bright as a star, sweet and tangy in the wolf’s senses and prickling in her own. 

She hunted the liver down among the mess and swallowed it next, and the kidneys, and parts she knew no name for that glistened red and pink and sickish yellow in the light. She savored the feeling, the soft wet warm of it, the taste of the life that would fuel her own. She pried out the lowest of his ribs and it crackled in her jaws and she chewed out the marrow until there was nothing left of worth. 

She didn’t know when he stopped moving, only that eventually, he did. It took too long. 

When the wolf’s stomach filled, she lost the shape and scrabbled at the stag with her own weak human-shaped hands, her fingers shaking, nails digging into the slickened meat for purchase and prying up scraps to devour. She shook and shuddered and buried her own face into the stag’s shattered chest, drinking the lifeblood until it dried sticky on the edges of her skin, until she was full, until her aching stomach silenced and stopped and grew bloated with bleeding flesh. 

She raised her head and her gaze caught upon his eyes. They were wide, and glassy, and milky with the haze of death. 

She turned away from the kill and threw up nothing but bile, choking on the taste of steel. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, too hoarse for anyone to hear, shuffling to the side and cradling his head in her lap, the warm blood filling her soft dark pants and seeping through to her skin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you.” 

She leaned over him, wrapped her arms around his neck, curling her fingers into his short soft fur. Velveteen. Buried her face in his, her eyes hot and stinging, she swore she felt the ghosts of hands in her hair as the blood dried sticky on her face and melted down her cheeks. She clutched him tight enough to strain the scabs down her chest and belly, threatening to once again reopen the wounds. And she stayed there, waiting, until nothing came. Her stomach was quiet. 

As she rose to her feet, she carefully bent and lifted as much of the stag as her body could manage. He was lighter than seemed fair, even to her haggard limbs. 

Her hands didn’t shake. 

There were hunters in these woods. The angels had told her, murmurs in the night, between the endless thoughts of hunger. They could help her. She stumbled through the brush, dragging the stag behind her, listening for someone larger than herself. 

In the hours before the dawn, she found a young man in the valley, carrying a crossbow and a knife. He stiffened at her approach, and stood there wide-eyed, watching. 

The words she spoke to explain herself died in rasping whistles in her throat, but still he watched, rapt, his eyes darting between the stag and her own face. 

“You… you killed that?” the man asked, gesturing. 

She nodded. Her neck twinged. She felt the man’s gaze skirt over her scarred neck, her hands slick with blood, the wrinkled scabby mess of her stomach where it was visible between the hem of her shirt and her makeshift belt. 

“Do you… need to… take it somewhere?” She shook her head. The man swallowed. “That’s a lot of meat for one person. Erm…” He looked around, and she tilted her head. “…Do you know how to treat it? If you’re planning to eat that yourself, you probably want to salt-preserve it, it’ll spoil quickly otherwise. I could… help?” 

She shook her head quickly, forcefully, then nodded, please, and the man flinched.  But he was true to his word. 

He led her to a clearing, his hands fluttering and his soft eyes nervous as she followed like a wraith, and showed her how to lay the stag down and open the rest of its body with a clean sharp knife. How to strip the meat from the bones, careful and keen, and process it into chunks and then lay it in pieces in salt to let it dry. She watched the process with singleminded focus, noting down every last motion, memorizing each flick of the knife. 

He let her borrow his blade, so she could clean the carcass and keep that velveteen skin. With a few weeks’ drying and treatment, it would make a good blanket to last the winter through. She stripped the stag to the bones, and kept those as trophies. That night, the angels taught her to sharpen them into knives. 

When the man had left, knife and bow in hand, retreating into the shadows, she realized that he never once quite looked her in the eyes. 

She kept the skull. Late at night she stared into its face, searching for the glint of the stag’s all-knowing gaze in the depths of his bones, knowing there was nothing on the other side. She stared at him until somewhere deep inside, a part of her became him. Until his eyes became her own. 

She took the form of a deer in the morning, wearing the weight of his antlers like a crown. The herd moved by her in the bushes and watched her like a ghost. 

She went south. The winter was upon her, and it was time again to travel. The herd had enough to haunt them.

[occamstfs]

What You Really Want

Milo mouths off about a man dating his long time crush before immediately learning the lesson that he should be less trusting of strange voices promising to fulfill his desires

Pretty standard straight to gay himbo/jockification! It will also be my final story for some time I believe, so I do hope you enjoy! -Occam

“It’s no fair that they literally have it all.” Like many a ‘nice guy’ Milo has spent an inordinate amount of time skulking social media and disparaging more physically gifted men as he stumbles across them. The root of his despair is not difficult to ascertain, his eyes burning with envy make quite clear the inner monologue of ‘girls always date assholes.’ He sneers as he comes across the most recent post of his friend and crush, Juliet. The jealous man of course knows next to nothing about the character of James, the jock-type now dating her, but judging by the gleaming smirk and the bulky arms of a killer hanging from his shoulders, the judgemental dweeb has more than enough evidence to speculate.

Delving into his memories, Milo’s face burns with embarrassment as he recalls mentioning his crush to Juliet, ‘Oh!’ her bright eyes shift uncomfortably and her cheeks begin to blush enough to match the pink tint she threw on this morning. Milo’s fist clenches as she almost giggles in her discomfort, ‘sorry Milo I guess- Well, I guess I just thought you were gay?’ After this Milo played it cool, he thinks. Hand scratching the back of his head as he asserts his straight identity and the two go on to have a meal far more quiet and awkward than usual. When new-boyfriend James comes to pick up Juliet, Milo forces a smile before staring daggers at his back as the pair walk away. 

This brings us to the present hate scrolling session in which Milo is more than absorbed. Lips curl into a sneer as he traces the impossible to ignore curves of this must-be dullard’s defined body. Milo scoffs as he sees the litany of women that must make up the man’s dating history. “Bet they won’t even last a week, ha! I mean judging by how much the douche spends in the gym I bet he’s just using her as a beard anyway.”

With this final rather homophobic assertion, the nerd’s phone flashes before going dark, “What the-” before he has to determine whatever caused this, he goes stiff as a strange voice resounds through his head. ‘Tired of all the big boys getting what they want, hmm?’ Immediately concerned he’s lost his mind, Milo gets to powering back on his phone to call for help. ‘Now now, Milo. Do not worry your little head. I am here to help. Would you not like the chance to be just like them?’ Just like them. Envy burns through his veins greater than anything. Sensing this immediately, whatever this voice is seizes upon his clearly fragile psyche, its laughter steely and alien, ‘Ah ha ha. I thought so.’

Dropping his phone once more, Milo tries to drill the voice, “Wh- what are you exactly. Are you a dem- hm, an angel?” The voice answers almost before he even finishes the thought, ‘It matters not what I am. All that matters are your desires. Now. Do you wish to be all you desire, all this James embodies? All that he is in your head.” Miles gulps and almost starts drooling at the idea, just like James. Women at his fingertips whenever he wants, a body sculpted by the gods while keeping a far better mind than that oaf could ever afford. With next to no hesitation or forethought, Milo nods and the world goes dark.

When he awakens the poorly mannered man finds it’s the next day. His phone rests in his hand and when opened he finds it zoomed in on a picture of James’ meaty bicep. Milo rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside before going to stand. Making it halfway up he grunts in pain as he only then discovers morning wood more pressing and turgid than he’s ever encountered. Falling back down he clutches at the pain in his crotch from his cock being forcibly yanked by his underwear. Hands now grasping it he gasps as he finds it filling them far more than it has any right to. 

Well now, while they’re already down there he might as well have some fun right? After briefly struggling to get his waistband over his swollen package his mouth falls open in shock as he’s finally able to appraise the almost unrecognizable cock hanging from his crotch. It’s like none he’s seen before, not that he generally observes dicks of course. Far more impressive than he imagined a dick could be. His fingertips can scarcely meet his palm when he tries to grasp it, and as he begins rubbing it it feels leagues more sensitive than it has before now, as if nerve endings are multiplying. Looking to his awaiting phone he sees the photo of James and what’s her name as he begins masturbating outright.

Seeing a bulge in James’ strained pants he grunts as he returns to stare at his own suddenly substantial cock. More like him. The already thicker rod strains as he reflexively humps into his hand, forcing his grip wider as it expands to simply need more room. The new veins painting the length of his nascent ten inch dick surge higher up its length as he swears he can see them pulse and bulge with each racing heartbeat. Beneath his thrusting hands, bouncing as his hips continue to forcefully thrust with more strength than he has, his balls similarly grow heavier, larger as they send hormones flowing through him enough to metamorphosize and, more immediately, cause pre to stream and coat his fingers. 

Milo leans his head back as he is bursting with a need for release greater than he can understand. He shifts his jaw as it twinges with the pleasure of growth, widening and strengthening into one fit for titan. Below his newly defined chin, his neck thickens and moans grow deeper as an Adam's apple bulges out of his throat. Hearing his voice echo deeper throughout his bedroom, his heady pleasure comes to a head as he is struck with the bizarre urge to lick the pre off his fingers. Before he’s able to acquire or express shock and disgust, his eyes blast open and he is again staring at the image of James, more like- and he blows his load.

The moment of release may as well have shut him down once more, pleasure overloads him like a flashbang as every inch of his body feels at once. Drool drips from his plumper lips as his mind is fried and his hips continue to thrust without any input or awareness, sending stains across his wall and splattering into his darker hair as it begins to pull shorter and tint darker. Eyebrows thicken and cover more of his forehead as his brow hangs lower over his eyes staining brown and growing duller.

His whole form tenses as he finally achieves release, staring at the image of his, uh, competition. Arms flex as his hands crack wider, fingers stretch longer, skin grows rougher. For the first time in his life definition appears on his arms, biceps and triceps compete for which can increase faster, which can catch more eyes, which can rival those alluring arms of James. Beneath shoulders packing on weight are pits that darken with curls now thicker, a deeper brown nearing black as the forest strives to prevent any light from breaking the canopy. Similarly they moisten with the masculine heady musk that they are perfectly designed to disseminate, powerful enough to allure any twink towards his dick, or uh, huh.

Milo moans as this seemingly intrusive thought makes itself at home in his morphing psyche. Barely returning to sentience enough to realize the stray gay thought, he arches his back and stretches as if he were waking up. Mindlessly he wipes the cum staining his larger hands on the new dark treasure trail as it itches and slowly inches up from pubes unshaved. Feeling the hint of an Adonis belt he sits up with a shock, the feeling of something he has long envied bringing back his awareness.

Despite the obvious differences it takes far too long for him to be aware of, to truly notice what has become of him. He struggles to make sense of the effort it takes to move his new larger limbs. He grabs at his new hair and sucks drool through his teeth as he tries to understand how it’s changed texture and color so totally, did he dye it and forget or what? The gears in his mind slowly turn as his fingers move to scratch an itch under his arms, struggling through the dank jungle of curls. Thoughtlessly he brings his sweat-wet fingers to his nose and grimaces. “Fuck man, I smell like an, uh, like a, unnh-” he moans quietly as he’s unable to even finish the sentence, instead an image of James forces its way to the front of his mind and two now-malnourished brain cells spark together and strain to form a thought.

