#but I did what I wanted so no real issues

[callsigndreadfrost]

Do whatever the fuck you want with your OCs no matter what stage you're at. Want overpowered OCs fucking shit up? Then do it! Want unbeatable OCs to fill that niche/need to feel powerful for any reason then fucking fo it.

If Batman, you know, Bruce fucking Wayne, can just magically will his way out of a 100% deadly disease (The Batman who Laughs) without any real context except for "Oh, he trained so hard, that's why he can just do that"...then so can your motherfucking OCs.

I saw some amazing young artists crumble under the fear of having their OCs be called that (I honestly refuse to repeat those two words. We HAVE to let it die and never let it come back.)

I witnessed an artist going through a "test" to see if their newest OC was that and then PANIC because it was that according to the fucking test. They did this with every single OC they made and refused to continue work on their project until the newest OC was "fit for consumption". It was like a mania of some sort.

I followed a comic artist who nuked their entire work, deleted their social media, and their site because of this fear.

Do whatever the fuck you want. The right audience will be drawn and those that don't? Skill issue on their part for not seeing your potential.

No one is out there calling Batman or Superman or Iron Man that term so no one's fucking OC should be called that either. That shit's just a tool to harass and bully young and inexperienced artists that are lacking in support and confidence.

I am actually so serious I think it really messes with a childs creativity and joy to tell them to never make a mary sue OC. Like that unbridaled form of joy where you make a self insert OC who super cool and everyone loves them and they have every superpower in the world SHOULD be something a kid makes, it nourishes their ability to create things for fun and not be stifled by "oh but what if my character is too overpowered and cringey...". whatever

[todoriin]

my starlight, my eternity, my apocalypse | phainon x afab!reader

18+ mdni, 3k wc, filthy and emotional sex, bath sex, bed sex, p in v, porn barely concealed by plot, fingering, breast play, more horny shit idk, chrysos heir reader but no spoilers, not completely aligned with canon, unedited no beta in phainon we thrust, emphasis on the emotional sex. it's emotional.

When you joined the Flame Chase Journey, you were prepared for all the sacrifices that you would have to make, to give up your soul, your conscious, your body, all for the safety of Amphoreus. Life is fleeting and ephemeral, but the prophecy gave yours meaning and somehow, a family that provided you friendship, love, everything that you thought could never be yours again when the black tide took it away.

However, you don't know when everything started, how it all fell like dominoes, how it felt like the rug was swept out from under your feet. Now, when you look up at the skies of Okhema and Kephale Worldbearer statue, you're reminded of imminent doom, and the future that is calling for your demise.

A decade or so ago, you would have been eager to meet your end, but now you can't bear to leave.

"You're awfully quiet."

Phainon makes himself known by sinking into the lukewarm water beside you, his bathing tunic revealing parts of his body that you're well accustomed to.

"Hey, you," you murmur meekly, trying your best to give him a smile.

"You don't need to pretend," he says, thumb rubbing your cheek reassuringly. "Things have been tough recently."

"Then you also don't have to pretend."

He laughs, the sound airy and not really there. "I fear it's more of a destiny issue, the world will be mine to bear alone."

The thought of it makes your expression sour instantly and Phainon notices it, immediately scrambling to make sure he didn't offend you. His precious lover, he never wants to displease you in any way.

"What's wrong? What did I say?"

"I just- it's getting scary, how things are unfolding so fast. Now, I need to confront a reality where you're truly alone," you whisper. "I... I really didn't want Kephale's Coreflame to be yours to inherit, but Aglaea's never wrong, it really does have to be you, huh?"

"Y/n..."

"And then... I also have to leave you, don't I?"

Two strong hands wrap around your thigh and they pull you onto Phainon's lap in one, swift motion, the water wading and rippling due to the sudden motion. You're practically nose-to-nose with him now, and his warm breath hits your top lip.

"Don't say that," he whispers, shaking his head.

"Not addressing it doesn't make it any less real," you let your hands wander to his face, holding him by the jaw. He opens his eyes to look at you, really look at you, gaze flickering from your mouth, to your eyes, to your nose; how the Titans have sculpted you, his perfect match in every lifetime.

"I know, but... I don't want to think about it. Not now. I... don't think I can survive the grief of losing you."

You exhale a breath of relief when he nudges his nose against your cheek, feeling him pepper gentle kisses against your jaw, trailing his lips along the bone. His snow-white hair tickles your face, and it's only when you recoil a little at the feathery feeling he stops, moving his head to look at you again.

There's turmoil swimming in those usually-vibrant eyes of him, and he's uncharacteristically silent as he gazes at you.

"I love you," you whisper, voice cracking with all the emotions bubbling within you. "I love you so much, Phainon, I can't bear-"

You're interrupted by a kiss, one that is meant to consume, meant to devour you whole, one that has no clear nor purposeful movement behind it because the intention speaks for itself. The desperation, the fear, the overprotectiveness, it all declares itself present in the way Phainon is trying to mould you as close to him as humanly possible.

His hands roam, needy and demanding as it travels the expanse of your skin: holding, squeezing, wrapping around you like a serpent.

"Titans, I love you so much," he murmurs before kissing you with renewed fervour, only emboldened by the intimate position you find yourself in.

There's a growing hardness against your thigh and arousal slips into your veins like a drug. All of a sudden, the bathing gowns you wear are too heavy, and all you want is his skin against yours.

He groans when you experimentally roll your hips against his pelvis.

"Take me, take me, please, take me," you continue your ministrations, feeling his dick spring more and more to life with each teasing movement you bestow. His breath hitches, caught in his throat as he withstands your pleasurable torture.

He'll withstand anything as long as it is done in your name.

When his hands come up to strip himself of his bathing garments, his eyes never stray from yours as he bears himself naked to you, as he has done so many times before. Despite how familiar you are with Phainon's body, you will never be able to scratch the incessant itch in your fingers that beg to sink your nails into his skin, to permeate into rippled muscles that fit so perfectly against your body, every ridge of his toned frame meshing harmoniously against yours. No matter how many bite marks you leave against his frustratingly smooth skin, it will never be enough to satisfy your cravings.

You help him take off the soaked fabric and drop it out of the water without a care of where it lands because his hands are already working on presenting you equally as bare.

His hands draw up to your shoulder slowly, testing, patient, searing. Then, he pulls off your straps, sliding them off your body, eyes flitting between your naked form and your face, blue eyes so overwhelmingly fascinated with the sight presented before him.

Eventually, you're left vulnerable and bare before him.

"Beautiful," he whispers when he holds the left side of your chest, teasing your nipple with his thumb. As a cry of surprise is about to leave your lips, he swallows it with his mouth, drinking in all the noises you make as he plays with you.

Pinching, fondling, squeezing, he is so mind-numbingly reverent in his touch that it makes your thighs squeeze around him. You feel him laugh against you, the sound vibrating throughout his chest, sending subtle shocks down to your core, before he leans against your shoulder to smile up at you.

"I love you," he declares again, softly and endearingly. His hands then seek purchase on your hips, fingers moulding into the curve of your ass and the flesh of your pelvis, and he shifts you closer to his hardened member.

You moan when it teases your entrance, the tip catching the hood of your clit and sending bolts of pleasure up your spine. It goes straight to your head, because you can only think about feeling him in the most intimate places, places where only you will let him touch, places that only feel whole when he's there.

"You're perfect," Phainon whispers, looking up at you with stars in his eyes, "I want you to remember me forever, because through all our lifetimes, no one will be able to love you like I can."

His hands snake around your ass to feel your entrance instead, touch achingly slow as he rubs two fingers against your slit and you can't help but fall into Phainon even more, gasping and writhing in anticipation. Even more so when he parts your folds with his thumb and ring finger to sink in two digits.

"Isn't that right?" He smiles when your nails sink into his deltoids whilst gasping for air.

"Yes! Yes, Phainon, you're right-"

You're already so aroused, you think you might implode with how he scissors you open. Despite being submerged, the ease he was experiencing in opening you up was all the work of your body reacting to him, not the water that ripples with each movement of his hand.

That fact pleases him, because you can feel him smile into your hair, fingers still working through your velvet walls, prepping you with intentional caresses and strokes. When he curls them, you dig your nails even harder, sobbing his name into his damp skin.

"Phainon-" you whine needily.

"Yeah?" He responds casually, as if his fingers weren't causing your sanity to slowly unravel.

"Fuck me already, please."

"So impatient already, my star? Can you take it?"

Despite your slipping conscious, you resolutely agree.

"If that's what my love wants, I must comply." It feels so empty when his fingers slide out of you, leaving you wanting and lonely for his love, but you don't get long to dwell on it before he's bringing you into another gentle kiss. His lips move in tandem with yours, guiding you through something slow and intimate. By the end, his hands are on your hips and he's dragging you closer to him, until you feel the outline of his hardness underneath.

You're so impatient, you want him to sink in and never vacate.

So when his engorged tip dips between your folds, you hold onto his wrists tightly as he slowly lowers you onto the rest of his length. Inch, by agonising inch, you let out a cacophony of moans and sharp breaths while he stretches you apart, pulsating where you need him the most.

It feels so good when you finally take his whole length, filling you up so perfectly. He groans and shudders from underneath you, helpless against the way your walls shudder and twitch around his impatient member.

Both of you are mindful that he didn't prep you completely, but you're so wet and turned on you don't even think it matters. You just want him to fuck the daylights out of you, and you're not above begging for it.

And Phainon has always been helpless to your every whim, so he lifts your weak figure up slowly, hissing at the sensation of losing your warmth, before abruptly sinking you down once again.

"Phai-" you cry as he repeats his movements. "Oh Titans, more, more, more."

He pumps his hips up this time to meet you, "you don't need to ask, my love."

This torrential downpour of pleasure continues, sending shockwaves from the tips of your finger to the end of your toes, causing you to curl them.

"I don't want you to be alone," you whimper against his neck, shuddering with each drag of him against your fluttering walls. "Holding the world alone is too cruel a prophecy for you, Phainon."

"I don't want to be alone, either," he shudders when you bite into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, abs clenching and hips stuttering as he thrusts upwards. "I want you to be with me, forever, until- until the end."

You cry out when he hits a particularly deep spot in you, crashing against his chest when you don't have the ability to hold your spine strong anymore. His arms wrap around your waist, protective and firm, it feels like he's trying to prevent you from falling apart even more than you already are- metaphorically and physically.

Being pressed against him like this means you can feel each twitch and flex of his muscle; his abs, his biceps, his thighs, deliciously paired with the feeling of him violating your insides.

When you're halfway to being mindless, he suddenly tightens his hold on you.

