#and no background in pain study

[xylo-art]

Let's go questing, team!

[hexane-nightmares]

Ooh interesting. Now I'm trying to conceptualise the schmidt scores compared to pain scales.

They can't convert because 1-4 are somewhat objective (single subject, Schmidt) and only rank pain of insect stings. 1-10 pain scale is subjective and supposed to reflect individual experience, and includes everything. But that aside it seems interesting.

The worst pain I've experienced was a migraine I would rate at 9. I was largely incapacitated but I was able to speak enough to at least say "headache". I don't want to know what 10 is like.

I think 10 is sometimes described as "can do nothing except perhaps scream". It sounds like some of the Scmidt 4s could be a 9 or 10. I think Coyote Peterson was pretty much incapacitated by one, I think the tarantula hawk.

my toxic trait is having a complex about only being a 4 on the schmidt pain scale

[spookythesillyfella]

WHAATT ??? SPOOKY MAKING ACTUAL ART AGAIN ??? thiz iz insane

★ version without text + image based on under cut :

★ song : "Goodbye to This Meaningless Everyday" – Dobu no Awa

[bonefall]

So, since BB!Ivypool will use her newfound deputy status to force a confrontation with Dovewing- how would she react if Dovewing snaps and told her to her face that she never, EVER wanted to speak with her again after everything? Like, would it click for her that even if she deeply regrets the way she treated her sister, no matter how sorry she is its up to Dovewing if she's ever forgiven? Or does she blame Heartstar thinking she turned her sister against her?

Let's pop open the hood of BB!Ivypool and her fucked up little life, and every person she's been leading up to the end of BB!TBC.

All of this starts with her father, Lionblaze, raising her with this axiom; That you are given strength to serve your Clan.

While he used Dovepaw and her powers in service of ThunderClan (often fighting with her mentor, Birchfall), Lionblaze encouraged his daughter to involve herself in Dark Forest training. Ivypaw felt like this was how she "earned" affection from her Ba, with hard work.

Just as Lionblaze believed that his physical abuse at the paw of Ashfur made him stronger, Ivypool also came to believe that growing up thrown to the wolves made her stronger too.

So when Dovewing first started to... not even REJECT the idea, just display any resentment towards it at all, it's like a personal slight.

No one ever fucking listens to Dovewing. No one cares what she wants. Just what she can do for them.

And Ivypool was super part of that. Her mentor is Brightheart, who often overexerts herself as an expression of PTSD. She saw Hawkfrost "die" turning against Tigerstar for the greater good. She sees Bumblestripe "working so hard" to "help Dovewing adjust" while she's losing her hearing.

In her eyes, Dovewing was being selfish. Look at all these people who give EVERYTHING to their Clans-- how dare you try and make it about yourself?

Tigerheart, in and out of their life constantly, gets blamed because it's a lot easier to pin it all on the Evil Codebreaking Foreigner than admit that maybe Dovewing has a point. Ah HA! THERE is the villain responsible for making my sister act weird! I knew it all along!

(Plus Tigerheart and Ivypool got pitted against each other a LOT in DF training because Ivy was Hawkfrost's apprentice and Tigerheart was Tigerstar's, for some incredibly fucked up projection reasons you'd expect of Tunnelbunstar. Ivypool will nonsensically blame Tigerheart like she's a Dinkleberg.)

(Also tbf tigerheart would 100% let her believe it, 1. Because it's funny, and 2. Because it takes the heat off Dovewing)

And Ivypool was VICIOUS about this. AVoS is still getting shuffled but if anything vindictive she did towards Dove in that arc gets removed, I will replace it with something just as bad. She would actively sabotauge ShadowClan if it meant keeping Tigerheart away from Dovewing.

She can't handle the thought of losing Dovewing. At some point, it became about control. It's her insecurity towards herself, towards her family, towards all of her losses, and even towards service of her very Clan.

And then Dovewing booked it. Couldn't handle this shit and panicked and BAILED.

And THEN it's about getting Dovewing BACK. She's even dragged Fernsong into this and tried to leverage his friendship with Dovewing to this end. She'll even support Bumblestripe when he tries to argue for an invalidation of Queen’s Rights on technicality.

Ivypool: "Those kits are Bumblestripe's! He has a claim! They even have HIS MANE"

Heartstar: "Hmm. No, it is very clearly MY mane."

Ivypool: "You can't-- wait what?"

Heartstar: "Lightkit even has my beautiful smile <3 so fuck off, maybe?"

For a long time that's where Ivypool was. She was the awful, vindictive sister-in-law constantly trying to weasel in to make Dovewing feel bad. When she had kittens of her own, she was still in this mindset.

It didn't end well. In BB!TBC, Bristlefrost needed her. Ivypool stepped in to prevent her from being the impostor's pawn, but refused to do anything when she was caught and imprisoned for being in a HalfClan relationship. She needed to be punished as a codebreaker.

Brought to the next Gathering, the impostor reiterated the need to enforce the code, and desperate times calling for desperate measures. He called for SkyClan to punish their own warrior. They refused to make this a public spectacle.

So he sliced open her throat, right on the branch beside him.

Ivypool didn't imagine she would be KILLED. Suddenly her whole world shattered. The moon stayed clear and bright. Her daughter was dead before she hit the ground and she had HERSELF to blame.

Dovewing and Ivypool served in the rebellion together, and eventually Ivy went into the Dark Forest as a Light in the Mist. She watched Bristlefrost die, AGAIN, knocking Ashfur out of the sky and burning them both up in orbit, and how brave Shadowsight had been in pinning him in place.

Ivypool NEEDS Dovewing to know now that she's different. She's learned a lot. She understands so, so much more now...