“Oh fuck I’m turning into a imbe-, an uh imbekle? Ugh, an uh- a dumb jock.” Milo bites his lips and flexes an arm to try and assuage his nerves, to get his attention focused on anything but his anxieties. Fortunately to this end, seeing his bulging biceps he feels his larger cock begin to stir. Some semblance of rationality knows ceding to his wanting package is probably what led to this encroaching fog over his mind. His skin begins to prickle as all-around it grows more sensitive. Beyond these skin deep sensations it also seems as if darker hairs are beginning to spread out wherever his follicles will allow.

Seeing hair beginning to prickle his chest and blanket his legs his mind produces images of hairy men he has leered at through the years. His neck twitches as whatever dregs of the pathetic skirtchaser he once was rise up and try to combat his new predilections. He’s straight, he’s always been straight. Right? His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember ever having dated a woman in the past. Barring that, only just able to recall that something is happening to him, only just able to remember that he is transforming into some alien self, Milo tries to produce an image of what he used to look like. And he cannot.

His mouth falls open as it often does whenever he struggles to produce a thought, making it almost his default state. Mouth-breathing mouth ajar he fully experiences the thick air of his bedroom as it fills with his new musk. The room around him begins to dissolve and reform into surroundings that reinforce who he is now, that prove this is who he has always been. Clean pressed laundry dirty and shift into unwashed gym clothes that help cloud the room with his stink. Posters of whatever movies and video games he enjoys corrupt into images celebrating the impressive male form, all distinctly stained from the years of hanging on Milo’s bedroom walls. He hears clanking outside of his bedroom as bookshelves collapse and reform into weights heavier than he would be able to lift.

Milo stumbles to his larger feet and ignores the hefty weight of his balls and cock bobbing in the air as he drags himself out of his bedroom to find a mirror. He leaves sweaty footprints larger than any shoes he owns on the tile of the bathroom as he bumbles in. Leaning over the sink his lips quiver as he sees a razor clogged with hair darker than he feels he should have. Sooner than the doubts arrive they vacate as a thick, stubbled beard rapidly bursts onto his face. Looking up he smirks as he sees a thick mustache surges over his upper lip, looking just like the ones he appreciates,  just like he has always been into. His eye twitches and he grunts as his hair retracts once more into something far more intentional and stylish. At the same time pecs suddenly bulge larger and hang lower as Milo leans heavier over the bathroom sink. 

His eyes glaze over as complex thoughts once more become too elusive in the face of his rising lusts. Muscles bulge larger as his back and legs creak, stretching him taller as thighs and shoulders widen and continue putting on mass. Feet spread like fins on the floor as his hands widen and sweatily slide on the ceramic sink. His mouth continues to water as he inspects all these increasingly masculine changes and his cock continues to throb. Milo bites his lip as new sensations arise from his cock once more, this time the change is apparent as his foreskin regrows, making his cock look even thicker as its head grows hooded and he struggles not to immediately break into masturbation at the powerful image of his own seductive form.

Milo’s barely functioning mind struggles to argue for any reason to not just return to the immeasurable delights of gratifying his all-encompassing urges. He stays his hands for a moment before the greatest horror yet rears its head. A monologue begins in his mind that is not his own, that cannot be his own. Dull laughter echoes through his increasingly vacant mind as a voice even slower and deeper than that which sounds from his new vocal chords, “Yooo broo come onnnnn. Give up, give in. This is what you wanted, ‘s what we wanted huhuhuh.”

He feels a pressure in his balls as they almost churn with the otherworldly need that seemingly always flows through him. He can’t help but imagine the men he’s going to bed with his new endowment, how many cocks he’s going to take in his new powerful ass. Drool trickles from his lips through the dense black stubble that coats his face denser with each second, with each breath. Spit continues down the length of his more defined face before dripping onto weighty, similarly furred pecs. His heavier hands slowly creep towards the hardening cock standing tall and long from the jungle of pubes. Before he’s able to assist his thrusting hips however, his lusty haze is interrupted by his phone chiming. His mind immediately thinks it must be James which fills him with conflicting emotions of rage and giddiness. “Ohh bro maybe he’s inviting us over. It’s been toooo long since we fucked huhuh-”

Milo pointedly tries to ignore his hairier, bulkier reflection as he stumbles out of the bathroom to check his phone. Unfortunately he catches a glimpse which makes it all the more difficult to ignore the throbbing weight dripping, almost pouring, pre onto the floor. Despite it all he stands strong, quieting this other voice as it urgently tries to convince him to give in before he’s able to pick up his phone. In a final act of resistance, or perhaps impotence, he has the lofty idea of calling for help before his mind goes completely blank and, seeing the notification, he instinctually goes to his messages to find who texted him. It’s Juliet! 

First his heart flutters before he’s absolutely confused at the sensation. She’s just his bestie? Weird. He shakes off whatever that was and gets on to reading the message, “heyy girlie- which of these do you want me to post? Oh ya and lmao, are you and james cool if I do the last one?” At the mention of James his pulse again races and there are butterflies in his stomach far more powerful than whatever bizarre feelings he had but moments ago. No time to dwell, Milo starts swiping through the images sent. They’re a photoset of their little group outing to a halloween party last week, the trio, Milo, James and Jules dressed up as a group, as X-men! Respectively dressed as Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey.

He smirks as he starts chubbing up again thinking of how easily he was able to pass as the hairy beast. His eyes then return to see James’ bubble butt in trademark spandex, which only makes it harder to not lose control then and there, moaning as he imagines playing with that ass. Holding to whatever well of willpower remains within him Milo holds strong and keeps his hands above waist level. Finally he gets to the specific image Juliet mentioned, one of him and James messily making out on the dance floor. James yanks at the hairy Milo’s hair, visor half hanging off as Milo reciprocates by shoving his hand into James’ pants. Fuck that’s hot.

Without even touching his needy cock, without any pleading from the new voice in his head, without a single chance to hold back. Simply from seeing the steamy image of him and James, Milo’s mind is overrun with memories and desires of the new man he is. The man he ever was and always will be. And for the second time today, but not the last, he loses control. Cum splatters against his phone as his mind goes blank anew with rushing pleasure. Painting himself once more with his most-used utensil he laughs dumbly as he realizes how swiftly he just came. Almost with pathetic haste, though now he’s quite unfamiliar with any sense of shame. The voice that only just wormed its way into his head spills from his mouth as it fully and forevermore wrests control as the true Milo.

“Huhuhuh guess I should work on my hair trigger,” He grunts as he looks at his phone and texts back some variation of ‘girl that’s porn you can’t post that!!!’ he turns his mind where it goes more often than anywhere in his new life. He wonders what James is doing and immediately texts him. Waiting for a reply Milo heads off to the gym to get a pump in before presumably going to meet him, not worrying about cleaning up or covering his scent. The gym’s for smelling like a man right? He certainly wouldn’t mind if everyone else followed his lead huhuh. Milo bites his lip trying to ignore his hardening cock as he makes his way out of the apartment clad in too-tight, stained gym clothes. 

Before he even makes it out the complex he gets a text from James and promptly changes course. Immediately Milo’s racing down the street to his lover’s apartment. Cock already snaking down his shorts and creating a stain at its nadir, Milo hopes he can keep his needy cock at bay until he makes it. Thinking of the alternative work out he’s to enjoy in bed with James, Milo struggles to not moan obscenely as he waddles as quickly as he can into the lobby of James’ building. Heart racing with excitement he can’t wait to see James in person. Jittery with nerves, it feels like he’s going to meet the man for the first time. Hah! Milo promptly ignores the idea and starts to get some stretching in before their session. Trying to practice mindfulness with a mind thicker than mud he quickly finds himself possessed with memories of their countless times fucking in the past. Easy enough as the pair have been doing so for years. Still nerves assail him as his cock continues to strain his shorts. As the elevator doors click open he smirks as he was able to make it this far without blowing his third load of the day. His cock throbs with anticipation for its release soon to come, and impatiently awaits each and every similar session to follow.

[alnilaem]

slobbering and whimpering at the thought of butcher!simon who also happens to be your socially inept neighbour <3

—

It’s the seedier side of Manchester you move to. To a flat with wet rot between each brick and the peal of police sirens on every other street.

Crammed into the corner of your block is a little gem found between flats and markets: a well-loved butcher shop.

It’s suffocating when you walk in. Dewy and damp and misty and permeating with the angry odour of metal, poorly offset by an overripe air freshener hanging above the entrance.

A man lurks behind the counter. He’s big. Huge. Demands too much space as the coarsely-sewn sheers of his shirt look like they’re about to burst at his biceps. His hair is tamed under a Man Utd cap, but a few odd-angled curls peek out. His arm, swathed in tattoos, flexes as he hacks at a red piece of meat, slicing through the tendons, as you meagrely clear your throat for his attention.

His eyes, sunken in his sallow sockets, hinge upwards to stare at you.

“Um, hope I’m not interrupting you.”

His eyebrows purse because obviously you are. He steps away from the counter, wiping his big, bloodied hands against his apron.

“Could I just-“ you sharply inhale, then belatedly regret it as the smell of raw meat invades your senses. You suppress a cough as to not offend him. He stands with his arms crossed, the papery crows feet of his eyes folding as he stares at you above his mask. “Ah… lamb shanks?”

He grunts. It’s curt, but it doesn’t seem rude. More like socially inept in the ways in which he regards you, and how he prepares your order in sparse, quick movements.

“£6.00.”

You fish in your pocket and bring out a thin handful of coins. He swipes it, doesn’t bother to count it, for some reason, and slides the lamb into a repurposed Tesco bag, handing it over the display.

You reach over, your gaze flitting to his name tag which features only the tail-end of his name, the rest of the ink smudged and washed away from years of hard work.

As you swipe the bag from his hold, his finger brushes yours. A gossamer-thin layer of blood stains your forefinger and marinates your skin in the middle of the exchange.

You pivot, throwing a soft thanks over your shoulder, and rub your thumb into his vestigial warmth on your finger.

—

It’s after dark when you slip outside your flat, bin bag slapping against your thigh. You’re in a large sweatshirt and some shorts, chucking the trash down the disposal, when the tinny, grating sound of metal-against-metal peals from the elevator.

You throw a cursory glance over your shoulder, but freeze as you spot a familiar figure ducking under the roof of the lift and stepping onto your floor. The butcher.

He is clad in a filmy jacket, arms laden with shopping bags as he helps an elderly lady into her flat.

She says “Thank you, Simon,” and Simon nods, closing the door on his way out.

He fishes through his pockets for his keys and shoulders past you. You think he doesn’t recognise you, or worse, pointedly ignores you.

And for some reason, the latter thought causes a pang of sadness to seize you.

However, halfway down the corridor, in front of the flat next to your own, Simon turns around.

“You’re the new neighbour? Room 146?”

His eyes flicker from your legs to your face. A film of recognition glosses his eyes. Your mouth suddenly feels dry and you dumbly nod, preening under his intimidating eyes.

“Walls are thin,” he says, jamming his keys into the lock, “try keeping quiet, love. Some of us’ve got work in the mornings, yeah?”

Before you can reply, the conversation is already over with the slam of Simon’s door swinging shut.

[jinxificada]

something to relax

dealer!jinx x fem!reader

summary: you deserve a rest, so you turn to the infamous jinx for help.

notes: nsfw, modern au, wc 4k !! inaccurate drug dealing.