"I'm sorry, I need more," Without anymore warning, he stands up completely from the bathtub, his member slipping out of you to leave you achingly empty. Phainon walks of out the baths, leaving a dripping puddle with every step he takes, effortlessly balancing both you and his weight.

Your world is tilted on its axis when he drops you against something soft- your shared bed, which you are soaking through because of the water.

"Phainon-"

"It's fine," he reassures with a kiss to your forehead, and you have no space to protest when you feel his tip sliding in again, breaching your walls with the resistance of slippery ice.

He sinks back home with barely any struggle, bodies pressed right up against each other and he lets out a sigh of relief when he bottoms out, feeling you clench and pulse around him. His hands then push your thighs further apart so his torso can slot in, becoming chest-to-chest with you and you can feel more of him in this position. Tip poking your cervix, you fear you might feel him in your stomach.

As you adjust to this new stretch, he watches you squirm and writhe under him, fascination and awe shining in his eyes, as if committing the sight of your heaving chest and malleable form to memory.

He moves slowly, dragging his dick out at a torturous pace, leaving just the tip in, before thrusting back in, leaving you to cry out loud with each assault of his hips. You're so wet you can feel the way your slick coats his cock and how it aids his every move, and the added lubrication of the water does nothing to help the debauched noises of skin slapping skin.

Then, he speeds up and takes you at a mind-destroying pace, one so brutally fast that you're actually worried he will tear your cervix.

Slick gushes out and out of you, oozing onto your thighs, his hips, and the sheets below, but neither of you care. Phainon is dead set on ruining you, and he has the stamina to guarantee it.

Your first orgasm is approaching, fast, and he feels it with the way your walls clench around him. So, he decides to help you out with a merciless thumb on your clit, one that rubs delightful circles and patterns that only command your undoing sooner.

The coil snaps, and you feel every muscle seize up, legs twitching from where he holds them.

"Phainon- mmh!" He kisses you, covering your lips with his mouth to swallow every sound you make without ever stopping his movements. The silence only accentuates the wet plap, plap, plap that echoes in your shared room.

"You're mine forever, my lover," he murmurs in between kisses, "my starlight, say you love me."

"I... I love you!" You scream at a particularly deep thrust, still sensitive from the shocks of your cresting pleasure, but the sudden warmth that explodes in your lower abdomen has you squealing again. Hot ropes of cum shoot in your walls, and his cock is plunged so deep in that no drop can escape. His hips stutter and convulse as he lets out a pleased grunt, heavy breaths and sounds of satisfaction filling the air.

Your orgasm had hit you like a boulder, so much so that you were still clamping around him, stimulating him enough to harden whilst nestled inside. Both of you feel it, and Phainon gulps.

"It's fine, we can go until... you're pleased," you whimper, as if reading his mind and answering his question for him.

"But you're-"

"-I don't care," your arms then come up to wrap around his neck, "I need it as much as you do. Please, Phainon, have me again, do whatever you need to make me yours forever."

That's all he needs. He kisses your jaw, peppering little, open-mouthed kisses before teasing you with a slow, experimental drag of his hips, his cock leaving your warmth before slamming back in with an aching thrust. It has you yelping and gasping for air, convulsing as the ends of your nerves beg for mercy whilst simultaneously asking for more.

Phainon begins with a moderate pace, letting his mouth drift to your breasts inside. He plays with your right nipple first, sucking, gently tugging, and biting around the flesh whilst his hand occupies your left one, fondling and squeezing. It all feels so good, a tear escapes your eye from how overwhelmingly good his hands, tongue and lips are.

With a final suckle, he pops off your tit, leaving a trail of spit behind. You catch a look of displeasure in his eyes, as if this wasn't enough, so without warning, he raises your knees higher, spreading you even wider and allowing you to feel him even deeper.

The tip of his cock catches the spot where you need him the most, and it lets him know with an involuntary squeeze and an arch of your back.

"Phainon, Phainon, Phainon," you chant, digging your face into the pillow for some semblance of sanity, for some way of grounding you. He has other plans, however, and begins repeatedly hitting that spot, readjusting his position to get you to cry his name again and again.

You're so perfect, he wants to stay here forever.

"We're perfect for each other, my starlight," your lover whispers reverently, "please, never leave me."

His engorged tip accentuates his plea, and he's growing heavier and heavier inside you while you're growing less and less conscious, mind floating away to leave nothing but how good you feel.

The pleasure builds up, and up, and up, until wetness gushes out of you and onto Phainon's member. He grits his teeth and lets go of another load of cum, filling you up again with streams of it. This time, you feel more of it escape, seeping out of you in droplets, but nevertheless, he collapses into the safety of your arms.

The two of you are still connected, the two of you are still safe and physical, the two of you are harbouring wounds that you may never recover from, but at least the two of you are still here.

Because the song of apocalypse and the prophecy that you fear is still inching towards you.

if you've read this far can you at least pray for my finals and that i get a distinction on every subject. if you don't use the highest form of manifestation to help me then no more phainon smut.

© todoriin 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site

[bernardsbendystraws]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ be real ─ m.s.

summary ʚɞ you and matt have been dating for barely a month. things have been really good, but things get a bit tense when matt calls you out on faking it...

cw ʚɞ smut, fluff, faking it, trouble finishing, use of toys, embarassaing convo, desperate needy sex, p n v, raw, creampie, praise kink, begging (both), and more

pairing ʚɞ matt sturniolo x reader

notes ʚɞ copyright notice. wc 2000+. lol this may or may not be based of true circumstances...

ʚ with love and big tits, rose ɞ → nav

“Listen, I know you’ve been faking it.” 

His confrontational words immediately made your heart drop to your stomach. Although they were said in a neutral tone with a sympathetic face, you couldn’t help but let your teeth sink into your bottom lip, your fingers pinching the material of your sweatshirt while your eyes stayed glued down to your lap. 

You couldn’t look at him even if you wanted to. Shame and embarrassment made your face blister with an uncomfortable heat, your eyes blinking rapidly as you heard him speak. 

“I…I know this is kinda awkward-” 

You huff at his statement. This was a lot more than kinda awkward—it was the type of embarrassment that made you wanna walk out the door and never see him again. You were debating letting the short time of building your relationship fall down the drain in order to keep your pride intact. 

Faking an orgasm wasn’t a new thing for you, you’ve always done it in every single relationship. It’s not necessarily the other person's fault either. You had…well, tried—really, really hard. You had even kept a sex journal to track your progress in reaching the big ‘O’ – and you did hit it at some point, but not much progress was truly made.

“-but I want you to tell me how I can help, you know? I can’t…I can’t just read your body or anything if you’re faking stuff. I—I don’t want this to be a long-run issue, I want you to feel good, I…I wanna talk about it.” 

His words make your lips twist to the side, your face scrunching in humiliation as you try to pull your gaze up to meet his. 

The second you see the outline of his lips, your eyes fall back down, burning with shame as your vision gets blurry. Blinking back ferociously, you cringe watching a tear fall into your lap, a loud sniffle making your spine run stiff. 

“Hey, hey,” Matt coos, reaching out and petting your arm in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort. “-I just wanna talk so we can make it better, okay? I’m not trying to be mean or anything, just…just want you to feel good too.” 

You nod at his words. Taking a deep sigh, you force yourself to look up—the sight of his puzzled expression making your heart clench in your chest. 

“Well,” you start, licking over your lips as your eyes wander around his living room, “-it’s just…I don’t…there’s…” you sigh in frustration, the explanation jumbled and sounding as clueless as you feel. 

Matt’s hand slides down to your knee. He gives you a reassuring squeeze, offering a small smile as encouragement. 

“It’s just…it’s not….it’s not you. I just…can’t.” 

The blunt statement makes a frown tug on his face. Your boyfriend of barely a month slouches in his seat on the couch ottoman directly in front of you, his eyes flickering across your features as he takes a minute to digest the statement. 

“You…you can’t?” he repeats, his face scrunching more as you give an affirmative nod. “-like, you’ve just…never?” he questions, his head tilting towards the side as he sees you shrug.

“I, um, well—I have, just…” your eyes squint shut, your scalp itching as you try to focus on the conversation at hand, “-I can’t without a…a vibrator? Like…it’s just…it’s always been that way. No matter what I do, no matter what I try—-” 

“So you need a vibrator in order to finish?” he remarks, genuine curiosity leaking from his tone. 

Your toes crack, your feet shifting anxiously on the ground as you give a slight nod. This is embarrassing—fucking humiliating. You’re basically telling him there is no way he can fix it—there’s no way that he’ll ever be enough—and you know that probably sucks to hear. 

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t even know. I’ve tried, I just…I can’t without one. It’s not you or—”

“Hey,” he laughs, cutting off your rambled apology while squeezing your knee once again. “-it doesn’t offend me or anything. I wanted to be able to fix it and you gave me a clear solution. If anything….” he wiggles his bros, licking over his lips, “-’m excited, baby.” 

You roll your eyes at his antics, biting back a smile from his boyish behavior. It’s like some sort of weight has been lifted off of you—something that felt so worrisome turning into something else—something that makes you want to get closer to him. 

“So….what kind of vibrator does my girlfriend like?” 

___

You wish you could smack that stupid grin off his face. He’s really having fun—his hand lightly placing the light trembling object a couple inches away from your sensitive bud—the sensations echoing just enough to give you a taste of bliss. 

“Matt…” you whine, tugging on his hair and scowling. He has the audacity to let out a slight laugh, his hand moving the vibrator around your clit as he watches you squirm. 

A whimper falls through your lips. Your back arches off the mattress of his bed, the motion making the small bullet glide onto your clit as you let out a broken moan. 

“Yeah? Feels good, baby?” he tuts, biting hungrily on his lip as he watches you writhe beneath him. 

It’s a fucking sight. Your legs are spread for him, your knees locking around his waist as he lets his hard cock rest against your quivering thigh. 

He presses the device more firmly against your sensitivity, watching as your eyes bulge open, your lips parting as a sinful noise erupts from the back of your throat. 

Your knees lock on either side of his hips. He hisses as you instinctively pull him closer, the movement making his throbbing dick slide against your inner leg. 

The build-up is happening. He can tell by the way your legs tense and shake that you will finish eventually. Matt has been dreaming of this moment—dreaming of seeing you so consumed by pleasure that you completely let go for him.

“Shit, sweetheart—look at that,” he coos, staring between your bodies to look at your plump and swollen clit. Letting his fingers glide the toy between your wet folds, he gathers the slick leaking from your entrance before pushing the device up again, pushing it against your puffy bud. 

“Oh, fuck! Matt!” you cry, your hands clawing into his shoulders as you feel yourself clench around nothing. “-need…need you inside me—please, need it so—so bad,” you breathe, your body craving to be filled and fucked more than anything.