But DOES she? She still hates Heartstar's guts. She still feels abandoned. How different ARE you now, Ivypool, with your renewed interest in finding some petty reason to skirt around Dovewing's direct wishes? When you're still here getting into blowout arguments with Heartstar?

So to answer the question, if Dovewing told her directly, "I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOUR DESPERATION. IM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR FEELINGS. PISS OFF"

Ivypool would not be able to accept that.

It just wouldn't stick, ever. It really is desperation. Dovewing NEEDS to know that Ivypool loves her and misses her, and that she understands, but also that Heartstar is delusional, and this is still kind of Dovewing's fault. And Ivypool will do anything to make her know this.

But I also DO want to say; this is a very unique weakness. It is Dovewing Derangement Syndrome. Ivypool is a competent deputy, and she is a devoted and respected warrior of ThunderClan. It will be no surprise she's being picked for deputy, especially considering (god willing) Squirrelstar is seeking war with ShadowClan.

She is a good friend, mate, and leader. But BB!Ivypool is so, so fucked in the head about Dovewing. This family can fit so much trauma in it

[bookwyrminspiration]

broo fuck me we've gotten to the condicional/imperfecto/pluscuamperfecto in nahuatl and i'm not even confident in them in spanish

[sleepgarden-archive]

A freehand ink drawing I made during D&D! Doodling helps me concentrate ^^

[heretodefyfate]

gosh, seeing people happily discussing about their OCs make me want to show my OCs too but then i realized i still have not make any "official" art of them and their background details are still being worked on

[glitchyko]

Hmmmmmmmm I wanna draw and share other things on here that aren’t LMK related, and sometimes not fandom related in general, but my brain goes, “But that’s all you post! What about the lmk oc’s, au’s and stories and such you wanna share and do stuff with? Are you just going to forget about them?!” And it’s frustrating cause it’s my blog and I should be able to share what I want to share, and I’ve been wanting to check out and maybe get into other things like Cult of the Lamb, Hollow Knight, Slay the Princess, Trigun, Dungeon Meshi, I could go on, but my brain is mean to me

Sometimes I just need to remind myself that this is my blog, I can make and share whatever I wish despite what my brain tells me, I’m not chained to only be into one thing and that’s it. Whether it be fandom, characters, art style, etc. I can explore and check out different things, if you stick to only one thing you’re gonna eventually get bored and things will stagnate and then you’ll get burnt out, it’s not a bad thing to take a break from something and try different things, it’s good for you actually

I think it’s about time I start doing that

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[holistichiatus]

bored at work

[tahbhie]

Creating Emotionally Devastating Scenes.

Crafting a scene that earns the total sympathy of your readers can be challenging, but it's not impossible. Most emotionally devastating scenes fail at two things, but when these are done right, the results can be powerful.

⚪ The Important Concepts for Writing an Emotionally Devastating Scene

1. The Build-Up,

2. Breaking the Dam.

Before I explain these concepts, let me share a case study.

⚫ Case Study

I wrote a story about a young orphan named Jackie and her younger brother. Their village was burned down, leaving them as the only survivors.

For the next few chapters, readers followed their painful journey and their struggle to survive. The younger brother had a heart problem, and Jackie vowed to become a cardiologist to save him.

She was very ambitious about it, but at the time, it was very ironic. Later in the story, when they encountered a tragic living condition with a family, the brother died while telling his sister how much he missed their parents.

When her brother was fighting for his life, she was sent out of the room, only to be let in again to see his cold, lifeless body.

⚪ Explanation of Concepts

1. The Build-Up

The build-up is extremely important when you aim to convey strong emotions. Here's a secret: if you plan for a scene with strong emotions, start leaving breadcrumbs from the very beginning of the story.

Take the previous case study. I carefully built up their journey so people could easily relate and feel the pain of the older sister during her brother's sudden death.

You need to give the situation enough reason to feel utterly hopeless and devastating. Gradually cultivate the tension until it's ready to let loose.

⚫ Understanding the Use of Breadcrumbs.

Breadcrumbs in stories ensure you utilize the time you have to build up certain emotions around your characters.

At the beginning of my story, Jackie’s fate was already pitiable, but she survived every hurdle. This gave the readers enough to feel for her while still leaning away from the outcome. When I built enough, I introduced her brother's sudden death.

Hence, leave your breadcrumbs while leaning away from the outcome.

⚪ How to Properly Leave Breadcrumbs

When building up your story, consider these elements:

☞⁠ Character Relatability: The characters need to be realistic to draw readers into the story. This helps readers invest themselves in your story.

☞⁠ Realistic Emotional Pain: Just as characters need to be relatable, their emotions need to be realistic and not appear forced.

☞⁠ Create a Strong Emotional Attachment: Give them something they care about or that has the power to ruin their lives in any way. It could be something that makes them happy or something their happiness relies on. When it's time, snatch it away without remorse.

☞⁠ Have a Backstage Struggle: This struggle keeps readers occupied, so they won't see the outcome coming. For example, Jackie’s constant struggle to find food and shelter keeps readers engaged while the impending tragedy looms in the background.

☞⁠ Attach Believable Elements: For a realistic character, emotion, and struggle, attach believable elements. It could be death, ailments, sickness, disorder, disappointment, failure, etc.

Now that we've covered the build-up, let's move on to the next crucial part.

2. Breaking the Dam

This is when you make your readers feel the strong emotions alongside your characters. All the tension you’ve been building up is released, making all emotions come into play.

☞⁠ Break Your Strong Attachment: Cut off your strong attachment from your character when they least expect it or at a point when they couldn't use more struggles (i.e when they are helpless).

This will not only evoke readers’ emotions but also pique their curiosity as they wonder how the character will survive the situation.