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

"i'm telling you, you're insanely overworking yourself. i don't even understand where'd you get all the time to do everything you do." your friend scolds you jokingly, though you can tell she's honestly worried for you.

"nonsense." you roll your eyes in denial, "i'm alright, we take the same classes."

"i'm not in any club doing extracurricular stuff, nor am i tutoring any dumb kid." she discusses, walking with you through the crowded hallway towards your next class.

"well i don't really have a choice, it's for the-"

"the scholarship, i know." she sighs, finally arriving. "just... please take a moment to relax."

you both take your seats almost in the middle of the classroom, by the windows. she always sat in front of you, so she would turn around and chat whenever she wanted without you being able to ignore her.

"what about we go to that party on saturday?" she proposes and you already bite your lip with an hesitant expression, "please! we don't have to stay the whole time, just an hour or two."

"i don't know... i don't have a car and it’ll be too late to take the bus." you poorly excuse, not wanting to fully reject her.

"i can drive you! or you can just stay at mine." she happily resolves and you just nod with a sigh.

it's not that you didn't like hanging out with your friend, nor she's always so insistent. she usually is very understanding and gives you space. but the exams were getting close and you needed to higher your grades in a couple of classes, so you've been paying extra attention in classes, speaking with a couple of teachers on how to improve your grades and busying yourself with the usual assignments, the extra assignments, and tutoring this one kid below your year for some extra money.

unlike most of the students here, your family isn't able to properly pay for your education. you've done your previous years in the public school your small town, your teachers were so amazed with your capabilities that they recommended your parents to send you somewhere... better. they all collaborated on writing a recommendation letter for your acceptance. and you got the full scholarship! congrats, now you have to work harder than your classmates in order to keep it.

it wasn't fair, and your friend knew it. she felt so bad that she couldn't help you with money or your studies, but she can help you to ease your mind a bit.

so, you could only frown while making a mental list of all the valuable things you could be doing instead of this, standing in a big kitchen full of intoxicated teenagers. your friend was trying to talk with you while mixing alcohol in disposable cups for each one of you.

"and tomy was sticking his tongue inside of mary's mouth in front of her father, ew! you should've seen their faces when they realized, her father was burning red, i don't know if from embarrasment or anger." she rambled with a loud laugh.

you chuckle, mostly because her laugh was contagious. "who was tomy, again?"

"shh, he's coming." she suddenly leans in to whisper before pulling back wearing her social smile, "tomyy!"

a rather scrawny tall boy comes from behind you saying your friend's name in the same way, "fancy seeing you here!" ah, he had a high pitched voice.

"i didn't want you to miss me!" she quickly jokes, "nice party!"

"i'm guessing you're having a good time." he chuckles. at this point he's set himself right next to you and still hadn't acknoledge you. "have you already found jinx?" he asks curiously with a supposedly mischeavous smile.

"damn, she's here already?"

"yeah, just bought from her in the second garden."

'what the hell is a second garden?' you thought with a weirded out glance.

they chat a bit more and you think you know the kitchen from memory after rolling your eyes around as they talked. the boy soon moves to another guest and your friend turns back to you.

"the funniest thing is that they were sent to the principal's office was for sucking their faces off in the middle of class." she continues the conversation she was having with you as if you've never been interrupted, it was a talent of hers.

'is this what she thinks of a relaxing night...?' you mentally complained. you had your friend talk you ear off 5 days a week, but that didn't seem enough for her. at some point you muted her voice from your head and only listened to the loud pop music and different people talking over each other. your eyes were fixed on the next room through the kitchen's door, the flashing lights barely illuminated the crowd. blondes, brunettes and redheads, they all stay in the background when a blue head pushes through them to your way.

you physically react with a quiet sigh when you can see her face. a pretty girl, with the softest features you've ever seen, decorated with a messy dark makeup and intense eyes. curious to see how her full style looked like your gaze lowers on her body, she was wearing a white laced corset gripping her chest for life and low wasted black denim shorts, along with the biggest boots you've ever seen.

the girl who caught your eye walked into the room with loud, confident steps. people quickle recognized her, some greeted, some lowered their eyes to the floor. she only smiled briefly before grabbing two closed bottles of vodka like she owned the place and left.

"who was that?" you breath out, realizing you've been holding it the whole time.

"jinx," your friend shrugged, "local dealer, mental problems and rich daddy." she summarized, fixing her lipstick and soon changing the topic.

the night ended up being a boomer. your friend got a stoner to share his blunt with you both and that, mixed with the alcohol you had been drinking since the night started, made you both pretty tired and sleepy. luckily, your friend's house was about two streets down from the party, allowing you to arrive sound and safe while intoxicated.

you couldn't deny that you slept like a baby.

but the week started again a day after, along with your responsabilities. and it seemed that it's gonna be a shitty one.

for your extracurricular activity, you had the job to take decent pictures for the school's paper. they were all rejected by the president in charge. you scored a negative B in a practically easy test because you were too distracted noticing that the so named jinx was in the same class as you. 'she looks very pretty in the dark blue uniform.' was your constant thought. and the cherry on top, you didn't have your extra money of the week because the parents of your student were late with the payment.

they were showered in wealth, why won't they give you your 50 dollars? now they’ll have to pay $100 next week.

but for now… you had to survive with the remaining money you had left for the rest of the week. and it was only monday.

you thought you could handle this particularly difficult week, but all this tension build up only to blow up on your face. and the face of the teacher who was telling you why you had to rewrite the essay you just submitted.

you were use to cry over stress, you thought it was a healthy way of letting it out. just not in the public eye.

tears and sobs were comming out of you as you walked down the halls, feeling like millions of eyes were judging you. how embarrasing, right? but that was only your mind playing you, the only person who looked at you twice was tomy who recognized you but couldn't recall from where.

it was friday and the classes already ended, the club was about to start in ten minutes but you were debating whether test your luck and see if it can all get shittier or just call it a day and go home.

but a loud yell of your name from behind you interrupted this final decision, your friend throted her way up to you and worriedly wiped your tears.

"are you okay? what happened?"

"i'm fucked up! i'm gonna fail all my exams and get kicked out from this stupid school!" you dramatically cried in the comfort of your friend's arms. you knew she was fighting demons to not roll her eyes and say 'i told you'.

she listened to your whines for a couple more minutes until she had an idea.

"okay stop, shush." you frowned but stayed quiet anyways, "listen, i know jinx stays in club hours to sell, she must be in that shitty bathroom from the second floor. why don't you go buy some weed and relax this weekend?"

your frown deepened and even a light blush appeared on your wet cheeks, "uhm, i don't know... why don't you just stay at my house to hangout, please?"

"oh hun, i would love to but my parents are taking me to visit my grandma." who lived far far away, you nodded. "just, try what i'm telling you, okay?"

"okay..." you hesitantly say, your friend seemed in a rush because just when you were about to ask her how much it would probably cost and how many grams you should buy, she pecked both of your cheeks in goodbye and left you standing in an almost empty hallway.

you were on your own now, hoping the 15 dollars you had left from this long week would be enough, but you doubted it.

you hesitantly pushed the door of the supposedly shitty bathroom (it didn't have a mirror, nor the renovated cubicle doors the other's had, though it was perfectly functional). welcomed by the sight of jinx sitting on top of the counter sink, ciggarette in hand and an amused smile on her face while she talked with another girl.

they quickly shut up at your presence. you purse your lips awkwardly at them, you were about to greet them when this other girl just scoffed as if you ruined something and leaned to whisper in the bluehaired's ear. jinx only chuckled in what you thought was a very flirty manner and the girl left, leaving you alone with her.

it was a good moment to say something, jinx was looking at you expectantly but you were too busy checking her out.

the school uniform itself is rather conservative, but it was usual for students to fix it to their liking as long as it isn't too inappropiate. jinx seemed to be an exception, because you didn't know how was she allowed to move around with the skirt so short. you weren't complaining, not at all. with the way she crossed her legs you could easily appreciate her pale legs, noticing a few marks and bruises which fed your curiosity.

she cleared her throat, "so? you came all the way here to stare at me?"

"no- no, sorry." you quickly apologized and presented yourself, taking a few steps closer, your voices echoing in the bathroom,

"right… what can i offer you?"

though her words were friendly enough, her tone was playful and given that you had a breakdown just minutes ago, you couldn't help but feel like she was mocking you. she probably was.

"i, uh, i was wondering what's your cheapest relaxing item?" you hesitantly ask, seeing the corner of her lips rising the slightest bit in a smirk.

"are you familiar with drugs?"

"no... not really."

"then i have the perfect discount for you!" jinx smiles brightly and you get even more closer, interested. "weed is ideal for begginers, and i can give you 15g for 100 bucks, whatcha say?"

"oh." you instantly gloom. "and... h-how much for 2 or 3g?"

"3 grams? you can barely make a blunt with that." she mocks raising an eyebrow, studying you for a second before smirking again. it was hard to read her, but you could sense she had something in mind as it seemed rather mischeavous. "for 3g... 20 bucks."

you sighed, looking away in embarrasment. you heard that her prices were high, but this... what did she need so much money for, anyways?

"okay, um... i don't have enough money with me right now. thank you." you sheepeshly said, ready to turn around and go back home to keep crying.

"wait!" she suddenly says, decrossing her legs to shift in her spot, "don't give up so easily... we can arrange something..."

"arrange...?" you repeated, confused. jinx motioned with her fingers to approach her and you did, mantaining a respectable distance before she could reach your arm and pull you even closer, caresing the lenght of it along with your hand. you were stunned, feeling your ears and chest warm up. "how come?" you murmured, trying to grasp on the situation.

"i'm feelin' nice..." she hummed, "i can give you 5g... if you give me head."

"e-excuse me?" that was your first reaction, pulling the hand she was holding away and to your chest, "what...? are you serious?"

"oh don't be such a prude!" she chuckles, giving you a knowing look, "d'ya think i'm dumb? i've seen you staring, i know you want me."

her bluntness made you blush, damn, her mere presence made you blush. she was exposing you while offering her body in change of some weed. you've never been in this kind of situation before, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of something to say.

she kept distracting you though, with that pretty smirk of hers. since you didn't instantly ran away, jinx knew her guess was correct. reaching for your hand again and rounding your hips with her long legs to pull you closer, till your body hit the counter she was sitting on.

"i know you want me." she repeated in a low tone, "and i know you need it, toots." you unconsciously lean into her touch as she caress your cheek, right where the dried tears rested on.

"i don't want to t-take advantage of you..." you dumbly say, jinx almost pouted at how adorable you were. you thought it was you who was taking advantage of this?

"you're not, silly!" she giggled raspily, "this is business."

"i'm- i don't.... i'm not sure..." you rambled, and before you could make a point -if you were ever going to make it-, jinx pulled you into her for a kiss. a hungry, intense kiss.

and you instantly melted, your hands traveled to hug her waist as you reciprocated. she tasted like that ciggarette she was smoking a moment ago, mixed with the flavour of some candy.

you thought it was hot.

her body shifted closer, sitting by the edge of the counter to easily push her hips into you. the heated make-out was interrupted by her own heavy breaths.

"see, toots?" she rasped, "you can do it."

"okay." you hummed, leaning in to kiss her again. it was ridiculous really, how easily you gave in. specially after she dodged your attempt with an evil smirk.

"uh-uh." she pushed you by the shoulders, "i asked you to eat me out."

you almost scoffed in complain, before realizing that maybe… this was even better.