“I…fuck, okay—give me a second,” he husks, lifting his hips just enough to align his tip with your pulsating hole, easily slipping in with both his hands still preoccupied—one holding him up, the other holding the toy. 

“Shitttttt, there we go,” he rasps, hissing as he feels your walls tighten around him as he starts to bottom out. The stretch is usually a bit uncomfortable, but right now it feels like you’re satisfying a painfully apparent craving. 

You yelp as he grinds himself into you. Matt groans loudly, his cock twitching inside of you while your chest arches into his. “Oh—oh god!” you cry, his pelvis making the vibrator flush against your overly sensitive clit, your entire body starting to tense as he starts to thrust in and out of your slippery heat. 

“Fuck—’m…” Matt bites into his lip, trying to distract himself from how good you feel wrapped around him. 

Honestly, the sight alone was already making him struggle to hold back from cumming by rubbing up against your thigh. This is intense. He’s trying to create a steady rhythm, but every time you convulse around his length, he feels his balls draw up, his gut tightening as he attempts to keep his hips driving into you. 

“Please…please tell me you’re close, baby—baby, please,” he sputters, his groans undeniably getting louder in a way that makes your entire body echo with euphoria. He sounds so desperate for you to finish—so intoxicated by everything that he needs you to cum before he breaks entirely. 

“I—-I—” you stumble over your words, the thoughts inside your head too far pushed into the back of your mind as he gives you everything he has—hammering his cock deep inside of your pulsating walls with desperation falling through his lips with noises that make you feel like you’re on fire. 

“C’mon,” he coos, his hand shaking as he holds the vibrator, gliding it against your swollen bud as your feet push off the bed, pushing your pelvis into his as everything becomes intoxicatingly overwhelming. “-cum for me, you got it—please, baby—I—I need it, please.” 

Your body turns rigid, the waves of euphoria pummeling down on you with a hot bliss that makes a brutal noise rip from the back of your throat. 

Matt lets out a loud whimper. The feeling of your wet walls nearly suffocating his dick and making it impossible for him to hold back. 

The waves of your orgasm are crashing hard, the vicious pleasure making your mind run on pure instinct as you lock your legs around him. 

“Gonna cum—where—where d–do—”

You dig your ankles further into his back, a sob leaving your lips from the ruthless vibrations from the vibrator still planted on your clit. “Inside…please, Matt. I—I want it,” you hiccup, screeching as he fucks himself somehow deeper inside of you, making your entire body tremble as his hips flex, stilling with his pelvis flush against your own. 

“Fuckkkkkkk, gon—gonna cum—’s…so–so good, baby—did so good for me,” he breathes, moaning as he feels you milk him. 

The vein on his neck protrudes, his hand holding himself up grasping gently into your hair, his elbow propped upwards as he leaves a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss onto your neck. 

The vibrations on your pulsing bud pause. Matt tosses the small bullet on the side of the bed, unmoving with his cock slowly softening inside of you. 

You feel him panting against your neck, your own chest rapidly rising and falling as he lifts his head up to look at you. “You okay?” he questions, analyzing your face as you nod breathlessly. 

He combs his hand through your hair, letting out a dry laugh as he notices you starting to doze off. “Here, lemme clean us up and then we can go to bed.” 

Slowly pulling out, he cringes as you wince. He presses a kiss to the side of your cheek, getting up and grabbing a damp washcloth from his bathroom. 

Matt lets out a huff as he notices you struggling to stay awake. He gently nudges your legs open, swallowing thickly as he sees his cum dripping out of you. 

Well—your mixed cum. 

He smiles proudly as he brings the semi-warm cloth downwards, tentatively cleaning you. He tosses it to the side carelessly, kissing your knees before lowering your legs back down to rest comfortably on his bed. 

Peeking your eyes open, you smile sleepily. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Matt grins wider. He plops down on the bed next to you, pulling you onto his chest and tugging a blanket over the two of you. “Because, I feel like I just won the fuckin’ lottery.” he answers. 

A lazy giggle vibrates through your lips. “Matt, you’re ridiculous,” you puff, smacking his chest playfully as your lips curl with a soft smile. 

Grabbing your hand in his own, he pulls it up to his mouth, kissing along your knuckles. “-’m serious. I think I just discovered my biggest kink.” 

Your brows furrow. Looking up, you let your chin rest on his chest, your eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Oh? And what’s that?” 

He grins at your interrogation. “My biggest kink is you feeling good—you being real with me.” he says. 

You blush at his words. Your nose scrunches with endearment, your eyes squinting as a smile pulls on your face. “You’re such a dork,” you tease. 

“Nuh-uh,” he puffs, pulling you in closer. You feel his lips on the crown of your head, a gentle kiss making you sink further into his hold. “-just being real.”

[p1astr81]

hi! can I request something similar to the last one you did about oscar and reader having intimacy issues but instead if you can do that she’s asexual but she’s keeping it from him bc she’s worried he’ll break up with her if he knows so she is just trying to hide it until he gets upset? tbh it’s my fear about dating so 😭 you can make it very angsty but a happy ending pleaseeeee!

I did some research before writing this, and discovered there’s different preferences. I wasn’t sure how to go about this so reader’s preferences are as follows: still likes to cuddle and kiss and stuff like that. Is fine with sex as long as there’s a warning in advance, but still doesn’t feel the desire.

(If there’s anything you’d like me to change, don’t hesitate to lmk!)

warnings: talk of sex, brief dry humping

Oscar was your first real relationship.

He was sweet, funny, kind, but had the sexual desires that you didn’t. It wasn’t a problem until well into your relationship.

“Hey baby,” he’d joined you on the living room sofa, his hand rubbing the soft flesh of your thigh. From the tone of his voice, you knew what he wanted.

It wasn’t the first time he’s tried to initiate something, and you’re certain it wouldn’t be the last. The script was always the same.

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” You confessed in a small voice, avoiding his eyes.

He withdrew his hand, setting it in his own lap. “Yeah. No, yeah. I’m sorry.” He lingered a moment longer before standing.

“Oscar?” You called, head propped on the back of the couch. He paused halfway down the hallway and looked back at you. “I love you.” You reassured.

He smiled, but it was small. “I love you, too.”

He was asleep.

You’d just woken up. You hadn’t understood why until you felt it.

In his sleep, his hips rolled into your thigh, clearly searching for a release from his dream.

Every fiber of your body was on fire, burning with discomfort. “Oscar,” you struggled to find your voice as you tried to push him away. He was like a boulder, refusing to budge. Tears pricked your eyes. You tried to roll away but his strong arms around your waist held you in place. “Oscar, please wake up.” You choked, managing to get a hand between you to push him by his chest. You were sobbing by this point.

You hadn’t meant to, but you hit him in the chest. A very hard blow. It knocked the air out of him, waking him up instantly.

He sat up to catch his breath, releasing you from his hold in the same move. You jumped up, scrambling to stand across the room. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry i didn’t mean to hit you.”

“What- baby what time is it?” He asked, trying to move closer to you. You stopped him with an open palm. “What happened?” He looked scared and concerned, searching your face for an answer.

You couldn’t answer, you just kept apologizing. Your back hit the wall and you slid down it, curing in on yourself as you hit the floor.

He came closer despite your held out hand. “Please talk to me.” He begged.

You couldn’t catch your breath. Your chest felt tight, your head and your body too heavy. The world around you blurred both visually and audibly.

A panic attack. He recognized it before you did. “Okay, uhm,” he tried to figure out how to calm you down without touching you. “You’ll be alright. This’ll pass.” He reassured. “Just focus on your breathing. Breathe with me, okay?”

With hand motions he took deep breaths. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth.” The first couple times, you hadn’t followed. He continued anyway, and eventually saw your attempts. “Good, yeah really good.”

When you were finally settled and the episode passed, he backed up. “I’m going to sleep in the guest bed. Stay here and get some sleep, okay?” He took himself to the door, refusing to step out until you were secure in the bed. He watched your languid movements. It was like your body weighed a thousand pounds. “I love you.” He told you before leaving.

The following morning was tense. Few words were exchanged during breakfast, and those that were remained short.

He approached you about it after breakfast, careful to keep his distance.

“What happened last night?” He asked softly. “I’m not upset I just want to know that you’re okay.” He added quickly.

You swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably. “Promise me… promise me you won’t break up with me.”

“Why would I- of course I won’t. I promise.”

You fiddled with your hands, trying to find your words as the silence thickened by the second. “I’m asexual. Which means I don’t have any sexual attraction.”

Oscar tilted his head slowly, his brows furrowing.

“It’s not that I’m not attracted to you it’s just… I don’t have the same sexual desires that you do.” You winced at the words coming from your own mouth.

He said nothing, trying to understand why you hadn’t told him sooner. Feeling guilty for making moves on you.

“And I don’t want to deprave you or anything. I can still have sex just… I’d need a warning in advance so I can prepare myself.” You chewed on your finger, afraid of his inevitable response.

Keeping his distance, he leaned against the nearest wall. “I don’t want to force you into anything.”

“I promise, as long as I’m warned I’m fine with it. I’ve had sex before.” You bit your lip. “I just probably won’t be as into it as you’d expect.”

“So is it just sex? Or does it include kissing and cuddling and everything else?”

“No, no. I still like those. It’s mainly just the sex part.”

He nodded and pushed off the wall. He lingered a moment longer and joined you on the couch. A beat passed of him staring at you before he wrapped his arms around you. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His words were muffled into your shirt.

“I didn’t want you break up with me because I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

He pulled back and held your face in his hands. “You’re what I want. That’s it.”

[hamzahsbaby]

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ NERD!HAMZAH

NERD!HAMZAH who took forever to make advancements because he was so scared of making you uncomfortable. it took you dropping the most obvious hint for him to finally do something about his feelings for you. “i’m having issues with my computer, maybe you could come over and fix it for me?” you leaned over the table separating you two, your tits basically screaming hamzah’s name. and when he does come over to fix your computer, you tell him “you know the real reason why i invited you over right? i like you, you’re cute.” and hamzah’s eyes go all big and clueless. “i, oh, uh. i had no idea.” and the way he says it makes it clear he’s not lying. he really did have no idea. and a few days later he shows up at your door with flowers and asks you on an official date.

NERD!HAMZAH who never argues back. arguments are rare in the relationship because well, he’s just that well behaved. but when they happen, he’ll always own up to his wrongs and he’ll always make it up to you. he worships the ground you walk on and he wants you to know it. he always kissing your hand, saying ‘yes ma’am’ with no questions asked, and treating you like an absolute princess.