☞⁠ Description of Sensory Details to Invoke Emotions: The advice of "show, don't tell" will be really helpful here. It's crucial to ensure that the final execution matches the build-up.

A well-crafted build-up can fall flat if the emotional release isn't handled effectively. To avoid this, blend the climax seamlessly into the narrative, making it feel natural and impactful.

Reblog to save for reference! 💜

[pomegranatelifethis]

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Warnings before you start There are disturbing elements, self-harm, eating disorders, and implicit mentions of harassment.

The grand hallways of Wayne Manor looked magnificent from the outside, but to you, they were nothing more than cold stone. You were sixteen, and in this house, in this family, you had always been just a shadow. The man you called your father — Bruce Wayne — had left you to drown in his darkness. The marks on your body, on your arms, back, legs... each was a silent scream. Each one reminded you how a world you once trusted had torn you apart. And the worst part? The one who did this wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who had existed in the background of your life, like a ghost.

You tried to speak up once. That night, you opened the door to his study. Bruce sat at his desk, surrounded by files and glowing monitors. His Batman suit hung in the corner — as if that costume was his real face.

“Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to talk.”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired, distant. “What is it?” he asked, but there was no real curiosity in his tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “I... Something happened. A while ago. And it still…” The words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to show him the scars — but maybe, just maybe, he would understand. Maybe he’d see you.

But Bruce lowered his head back to his files. “Now’s not the time,” he said, voice flat. “A lot’s going on in the city. We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

You closed the door behind you, and tears began to slide down your cheeks. Batman could save Gotham — but he didn’t even try to save you.

The next day, you turned to Jason. The rebel of the family, a soul forged in his own pain. Maybe he’d understand.

You found him in the garage, working on his motorcycle.

“Jason,” you said, stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. “What do you want, princess?” he said with a mocking lilt.

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage. “Something happened to me. Something bad. And no one’s listening. I have scars—here,” you said, pulling up your sleeve slightly to show a faded mark.

Jason fell silent for a moment — then laughed.

“Everyone’s got issues, little lady. Go outside, see what I’ve seen. Then come back and cry.”

His words hit like a blade.

“But this is serious!” you cried, your voice cracking.

“Serious?” he snapped, standing and getting close. “You mean your little princess trauma? Grow up.”

Under his sneer, you felt yourself shrink. He didn’t see you either. He left you, too.

You decided to try Damian. Despite his young age, he had a sharp mind. Maybe he had noticed something.

You found him in the training room, practicing with a sword.

“Damian,” you said from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to you, green eyes cold and calculating.

“What do you want?” he asked, stabbing the blade into the floor.

“I… Something happened to me. And it’s hard to carry,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He frowned, then smirked. “You’re weak,” he said, flatly.

“What?” was all you could manage.

“If you can’t carry it, then you don’t belong in this family. I know pain — but all you do is complain.”

His words were poison. His scorn felt worse than Jason’s mockery. Because Damian saw you as a burden. And in that moment, you felt the final thread tying you to this family snap.

You found Tim in the library, headphones in, eyes on his laptop.

“Tim,” you said, sitting beside him.

He pulled out one earbud. “Yeah?” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

“One sec, let me finish this line of code,” he mumbled.

Minutes passed. You sat there, waiting.

Eventually, he said, “Just tell me later,” and put his headphones back in.

He hadn’t even heard you.

Dick seemed different — or so you thought.

You found him in the lounge, laughing, mid-conversation.

“Dick, can we talk?” you asked, voice faint.

He turned to you with his bright smile. “Of course, little one! What’s up?”

But before you could say more than “I…” his phone rang.

“Hold that thought — I gotta take this,” he said, walking away.

He never came back.

That night, in your room, you stood before the mirror. You looked at the scars — each one a story no one wanted to hear. Tears wouldn’t stop. This house, this family, was a prison. Bruce didn’t see you. Jason mocked you. Damian belittled you. Tim and Dick didn’t even notice you were there. You might have been Batman’s daughter, but in this place, you were nothing.

You walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Gotham. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe you couldn’t escape your family, but you could escape this silence. You packed a small bag — a hoodie, some money, a long-sleeve shirt to cover the marks. At the door, you paused. Maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would stop you.

But the hallway was quiet. No one came.

As you stepped into the street, the cold air slapped your face. Were you free? Or just stepping into a different kind of shadow? You didn’t know. But at least now… now, you were trying to find your own voice.

Gotham’s streets swallowed you whole. You had escaped Wayne Manor, but the darkness inside you came along for the ride. What you thought was freedom was just another kind of prison — this time, one built within your own mind. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you walked under the flickering streetlights. The cold concrete beneath your feet was a warning: No one here is coming to save you. But you weren’t expecting to be saved anyway. Your family had never seen you; maybe you really were invisible.

Days passed. You holed up in a cheap motel, using the credit card your father once gave you. You knew the money would run out — but you didn’t care. Under the dim lights of the room, you stared into the mirror. The scars were still there — on your arms, your back, your legs. Each one whispered that you were something filthy, something ruined. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Why me?” you murmured.

No answer.

The reflection staring back filled you with disgust. This body, these scars… it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you had been stronger, if you had spoken louder, maybe your family would have heard you. But you hadn’t. You were weak. Damian was right.

---________________________________________---

Days blurred into weeks. Gotham’s gray sky felt like a mirror to your soul. In the motel’s small bathroom, you sat with a cheap razor in your hand. You stared at your scars… and added new ones. Thin lines of blood appeared — but they didn’t bring relief. Pain couldn’t fill the emptiness. Every cut echoed the rejection you’d endured. Bruce’s cold “Not now.” Jason’s mocking laugh. Damian’s “You’re weak.” Tim and Dick’s silence. It all etched itself into your skin.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the hate grew.