"but i have a condition." jinx called for your attention with an amused chuckle. "you have to make me squirt."

"fuck." you sighed, "really...? are you-?"

"i know i can, yeah." she nods, spreading her legs for you, "but it won't be easy..."

you certainly wouldn't mind trying, you weren't exactly up close to her pussy and you could already feel the smell of her arousal, inviting you to taste her. jinx lifted up her skirt to expose her lingerie, a furious pink with a wet spot on her center that watered your mouth.

soon enough you were kneeling down, it was a bit uncomfortable given the height of the sink. hesitantly, you licked your lips and looked up at her, in search of confirmation. in response, jinx flashed you a playful smile, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands.

satisfied, you concentrated on her pussy, carefully pressing down your thumb as if testing the waters. her hips twitched at the contact, moving towards your hand. you let out a hum, 'sensitive?'. experimentally, you sticked your tongue out to lap over her underwear, the wet spot growing as it mixed with your saliva. you were contently taking things slow, against jinx own desires.

she aggresively gripped your hair to push your head into her pussy, "don't tease me, nerd." she husked.

and you couldn't bring yourself to mind, rushing to move her panties to the side to finally taste her. you wanted to impress her, you wanted her to like you, and give her the best head she'd ever have. your lips hugged her clit, quickly working on her pussy, sucking and lapping. you were rewarded with quiet sighs and trembling legs, occasionally a moan. but it seemed that jinx was trying not to crumble, silencing her sounds by pressing her lips together, though it barely did the job. you didn't mind, not when you were making out with her pussy so fervently.

your hands gripped her plushy thighs as you put them on your shoulders, helping her to stay still. her hips twitched towards you every now and then, when you would suck particularly hard on her throbbing clit. and you? you were having the time of your life.

as busy as you always were, it’s been quite long since you had some fun like this.

jinx looked down at you with furrowed eyebrows and flushed cheeks, meowing softly as she felt herself coming undone at your enthusiastic work on her pussy. her hand pulled at your hair and you opened your eyes to meet hers, but her head was thrown back in pleasure. you didn’t stop, instead you moved your hand to furiously rub her center until she looked at you again, biting her lower lip to muffle her moan. she came against your mouth, rocking her hips lazily against you.

you licked her clean a few times before realizing you didn't accomplished your task, she didn't squirt.

"well well, toots," she said accompanied with a breathless and amused chuckle, "i told you it would be- mhm!" her mocking words were interrupted by your actions, you decided that you'll just try harder.

you went back at it, this time focusing more on her unattended hole. when your tongue explored a little more inside, your nose hit her clit sending shivers through her back as she arched. her initial surprise was overpowered with pleasure, she didn't care anymore about not showing how much she was enjoying herself.

after the previous stimulation, this time she reached her limit much quicker. you really wanted to make her squirt, so you put all your effort on your fingers, which you carefully put inside her. jinx cursed above you, letting you do whatever you wanted with your body as everything felt just so good for her.

and the reward came along her relief, her cum fell all over your lower face, though you shamelessly tried to drink all you could.

"mkay, stop-" jinx whined lowly as you kept your mouth attached to her pussy, against her own words her legs squeezed your head tightly.

you pulled back a few seconds later, wiping your chin with the back of your hand only to smudge all her fluids to your cheek, making her giggle. she motioned at you to get closer, opening the flush of water on the sink by her side.

"thanks." you smiled quietly as she cleaned your face with water, "your thighs..." you pointed out at the wet mess on her inner thighs.

"i know."

jinx took a deep breath before making an effort to get down the counter, barely struggling to make her way inside a cubicle. you shyly stayed put, fixing your hair looking to anywhere else to give her some privacy as she cleaned herself up.

"i didn't know you were that stubborn." the bluehaired girl mocked you, suddenly she was by your side again. this time cornering you.

"you- you asked me to do it."

"yeah..."

there was something so mesmerizing in her blushed cheeks, her darkened blue eyes. your breath got caught in your throat when you felt her slim fingers sneaking under your skirt uniform to playfully pull on the edge of your underwear.

you only looked at her with little hesitance before you tried to lean in and kiss her. she dodge your attempt for the second time, not letting you time to react when she forcefully turned you around, pushing her chest on your back.

"i can give you the 15g, if you let me play a little bit." she whispered against your ear, nibbling at the earring you were wearing, "hmm? will ya let me?"

"yeah," you quickly agreed with a pleading voice, hitching up your own skirt and resting your hand on top of hers while pushing your hips, your movements were hurried and desperate, there was a pulsing desiring waiting to be attended. jinx was overly amused, rubbing your center over your underwear. "yes..." you sighed, throwing your head back to her side, leaving you neck exposed for her to keep her lips busy with.

breathless moans left your mouth, relaxing your body against her touch when loud steps startled you. it was impossible for you to ignore them because there was a chance that someone could caught you both. though jinx didn't seem to care, mindlessly biting your skin.

"did you hear that?" you mumbled, your body tensed in anticipation.

"yeah," she giggled in response, capturing your attention by getting her hands under you panties which got a squeak sound out of you. "imagine if they find us here."

"not funny-" you grumbled, unable to push her away but your eyes fixed on the closed door.

"c'mon baby, must be the janitor. he's not allowed to come here." she reassured, her other hand moving your head to her, kissing your lips messily.

you gave in, sighing into her as she pump her fingers in and out of you. you already felt so stimulated that a few minutes later you were already cumming on her hand. she doesn't stops till you ride out of your high.

jinx loudly pecks your cheek, pulling her fingers out and up to her mouth, sucking off your cum.

"god." your voice trembled at the sight.

she only smirked at you, walking to her bag which was laying on the floor. your eyes were closed while you fixed yourself again, anxious to get home and change your dirty underwear as you can uncomfortably feel the stickness.

when you opened them, jinx left on the counter a small ziploc bag.

"a deal is a deal." she shrugs, "enjoy."

you slowly reached to the bag, a bit conflicted by how the situation was ending.

“i- i’m not even sure i needed it now.”

jinx raised her eyebrows at your murmur, you came to her with those desperate and anxious eyes, only for you to not accept it?

but she knew better, with her signature mischievous smirk she approached you once again, puts the bag in your hands and let her fingers linger a bit more on top of them.

“how about this? take ‘em home, use it tonight and touch yourself thinking ‘bout me.”

your eyes open slightly, and you blush like you didn’t just fuck her a couple of minutes ago. either she always caught you out of guard, or you’re simply not used to being… so vulgar.

“so? will you do that f’me?” she stares at you expectantly with those big blue eyes, amused by your reactions.

“y-yeah, yes i’ll do it.”

“cute.” she sighs, leaning to peck your cheek once again before going to grab her bag and walk towards the exit. “i want proof! text me later!” she chuckles loudly by the door and just as loudly smacks it closed.

[bugbyte]

Ah, so once again our SNAP benefits have been turned off for mystery reasons, and of course Monday is a holiday so of course nothing can get done about it until Tuesday at the earliest.

The social services worker assigned to our case is either inept or contemptuous and I cannot tell which, maybe both, but this is a years long saga where she gets our paperwork (which we spend the gas money to hand deliver, it’s a hike to get there) and then she just doesn’t deal with it. And everything gets shut off.

I think we have enough to get through these few days and a tiny bit of cash if it goes sideways, but if you ever believed that getting any kind of assistance is easy or lazy, it’s not. I am regularly doing secretarial work for people getting paid by the state because they don’t keep copies, or notes, or remember to look at things.

Anyway I love, love, love this twice a year nonsense that is an immensely stressful struggle for no reason. What a well functioning system. Have I mentioned that stress makes my pain flare up? Stress makes my pain flare up. My right arm and leg have been on fire for days and also feel like they’re full of broken glass. I have been sleeping very poorly.

Good times!!!

I cannot wait for some ambiguous point in the future where I can afford like, a chest freezer, and somehow stock some food ahead that isn’t just non-perishable stuff. We have an ordinary freezer but it’s very tiny. The idea of being able to grab frozen ingredients or even pre-prepped dinner or leftovers seems like such a luxury. The dream.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(GFL Short Fic) AN-94 attempts romance

AN-94 has no idea how to approach romance, given her lack of social skills and knowledge about humans in general.

But she would do her best to let her feelings be known!

AN-94 sat in her dorm dressed in her casual uniform, that being a black t-shirt and pants. Her gaze was focused on the wall, but she was fighting a mental battle.

She had learned that she quite enjoyed spending time with one of the human personnel, who seemed to feel the same. But it was...strange. It wasn't quite the same nature of how she felt for the rest of DEFY.

According to (Y/N), she seemed to smile around them and acted differently. What did humans call two people that were always together again?

(AN-94) "...A couple?"

That's right, they were called 'couples' according to the internet searches she had conducted in her head. But how did one become a couple? As far as she could tell, they were just friends. If that internet definition was even right, anyway.

(AK-12's Voice) "Thinking about (Y/N) again?"

(AN-94) "Ah, yes. Do you know how couples are made, AK-12?"

AK-12's Advice

(AK-12) "Hm, I'm not entirely sure. But why bother asking me when you could do so yourself? Come on, go out there and be yourself! I'm sure it'll be fine!"

AN-94 nodded.

(AN-94) "Understood. Commencing mission."

She left the dorm with a determined walk, AK-15 and RPK-16 looking outwards after her.

(AK-15) "...You realize this will end poorly, correct?"

(AK-12) "Probably. But better to learn from failure, eh?"

(RPK-16) "Agreed."

...

(Y/N) "So, what brings you by today, 94? Need something?"

(AN-94) "I am just being myself."

(Y/N) "...I-Is that right?"

(AN-94) "Is that a problem?"

(Y/N) "Hah, no. I don't mind a bit. I'm just gonna be organizing some paperwork for the commander, I can't imagine it's exactly exciting."

(AN-94) "Then allow me to help."

(Y/N) "Sure, that'd be great! Thanks again!"

AN-94 helped (Y/N) with the paperwork. True to her mission, she remained herself, not mentioning a single thing about her feelings towards (Y/N) and remaining almost silent the entire time.

For (Y/N), it was quite a comfortable silence. For AN-94, she was even more confused. She had changed nothing, why was (Y/N) not mentioning they were in love yet?

RPK-16's Advice

(RPK-16) "So, they didn't have a reaction?"

(AN-94) "Negative. I am unsure what I did wrong."

(RPK-16) "Hm, well you do have the sort of air to just be seen through..."

AN-94 slightly frowned at the comment until RPK-16 excitedly put her hands together.

(RPK-16) "How about physical contact? Humans are quite like rabbits where they desperately crave it!"

(AN-94) "Physical contact?...I see, that may work."

...

(Y/N) was suddenly confused as to why AN-94 was suddenly in their quarters. Not to mention she was completely still, her face literally in their chest.

It also didn't help they were also on their bed. She remained unmoving like a statue, and she was acting as if there was nothing wrong.

(Y/N) "U-Um...!"

(AN-94) "Does this bother you?"

Her voice was muffled in their shirt.

(Y/N) "A-A little. It's almost midnight, why are you just-"

(AN-94) "Then this method is not working. Please, excuse me."

Quickly removing herself from their upper torso, she stood back up and left the room without saying anything else, leaving an extremely confused (Y/N).