NERD!HAMZAH who is the most patient man you know. he honestly might be the only man ever that’s willing to put up with your bratty attitude. you’re a lot to handle but he’s happy about it and never makes you feel like you’re a lot, even when you definitely are.

NERD!HAMZAH who buys you your own copy of his favorite books and leaves his own notes in the margins so when you read it you can understand it clearer. when he first did this, you took offense. “do you think i’m stupid or something?” and he’s all like “what? of course not.” he’s genuinely confused cause the thought never even crossed his mind, he just thought maybe you’d want to know what was going through his head when he read it. it’s never about who’s smarter, it’s just him sharing his world with you.

NERD!HAMZAH who always gets flustered when things start getting heated. you’re kissing and straddling him and he’s all breathless and hot. “is this okay?” he asks at least 3 separate times because he just needs to be sure. and when you finally tug his shirt off him, his glasses get caught and you start laughing to each other. he always tells you that your laugh could brighten up anyone’s day just by hearing it.

[polaritydisturbed]

I’ve seen some posts floating around saying things like, “Belinda was always a mom, the Doctor just corrected the timeline,” and I genuinely cannot stress enough how little that addresses the core issues people have with how her story was handled.

First of all, if that was the intention—if the idea was that Belinda was always meant to be a mother and the timeline just needed to be “set right”—they did a poor job of executing it. A twist that major, one that fundamentally alters a character’s identity or arc, requires setup. Foreshadowing. Emotional groundwork. You can’t just spring something that massive on the audience in the last five minutes and expect it to feel meaningful instead of disorienting.

And here’s the thing: Doctor Who has done that kind of plot before—successfully. A great comparison is Amy and Rory. The show literally did the “someone you love was erased from time and the universe needs to be corrected to bring them back” storyline already. And while I’ve got my own qualms with how Amy’s arc was handled overall, that particular beat actually worked.

Why? Because there were signs. The cracks in time. The missing memories. A sense of loss Amy couldn’t place. Little inconsistencies that made the audience lean forward and feel that something was wrong. Not to mention: Rory was introduced before he disappeared. We knew him. We saw his dynamic with Amy. We cared about him. We barely see Poppy in these two episodes, other than "child missing bad" we really have no attachment to her.

Now imagine if we never met Rory. If Amy had been introduced as a fierce, independent woman with no attachments, someone whose refusal to be tied down was a defining trait—and then the show suddenly revealed, in the finale, that actually she was about to get married the whole time to a man we’d never seen, and now she’s a devoted wife. No buildup. No context. Just surprise! emotional transformation. That would feel bizarre, right?

That’s exactly what happened with Belinda.

The final minutes of the finale reframe her not just as someone who once had a child, but as someone whose true self is supposedly defined by that role—and we’re meant to believe that this identity has now been “restored” to her, and we’re told it’s been restored to her as a reward. But it doesn’t feel like a revelation. It feels like a contradiction.

It’s like they wanted to write her as fierce and independent, but didn’t also want to imply that she wanted kids or thought about kids—because society still tends to associate maternal longing or caretaking instincts with weakness, or with not being a “strong” woman. So instead of exploring that complexity, they just didn’t. They wrote her as a fully autonomous character, with no visible yearning or absence, and then stapled a child onto her arc at the end.

And just to be absolutely clear: the problem is not that Belinda is a mother. You can write a fierce, independent, female-presenting character who’s also a parent. Those things are not mutually exclusive. The problem is that the story didn’t earn it.

Writers often avoid giving powerful women maternal traits because they assume femininity and strength can’t coexist—but that’s a separate conversation. The real issue here is that the show never showed us that this part of Belinda was missing. It never laid the groundwork for that emotional restoration to resonate. It didn’t feel like they revealed who she truly was—it felt like they replaced her with someone else.

It’s not that you can’t tell a story where a forgotten child or a missing family is recovered from a broken timeline. That kind of emotional twist can be powerful. But if that’s the story you want to tell, you have to earn it. You have to make the absence felt before you try to fill it. You have to let us sense the missing piece and ache for its return. Without that, it doesn’t feel like a twist—it feels like a contradiction.

And no, Poppy showing up once in The Story & the Engine is not proper setup. If this was truly the intended arc from the beginning, then it needed clues. Give us subtle signs. Let Belinda hesitate when asked simple questions. Let her glance at a photo and seem unsettled. Let her correct someone’s memory and then immediately second-guess herself. Plant a sense of wrongness in her own life that even she can’t quite name.

There’s even a interview with RTD about reshooting the beginning of The Robot Revolution to give Belinda roommates, because he thought no one would buy her owning an entire house by herself.

But if this twist with Poppy was truly planned from the start? Then leave her in that big, echoing house. Let it be part of the unease. Let there be a child’s toy tucked into the back of a drawer she doesn’t remember buying. A room she avoids, too pristine and untouched. A lullaby she hums under her breath without knowing where she learned it. Give us texture. Give us silence that feels too quiet.

Let us feel the shape of what’s missing before you tell us what it was.

That’s how you write a twist that resonates—by trusting your audience to notice the gaps, to feel the ache, and to recognize the truth when it finally appears. Not by pulling a rabbit out of a hat and calling it destiny.

[allllium]

Omg your vampire Jason is amazing!!! Can we please get more???

Vampire Jason is one of my favsss 😋

Unbelievable

Vampire Jason x Reader

- This took so long bc I couldn't decide on a direction to go but here we are.

- Angsty, WC: 2466, Mentions of sickness and eating issues

- You find out your boyfriend is a vampire

There's something weird about your boyfriend.

Obviously you'd expect that from someone who has as much trauma as he does.

He's never told you exactly how he died and came back, but you know it happened.

Whatever happened seems to have changed him in a way you haven't quite put your finger on.

It's not like he's done anything wrong.

He's just off.

You've noticed the way he doesn't eat what you cook. Always having some excuse of already eating or finding a way to hide it in a napkin.

He's not as subtle as he thinks.

And it's not just the food. He often avoids sunlight and is paler than he should be. He doesn't sleep as much as he should for someone out all night.

You swear his teeth are sharper than normal.

So far in your relationship, he hasn't explained anything and you haven't gotten up the nerve to ask.

The few questions you have asked hasn't gone over well. You didn't realize in the moment how he might not respond well to you asking questions about his scars, as simple as they were.

Not only did you not get a real answer, but now there's even more tension than before on asking any questions. Even ones that have the chance to make or break your entire relationship.

It's hard knowing something is different about your boyfriend and it's even harder knowing he doesn't trust you enough to tell you about it.

"Hey Jay?" You whisper as you sit next to him on the couch. He's sitting with a book and you have your legs over his lap while you watch TV.

"Yes angel?" He responds immediately, looking away from his book to pay full attention to you.

"What's your favorite food?" You want to try and understand him better without asking his straight up and causing issues. You don't want it to seem like you're trying to trick him or going behind his back but the amount of questions you have are starting to drive you insane.

You figure since he never eats food, this is a good question to lean into it. You can see him considering his answer. "I don't know, maybe pizza. Simple but good." He explains with no problem.

"Interesting.." You murmur almost silently. He shuts his book fully and sets in aside. You've captured his attention with just one word. Of course you set your eyes back on the TV so he doesn't sense you're up to something.

"What's interesting about it?" He has one eyebrow slightly raised and looks a little concerned about where this topic is heading.

You bite your lip, faking innocence, and hesitant slightly before answering to really play it off. "Well," you sigh audibly and see him lean closer out of the corner of your eye. "I'm just a little worried, y'know I've never really seen you eat anything and eating issues are a big problem."

It takes a lot of effort to not blow your cover and smile like a clown. "What? No honey I don't any eating issues." He puts his hand on your leg in reassurance and looks distraught at your words. You can almost hear the panic in his voice.

"I've been trying to understand for a while but I finally figured it out." Once you started in this lie, it just keeps going. You hope it's enough for him to admit at least a little bit of the truth. Whatever that might be. "I honestly feel bad I didn't start trying to help sooner."

Is it still manipulating if it's for a good cause?

"What? No I swear I'm okay?" He moves closer in his attempt to calm you down. It's sweet how much he cares.

"But I can't think of any other explanation for why you never eat. It's not normal. You can tell me y'know? I only want what's best for you." Yes you're laying it on a little thick but if that's what it takes, oh well.

"And it's not just that!" You continue before he can get any words out, closing his mouth in surprise. "I mean you're so pale and you don't sleep enough and you avoid sun so much there has to be something wrong. I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

"Baby, I promise I'm not sick."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are!"

"No. I am not!"

"Yes. You. Are."

"Okay that's enough. I'm not sick."

"It's the only explanation." He gets off the couch and walks back and forth behind it.

"No it's not." He turns and says, making sure you're looking at him as he says it.

"Then what is it? From where I'm standing there's nothing normal happening." The more you say, the closer you get to reaching the answer on your own.

He rolls his eyes and starts to leave the living room, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Liar. I've never seen you pee." You say it as a half murmer, not caring whether he hears you or not.

"Yeah that's cause I do it with the door closed." He yanks open the door of the bathroom showing how annoyed he is. You don't exactly care if he's annoyed or not. Fucking liar.

"You know what I mean!" You shout, standing from the couch. And when he slams the door closed with him behind it, you make what could be considered a very toxic decision.

Unfortunately for Jason he left his phone on the kitchen counter. While you'd never want to invade his privacy like this normally, these aren't normal circumstances.

You highly doubt you're going to find anything but the anxiety of the situation has you reaching for his phone and entering his password before you can lecture yourself into stopping.

Taking a deep breath and peaking around the corner to make sure he hasn't slipped out without you noticing. Most of his phone is full of normal guy things, at least you think, and there's nothing popping out at you.

You feel a wave of intense relief flood over you. You don't know what you thought you'd find but your extremely glad it was nothing.

Except it's not.

The moment you put his phone back in the same spot you found it, it dings. Once again, against your better instincts you pick it back up and see a text from Dick.

This is the point you really need to stop yourself.

Obviously you don't do that. The text itself is a weird ass meme but it only takes a few scrolls up before your world crashes down on you.

A heavy weight takes its well known place on your chest. Suddenly so many things click together you don't even know how to react.

- Dickhead

: So did you talk about it yet?

: You're not being a pussy about it are you

: You just gotta sit down and say Babycakes

I'm a vampire

: Maybe do a little growl while you're at it

: really sell it

- Jason's phone

: first of all I will never say the words babycakes

: you're disgusting

: second I can't just blurt it out I have to ease into it

: this is a sensitive topic

- Dickhead

: wrong

: in my experience it's best to go all in as fast as you can

- Jason's phone

: that's terrible

: this is why no one likes you

- Dickhead

: I don't take advice from cowardly vampires thank you very much

Wow you're really hoping they were joking around but the way everything clicks in place has no other explanation.