“This is my fault,” you whispered.

Your eyes were swollen. Hair tangled. You’d stopped eating — your stomach turned at the thought of food. Sleep brought nightmares. Again and again, you relived the trauma — shadows, hands, the silence of your unheard screams.

When you woke, clutching your pillow, all you felt was emptiness.

Your family hadn’t called. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care.

Batman saved Gotham.

But not his own daughter.

Depression wrapped itself around you like a blanket — cold and heavy. Hurting yourself became a routine. Your arms were covered in cuts, but even that wasn’t enough.

“I’m worthless,” you said one night, your voice breaking.

“No one wants me. Not even me.”

You punched the mirror. Glass cracked. Your knuckles bled.

Still, you felt nothing.

Then, one day, everything stopped.

You lay on the stained motel bed, razor in hand again. Sirens wailed outside, but your world was quiet. You looked at your scars one last time.

“It’s over,” you said.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of your family — Bruce buried in files, Jason fixing his bike, Damian swinging a sword, Tim staring into his screen, Dick laughing…

None of them had seen you.

None of them had heard you.

This time, you used the blade one last time.

There would be no coming back.

The blood soaked the sheets — slow and silent.

You stared at the ceiling. Through the window, Gotham’s gray sky watched over you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure to whom.

Your breathing slowed.

Darkness closed in.

The sirens faded.

Bruce Wayne’s daughter vanished into the shadows.

---________________________________________---

The next day, the motel worker knocked, but there was no answer.

They opened the door — and found you.

The police report was brief:

“Female, aged …, suicide.”

When the call reached Wayne Manor, Bruce finally put his files down.

Jason went quiet.

Damian dropped his sword.

Tim turned off his screen.

Dick’s smile faded.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t seen you.

They hadn’t heard you.

And now… they never would.

---________________________________________---

[eraserbread]

Whats on my mind… oh nothing 😞 just uhhh reverse cowgirl mirror sex where Nanami forces you to watch yourself 😔

your husband, nanami, wants you to see how much he loves you... omg

"do you trust me?"

you nod slowly in the bathroom, pressed against the counter with your husband at your back. it's date night, your favorite and a pain in the ass for kento. you two have a standing agreement - twice a month. he plans everything, never asking for further input, because loving you was not your responsibility, it's his.

the night went off without a hitch -- expensive dinner in the city, shimmering diamond boxes, and your sweet smile wrapped up in a modest dress.

six hours outside of the comfort of his home has him treasuring the twenty minutes back. now, he's watching you pick your jewelry off in the bathroom mirror, smiling shyly at him every few seconds when you feel his eyes linger.

you're playing your stupid sad music, and he's dealing with it for so long, because you just look so beautiful. so pristine and stoic when you're coming undone. almost... edible.

"look at you," he mutters, thick fingers finding the hidden zipper on your dress. in the large front-facing mirror, you give him a passing side-eye, swallowing back a giggle. "beautiful."

"stop," you tease, placing your bracelet upon your pile of gold to filter through later. "I'm not even doing anything."

"you don't have to constantly perform to be beautiful to me," he reassures, kissing over your bare shoulder before pulling the zipper to your waistline. the fabric bunches around your figure, loose and welcoming. kento's lips meet the middle of your back, just under your neck. it tickles, you draw a half-smile.

and you know it's coming, but you still gasp. he presses a hand to the small of your back, forcing you into a perfect ninety-degree over the cool porcelain.

your dress comes undone around you, falling from your body and hanging on like a vice. nanami tugs it from your skin and tosses it away. all you're left in, blinking up to see him through the mirror, is your underwear. no bra, no slip, no cover—just you and your flesh-colored decency.

"you always know the right things to say." you reply, voice muffled as you rest your chin on crossed arms. behind you, he's pulling open his shirt, smiling so fast that you could blink and miss it.

making love is muscle memory, now. kento's always and easily hard for you -- you're always welcoming with slickness and beauty. if you were counting, surely it'd be the fourteen-hundredth time he's slid your panties to the side and dragged his beautiful flushing tip between your cunt, sending a steady stream of air between his teeth.

he closes both big hands over your waist, guiding you back to slide against his cock. you're coating him thoroughly in all of your arousal, whining stupidly in your skin, begging for more.

"please, baby." you bite, furrowing your head deeper into your arms as his cock just eases right in that perfect little dip of your entrance before popping free.

breathless already, kento nods. "look at me, doll. can i see your face?"

"put... put it in." you ignored him, so kento ignores you. instead, he wraps his hand around the front of your neck, pulling you flush to his clothed chest. you're bare, blushing, and completely at his visual mercy. the soft hum of background music covers your little whines enough that you weren't as embarrassed.

"look at me." he tries again, peeking his head in the crook of your shoulder. he leans down, kissing your dewy jawline and licking over your neck. he's humping over you from behind, tight hips focused and precise as he hits the promise of penetration every time. "nanami, open those eyes."

"so embarrassing," you shake your head, brave enough right now to defy him without second thought. you could open your eyes to study his flushed, serious face bright against your skin, but that means you'd also have to see your flushed, horny skin and smudged makeup.

"what is embarrassing? i don't understand. it took you nearly two hours to do your makeup in this same mirror tonight."

"that's different-

"no, it's not." he cuts you off, tone dipping into that familiar authoritative way that makes your knees buckle.

your nanami is strong enough to lift anything. with or without his curse, so it's nothing for him to lean down, sliding his hands behind your knees. you're not sure what you're expecting, but it's not for him to hoist you up.

jarred, your hands fly up for some kind of stability. you end up with one curled around the back of his neck, the other digging into the muscle of his arm that's holding you up.