Commander's Advice

(AN-94) "...And that explains my situation, sir."

(Commander) "...Now, I know I have an open door policy, but why did you come to me about this?"

(AN-94) "Are you unversed in romance, sir?"

The commander awkwardly coughed into his hand, adjusting his jacket's collar and trying to ignore the fact AN-94 had just called him out for being single.

(Commander) "I'm just saying there are probably others who's far better at reading these kinds of emotions. Plus, that probably confused the hell out of poor (Y/N)..."

(AN-94) "They did seem quite perplexed as to why I was so close to them."

(Commander) "...Oh, I know who could help!"

He said, snapping his finger. He quickly reached for a nearby intercom and called out the T-Doll's name.

Springfield's Advice

Springfield brought out a small tray containing four muffins she had baked, giving AN-94 a warm smile.

(Springfield) "You know what they say! The quickest way to a person's heart is their stomach!"

AN-94 contemplated that for a moment before Springfield cleared her throat.

(Springfield) "It's a metaphor dear. Before you tear out their internal organs, it means that they'll get your message of love a lot faster if you give them good food!"

AN-94 nodded and stared at the muffins.

(AN-94) "But...these are made by you. Would (Y/N) not love you instead of me?"

Springfield couldn't help but giggle at her innocence. AN-94 tilted her head.

(Springfield) "I'm sorry, that wasn't meant to offend, sweetie. Well, you do have a good point, it would mean a bit more if it came from you, but-"

(AN-94) "May I borrow your kitchen? I would like to make some muffins."

(Springfield) "Be my guest!"

...

(Y/N) "Mmm! These muffins are so good! Thank you so much for bringing them here! Springfield always knows how to bake them just right."

For some reason AN-94 was flustered, unable to look them in the eye. Maybe it was because of that whole planking incident a few days ago? (Y/N) was confused, they weren't angry at her to begin with.

(Y/N) "Would you like some? There's more than enough for the two of us!"

(AN-94) "...T-Thank you."

Seeing her smile got (Y/N) to smile now as well, something she immediately took notice of. AN-94 made sure not to tell them of the fires that broke out in the attempts of her trying to cook for them.

Instead she had to use Springfield's muffins in the end.

...

AK-15's Advice

AN-94 sat back in DEFY's dorm, looking dejected as she laid in her bed. Every attempt had failed spectacularly. If only romance was like the battlefield, then she could complete this mission with no problems. She could hear AK-15 sigh as she approached her bed, crossing her arms.

(AK-15) "So, have you tried telling (Y/N) you liked them directly?"

(AN-94) "...What?"

(AK-15) "There's no use of beating around the bush. Tell them how you feel so you can avoid any further misconceptions, and get results that way."

That...made sense, actually.

(AN-94) "Thank you, AK-15."

Springing up from her bed, she immediately dashed out and made way towards (Y/N)'s quarters once again.

(AK-15) "...Human etiquette is so inefficient..."

...

(Y/N) "You...like me?"

(AN-94) "I do, (Y/N). I...I only hope that I am irreplaceable in your heart."

(Y/N) began laughing, which made AN-94 confused again. Before she could voice it, they stepped closer to her, grabbing both her hands gently.

(Y/N) "Is this what those last few days have been about? Why didn't you just tell me?"

(AN-94) "I...I wanted to try things a human would."

Seeing her flustered reaction made (Y/N) embrace her tightly, laughing gently and making her comfortable.

(Y/N) "Fair enough. I...I like you too, AN-94. And you've always been irreplaceable to me."

AN-94 smiled back and sunk deeper into their embrace, the two of them remaining silent.

AK-12 was listening in around the corner, nodding to herself in satisfaction. Walking off, she came across RPK-16 and AK-15 who were also nearby.

(AK-15) "You could have just told her to do that from the beginning and saved her the headache."

(RPK-16) "Oh come now, it's about the experience as well as the end result. Not everything has to be so direct, you know!~"

AK-15 simply grunted. AK-12 couldn't agree more. She'd have to pay (Y/N) a visit later, and make sure they'd be the best partner AN-94 could have outside the battlefield.

[lonelybiscuits]

Ah yes, here are the head canons no one asked for, but Im hyper fixated on these four so here we go!

Backstories:

Ogron; [I actually had a dream that he had a boyfriend and I accidentally aliven’t him so we’re working with that] I believe that long before magic was erased earth had its own version of red fountain, specifically because other beings tended to look down on earth creatures. I believe in his youth, his father replaced his mother with a cruel fairy, who ended up killing his mother,. Though he couldn’t prove it was her. She treated him poorly, and as soon as he could escape he did. He then met his lover, and him and his boyfriend both attended this red fountain knock off school, but somewhere along the way a few rogue/evil fairies attacked the school and his bf was caught in the cross fire. Losing his mother and lover to fairies, Ogron hatred solidified and his hunt began.

Gantlos; Gantlos was actually also a victim of rogue fairies, but he was too young to witness the destruction itself, and only grew up in the aftermath. He lived in a very cold region where winter was long and harsh, and slowly watched his mother freeze/starve to death along with his siblings. He had tried to keep everyone alive after his mother’s demise, but the young ones just weren’t strong enough. This led to a magical awakening of sorts and he ended up causing miles of destruction in his grief. A fairy who was the daughter of one of the ones that destroyed his home town found him and took him in. Everything was starting to warm up, until he overheard a meeting in which his home’s destruction was mentioned. He immediately confronted the fairies, and though the young fairy tried to save him the anguish, he found out the truth and in a fit of rage decimated them all.

Anagan; Anagan has a much more mild backstory. He grew up in a town where nature was the center of everything. It was practically worshipped, so nature magic was looked up upon. He wasn’t exactly an outcast, but his lack of ability in the natural magic made him fall short of his social status. One night he was walking the trail of the forest when he heard a few people scheming in the woods to destroy an ancient magical tree and attempt to harvest its magic. He tried to intervene himself but wasn’t quick enough. The tree was destroyed, in order to prevent the bandits from doing anymore damage, he quickly absorbed the magic himself. By the time the people of town found out it was too late, he tried to tell everyone what happened but the nature fairies blamed him, and this the whole town. No matter how much he tried to explain, the evidence was against him. He was run out of town by the fairies. He resented them for not believing him, and that’s where it started for him, though the actual taking of wings didn’t start until after meeting the others

Duman: his powers are rare and desirable. Most shapeshifters are reclusive and try not to blend with other magic species for fear of exploitation. When he was young he ventured too far out towards a neighboring village. His mother caught up with him, scolding him for going so far out alone. They were heading back when a fairy stopped them. She attacked his mother and while distracted, Duman was taken. He was sold to a rich sisterhood of fairies who mistreated him frequently and displayed him like a circus animal, he was frequently forced to overuse his transformation abilities, and beaten if he couldn’t comply. They publicly humiliated him and paraded him around. One night , Ogron was at a gala, he was there looking for fairies he felt were unworthy of their wings. When the fairies arrived with Duman and began their gaudy display of him, Ogron knew he had to save him. He followed them home and once all had turned in for the night, he began destroying them one by one. He found Duman locked in a cage in a basement, after releasing him, they searched for the fairy that had attacked his mother, and Duman destroyed her.

[animeisforanimation]

The Apothecary Diaries vs SpyXFamily

What to even compare here you ask? Well.

“A bunch of snakes”.

In my mother tongue, that’s a phrase to describe a group of female coworkers. Although snakes actually bundle up to procreate (which makes the simile kinda queer lol), this is meant to express the idea that women have zero comradely and are always ready to bite each other or spit metaphorical poison.

And we see these unpleasant squabbles in both stories, but the way it’s shown is drastically different.

-

In “diaries” these relationship are the consequence of the way these women live: in a constant struggle for the power male (namely Emperor’s) attention can give them. And the stiles are as high as they get: all these women are no more than political assets and beautiful decorations for the court. Their lives depend of how well they play by the rules of the palace.

Plus class segregation is a thing.

So, it’s clear why maids of higher rank and of a different, even opposing mistress, would treat the main character poorly.

Moreover, these very interpersonal conflicts are the main focus, if even say appeal of a show like that. It’s a game of thrones kind of story. And the way Maomao reacts is adding to the story: she understands, she’s irritated and even worried for her social stance and very life - but can’t actually do anything and this tells us so much about her!

And when she snaps it’s not some personal gripe, but the anger of a doctor, whose patient is actively being killed by mundane ignorance.

“Spy family”, however, is a totally different beast. It’s a comedy. Light-hearted, told mainly through perspective of a child. It generally ignores serious topics but in the rare monologues of the westerners (credit where credits due: the handlers words to a young terrorist were heart-wrenching).

So, when we see these women belittle Yor, in s1 even jokingly (?!) threatening to send her to the secret police, try to humiliate and physically harm her - and then Yor gets them perplexed by her naivety and smiles and asking their help it reads as… also comedy? Except it’s not funny at all.

One can argue, that they are supposed to represent the inner turmoil of the society, inability to trust people - it is Cold War after all. But because of the way Yor reacts - with smiles and seemingly genuine childlike honesty, and especially because of that episode when one of them helps Yor Learn to cook - I just don’t see that.

It is a joke to the creator. Haha, funny ladies funnily bully their coworkers. Ah, women.

And it is horrifying because such people are monsters.

One may remember Les Miserables and the horrible fate of Fantine, brought on her by the “virtuous” women around her.

I live in a country with a history of delations. I live in a time I’m afraid one may call the police about my beliefs. It’s a constant creeping horror, not a comedy beat.

The other thing is context.

In “The diary” there’s a lot of time for Maomao to talk with different people, a lot of them are women, most of them help her, some don’t. And so when a problem arrives, the antagonism is between people who happen to be women.

In “Spy family” Yor almost never deal with other women, even their neighbors mainly talk to and about her husband (don’t even get me started in that nightmare of a lady spy obsessed with the male lead). And so these moments with her coworkers ring not just ill-used for comedy, but also kinda misogynistic.

-

There are nuance, of course. Difference of genre conventions and the amount of time and attention characters have - but none of it changes the fact that when I say bullying in “The apothecary diaries”, I was intrigued and wanted to see how the story will play out. Seeing it - again and again! - as a joke in Spy Family makes me grit my teeth and think of ditching the show for good.

[authorofthemoon]

Alright I wanna catalogue all my thoughts on Persona 3 Reload but it's gonna start with an info dump. I rescued Fuuka and about halfway though the revenge website arc. So first done teammate thoughts.

I think the protagonist is pretty boring I just feels like he's less present than Yu and Ren. All his answers are either boring, polite, or really mean. Not a lot of opportunities to be a silly goose at least so far. I get the feeling he's meant to be a little emo and possibly apathetic to others due to the game's themes.

Junpei is cool, really silly goofy guy. Sucks he falls victim to Persona idiot guy syndrome and is kinda treated poorly by everyone and is kinda perverted. It's not insane but it's their.

Honestly love Takebe so much. She is such a normal person and it's so refreshing. And I mean normal normal like she is trying her fucking best even though she's kinda lame (affectionate) at times. Like the Ace Defective line made me laugh solely because of her pause beforehand like she tried so hard. And her random beef with Kirijo is so good. It's probably explained later but day one she did not get a good vibe from her and is constantly like 'Idk she gives me the ick' is so funny to me.