It explains all of his weird behaviors and looks. You just really really don't want it to be true. You try to focus on your breathing and calming yourself down while you out his phone back on the counter.

The only experience you have with vampires is in the form of Twilight and The Vampire Diaries. So you're not exactly sure what this entails.

He seemed really concerned to bring it up. Maybe he didn't tell you because he thought you'd leave or be scared. Damn. You can't tell if you're scared or not.

You don't think you are but it's also hard to wrap your head around your boyfriend being a vampire that literally drinks people's blood.

"Fuck." You whisper almost silently. And in doing so it makes you wonder how good his hearing really is. Whether or not he can hear you whisper to yourself in the next room is anyones guess at this point.

You're not sure what you're supposed to be feeling about this news. Most people would probably leave without a second thought but you can't even bring yourself to leave the kitchen. Jason means a lot to you and the last thing you want to do is leave him over anything like this.

However, if he lies to you about it one more time you can't guarantee it will end well.

"Stop hiding in the bathroom!" You shout, still standing at the counter with your hand on his phone protectively. You know this man well. If he has access to his phone he'll pretend he got an important message and run out the door before you have time to call it out.

He comes out sheepishly. Like he wasn't expecting you to pull him out of hiding so soon. He almost looks like a scorned child, like he knows you'll continue to tug on his lies.

He looks down at the phone under your hand and back up at you. He looks up and down, and up and down while you slowly feel your patience wearing thin.

You take a deep audible breath and he brings his eyes back to you. You don't know what to say first and the look of uncertainty in his eyes makes you want to blurt all of it out at the same time.

He either knows exactly what this conversation is about to be or has absolutely no clue.

"I can't believe you're comfortable lying with me for so long and about something so big."

His eyes widen with panic. He opens his mouth to say something but slams it shut immediately. You can see his eyes wonder everywhere but your own and he bites the inside of his cheek multiple times.

"Do you know what I'm talking about or do you have multiple secrets that could fit this situation?" You're proud of how stern you sound. Not talking any shit for an answer.

"I know what you're talking about. It's the only thing I've kept from you." He takes a few steps around the counter, slowly making his way towards you.

"Yeah it's only the biggest thing about you why bother disclosing that in a relationship." It makes you chuckle in not only frustration but disbelief in the situation.

"I didn't want to scare you. No one hears the words I'm a vampire and doesn't freak out." A few steps closer. He sounds a lot more calm than he looks.

"So what? You figured you'd tell me after our one year anniversary? Maybe the day of our wedding so I can leave after my freak out? Or possibly you'd wait until Grayson did it himself." You roll your eyes as you say your last sentence. The more you talk, the more pissed off you feel yourself getting.

You're definitely not scared, you realize. But there is no world in which you forgive him easily for this.

"Did you go through my phone?"

"Is that what you want to focus on?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make you feel better about this."

"I'm not scared because you're a vampire, I'm not mad that you're a vampire. I am unbelievably pissed that we are eleven months into this relationship and you have lied to me every single day of it!" Tears slowly well up in your eyes. Your words get more pronounced as they continue.

"I didn't want you to leave." He's only a couple steps away from you but instead of closing the distance, he reaches his hands out towards you. You don't step away.

"And you decided to take that choice away from me completely. I can't believe I have to say this but if you are a supernatural being it is not something you hide as long as possible."

One of his hands lands on your shoulder, the other coming to rest on your waist.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. The last thing I wanted was to lie-"

"You had so many options! Am I seriously supposed to believe you chose the hardest one for you? To me it seems like you chose the easiest one to deal with." You pull away from his touch and turn the other way, preparing to leave the kitchen all together.

"Do you seriously believe I like lying to you?" He finally raises his voice to match yours. Soft enough the neighbors won't complain but enough to clearly notice."This wasn't easy for me! I love you. Do you know how hard it is to face the reality you might leave because of something I can't control! Something I never thought would be my reality!"

"Do you know how terrifying it is to have a boyfriend that never eats anything, never sleeps at night, never does anything that a normal person does. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be in a relationship like that?"

"I don't know what to say to fix this."

"I don't know either! I don't know if you can." He looks utterly defeated as he hears you say that.

"So I was right." He mutters, like it was the hardest thing he's ever said.

"No. I don't care what you are. I care that I've been worried sick this entire time that something was wrong and I might lose you. Only to find out the truth from your brother and knowing you had no plan to tell me. Seriously, Jason, when were you planning on telling me this?"

"I really don't know. Nothing felt right." You can see how upset he is. His reasons make sense and you know it. But you simply can't get over this right now.

"Okay." You whisper and leave the kitchen. He doesn't follow you or attempt to say anything else.

You try to take calming breaths as you get further away from him.

You hope you'll wake in the morning less angry. Maybe in a much better mood to hear him out.

As of right now, you know you can't sleep in the same place as him.

[balioc]

Heh. It's worth remembering that this is what Ronald Reagan did - how he made his career.

Sort of. Not the "generating ideological synthesis" part, he was just a standard-issue Goldwater Republican. But he spent a couple of years touring America, speaking at a million Rotary Clubs and Chambers of Commerce etc., simultaneously leveling up his political presence and getting to know the people for real.

(It was this process that transformed him from a celebrity into a Believably Serious Politician. It is meaningful that he actually did that thing whereas, e.g., Donald Trump certainly never did.)

I am probably less bullish than you are about the prospect of someone forming any genuinely worthwhile new doctrine this way, but it would be a good way to (a) build up your Beloved Pillar of the Country credentials and (b) get a good sense of where the 80-20 issues are so you can be on the right side of all of them, which might be enough.

...I also suspect that there are relatively few people, on either the left or the right, who really want to crush 30% of the country. Trump does, because he's incredibly vindictive, and there are those among his followers who feel the same way. There are left-wing psychos who salivate at the thought of gulags (whether they use that language or not). But I think you're going to go far astray if you think of that motivation as substantially underlying any widespread political movement.

Let's imagine that you're trying to fix American politics by making a George Washington gambit, or perhaps a Dwight Eisenhower gambit.

Your goal here is to transcend our dysfunctionally-polarized moment by taking the two big political parties and smashing their heads together until they stop moving. You are trying to unite a supermajority of Americans behind a sane, stable, viable-consensus Middle Way - maybe through third-party shenanigans, maybe by hijacking and parasitizing the Republicans or the Democrats, whatever can be made to work.

Let's further assume - arguendo - that you have some good reason to think that you might be able to achieve this, given the right setup and the right resources. We don't need to have the argument over whether it's just a stupid idea from the get-go, that's not the point. (We also don't need to argue over what the sane stable viable-consensus Middle Way would actually be, in terms of policy prescriptions, branding, etc. Fill in your own favorite answer.)

You'll need a figurehead. A presidential candidate. Someone who can, in his person, stand in for the idea of "we're better than all this and we're actually going to set things to rights." Someone who won't immediately be treated as just another shill for the existing left/right.

A real American hero, ideally. Someone who seems like a good, trustworthy leader to as many voters as possible?

...any nominees?

Seriously. I mean it. Anyone at all? I'm coming up pretty short, and that fact scares me.

We tell jokes about God-Empress Taylor Swift (RIP @kontextmaschine), but of course that would actually be a bad idea for our project. She's popular, she might conceivably have the charisma and the intellect and the cultural-manipulation chops, but it doesn't matter; there's no escaping the fact that she's a pop star rather than anything else, and too many people would see her as inescapably frivolous. If she won, it wouldn't do the thing. Same goes for anyone else in the "celebrity performer" category.

War heroes are often good for this kind of role. Do we have any generally-accepted war heroes these days?

A scientist or high-culture artist might do. Are there any who are famous enough, and also not closely tied to an existing political faction?

I'd suggest "civil rights hero / activist leader" except that there are obviously none of those who aren't closely tied to existing political factions.

The best I can come up with on short notice is, like, Chelsey Sullenberger. Which is not super great.

(Admittedly I don't know enough about sports to say whether there's a sufficiently beloved-and-respectable athlete floating around. That would also be sort of an inherently weak choice, not much better than a celebrity performer and maybe even worse, but I can imagine really good spin doctors making it viable.)

[ooooo-mcyt]

It's actually so interesting to me how often fanon remembers Dogwarts as one consistent and extremely loyal and unified group, because having rewatched Third Life a few times lately, the reality is a lot messier and more complicated.

I mean, for starters, the unified Dogwarts faction was a very late addition to the series. Dogwarts existed in some form early on in the series, sure, but it was functionally an alternate naming of Renchanting, which was always just Ren and Martyn and their enchanting business. They had allies, but members of the "Eastern Alliance" weren't members of Dogwarts. The expansion and unification of Dogwarts (a functional rebranding of the faction) came after Ren turned red in session five(?) of eight, at which point Ren and Martyn began seeking allegiance from what were formerly more casual alliances of independent players and factions, and the actual solidification of who was part of the Red Army of Dogwarts took until basically session seven if I'm remembering correctly.

What I'm trying to get at by talking about the specifics of the forming of the Red Army is that, while it's easy in fanon to simplify the faction down to "It was Ren, Martyn, Etho, BigB, Skizz, and Impulse from the start (and then impulse betrayed them)", that's not reflective of the actual events of the season. And I think this concept crucially misrepresents things in two negative ways:

1.) Leaving out important alliances in Dogwarts history. Namely Team Crastle. They were, possibly, some of the oldest and most consistent allies of Renchanting from the beginning of the season, and were cut from the alliance remarkably late in the season. Cleo was, abruptly, cut out of the alliance by Ren because she burned down Joel's house, which Cleo only did after being attacked by Joel and Etho. An act which I think is important in characterizing both Ren (who at this point was so fixated on the unification of dogwarts under a single banner and rule that he'd cut out one of his oldest allies for the sake of joel, who joined them that episode and would betray them by the end of it) and Cleo. Furthermore, I think Ren's rejection of Team Crastle is vital context behind both Impulse and Tango removing themselves from Dogwarts (yes, they were both "playing both sides" as personal tactics, but i also very much believe some sense of personal loyalty led to their ultimate decisions to team with cleo and bdubs, and their rejections/betrayals of dogwarts, to me, rely heavily on the context of the alliance between renchanting and team crastle). Team Crastle isn't the only notable alliance that often gets left out either. As I mentioned earlier, Joel was briefly an official actual member of Dogwarts during the Red Army phase, and while this alliance was brief, I think it is important. Firstly because of how Joel's 'betrayal' fueled the paranoia and bloodthirsty nature of Dogwarts, and secondly because of how the whole situation characterizes Dogwarts at this point in how they used fear tactics to pressure Joel into swearing allegiance (and how he only publicly broke that allegiance later on, when surrounded by other enemies of dogwarts who were offering him support and encouragement). It's also worth noting the relationships between Dogwarts and Flower Husbands, because they were in relatively good standing, and their eventual status as enemies came not from real wrongdoing, but from Scott and Jimmy taking issue with the idea of being 'lesser' members of their alliance, wanting to be equal allies rather than swearing their allegiance.