"what are yo-

"hm," he answers for you, taking a step closer to the edge. he guides your dangling heels down into the counter, kissing all over the back of your neck. he drags one hand free from holding you up, taking it down to his cock to position it just right for gravity to sink you down half an inch. it's enough to pull a reaction out of you, just to knock you breathless.

"ohmygod, can't-

"you will." he's demanding you with a dark edge to his careful tone, pushing his hips far enough for the angle to give his cock the perfect shot at that spongy, sweet spot inside of you.

you're tossing your head to the side, warding off his dark stare over your shoulder. then, he's taking a big step back, leaving your toes grasping for friction and your body loose enough to slide all the way down his thick length.

the intrusion sucks a deep cry from your lungs, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes squeeze shut. "f-fu, kentooo!"

in the mirror, nanami's eyes are hooked onto the slick intrusion, obsessed with the way his cock disappears inside of you. your thighs are trembling in your reflection, warm pussy blooming deep red from the stretch. he has to swallow down anxious gobs of want just so he doesn't loose control and fuck you in the way he knows he shouldn't

But it's hard—impossible, really. you're whining so pretty, clawing at him so needily, saying his name like it's your gospel. he's obsessed with it—with you and how you take him like it's the first time, every single time.

he thinks all of these sinful thoughts as you gather your bearings, eventually blinking open your eyes for an intense blush to coat your naked body.

the reflection you find yourself staring into is lewd but personal and beautiful in a way only you and kento could achieve. he's so tall behind you, big and caring as his hips rock upward, fucking you so gently and loving. he's kissing all over you, but only where he can still blink up and watch your needy, perfect cunt swallow him up like a pill.

smudged makeup runs down your face as tears spring to the surface. you're so off balance, that you let yourself fall back on him, and he doesn't even falter. kento holds you tighter, completely pressing your thighs into your chest and running his tongue across your shoulder.

"watch it, dear. look how you're taking me," he bites out, tongue running over his top lip. thick lines of arousal drip and squelch against his cock and it's so filthy to watch, but you do. you're a good listener, and nanami loves how embarrassed you get when he steers too lewd. "it's my favorite view. just wanted you to see this time."

"st-stop, it's too muchhhh -- fuck!"

"it's okay, you're okay, i know."

"mmh, i'm gonna..!"

"yeah? keep those eyes open." kento's whispering in your ear and his voice is so sinful and graceful, laced with so much beauty and love. "ah - open'em."

for the first time in forever, ken cums before you. he's biting into your shoulder, keeping his eyes open and staring into your stretched cunt. like a gentleman, he fucks you through it, staccato grunts growing more desperate with each dragging thrust.

this time, you're caught staring as the seed coating his length forms a sticky, white rim against the base. it's so unapologetically sinful that it drives you crazy and fuels your heart and mind in so many beautiful love-licked ways.

his familiar face is stoic, yet ever-changing as he pants and kisses your ear. thoughtful to the core, kento doesn't stop until you're crying his name and gushing warmth all over his stained cock, begging him for more he's already given, but would give you ten times over.

you two have found it—that perfect semblance of give and take that makes every emotion and touch light fires you didn't even know existed. kento is so gentle when he puts you back down on your feet, chasing kisses when you turn around that you give, and he takes.

it's a lifetime thing. an unsaid thing.

a beautiful thing.

[catboybiologist]

A rant to the void. I'm transgender. I've been doing molecular biology and genetics research for over 8 years. Those are not in conflict with each other.

(this is a copy/paste of a post I made to r/labrats last night, a subreddit for lab scientists. Its directed towards scientists. I'll link it at the end if you want to see the positive reception from other scientists, but I thought it would be worth posting here, to my predominantly transgender userbase.)

I'm exhausted.

I'm laughing and memeing about the transgender mice as much as the next person, but there's genuine pain and grief here. I'm in grad school right now, and I've been doing research since my freshman year of undergrad. I started estrogen hormone replacement therapy in 2023, and I've been living openly as a transgender woman since summer last year.

I attribute my studies in biology, and my ability to read primary sources about the biology of sex determination, hormonal physiology, and my background with fundamental concepts like gene expression as key reasons why I was able to finally feel comfortable enough to transition, both medically and socially.

I've received nothing but love and support from other biologists. Mostly a few fun nerdy rambles while catching up with old colleagues about the precise biology of what I'm doing to myself right now, and over sharing about my own changing gene expression and physiology.

The growing hate coming from outside the field, from nonscientists, from stupid fucks who've never picked up a pipette in their fucking life, who've never seen a fasta file, who would struggle to pronounce two words in a paper... I can't even begin to articulate how simultaneously stupid and heartbreaking it is.

My career, my passion, my contributions to the world, are being gutted, censored, and used against me. I'm trying to be as grounded and practical as possible, but sometimes I break and feel like I need space for the genuine grief I'm feeling, for lack of a better word.

I feel like I'm in a unique position to do something, say something, but I'm in such a whirlwhind myself and trying to figure out what to do with my own life and survive through these years, that I really don't know what I can or should do.

So I guess I'll scream into the void with this post, attend a march on Friday, survive, and see what I can do later. Fuck.

[anghraine]

So one of the revelations from watching the entirety of TOS is that Kirk and Spock's relationship is not only every bit as homoerotic as rumored and then some—though it is—but that they are also incredibly fucking unhinged about it. So for this week's poll, I wanted to honor this discovery!

(The character limitations don't allow for much detail, and in context these are even more incredible, so I'll add the links/clips/summations beneath the cut!)

1— "The Empath" (Season 3)

Context: the girl of the week, Gem, is a member of a species of mute empaths able to absorb others' injuries through sympathy and generally drawn to positive emotion. Meanwhile, Kirk is tortured by other parties in the episode to test her willingness to take on others' suffering, and he falls into an exhausted unconscious heap on a bench.