Speaking of Kirijo. Love her. Queen shit. Mother. Actual group mom. She's trying her best and again she's so funny. Her thinking that someone broke into Junpei's room when he's simply a slob is peak to me. She is THE Empress.

Akihiko. We love a good gym bro himbo. Him and Shinji have messy exes energy. Not much to him yet honestly but I'm excited to know more.

Same with Fuuka she seems really cool. Normal shy girl character but I'm sure we get a lot more depth with her social link.

Speaking of which social link rundown.

Kenji had me questioning my sanity bc why am I so supportive of this guy getting groomed? I can say it's a bad idea to ask out your teacher but I can never be like 'hey, she's a pedo.' I literally have been speed running his link bc I need to know if she's a creep or if he's delusional. I'm at 9 so it seems to be delusional.

I took one look at Odagiri and went 'ah yes, he's a little bit fucked up.' only halfway through so curious where it goes.

Would die for the elderly couple I need to advance their link.

Miyamoto, go to a fucking doctor do you not know how injuries work?

Chihiro I would kill for you. Not that far into her link but her dad can catch these hands.

Maya is cool. Not that engaging of a link tbh.

Hiraga is very cute and sweet so I wanna advance his link I'm only a couple in.

Yuko is cool I'm only at 4 with her. She's funny and quick witted.

I will fucking kill Maiko's parents and adopt her myself. I'm only at 5. The moment I saw she was hanged arcana I was worried for her.

Pharos is cool idk how to advance his link I assume it'd natural.

Haven't done much with Bebe. Will at some point.

I just started the monk. He's interesting.

Suemitsu my sweet summer child go to fucking therapy. About halfway through and the tea is piping hot. Bro is literally like eating himself to death or something. I do think he's very sweet though.

That's about it loving the game despite a few nitpicks bc it's Atlus and my grudge against then is eternal.

[quibbs126]

Heck I don’t actually remember if Pure Vanilla/Dark Cacao was a request or if it was something I just planned to do on my own. I know it started out as my own idea, but sometimes that happens and then before I get to doing it, someone requests it and I just make it a request, and I don’t remember if that happened here

But regardless, this was a drawing I made of the idea for a purecacao fankid on it’s own, and I’m posting it as such

Now you’ll notice that this isn’t my usual format. This is because this isn’t her official design, it’s just that last night, I had this idea for a design of her as a young child with Dark Cacaoian clothing, and so I just wanted to make a quick doodle to show you

It was just going to be that picture in the middle, as it’s more sketchy and rough, and clearly not how I usually do these fankid requests. However when I finished, I realized that I made her too small. See, if I may explain some things, for my poorly drawn comics and other things that use that particular brush (it’s the Narinder Pencil if you want to know), and I don’t like enlarging pictures drawn with it because the lines get all blurry and it loses its texture. Prior to the Charcoal Cheese comic, for my poorly drawn comics I tended to enlarge the sketch to fit the screen, and then I’d completely redraw the lines. But here, I had already colored the whole thing, plus it was multiple layers to redraw, so I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t just crop down the canvas to fit it because my square canvases are already 500x500 pixels, they’re very small (and also I think the small size might account for why they may not show up in the best quality, but I’ve been using this size for over 2 years and I’m set with it, and I feel like changing would be too much effort). And I feel like making it even smaller would just tank the quality even more

Though to be honest, I’m glad I made a second version with my proper sketching process, as I was better able to figure out her colors and design

Speaking of her design, yeah this is sort of what I’m thinking for her look, at least in terms of hair, dough and eye color. She’s not gonna keep the braid though, that’s just a kid thing

I feel like maybe I should give her streaks, but I’m not sure where to put them or what color

Also I realize that I forgot to put KitKats on her design. I wasn’t planning to originally since this is a little kid’s outfit, but also in some of the artbook drawings, young Dark Choco had small Oreo shoulderpads, so maybe she should have something similar. I had an idea for her wearing tiny KitKat shoulderpads, but I forgot them. Ah well

Hmm, does she look like a purecacao kid? I’m looking at her and I feel like she looks more like her own character than related to them. Maybe it’s the lack of streaks

Oh yeah, and one more thing I want to add, I’ve decided she’s a post-canon kid, as in Pure Vanilla and Dark Cacao got together after the events of the Dark Flour War and canon in general. The story in my head goes that Dark Cacao developed feelings for Pure Vanilla, but was hesitant to tell him about it, maybe because he’s socially awkward and wasn’t sure how to, maybe because Pure Vanilla and White Lily had something going on and he didn’t want to stir up drama between them. But regardless, Dark Cacao felt that it wasn’t so much of a big deal since they were immortal, he could tell him when he felt it was right. But then the Dark Flour War happened and Pure Vanilla seemingly died, with Dark Cacao never telling him how he felt. But then years later, Pure Vanilla came back, and while Dark Cacao was of course overjoyed, it also caused him to realize that even being immortal, they don’t have all the time in the world, and he needed to tell Pure Vanilla how he felt, and so during the events of Odyssey, he confessed to Pure Vanilla, and then likely sometime after Dark Enchantress’s defeat, they got together, and later had this girl

Also this means she has a (probably) 30+ year older brother in Dark Choco, but it’s all good

I feel bad just keeping her unnamed, but I don’t know what to call her. *sigh*

Any suggestions?

But yeah, I just wanted to show y’all this idea. Don’t know when I’ll be finishing her, but I’ll draw her officially at some point

[raxistaicho]

Fantasies and Imperialism Invade the Invader

Twice the things, double the wrong!

Ahh, yes, that was a bad one.

Nope, Constance uses Agarthan magic techniques to help maintain true peace in the Empire. Not their technology.

And no, it really isn’t a real possibility.

So because Edelgard thinks Claude isn’t suited to entrust Fodlan to, it means nobody else is? That’s a leap!

Really, it’s more of a no-headcanon.

Also fantastic how even Edelgard retiring and handing off the reins of power is treated as sus by her haters now. Do they get suspicious when she eats her breakfast, too? FESS UP, EDELGARD, DO YOU EAT NABATEAN EGGS WITH YOUR TOAST? FROM WHENCE CAME THE BAAAAAAAACON?

This headcanon of his rests purely on the shifting sand of... uhh... “Well, she probably did that!”

Fantastic.

And he’s still beating this bizarre “Edelgard wants to be seen as a god!” shtick.

Yeah, Rhea gets pretty mad when people muscle in on her false religion turf. See her getting mad that Claude reformed the Alliance into the Federation in GW (she immediately tries to pull Lords away from the Federation before Claude even begins his alliance with Edelgard).

That said, wanting to kill Varley is based and redpilled, but it does represent Rhea taking pretty extreme measures to maintain her control over a sovereign state.

Almost like... almost like Rhea has power and wants to keep it.

We get our word that the Southern Church is pretty sus tho from Gilbert and Gautier. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take their word for much. Not only are both... uhh... scum, they have a political bias to paint the SC as poorly as possible.

Also, Edelgard isn’t a Social Darwinist...

Also also, I don’t think Edelgard restores the Southern Church post-CF. At least I don’t recall it.

The Church of Seiros doesn’t meaningfully preach that. Explain the state of Fodlan otherwise.

Man, Edelgard sure is weird, getting her church to preach things she doesn’t believe in.

Fantasy Invader’s gone from “they’re probably doing this” to “they’re doing this for sure and here’s the details” remarkably fast.

Uhh, I don’t have to actually refute any of this, right? He’s not providing evidence in the first place, he’s just guessing, lol.

Ah, this classic.

You don’t know that, lol.

Reminder that Fantasy Invader thinks Edelgard is giving the Adrestian Nobles more power.

Edelgard’s corrupting the people, or is Edelgard herself corrupt? Neither is true, nor is she oppressing the people.

Remember that Fantasy Invader is asserting every step of this without evidence. This all based on the premise that Varley is probably doing all this.

Wait a minute, Fantasy Invader. Are... are you suggesting... are you implying that, in certain circumstances, it’s okay to interfere with the politics of a sovereign territory? Like if you think the people in power over that territory are abusing their power?

You keep this up and you might talk yourself into being an Edelgard defender yet!

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 197 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: Slow Tuesday at work.

BASIRA: "What’s down there?" JON: "I don’t know." BASIRA: "That makes a change." JON: "It’s… somewhere else." Yaaaay, somewhere else!!!

BASIRA: "Yes I do. You’re too close to this, and I need to make sure you aren’t going to do anything dumb. Situation like this, we can’t make rash assumptions. Right?" That is actually fair. Like I said many times, it's typical for Jon's character to perform poorly under stress. And sometimes he gets a bit impulsive.

ANNABELLE: "I thought you liked his voice?" MARTIN: "I do, when it’s his voice." Nawww...

MARTIN: "So why don’t you just tell me straight? It’s not like I’m going to run off. I’d only trip over my own feet and fall in, even if I tried." Martin already trying his usual charm to get what he wants^^

ANNABELLE: "Perhaps I was wrong about how well suited you are to us. I’m not sure you have the patience for The Web." That's the Lonely-influence. If we really go by the "The Lonely is a metaphor for depression" then it's only logical for Martin to have gotten irritable and short-tempered.

ANNABELLE: "A TV show. Reaching out into the homes of millions, giving the more vulnerable ones a subtle nudge towards terror. Probably something for children. It never went anywhere, of course. These things rarely do." Hmm, a bit stereotypical to assume children are the easiest people to manipulate, when there's a whole older generation out there, slowly withering away in front of the TV with almost no engagement and also no impulse to engage.

MARTIN: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" ANNABELLE: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." MARTIN: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Web!Martin is back on the menu! xD

[MUFFLED AGITATION] [MUFFLED ANXIETY] [MUFFLED ANXIETY INCREASES TO MUFFLED TERROR] [MUFFLED SADNESS] [MUFFLED DEMAND FOR RELEASE] [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] [MUFFLED DOWNBEAT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT] [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] [MUFFLED DESPONDENCY] [MUFFLED WORRY] I love all of these...

ANNABELLE: "I didn’t. He came of his own free will." [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] JON: "'Free will,' she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web!" Ah, Jon is angry! I like it!

JON: "Martin, is this true?" [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] BASIRA: "Told you." Why is Basira so set on both of them not really knowing each other? In MAG 177 she kind of mocks Martin for trusting Jon not to look into his head. And now she was like, what? "haha, told you your boyfriend wasn't kidnapped, he just left you"??? That conversation is not on tape right? I remember this “told you”, but there was no conversation in detail about this in MAG 195 or at the beginning of this one...

JON: "It’s inevitable." Well, now he's starting to sound like Agent Smith xD

ANNABELLE: "Of course. And knowing this, knowing for centuries you would eventually be trapped, doomed to starvation, what would you do?" [LONG CONSIDERED PAUSE] JON: "Plan an escape." Lesson 2: Plan your exit on the way in! (Me at every single social gathering XD)

ANNABELLE: "We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice." JON: "No…" Actually, right now Jon is taking this better that expected. He still sounds pissed, but not devastated. That'll come as soon as he had time to think about it... Also, I don't think Jon was the only one the Web prepared. In fact, it very much looks like it did a little experiment with Father Burroughs of MAG 19 and 20. They probably had a bunch of candidates but when it became clearer, that Jon could actually be the one closest to pull it off they started to focus more and more on him. After all, at first their influence was minimal, guided Martin to Prentiss. Only when that worked they delivered the lighter (and table) do take this further.  