2.) Making the final members of Dogwarts seem more solidly unified than they were. Yes, Ren, Martyn, Etho, Skizz, and BigB were the Red Army of Dogwarts, and they stuck together until the end of Dogwarts. Ostensibly. But things were..messier..than that. Because I firmly believe the group wasn't as solidly loyal as fanon would have you believe. Martyn, infamously, was allegedly planning to betray Ren once they got far enough into the game, he just didn't have the chance to do so. And while one might think it functionally doesn't matter to the Dogwarts alliance, since he never actually betrayed them, I'd argue that the way Martyn keeps one foot out the door and makes plans in the shadows can be felt very strongly in Ren's pov and actually massively contributed to Ren's mental downward spiral and paranoia. Etho I'd also argue was a big question mark. Sure, he refuses to go against Ren when Grian and Scar try to get him on side, but Etho was also largely unsympathetic toward Ren following the loss of Ren's first life, coming to Renchanting to ask for immediate enchanting and implying he was unsatisfied with their alliance when Ren and Martyn responded with frazzled hesitance. Etho all but stated to Ren that he was only in the alliance for what he can get from it in that moment. BigB and Skizz were both more loyal, but they were also on the outskirts a bit. BigB was a relatively late addition to the alliance, pulled in by his connection to Martyn (who as we established wasn't as loyal as people believe). Skizz was maybe the one stable, consistent, and undoubtedly loyal member of the alliance, though Ren was slow to accept him as such, suspecting Skizz of trying to take advantage of Dogwarts and skip out on bargains early in the season (which was fair to an extent because a lot of players were). It's also very important to note that Dogwarts didn't really fight together in the finale, which I'd argue is a massive reason for their downfall. Ren and Martyn largely stuck together, but Skizz was separated and killed early on, and Etho and BigB spent large chunks of time separated from Ren and Martyn not really doing much or feeling any urgent need to involve themselves in the fight when they don't have to (something that's commented on in etho's pov). Even at their most unified, Dogwarts wasn't necessarily the hyper loyal unified group Ren wanted them to be, or that they're often viewed at.

Sorry for how much I've been rambling, I just think Third Life is the most fascinating season from a political angle and Dogwarts is my Roman Empire in how complicated their history and alliances were, as well as in how different the way Ren presented his alliance optically is from how it actually was at any point. Because things weren't as clean or pretty at any point in Dogwarts history as one may believe.

[juicykvnture]

MONEY HONEY

Bruce Wayne x camgirl!reader

tags: AFAB reader, brief age gap mention (reader is in her 20s), Bruce is low-key a little jealous and down bad, nicknames (sweetheart/baby) mutual masturbation, praise kink, webcam use, phone sex,

a/n: the DILF propaganda has gotten to me..

wc: 2.7k | masterlist

Your whole camgirl side gig isn’t exactly something you shout from your rooftops about. But, it keeps your lights on, your ass in a nice apartment, and your feet in Loubiton heels.

You don’t tend to tell your friends what you’re at. Respectfully, that isn’t their issue. Weekly dinner reservations at Nobu and bottles of Dom Perignon should be enough to keep their running mouths occupied.

You have your own rules, you stick by them.

You pick and approve who watches your content, you pick how far you go, grateful that you’re in the position to do so. You don’t meet them in real life.

All you are is a fantasy to them, and you keep it that way.

You’re a pretty girl on a screen with a penchant for men with big bank accounts and more money than they know what to do with.

One of those men just so happens to be Bruce.

He came across you by accident, really. It was a couple of months ago by now.

You didn’t really know him, you didn’t really care. You never saw his face or heard his voice, all you saw was his money. He was always there when you did your regular streams, silent apart from hefty donations and notifications that he’d just ordered sets upon sets of pretty, lacy lingerie to your p.o box.

It’s started to shift recently. More money coming into your account, more matching sets, a new ring light since you’d grumbled under your breath about yours not working properly at one point, flowers.

Fuck, when’s the last time a guy even got you flowers?

He always made sure to outdo your other followers - tips of ten dollars sometimes, a twenty or a twenty five here and there. That’s cute and all, but to him? literal pocket change.

Not good enough in his books, not good enough for a pretty girl like you.

He has no reason to hate it, he’s just as bad as they are. But the green-eyed monster on his shoulder just has to prove he’s better, sending hundreds when he felt like it, just to watch your eyes widen.

Then came the messages.

They were few and far between but felt different than the thirsting, basement-dwelling idiots who usually drooled over your streams.

He kept it classy, always.

Less of the “show me your tits” and more of the “you look gorgeous, the pink lace suits you” followed by an “I’m sending you the blue next”

You like it, more than you’d really want to admit to yourself.

He likes it too. He likes watching your pretty face, your lips curling up into a soft smile when you open up all of his gifts, showing them off on your streams. He doesn’t mind that everyone watching can see them, it doesn’t matter. It matters that he bought those for you and that he’s the one getting his own personal photoshoot later.

You watch notifications pop up on your laptop with a sigh, your inbox flooded with messages, and questions from anything from where you live to why the hell you’re not streaming tonight.

You’re not streaming tonight cause you’re fucking tired, a girl needs her rest.

You’re just gonna take a few photos for your number one fan and call it a day. There’s a bottle of Chardonnay and half a pint of Ben and Jerry's in your freezer just calling your name.

As you fix up your nightgown, reaching over to turn off your laptop, a notification catches your attention.

@BRUCE_W: Hope you got the flowers in one piece, no stream this evening I take it?

You blink, staring at your laptop for a moment.

@CHAMPAGNESWEETHEART: they’re gorgeous, thank you!!

You hesitate for a moment, your nails dragging over your keyboard.

@CHAMPAGNESWEETHEART: I wasn’t planning to, but for you I could ;)

Three little dots come and go at the bottom of your laptop screen, like he’s typing and then pausing once more.

In reality, he’s just trying to get his words together, trying not to come across as weird. He doesn’t really know how to do this kind of stuff. He’s out many women through his mattress in real life, but this whole online thing? fuck no.

@BRUCE_W: is it alright if I call you?

You don’t usually take private calls. They take away both time and money from regular streams you could be doing.

But this is Bruce of all people. He’s solely responsible for the overpriced wine you’re sipping on and the LaPerla set you’re lounging in. You didn’t even know underwear could cost that much..

@CHAMPAGNESWEETHEART: gimme two seconds ;)

That sudden, random burst of confidence has you piling on another layer of mascara for good measure, pushing your tits up a little in reflection of your screen before cringing slightly - he’s just another guy, it doesn’t matter.

@BRUCE_W IS CALLING

You push your laptop down your mattress slightly, pulling your robe open a little more, just so he has some more cleavage to look at since he pays you so good.

You lean over, accepting the call and holding in a breath.

It goes unsaid, the sight of this Bruce guy before you isn’t entirely what you expected.

He’s much hotter, much older than you thought he would be.

It kinda clicks now, the fact that even in your comments he’s had more gentlemanly manners than your other regulars.

Luckily, you like your men like you like your wine, rich and.. slightly older.

Perhaps it’s the salt-and-pepper stubble or just the way they carry themselves, relaxed like they’ve done this all a million times before.

You observe him for a moment longer, noticing the dark room he’s in, his tie loose around his neck as he adjusts his own laptop.

He grips his whiskey glass a little tighter, words escaping him for a moment as he eyes you before offering a curt nod.

“Hey,” He seems a little uncertain at first, taking a drawn-out swig of his whiskey before leaning back in his chair.

“You're new to this I take it?” you offer a small smile into your hand, watching the screen from under your lashes.

“Wow, I thought I was subtle.” Bruce murmurs, setting his glass down for a moment.

He’s cursing himself silently. He’s never had any problem talking to women in his whole life. It’s ridiculous how a pretty girl on his screen has rendered him speechless- you’re what? twenty-something? It’s fucking embarrassing.

He can’t help letting his eyes wander down his laptop screen, shifting his thighs slightly when he sees the set he got you peeking out from under your robe.

“You look gorgeous, the pink set is to your taste, I take it?”

“It’s my favourite so far,” you nod, pushing your robe down your shoulders slightly, just a little bit, just to tease.

He makes a mental note to buy you more, to send them to you in every single colour he can get his hands on. He’s trying not to spiral thinking about it actually, imagining you modelling every single thing he wants to dress you up in.

But now just isn’t the time to fantasise about that stuff, not when he has you on the screen in front of him. Just for him, for once.

“How does this work?” He clears his throat, setting the glass down and trying to ignore the way his slacks feel tighter.

“However you want it to work.”

Your answer has his hands sliding down to rest on his thighs, leaning back in his chair.

You leaving it up to him like that has a way of making his spine tingle, he can tell you’re a little bit tired at least. It’s nice actually, it doesn’t feel like you’re putting on as much of an act.

"Can you talk to me first, for a little bit?" He managed to reply, his eyes taking in the view in front of him.

“Please?”

“Anything you wanna hear about?”

“Not really,” he swallows, his eyes fixed on your cleavage.

“I just like your voice. Is that a strange thing to say?”

You feel your cheeks heating up slightly, shaking your head as you pull your robe open by another little fraction.

“No, not at all.”

You can tell he doesn’t want this to feel like a transaction.

After a few minutes of back and forth, a lot of his initial hesitation has dissipated. You do genuinely seem like a sweet girl. He likes the way you act on your streams anyway, but since he’s technically calling you after hours it feels a lot more intimate, real even.

“Tired?” He rasps softly into his glass, arching a brow when he hears you trailing off slightly, watching you move to lean back against your plush headboard.

“A little.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to keep you up too long, sweetheart.”

You’re not one to really care for pet-names that randos on the internet give you but good God, does that make you feel things.

It has you pressing your thighs together, more than it fucking should.

“I don’t mind.” You murmur, thankful that he isn’t there in real time to notice the way your cheeks heat up.

Seeing your reaction made his eyes soften.. and his cock throb a little, letting out a small sigh as if he were relieved, glad he isn’t bothering you. He didn't realise how on edge he was until you took that weight off of his shoulders.

"Good." Bruce murmurs, his eyes watching your hands fiddling with the sleeve of that robe, his mind wandering.

"Can I ask you to.. take that off?"

“You can ask for anything you want.” You nod, gently twirling your fingers around the tie of your robe, pulling it open.