Gem starts to head away towards McCoy, but is suddenly arrested by something she senses and turns to look at Spock, who is moving over to sit next to Kirk and watch him sleep. When Spock realizes he's being observed, he turns away and pretends to study data in his tricorder. Gem isn't fooled, however, and walks back over to him, touching Spock's shoulder and staring at him with wonder in her face over this simple feeling whatever his emotion is while delicate music plays in the background. See for yourself:

2— "Shore Leave" (Season 1)

Context: Kirk is fatigued and strained and in physical pain after ... uh, everything (this episode was aired immediately after "The Conscience of the King" and "Balance of Terror," so it's not hard to buy). He tries to stretch out his back and Spock, standing behind Kirk with his hands on the back of the captain's chair, pulls his hands back and asks him if something is wrong. Kirk explains it's just the kink in his back. A pretty female yeoman starts massaging his back (uh) and Kirk welcomes it under the mistaken belief that it's Spock doing it:

"That's it. A little higher, please. Push. Push hard. Dig it in there, Mr.—"

Spock lifts a brow and pointedly steps forward so Kirk can see it's not him, and Kirk immediately orders the yeoman to stop with a meaningful look at Spock.

(Bonus episode points: Spock's smug satisfaction at tricking Kirk into taking shore leave where McCoy failed, and them grasping at each other when they're in danger.)

3— "A Taste of Armageddon" (Season 1)

Context: After Kirk successfully uses a risky gambit to trick two neighboring peoples into making peace rather than continuing to murder millions of people via computers, he explains his thinking:

It was a calculated risk. Still, the Eminians keep a very orderly society, and actual war is a very messy business. A very, very messy business. I had a feeling that they would do anything to avoid it, even talk peace.

When Spock is dubious about acting based on "a feeling," Kirk adds:

Sometimes, Mr. Spock, a feeling is all we humans have to go on.

Spock replies:

Captain, you almost make me believe in luck.

And then Kirk dials it up to:

Why, Mr. Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles.

Then the camera just focuses on Spock visibly trying to process this and the episode ends.

4— "Requiem for Methuselah" (Season 3)

Context: this is one of relatively few episodes in which Kirk actually gets to pursue a woman because he likes her rather than desperate circumstances; as usual with people he cares about, she dies. He's so emotionally drained at this point in the show that, upon returning to the ship, he describes his immortal rival for her love and himself as "A very old and lonely man, and a young and lonely man," mutters that he wishes he could just forget it all, and falls asleep at a table.

Meanwhile, Spock (who has been visibly intense and uncomfortable throughout the whole episode) stays nearby as McCoy enters. Spock gestures at him to stay quiet and McCoy briefly exposits a plot point to Spock, then segues into an unexpectedly vicious, half-smiling monologue about what Kirk's gone through in the episode and how Spock could never understand it:

Considering his opponent's longevity, truly an eternal triangle. You wouldn't understand that, would you, Spock? You see, I feel sorrier for you than I do for him, because you'll never know the things that love can drive a man to. The ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures, the glorious victories. All of these things you'll never know simply because the word love isn't written into your book. Goodnight, Spock.

Spock just endures and politely replies "Goodnight, doctor," but after McCoy leaves, he allows himself to respond. Without so much as a scene break, Spock slowly walks over to the unconscious Kirk, touches his face, and mind-melds with him while he sleeps. And then he wipes Kirk's memory (!!!) of the tragic romance with his rival this girl, murmuring:

Forget.

5— "And the Children Shall Lead" (Season 3)

Context: a simple instance from a weak episode, but also ... damn, it's a lot. A bunch of children under the malign influence of an evil imperialist alien have managed to take over the Enterprise. This isn't the first time something roughly similar has happened, but at this point, Kirk has a full on panic attack as he and Spock leave the bridge and take the turbolift. Kirk clings to Spock as he melts down and Spock unsuccessfully tries to calm him with "Captain," but it only works when he murmurs, "Jim."

Kirk freezes and then immediately calms back down to his usual rational self. Spock is still concerned and Kirk assures him he'll be fine now (and is).

6— "Miri" (Season 1)

McCoy, Janice Rand, Kirk, and Spock are all gathered around trying to figure out the disease of the week, which has infected all of them (though Spock is asymptomatic). Kirk and Spock lock eyes and Spock points out that they can't go back to the ship, including him since he'd be a carrier, and then he adds:

Whatever happens, I can't go back to the ship ... and I do want to go back to the ship, captain.

Kirk smiles slowly and they just stare at each other as if Janice and McCoy had dropped off the face of the planet.

7— "The Tholian Web" (Season 3)

Context: Kirk is trapped in a different phase of space while a local anomaly is gradually driving the crew of the Enterprise to insane rage. At the same time, the hostile Tholians are threatening the Enterprise with the obvious intent of killing them all within short order, and Kirk's disappearance places Spock in command throughout this triple crisis. Spock refuses to order an escape, instead insisting on the Enterprise remaining in place to keep trying to rescue Kirk, homicidal insanity of the crew be damned, even as the Tholians began attacking.

McCoy urges Spock to prioritize the welfare of the Enterprise and its crew above Kirk, telling him they can't afford to stick around and keep trying. Spock refuses and things predictably get worse.

McCoy confronts him about his priorities:

You should've known what could've happened and done everything in your power to safeguard your crew. That is the mark of a starship captain, like Jim.