JON: "Because for the Fears to spread into these new worlds, they would need to leave ours, wouldn’t they?" Like he said in MAG 164, "If the Fears are removed".

JON: "Leaving us behind in the process, freeing our world at the cost of others." BASIRA: "What are you saying?" JON: "We can pass them our apocalypse." [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] ANNABELLE: "Nothing so extreme. In these new worlds they would exist as they used to in ours, lurking just beyond the threshold." JON: "Until someone is stupid enough to release them there, as well." ANNABELLE: "Perhaps. Even the Mother cannot see the future. Only try to shape it." JON: "And so they spread through realities like a disease!" Jon, who ultimately suffered all the guilt from this, gets what this means for others in an instant. It's a very understandable trauma response.

ANNABELLE: "Jon would lose much of himself, the parts of him that are The Eye. But he would survive. And perhaps more importantly, he would remain who he believes himself to be. And you would end the suffering of all those others who remain here." It's so interesting to get into interpretations what these parts that are The Eye are supposed to be. Where do they begin and where do they stop? Is it simply memories or even parts of his personality? Is it physical, like his literal eyesight? Is there a higher meaning to "who he believes himself to be"? Is it just subconscious or can he actively influence this, in either a positive or, for Jon most likely, a negative way? Like his self-perception. Is all this also the case when he gets separated from The Eye through, say, being literally cut "free"? So many possibilities! (For fan fictions! XD)

ANNABELLE: "Many years ago a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. You need only ignite it." God, I fucking love how all of this was constructed! And that’s just one part of it...

JON: "Ignite it?" ANNABELLE: "Indeed. And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it?" JON: "What?" BASIRA: "Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours." JON: [Indignant] "My what?" [JON PULLS THE GOLD LIGHTER WITH EMBOSSED SPIDERWEB FROM POCKET AND FLICKS IT OPEN] JON: "Oh? ... Oh." Funny story: So while I was listening to MAG 196 and 197 I was texting with my sister, who got me into TMA. I was simultaneously already doing a relisten with my spouse and already picked up on a few things during that, and so I was talking to my sis about foreshadowings. She mentioned like "all the spider references... the lighter!" and I was like "oh yeah, the lighter... Anyway the web table-" And my sis continues to talk about web-influences, Prentiss, Jon going for a cigarette because of the lighter, oliver banks... and I answer "What? Huh... Somehow I seemed to have overlooked a lot of spiders..." My sisters already laughing saying "It's so funny, cause it's the running gag" (and I had no idea about the lighter yet at this point in the conversation). She'd already went on about "You have a few similarities, afraid of spiders since childhood, prematurely greying hair, somehow you always seemed to know stuff about people and I have no idea where you got these from... now you forget the lighter. It's so funny cause there is no way you're doing this on purpose, that's all natural" and I again proceeded to change the topic XD Started talking about the writing xD We've had such a good laugh xD Just scrolled back in our chat log to re-read it, always funny to see. Shortly after this conversation I got to this part in the episode with the lighter and I then texted her "Ohh, now they need the lighter!!!" (And there will be another gag with the lighter! So, to be continued xD)

ANNABELLE: "I’ve played my part to its completion. You get to decide how I exit the stage." MARTIN: "Jon?" JON: "Go!" ANNABELLE: "Very well. We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision." Another excellent choice for fanfic writers to use for Somewhere Else!

All in all the entire multiverse thing is great for fan content. Basically everything could exist in canon! Catboy Elias is real and he can hurt you! xD

@a-mag-a-day

[kleenex-tissues]

Yours Truly (6)

AO3 here

Ch. 6:  An Emotional Rollercoaster in the Form of One Girl

“He waits three weeks to respond to you, and this is what you get?,” yelled Alya. She threw herself up from the bench and pointed at the laptop before her. “Nuh uh! We are not doing this!”

Adrien and Nino nodded along in agreement, hurling their own insults at the computer screen. They ranted about the laughable attempt of an email displayed across it.

“Has this guy ever talked to another person before? Like, I know it said he likes animals, but I didn’t think that meant he had only ever interacted with animals,” Nino said, poking fun at the sender’s social ineptitude.

Alya wrinkled her face further in annoyance. “Yeah, this is just pathetic. Right, Mari?”

Marinette didn’t reply.

“Uh, Marinette?”

They finally noticed the grin overtaking their friend’s face. She was giddy, practically bouncing in her seat at the notion of what should be considered an awful email. She looked up at Alya, grabbed her hand, and stood up to begin twirling her friend around in a poorly coordinated dance.

She laughed wildly, “Did you see? His name is Damian. He actually responded. Alya, I did it! I broke through to him!”

The two girls moved in sloppy circles with weird arm tugging and half-jumps, but Marinette was smiling and Alya didn’t know what to do. Despite her confusion, she let her best friend lead her around. When it came to Marinette’s smile, it seemed to make everyone around her forget what they were doing and be encased in her warmth. Even Adrien and Nino had stopped rambling, watching the girl with small smiles of their own.

“This is the best day ever!”

–

Marinette paced her room, up the ladder to her bed, then to her roof, all the way back down for a few laps. She could feel the sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, and her hands wrung at each other nervously. Tikki could sense the nervous energy radiating from her, and she knew if she didn’t return her chosen to peace soon, Hawkmoth would pick up on it.

Said girl was mumbling, fast and incoherent. She wasn’t making much sense, but Tikki knew it originated from the email she received today.

While initially excited to finally hear back from her pen pal, Marinette had slowly spiraled back into a panic the longer the day drug on. How did she reply now? Things were so much easier to say when he hadn’t been reading the emails, let alone responding to them. He was an avenue for ranting and rambling about whatever happened to be on her mind, letting her practice her English in the same hand. He was faceless, and no one was supposed to actually exist behind Redbird. But suddenly, here she was, thinking of how to draft an email to a man – a very REAL man – named Damian, in response.

Never mind how rude he had initially spoken, anyways. That was something she could deal with. After all, she had managed to befriend her own childhood bully, Chloe, so this manner of speaking was barely relevant in the grand scheme of it all.

The problem lay in the fact that she was now held responsible for whatever she will (and has!!!) told him. She had lots of friends, sure, and she was no stranger to being the one to initiate the friendship. But something about this felt different and new and scary.

“Marinette, you have to breathe!”

Ah, yes, breathing. She had stopped doing that, hadn’t she? Her lungs burned in response to the sudden influx of oxygen, which it seemed to have been lacking for longer than she realized. What was she thinking about again? The thought escaped her as her vision faded out for a moment, readjusting to normal bodily processing.

She took the opportunity to sit down on the chaise that had appeared beside her. When did she get here? Last she remembered, she was on her balcony, but now the latch was shut and here she happened to be.

Tikki flew into her vision, saying something to her, but her hearing was still taking its time to come back. Tikki’s words sounded like nothing more than tv static.

Marinette just needed a moment. Then, the cold sweat on her back would dry and the ringing in her ears would finally go away. She vaguely felt something touching her face and hands, but she couldn’t do much in response.

Here it was: the consequences of forcing herself to push down her worries in favor of being happy. Marinette knew she couldn’t be perfect all the time. She just wished her body could pick some other reaction to feeling negativity. This was becoming less and less ideal each time it happened.

She opened her eyes to look ahead of her. Tikki’s voice was finally beginning to fade into life, whispering, “Breathe with me, okay? Everything is going to be alright.”

The other kwamis were huddling around her, as well, saying their own words of encouragement. It wasn’t her first panic attack and certainly not the last, so they knew the routine. No one enjoyed it, especially Marinette, but they stuck with her every time, nonetheless.

After a few minutes of breathing slow and deep, Marinette was able to regain focus on the world around her. She was in her room. She was wearing the same clothes she had returned home in. Her hair was still tied on top of her head. Tikki was with her. Everything was normal. She was safe.

Tikki, knowing that Marinette was finally calming down, sat on her thigh and rubbed soothing circles through the fabric. She opened her mouth to quietly say, “I’m here. We’re all here. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

Marinette smiled softly in return, a little light returning to her eyes. “I know. Thank you, guys.”

The kwamis all moved closer to hold her, their number making up for their small size. They stayed there until they knew she was ready.

Once she had taken the time to relax her tense body, Marinette began moving towards the desk holding her computer. She knew her fear had been unfounded, but she couldn’t help the lingering worry over the response she needed to draft for Damian.

Marinette had been writing to him like a diary, not a person. How could she come back from that? What if when they actually begin talking to each other, he doesn’t like her?

She sat at the desk, preparing herself to type. Tikki held her hand from her new place on the desk, and she turned to see those soulful eyes looking at her. Tikki was old with a chasm of wisdom inside her, and she was here with Marinette. She knew, with her wise friend beside her, she couldn’t go too wrong.

To: d.w.redbird@xxxxx.net From: maridesigns@xxxxx.net Subject: A New Challenger Approaches?

Hello, Damian!

I’m pleasantly surprised to finally know that there is a real person behind my digital diary. I hope I didn’t bombard you with too many emails, but actually, I really don’t.

Who signs up for pen pal and then ghosts them?

You should definitely tell me about that.

And I want pictures of your animals as an apology. Preferably, the cuter the better.

(also please don’t spill my secrets. I think I’ll die of embarrassment)

Au Revoir, Mari :)

[ya-jirushi]

Tsurune Audio Drama: A Shot of Color 5 Girls are hard to understand?

Kacchan wdym you don't remember their birthdays...

Nanao: Let’s see… We’ve got the steak, garlic, oh what about the butter? Kaito: We have it. Rice fried in butter instead of just oil is heaps tastier after all. Nanao: It sure is~ It’s been a while since we were in charge of cooking for the family dinner so I’m feeling pretty fired up! Kaito: Been a while since we’ve gone to the mall too. Huh? Hey, that’s Ryohei, ain’t it? Nanao: Oh, yeah it is. Kaito: He’s looking at some really flashy, fashionable magazine? Nanao: …Hmm? Do you think it could be— Kaito: Oiii, Ryohei! Nanao: Wha– Kacchan!! Ryohei: Huh?! Ah, Kaito and Nanao! Are you two out shopping? Kaito: Yeah, we’re doing groceries for family dinner night. What about you? You buy stuff like scented candles? Ryohei: Oh, no, it’s not for me. I’m looking for presents. Kaito: For who? Nanao: Could be anybody~ Right, Ryohei? Ryohei: It’s my sister’s birthday soon, see. Kaito: Your sister… Nanao: Oh, so it was just for your sister… Kaito: What’ve you been on about anyway? Ryohei: I get her something every year, so I’m running out of ideas and it’s been bothering me. Nanao: Felt… Kaito: You get your sisters something every year…?! Ryohei: Oh, right. Both of you have sisters too! Could you tell me what you get them for their birthdays? I could use the help! Nanao: No prob~ My little sister’s a second year in middle school so she seems into stuff that might pop off on social media. I get her accessories and things, but just the cheap kinds. Kaito: She’s acting too mature for a middle schooler…! Ryohei: Accessories, huh… My big sis isn’t really the type to use ‘em, I think. Nanao: You even know about those things, huh~ Kaito: What about you, Kaito? You’ve got two older sisters, right? Nanao: The eldest, Yuu-neechan, is 19; then the second, Minami-neechan, is 17. Ryohei: They’re pretty close in age with my sister! Please tell me what you’ve been getting them as gifts! Nanao: So what do you say, Kacchan? Kaito: ... Kaito: …I forgot. Ryohei: What?? But they happen twice a year! Kaito: Now, look, who remembers their sisters’ birthdays anyway? Do you just go about your day and go “Ah, my sister’s birthday is soon, what present should I get her?” or something?? Ryohei: Yeah. Nanao: Pretty much. Kaito: No you don’t!! Ryohei: Huh?! Nanao: How about this, Ryohei, let me add something onto Kacchan's poorly worded response, ’kay? Ryohei: Yeah? Nanao: Do you love your sister? Ryohei: As much as anyone would, yeah. Nanao: Then in that case I think she loves you maybe twice, no– thrice, as much. Ryohei: Is that how it works? Nanao: Yep. As for the Onogi family we have, his two older sisters, then Kacchan. He’s the youngest, but he’s also the first born son. Ryohei: Yeah. Nanao: So, if Kacchan were to give his sisters birthday gifts then… Kaito: If we add my mom in the mix all the women at my house just get all loud and annoying. Ryoheii: Doesn’t that just mean they’re happy?