Your compliance, along with the sight of the soft lace pressed against your skin has him swallowing, his narrowed gaze roaming over every single contour of your body.

"Good girl." He muttered under his breath. Those two words felt almost foreign to say, but he said it anyway, seeing you like this.

You shouldn’t care. It’s just work.

But fuck, does it feel like more than that.

His hands fidgeted on the arms of his chair, resisting the urge to undo his belt, his cock straining in his slacks getting harder to ignore.

Noticing his discomfort you shift slightly on your bed, running your fingers over the lace of your bra.

“I’m not gonna stop you, you know that?”

Bruce's eyes flickered up to the screen, seeing your small smile, your fingers gently playing with the lace. Those words alone were enough to make his hands immediately move to work on his belt, fumbling with it to take it off before popping the button of his slacks, letting out a groan under his breath.

"I was just... trying to be polite."

Watching him makes you bite your tongue slightly, trying to hide the way you press your thighs together again, your eyes locked on his through the screen as you slowly slide your hand down lower, running your thumb over the bow at the front of your underwear.

“I never asked you to be.”

“Fuck, I feel like I buy you dinner first,” His hands quickly went to the opening of his slacks, not wasting time to pull out his hardening length, giving himself one firm stroke.

Your mouth is agape for a split second, staring at your screen with wide eyes.

It’s just work. None of this is real. None of this matters.

But you know what does matter? The fact you’re wet and can’t even hide it under that thin, pastel pink lace.

"Shit." He murmured, trying to keep his eyes on the screen.

His left hand moved from the armrests to grab at his whiskey to down it in one go, taking in the sight in front him.

"Are you wet, sweetheart?"

“Yeah?” Your nod is less confident than you’d like it to be as you run your fingers over the lace again, letting out a shaky breath. You shouldn’t care - this is literally just part of what you do.

"Take them off for me, baby." He panted out, his dick now straining in his boxers so hard it’s almost painful. His other hand gripped onto his thigh, his fingers digging into his legs to ground himself as much as he could.

"Let me see you."

You’re repeating your mantra over and over in your head. You’ve got zero reason to be as turned on as you are, it’s just work.

But your pussy seems to disagree on that one.

With another nod, you hook your fingers into the thin fabric, gently pulling your underwear down your thighs, the sight making Bruce bite his fist to hold back a groan.

He literally can’t take it anymore. He can’t be polite.

“Holy fuck,” He lets out another groan as he takes himself in his hand, spitting into his palm.

Okay, you liked that more than you should’ve.

"You have no idea how... good you look right now." He rasps out, his head tilting back against his chair.

"All... for me, yeah?" His hand on his thigh moved up to his chest, fumbling the top few buttons on his shirt. He needed to feel a little cooler or he’d have a literal heart attack.

“Yeah,” you manage another nod.

“Spread your thighs, baby. Show me how wet she is.”

Well, now it’s your turn to almost have a heart attack, spreading your thighs open as your fingers curl into your bedsheets.

“There she is, good girl” Bruce moaned under his breath, his hand on his cock starting to move faster.

"Pretty girls... like you.." His tongue came out to swipe at his lips, the sight in front of him making him lose his train of thought, reaching a hand up to loosen his tie.

"They deserve to be taken care of, right?”

“Right,” you echo, unable to hold yourself together at this point, going against your usual logic and reaching your hand down, groaning under your breath at how your body betrays you with how embarrassingly wet you are.

Your arm instinctively goes to drape over your eyes, shaking your head as you mumble something incoherent, your fingers rubbing over your clit.

“No no no, look at me,” Bruce chokes out, biting down on his tie to hold back yet another groan.

“Your hands are mine, alright?”

That makes your head fall forward, your back arching at the thought of it.

“Uhuh,”

You don’t care that you’ve never met him, you don’t care that you probably never will, but fuck, the things you’d let him do to you if you ever did.

He bites his tongue for a moment, brows knitting together as he feels himself starting to leak even more, giving his cock another hard pump.

“But my hands are probably bigger than yours, aren’t they?”

That makes you whine under your breath. You know he’s right and now you can’t get that fucking image out of your head - his large hands holding your thighs open, holding your neck maybe, his fingers in your mouth, his fingers against your pussy-

You’re trying not to drool at the thought of it, it’s not working and he can tell exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s thinking the same thing.

“Poor girl, everyone gets off to you but no one to get you off? You just wanna get fucked, don’t you?”

You can’t tell if he’s being condescending or not - but he likely is.. unfortunately, you like that.

“F-fuck,”

Progress, he’s made you lose your composure and swear. Not so classy now, are you?

Watching your back arch and your fingers move faster when he says that has his mouth falling open, sweat clinging to his chest under his open shirt.

He’s been through enough women to know what it looks like when one’s about to cum, but dear god you might just be the prettiest one he’s ever seen.

It makes him lose his shit altogether actually, a dishevelled mess when he sees your thighs shake, too distracted to realise that he isn’t far behind you, groaning under his breath with his mouth agape as he stares at the mess he’s made of his tailored slacks, chest heaving as his own cum drips down his fist, he’s embarrassed, fumbling with his laptop to shut the screen off.

Jesus Christ, he’s Bruce Wayne. Not some 20-something year old. He’s been around the block! He should be able to do better than this!

It’s like you’re blacked out for a good while, regaining a sense of reality with slick dripping down your thighs as you come down from your high, mascara pooling under your eyes as you stare at a notification on your laptop, making you press your legs together again.

@BRUCE_W: I’m serious, I owe you dinner.

He owes you a lot fucking more than that.

a/n: DILF ERA IS COMING SEND ME INSPO IN MY ASKS I BEGGGG!?!!?? I NEED IDEAS (lmk if u want more Bruce idk??) 🙏 (John Constantine I have my eye on you with ominous intent..)

also wtf thank u for 200 followers I love you!!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

hiii, so this might be a weird request but would you ever write like a lesbian reader and the 141 (platonic!!!!!!). maybe she's a sergeant in the team. she's like come to terms with the fact she'll never date and they try to set her up or smth.

i know this is an unusual request so genuinely feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable writing it lol

Operation: Get Our Sergeant a Date

Pairing: Platonic!Task Force 141 x Lesbian!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, awkward attempts at matchmaking, mentions of past insecurity, mild teasing

Author's Note: Happy Pride Month to every queer reader out there. This is for the lesbians. Hope you all enjoy! You deserve your spotlight!

Summary: You’ve long since accepted that romance just isn’t in the cards for you. But the 141 boys? They’ve got a different plan.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The barracks were unusually quiet for a Thursday night. No gunfire in the background. No barking drill sergeant. No Gaz cussing out Soap over FIFA.

Just the soft glow of your desk lamp and the hum of your laptop, where your night was being spent with a glass of lukewarm tea and an absolutely soul-crushing logistics report. Real romantic, you thought drily.

"Knock, knock," a deep voice called from the doorframe. You didn't look up—there was only one person on base who sounded like gravel and soot had a baby.

"Price. Unless you've come to take over this report, I'm gonna pretend you’re a ghost."

He ignored your threat and stepped in, followed by three shadows. You didn’t need to look. You could feel Soap’s energy bouncing off the walls and Gaz trying to suppress a grin. Ghost, as usual, was just a silent wall of intimidation and judgment.

You sighed, setting the report aside. “Am I dying? Are you all here to deliver bad news?”

Soap flopped onto your bunk like he lived there. “Nah. Intervention.”

"God. What now?"

Price crossed his arms, beard twitching. “You’ve been acting… off.”

"Define off," you challenged.

Gaz chimed in. "Like someone who's given up on joy. On life. On—"

“On getting laid,” Soap finished, as cheerfully as someone announcing the weather.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“We’re worried about you, Sergeant,” Price said, far too serious for what was clearly about to be absolute nonsense. “You’ve been dodging social events. Not even cracking jokes with Laswell anymore. So. We figured it's time.”

"Time for what?" you asked flatly.

“Operation: Get Our Sergeant a Date,” Ghost said darkly, from where he leaned against your wall. You didn’t think he’d actually speak—but he did. And you almost screamed.

“No,” you said immediately, standing up. “Absolutely not. Don’t you dare try and set me up.”

Soap raised his hands in innocence. “C’mon! You’re always lookin’ after us, but you never let anyone take care of you. Thought maybe you just needed a little push.”

Gaz sat on your desk, looking at you like you were a sad puppy in the rain. “You’re brilliant. Gorgeous. Hilarious. Don’t make that face—you are. If the problem’s just that you don’t like men—”

“I don’t like men,” you said, deadpan.

“Exactly,” Gaz beamed. “So we made sure we’re lookin’ in the right pool.”

“…What.”

Price stepped forward, holding up a folder.

A literal folder.

You stared at him, horrified. “Is that… a dossier?”

"Backgrounds. Likes. Military clearance. Some are civvies, some aren’t. Thought we’d narrow it down for you."

"You lunatics made me a dating profile?!"

"Think of it more like… a tactical asset compatibility file," Soap offered with a wink.

You groaned and sank into your chair. “I don’t even want to date. It’s not like people line up to be with some tired, gay, sarcastic grunt with commitment issues and a coffee addiction.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then Ghost, very softly, said: “That’s the most relatable thing I’ve ever heard.”

Soap leaned over dramatically, throwing an arm around you. “Don’t talk like you’re some lost cause. We just want you to be happy. If that means setting you up with a hot tattoo artist who rescues stray dogs in her spare time—”

“She rescues dogs?” you asked suspiciously.

Soap lit up. “Knew that’d get your attention!”

Price chuckled. “Look. No pressure. But if you ever change your mind, you’ve got a whole task force ready to vet the good ones and scare off the bad.”

Gaz grinned. “And if they break your heart, Ghost’ll bury ‘em in the woods.”

You looked around at the idiots in your room—the world’s most lethal, most stubborn, most insufferably well-meaning idiots—and felt a warmth spread in your chest you hadn’t felt in a while.

Maybe you were still figuring out the whole love thing.

But right now?

You were loved.