Plot events lead everyone, including Spock, to believe that Kirk is dead, and as acting commander, Spock also has to lead the memorial service:

as a result of the battle, we must accept the fact that Captain Kirk is no longer alive. [...] I shall not attempt to voice the quality of respect and admiration which Captain Kirk commanded. Each of you must evaluate the loss in the privacy of your own thoughts.

McCoy continues to lash out at him directly afterwards:

He was a hero in every sense of the word, yet his life was sacrificed for nothing. The one thing that would have given his death meaning is the safety of the Enterprise. Now you've made that impossible, Mr. Spock. [...] I really came here to find out why you stayed and fought. [...] You could have assured yourself of a captaincy by leaving the area. But you chose to stay. Why?

Spock coldly replies:

I need not explain my rationale to you or any other member of this crew.

They snap at each other until they find the recording left for both of them by Kirk in the case of his death. It (hilariously) begins:

Bones, Spock, since you are playing this tape, we will assume that I am dead, that the tactical situation is critical, and both of you are locked in mortal combat.

The message is honestly both wise and heartwarming about how they should respect each other and both have important qualities to offer in a crisis. McCoy immediately feels ashamed of how he's been behaving at such a moment, and tells Spock:

Spock, I, er, I'm sorry. It does hurt, doesn't it?

Spock bleakly replies:

What would you have me say, doctor?

8— "Turnabout Intruder" (Season 3)

Context: in the very peculiar series finale, Kirk's autocratic and vengeful ex-girlfriend uses some kind of machine to take control of his body, leaving him trapped in her body. Spock notices almost immediately that "Kirk" is acting out of character and that "Janice" clearly knows something, so he goes to talk to "her" and Kirk tells him everything. Spock thinks it's possible but there's no certain proof, and Kirk urges him to mind-meld with him:

You are closer to the captain than anyone in the universe. You know his thoughts. What does your telepathic mind tell you now?

Spock melds with him and is promptly convinced.

Bonus: Spock tries to help Kirk escape shortly thereafter and holds his wrist/hand for a good twenty seconds.

9— "The Paradise Syndrome" (Season 3)

Context: Kirk becomes a carefree amnesiac stranded on a planet of transplanted Indigenous people (it's as bad as it sounds), but there's a much more well-done subplot around Spock commanding the Enterprise in the meanwhile. He stubbornly risks the ship (again) to try and rescue Kirk, but the attempt disastrously fails, leaving the ship with only impulse power. McCoy says in some frustration:

Well, Spock, you took your calculated risk in your calculated Vulcan way, and you lost. You lost for us, you lost for that planet, and you lost for Jim.

Despite his exasperation, McCoy still tries to get Spock to rest. Spock simply ignores him and orders the ship to head towards the planet Kirk is stranded on, still stubbornly set on rescuing him, even though they have no warp capabilities and have to travel entirely by impulse power. When McCoy protests that it'll take months, Spock replies:

Exactly 59.223 days, doctor.

And there's no clever solution around it, either. They do take nearly two months getting to the planet and Spock spends 58 days of the journey fixated on figuring out the puzzle that will allow them to save Kirk. McCoy tries to get him to eat or sleep, since he's done little of either for over 50 days, but Spock refuses to do anything except prepare for rescuing Kirk:

I'm also aware when we arrive at the planet, we'll have barely four hours to effect rescue. I believe those symbols are the key. [...] I am not hungry, doctor. [...] My physical condition is not important, doctor. That obelisk is.

McCoy eventually threatens to call security to force him away from studying the puzzle and make him lie down, so Spock finally goes to bed. As soon as McCoy is gone and out of earshot, Spock just gets back up and returns to contemplating the puzzle until he has a breakthrough.

Then upon beaming down and finding an injured, still-amnesiac Kirk, Spock mind-melds with him to try and repair his memory.

I am Spock. You are James Kirk. Our minds are moving closer. Closer, closer, closer, James Kirk. Closer. [...] Our minds are one. [...] Spock!

Spock breaks the link and falls back, gasping. When McCoy asks what's wrong, Spock just says:

His mind. He is an extremely dynamic individual.

10— "The Enemy Within" (Season 1)

Context: Kirk has been split into two people, representing each half of his personality: one half is noble, intellectual, and restrained, but cautious and indecisive, while the other is strong and bold, but vicious, selfish, and violent. At this point in the episode, Spock et al don't know about the split, so good!Kirk is oblivious and evil!Kirk's bizarre behavior is being attributed to normal Kirk. McCoy sends Spock to the captain's quarters to find out what's wrong with him.

Spock dutifully goes to Kirk's quarters, where he finds good!Kirk relaxing without a shirt on and promptly realizes he's gay loses the ability to put normal sentences together. It's difficult to overstate or even describe the homoeroticism of this scene, so judge for yourself:

Bonus: after Spock realizes he's dealing with only half of Kirk and has taken up helping him present a good front, he has to keep correcting good!Kirk's weaknesses and tells him that acting like actual Kirk means "You can't afford the luxury of being anything less than perfect."

11— "Errand of Mercy" (Season 1)

Context: Kirk and Spock are trying to pass themselves off as members of a species of ostensibly docile, peaceful people being (ostensibly) colonized by the Klingon Empire. Kirk in particular struggles to keep his head down, and when a Klingon shoves and threatens Spock, Kirk loses his shit and nearly clobbers the Klingon. Spock manages to calm him down and as they walk away, Kirk mutters:

You didn't really think I was going to beat his head in, did you?

Spock replies:

I thought you might.

Kirk says:

You're right.