Kaito: I wouldn’t call those reactions happy at all! It’s more like you threw a chunk of meat at a pack of lions! Ryohei: Lions!? Nanao: Was it the other year? When you gave Yuu-neechan hand cream and she went arounf putting it on everybody in the family saying, “I got this from Kaa-kun~” Kaito: Don’t remind me… Nanao: And when you gave Minami-neechan a dumbbell and she got pissed and said, “Are you trying to say that I’m fat?!”. We got her to calm down but that was a tough time, huh~ Kaito: She was the one who kept going on about how she got all fat so I got her the dumbbell, what’d she get mad at me for?! Nanao: She might be your sister but she’s still a girl, y’know? Giving a girl something that hints at her weight or at dieting on her birthday is just looking for trouble. Kaito: Hah? This know-it-all attitude of yours is getting real old, Nanao. Nanao: I feel like you being unable to just honestly accept love from people around you is a bigger problem, though~ Kaito: Ha? You wanna go? Ryohei: C’mon, guys! No fighting! Alright, how about this; I’ll get her an accessory, some hand cream, and a dumbbell, then let her pick what she likes from it? Kaito and Nanao: That’s a little too much!!

[magmacannon]

3-7 for Yarrow, Reach, Dee, and Lanza :3c

yes... my Excellent Guys

Gonna do my best to make this understandable pff

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

Yarrow - "Ohh well since we don't have all day, I'll just give you a little something. My dearheart is every bit the cliche 'knight in shining armor' with a nice fun streak of petty violence down the middle. He's got that distinguished sort of handsomeness about him whether he's in armor or lazing around in a nightgown that makes bothering him irresistible - he does like it, I promise! He knows me better than anyone else at this point; we've seen eachother through some extreme lows and have come out the other side stronger for it. I'm still a little amazed he's so genuinely enchanted with me - all of me, even when I'm doing pretty poorly! He makes me blush with how sweet he can be, which i can assure you is a feat at my age. Plus he's got fantastic big-dick energy and it's well-earned - wait where are you going? Too much? Ah well-"

Reach - "...I'd rather not say. He and I are on... uncertain terms. I'm trying to make things right. Somehow. I really don't know if it's possible. He's just... I need to repay him for all he's done for me, and I did the opposite of that, but. I'll do it or die trying."

Dehiscence - "Nelly? I don't have the words for that. She's perfect and kind. When she travels she brings me little cloth scraps and things to hold. She gets flustered easily. She hates blood even though there's so much of it in every person, including herself. I'd do anything for her."

Lanza - "Well thank you for ah, flattering me. I've got too much on my plate to be tied down right now, you see? I'm busy, come back in ten years or so and ask me again, capiche?"

4. Do they look good in red?

Yarrow - absolutely! Yarrow has the fashion sense and the time to make most any look work well, but red is one of the colors he prefers to wear (matches his eyes). It can be a little eye-searing at times, though.

Reach - He'd probably look really nice in some darker maroon-reds, but I don't think he has access to much red (or at least doesn't have it in his wardrobe??) I think he'd consider it too flashy.

Dee - Absolutely 100%, both when they have a red-toned mushroom growth and later when it's more brown/orange tones. I do think they'd prefer it as accents or (at most) a tank top - not too overwhelming

Lanza - out of all of these I think she'd have the most difficult time with making it work as she's got blue tones in her skin/hair.

5. Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Yarrow - 99 times out of 100, Yarrow is prepared to give a short and effective speech at a party or some other social event. His ability to be Aware of the situation and vibe around him in those settings in nearly uncanny, so he very rarely has issues with these landing incorrectly! (when they don't go well it's a spectacular fumble)

Reach - He would NOT give one. Reach (especially in his older age) is extremely reserved and not really an orator. Unless he was in a small group of friends (genuinely at max 3 or 4 other people) he'd be too uncomfortable to speak - if the group was small though, he'd give a short two sentences about staying strong through cooperation or something similar to that.

Dee - You couldn't make Dee give a speech at their own wedding! Dee would write something thought-provoking but if someone tried to get them to say it they'd just Stare until the person left kfhfjdk

Lanza - At MOST Lanza would give a 5-word 'speech' in celebration or frustration with whatever event was happening. She has the confidence to roast someone if they keep pushing, too.

6. Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Yarrow - Up until extremely recently, Yarrow would have answered this first question as "no one" - with a half-exception for therapists. Nowadays he's extremely wildly likely to listen to Kiro's advice, unless it relates to a few things that Yarrow thinks he handles better. Yarrow wouldn't take advice from anyone under 40 years old simply because they Do Not Know Enough, in his opinion. Also any paladin in his current city couldn't give him advice that he'd follow literally to save his life.

Reach - Without question, Reach would take advice from his higher-ups and from Sumet, his hunting partner and partner in all things (up until recently). Reach wouldn't ignore the advice of anyone, as he was trained to be big on cooperation and has a terrible need for answers in his current stage of life.

Dee - They're a very interesting case for this question because I think the only person they'd take advice from without question is Nelly's uncle, who has a very strong understanding of the issues Nelly is going through in regards to not following her family's traditional monster hunting job and who, while loved, is a bit of an outsider because (?) he took the same path. Other than that, Dee tens to weigh any opinion or advice against their own internal thoughts before acting on anything. They also tend to not take other people's advice at all unless they're someone they trust immensely.

Lanza - She's pretty strong-willed about a lot of things, so Lanza doesn't tend to trust anyone's advice implicitly! If they're an expert in something (personal or professional) that she doesn't know much about then she's likely, but not guaranteed, to listen to what they say. In her old setting I would have said she'd never follow the advice of her parents bc she was going through a 'rebel against old people' phase but honestly I don't think she's like that in other settings! She's just pretty headstrong still lol.

7. Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Yarrow - I'd describe him as sharp, uncanny, and horny whereas he'd describe himself as "smart, gorgeous, and horny" or something along those lines pff

Reach - "Stubborn, misguided, and tired" are mine, Reach would likely call himself "worn, lost, and desperate". A younger Reach would have called himself sure, strong, and knowledgeable, though.

Dee - I'd say they're touch-starved, eerie, and like.... almost chivalrous??? perhaps like a loyal dog?? whereas they would describe themselves (if forced) as "reserved, tenacious, and steady".

Lanza - I get the privilege to call her a "fre-willed Italian butch(?)" whereas she'd call herself "free, skilled, and well-dressed"

[beckkeep]

Zinc Plays Let’s Go Pikachu!

Episode 1: I AM NOT IN CONTROL OF MY LIFE PLEASE HELP

Alright, so I know what some of you are thinking.

"He’s doing this again? Why bother?”

That’s a fair question.

Anyway.

My name is Riley Zinc and I’m a college dropout and genuine disappointment.

I hope you enjoy as I flounder through the land of Pokemon and yearn for real, intimate relationships in my actual life.

Oh. Uh. I overshared again, didn’t I? Didn’t even wait for you to ask.

Ah, thank you. He annoys me already and I can’t explain why.

I understand now. Carry on.

I hope it doesn’t land me in crippling debt in the end!

So am I playing a game, or is this a game within a game? Or was that introduction a game and now I’m out of the game in the—

Nevermind.

That’s just my face.

Ooh, the outdoors. Haven’t been out here in... months. It’s so cheery, it makes it hard to wallow in my own self-pity.

I suppose I should speak with the professor first, right? Or am I wrong? Am I making the right choice?

I see I chose poorly.

Ditching Flint, I wandered to the north to find Professor Oak, practicing his Snow White lines for the yearly Pallet Town Play.

He always gets to be the main star. I’m usually a shrub.

I’m not bitter.

: o

Is it really that strange? The Viridian Forest isn’t too far away. Wait, it’s not stalking me, is it?

Just to be safe, allow me to stuff it into this tiny, magical container.

Has a human being ever been caught in a Pokeball? Did the person come back out intact, or were its bones and organs crushed into a little sphere?

You know this is a video game and not the real Flint because doesn’t give me mocking nicknames. I kind of prefer this Flint now.

What are you plotting? Why would you smile at me as if you were happy?

This Pikachu is about to regret wanting to come with me. ... Though I suppose a cute nickname wouldn’t hurt, right?

"So cute!” said Flint, “No one will suspect it if I taught this tiny bastard Covet and stole their shit!”

Um. Thanks? I threw a ball at it. Do you lack depth perception?

Am I being insensitive?

Please don’t ask us to scatter your ashes across Kanto. That’s... awkward.

Have you ever heard of Bulbapedia?

Oh. Did I... just negate your life’s work?

I’m so sorry please pretend I didn’t say that.

Are you ready to be let down, Chupin?

"Through some mysterious force”? It’s native to Kanto.

I have a mom who’s not dead?!

Wait! Please, don’t go...!

She locked the door.

Alright.

Hello?

Oh god, what happens when you mow the lawn and it’s in the ground?

May as well give it an appropriate name for this run.

For having an entire musical number about traveling to Viridian City, it’s not all that hard to get to.

The mart man then gave me a package to give to Professor Oak because I can’t say no without wilting.

Hm. I’m pretty sure I already got a sunburn just from being outside for ten minutes. It’s not great.

No.

I know you taught that thing to pickpocket! I don’t want to see it!

Uh, electrocute it, I suppose.

Chupin doesn’t have pockets to pick.

Yes, I felt that second-hand embarrassment. You don’t have to bring it up.

I think Chupin enjoyed that Eevee touching his butt.

I knew it.

Your head is so large. How do you pull your shirt over it?

Hm. What to do?

Yes, that’s a good idea.

Wait WAIT I DON’T WANT TO MUG THE CHILD. CAN I GIVE THE MONEY BACK?

No one can find out we mugged that child. Speak of this to no one.

How is this even a certified gym if it’s always closed? Isn’t a gym leader’s job to stand there and take challengers? What kind of business would someone like this be involved in that would take them away from this responsibility?

Nevermind. Let’s just go to the next gym.

Is that a weed?

No, but it is phallic. Shouldn’t take too long to defeat, at least.

Is it... going to do anything...? Um.

When in doubt, sprint away from socially awkward situations and hope you will never face that person again during your lifetime!