12— "Amok Time" (Season 2)

We all know about this one, let's be real. It's difficult to even choose a moment—Spock confiding in Kirk about Vulcan mating practices (Kirk: O_O) and his loathing of the prospect, with Kirk protecting his confidentiality ("I haven't heard a word you've said"), Kirk defending his own choice to implode his career and defy Starfleet (without breaking Spock's confidence) to rush Spock to Vulcan ("I owe him my life a dozen times over. Isn't that worth a career? He's my friend"), Spock telling Kirk he'll undoubtedly find pon farr "distasteful" and Kirk responding "Will I?", Spock begging T'Pau not to let T'Pring choose Kirk as her champion ("I will do what I must [in combat], T'Pau, but not with him! ... In the name of my fathers, forbid. Forbid! T'Pau. I plead with thee! I beg!"), Spock's bleak response to T'Pau's "live long and prosper" after his victory ("I shall do neither. I have killed my captain and my friend"), Spock explaining that his pon farr vanished the moment he thought he'd killed Kirk ("When I thought I had killed the captain, I found I had lost all interest in T'Pring"), McCoy trying to get Spock to admit that his relief at Kirk's survival is illogical and Spock blatantly lying that he is just concerned with the loss of an effective captain, to which Kirk simply responds "Yes, Mr. Spock. I understand" while McCoy splutters ...

But honestly, my favorite is the brief moment of unrestrained emotion when Spock discovers Kirk is still alive and he cries "Jim!" as his whole face lights up and he grabs him. It's one of the only times in TOS that he's in his right mind and yet too overwhelmed to hide what he feels, and it's famous for a reason.

[st4rfckerz]

Thinking abouttttt roommate!clark mhm. You sink low into the couch, keeping your legs tucked under you as the soft glow of the screen flickered across the dimly lit living room. Clark sat next to you, draping one arm over the back of the couch. Amidst the distant sounds of the city outside their window, the apartment was filled with the soft murmur of the nightly broadcast. The two of you were relaxing after an exhausting day in a peaceful, cozy moment where the warmth of the common area enveloped you like a comforting hug.

It had been a long day at work, and you could feel the lingering ache in your back, a dull soreness from hours on your feet. As you shifted slightly, a sharp twinge made you wince, a quiet “ow” slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Clark’s brows pulled together in concern as he studied you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, cutting through the background hum of the television.

You let out a small breath, rolling your shoulders. “Yeah,” you murmured, offering a faint smile. “Just a bit sore.”

Clark hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to you before he shifted closer. The couch dipped slightly under his movement, and he lifted a hand, hesitating just long enough for you to notice. “Can I?” he asked softly, his voice carrying an unspoken offer.

You blinked at him, surprised for a moment. After a beat, you gave a small nod, curiosity and anticipation flickering in your expression.

He begins to knead the tense muscles in your back and shoulders, his strong fingers digging into the knots and easing the pain. He works methodically, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Clark’s hands moved gently at first, his fingers pressing into the tense muscles of your shoulders. You felt a gradual, soothing sense of relaxation as the warmth of his touch eased the pain. “You’re really tense.” he murmured quietly. When he kneaded a particularly sore spot, a soft moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively leaning into his touch. The tension you’d been holding onto all day gradually melted away, replaced by a deep, settling comfort.

His hands slip underneath your shirt, his warm fingers now directly against your skin. He starts to massage the tight muscles of your back and shoulders more intensely, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Suddenly, he pauses, his hands stilling on your bare skin. “Is this okay?” he asks softly, a note of hesitation in his voice. He looks at you with a questioning gaze, wanting to ensure he has your full permission. The warmth of his touch made goosebumps erupt over your skin. Not trusting your voice, you nod.

Without warning, he dipped his head, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the side of your neck. His lips were warm against your skin, the gesture both tentative and deliberate. Clark’s hands slowly slide up your back, his fingers splaying out across your ribcage before suddenly cupping and squeezing your tits. He groans softly against your neck, his grip tightening slightly as he kneads the soft flesh.

In the low light of the room, you turned your head and met his gaze, then quickly closed the distance between you. Your lips met his in a soft, searching kiss, the moment slow and unhurried, as if neither of you wanted to break whatever had just begun.

He kisses you back fervently, his tongue slipping out to tangle with yours as his hands continue to fondle your chest. Soon, his hand slides down your body, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He cups your cunt, his middle finger finding your slit and stroking along your entrance teasingly.

“Been driving me crazy.” he sighs. Clark's fingers curled perfectly inside of you, pressing against the spot that made your breath stutter. You whimpered as his thumb traced lazy circles around your clit. Your head tipped back against his shoulder, a soft whisper of his name falling from your parted lips.

Clark smiles at your breathless plea, a wicked glint in his eye. Without another word, he plunges another finger deep inside you, stroking and curling it against your sensitive walls. “You sound so pretty,” he muttered.

As the pleasure grew, you could feel it twisting tightly in your stomach and becoming sharp and electrifying. Clark sensed it too with the way your breath caught in between each frantic cry, the way your thighs shook.

“Come on, let go.” Clark groaned, deep and low, he maintained his rhythm while his lips found the hollow of your throat. Your body suddenly stiffened, your breath turning into a quiet, gasping cry as you came apart beneath him. Clark cooed softly, watching you unwind and his fingers slowed down just enough to let you ride it out.

He kisses you deeply, swallowing your cries and moans as your body goes limp in his lap. Without a word, you shifted away, slipping off the couch and down onto your knees. Staring up at him with hazy eyes, you dip your fingers into the waistband and hastily tug his pants down. Clark lets out a low groan as you palm him through his boxers, his evident hard-on poking through the fabric.

Clark gazed down at you, his big blue eyes soft yet searching, a quiet intensity behind them. His lips were barely parted, and his eyebrows pinched upwards just slightly, anticipation flickering across his face. His breath hitched as he watched you slowly tug his aching cock out from the confines of his boxers.

You met his gaze again, your breath unsteady. You’re just roommates—could it still stay the same?