And that was a damn good start.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[sha-brytols]

i've always thought this paradigm was way more thought out and actually compelling compared to the tranquility one. dragon age tries to assert that curing the tranquil is actually a dangerous slippery slope because it drives them "mad", ignoring that every(?) cured tranquil we've seen so far begs someone to kill them because they would prefer death over the rite again. so like. their examples are bad because they're all consistently people who clearly do not want to be tranquil anymore right. and the "madness" is literally just deprivation-induced mania and. i swear i'm not trying to bring irl medical science into this but. 😭? you guys have advanced sophisticated modern technology but NO ONE has invented psychiatry and/or therapy??? UHANJGOBNFSAMK?

with the awakened darkspawn i feel like the stakes are just so much more transparent. and the question does genuinely become so much more vague. because we DO see darkspawn who genuinely did not want their awakening. imagine waking up one day and finding out that the grotesque nightmare you just had was actually real and you were never cognizant until now. imagine how broodmothers must feel upon awakening, remembering how exactly they came to be and seeing what they've become. and then we obviously get to the issue with the blight itself, in which darkspawn are basically walking plagues and even if they have nothing but noble intentions, their very presence sickens and kills people.

but like you know he has a point here. does that negate their right to choose? do we just condemn millions of living, sentient beings that are essentially in a constant torture cycle to mindless death, knowing there's a cure, just because they Might Not Like It? and what makes it so different from what the grey wardens do? the grey wardens require harvesting darkspawn blood, just as the awakening requires harvesting warden blood. the grey wardens don't give their recruits the right to walk away, in fact they kill you if you try to back out. you're essentially in the exact same position as an unawakened darkspawn but in reverse. you don't know what you're getting into. you don't know the effect it will have on you. you don't even know why this is necessary. you just know that it is. and when it's done and you actually survive? there's no escape. you've been changed against your will forever. what makes you so different from the architect?

[smahell]

obey me and the fall - a metaphor for asylum and immigration, and the problems refugees face

(random fuckass header image bcs. i want this to be formatted nicely <3) Obey Me as a game hasn't really sparked me as the type to delve into sociopolitical issues of today (it's a dating sim for christ's sake; it's more escpism than anything), but revisiting some of nightbringer's main story did give me a strangely altered perspective of the events of The Fall, and the aftermath of such. Any piece of creative work have agendas behind them, and so from this I came to the conclusion that the events of the fall directly mirrors the plights refugees face when imigrating to a new country. obey in itself doesn't explicitly frame itself as political, but nothing is ever "not political".

(spoilers up to lesson 15 of nightbringer after the cut)

What We Know About The Fall + The Parties Involved

The Celestial Realm is governed by Michael, though the Father is an active and supreme force throughout the realm. The Celestial Realm remains the primary residence of angels and celestial beings.

The Fall occurs directly after the Great Celestial War, after their Father crushes the brothers' rebellion.

They fall to the Devildom and remain there as demons until present day.

Lucifer swears an oath of allegiance to diavolo "for all eternity".

The inciting incidence is arguably a miscarriage of the Celestial Realm's justice system, which failed Lilith and in turn the brothers. The rules (instated) remained in place in order to maintain balance between all three realms, but it had no consideration for the true safety of his own creation. It was obviously why they then decided to revolt; they refused to let their own sister be subject to just being wiped from existence. The revolt actively defied their Father's authoritarian rule and is directly political.

Being cast out of the Celestial Realm, they then fell into the Devildom and practically remained there, seeking polictical asylum. To ensure Lilith's and the other brothers' safety, Lucifer swears allegiance to Diavolo, perhaps in the same way one earns citizeship by swearing allegiance to a governmental figure. Many real immigrants have to undergo this process even when this new country does not have their interests priotized. Lilith is a martyr to their cause, dying (in their minds) as a figurehead of resistance against such a rule. Lucifer's allegience is a method of quiet resistance, not to only save himself but his family (and with such a move, he jepordises his fate).

Within the Devildom, the brothers are kept hidden, sheltered from the rest of the world as the news of the Celestial War shook not just the Celestial Realm but the Devildom too. As they had only recently arrived, they are in "no position" to refuse orders from the King himself. There's seven of them even with Lilith gone: with death and pain arrives another "brother" born from grief and wrath. We'll save him for later.

Whenever they do want to leave the Demon King's Castle, they were met with disdain and disgust. Mammon and Asmo can't even go shopping normally as they were thrown out not for their actions, but for who they were as people - angels. What truly matters, that many Devildom folk do not consider, is that they all maintain a soul within them -- they are alive in a sense, yet "dehumanize" each other.

In extreme conditions, extremist ideologies survive. When "foreigners" arrive, the hate and disdain is palpable. It is this xenophobia and villainization of immigrants that mirror the struggles the brothers face. When they prove themselves through jepordising their own lives, they become "rulers" of the underworld, status shooting up for the underlings they were previosly treated as. They become, in a sense, humanized; it wasn't just about being seen as powerful and preserving that power and status they held in the celestial reallm, it was about mere respect, basic human decency. They were not asking for much.

(i find it interesting that Mammon was one of the first to detest this treatment, and actively found ways to build his reputation: has he been treated like this before? Mammon doesn't seem like the type of character that wants to be pitied by others. or perhaps he wants to give back what he gave to Lucifer for "straightening them up". It's perhaps closely related to the fact that Mammon was more easily adapting to the idea that he was a demon now, better than even Lucifer himself. But at the same time, it wouldn't make sense for him to try and adapt to the view of others to be seen as a "demon". I think I'm thinking too hard about this. Maybe he just wanted the riches and fame, or this is a stretch.)

But for now, they dine as a family... even when in a later instance, the hatred persists, although different.

When Simeon and Luke have dinner at their first dinner within the Devildom, Luke refers to Asmo's newfound ability as "disgusting", and hates the fact that someone as beloved as the "jewel" of the heavens has fallen so low. As soon as they outwardly show this new label that they have claimed, it is still instantly rejected. Luke acts as the personification of natives in the same way rejecting those who have left their countries for a variety of reasons. In many ways are such people seen as traitors and backstabbers through the act of "betraying their homeland", but it is not a crime to want something better for yourself outside where you originally grew up. However, Asmo doesn't realize this and his yearning persists quietly in the background of the dinner as they continue to converse about old memories in the Celestial Realm.

Satan's identity is comparable to that of a second generation immigrant. Yes, he shares blood with Lucifer, but he never was truly an angel. Being born in a place where you have to assimilate at once, and have no knowledge of your homecountry, no knowledge of your "identity" or what you're meant to be... such a problem can resonate with second generation immigrants because they are seen as "one of the other". It can't be both. It is seen through the minor upset Satan has as a table -- everyone was reminicing about their hometown, where they still have positive memories from. The six still maintain identitis shaped from those memories, but Satan's remains unclear, attached to the person he hated the most. It is clear that the brothers's roots, though bittersweet, are still important to them. It still builds their identity and keeps them strong, and it's what Satan needs.

When finally confronted, Asmo finally reveals that he wants to return back to the Celestial Realm and being an angel, a metaphor for returning to one's home country and still taking back that rigid sense of identity established by others. Finally, when everything settles, Belphie and Beel invite the two other angels to play video games together. They all mention this feeling of connection to the room; the area acts as an analogy for shared culture(s), whether that be through food, music, dance, tradition. Though they are now angel and demon, immigrant and native, their identity shines.

The sole benefactor of their turmoil is Diavolo, who is still idealistic - perhaps this experience is what sowed the seeds of uniting the three worlds in peace. Nevertheless Diavolo accomodates them with Barbatos's help, mirroring the provisions the welfare state may provide for its people (in this case, it's asylum seekers). It's helpful, but holds an amount of power almost fragile to touch; the abuse of said power can be actively hurtful and harmful to such migrant communities. Diavolo takes Beel away for his destructive behaviour at dinner, unable to hear the other brothers' pleas for help. Barbatos notes that he has broken rules, and must be punish for destroying the King's property; law enforcement does not involve sympathy nor does it care for situation ethics. It can be sterile, and unmoving for even those who may have been seen to do the "right thing".

For some, they scenes are a reality, whether they may be escaping from extreme conditions or emmigrating for the shot of a better life within the western world. The mere label of "demon" given to them represents not only the physical change they have gone through, but the growth of a completely new and unique identity. The choice to stay in the Devildom is a metaphor for the fact that lines and boarders do not reveal one's true identity. Identity comes from family, culture, and the way that one has been brought up. The brothers embrace the titles of lords of the underworld, yet still preserve parts that still made them unique from the beginning of creation. So if that isn't how true identity works, I don't know what does.

thank you all for reading, and please don't be afraid to share your own thoughts and analysis! thank you to @avirtualdrive for listening to my deranged rambles over vc, as well as @sirstacksalot for just encouraging me to stretch this interpretation further ^^

[nqueso-lies]

I’m on a Queer as Folk kick right now and idk if you’ve ever seen it (highly recommend), but I wanted to point out the character Ben being what I want for Buck. Not Ben, obvi, but the way he becomes a part of the story.

Light spoilers for QAF. I’m keeping it vague.

Ben is the partner of one of the main characters. They’re introduced as love interests, dealt with outside influences and trouble around the start of their relationship, but the MC fought for them. They then got back together and the relationship was allowed to progress from there. But at the same time, Ben became a part of the group. It wasn’t shocking to see him at the gym with someone who wasn’t his partner. He was active and present in conversations. He even had his own storylines that were great and genuinely influenced the show. He was not only there as a love interest but as a strong character in his own right (at least in my opinion). He had his own thoughts and feelings that differed from his partner’s but it all still intertwined. Ben was who the MC needed because he fulfilled the wants he had, even wants he didn’t really know he had, while still pushing him.

I think if they keep building up Tommy, it’s possible to achieve the same thing. There’s lots of threads that could be worked on to make Tommy stronger and give him more of a grounding on his own outside of BuckTommy. Him being not a series reg nor at the 118 does pose a little bit of a screen time issue, but they can work something out. Make more overlap between stations during the season, like the big emergencies or whatever. He’s already incorporated with the 118 and has opinions on stuff, but they need to push it more. Because Buck is such a huge character that any LI he has needs to be full and present and real. They have so many possibilities with Tommy and if they actually play their cards right, it could be great. (Not that it’s not already but you know what I mean). His friendship with Eddie was great. I was devastated when that got destroyed, because that was a link Tommy had into the core 118 fam that didn’t have to do with Buck. His relationships with Chim and Hen don’t have to do with Buck. A part of me feels like they dropped the ball on making Tommy a part of everything because at the start he wasn’t supposed to stick around and now that he may, they’d have to kinda go back and restitch things together. Not difficult by any means, but would the show do it? Maybe maybe not. Taylor had her own storylines, give some to Tommy and boom, I think there could be something solid.

I’ll take whatever we can get, but with so much opportunity… and seeing how a show can actually invest in a relationship between characters… I want more for BuckTommy. They and we deserve more. Not because we’re greedy, but because the show laid out the strings and they’re waiting to be tugged

I would love if they did it this way.

Fingers crossed

[electraslight]

I think you should at least address the issues they have with your work proper. Which is mainly the racism allegations and not whatever that was you posted which was, all in all a pretty crappy response to some serious stuff.

my original response is linked here, i'm aware it's very poor, i was upset. forgive me

I will address it, I was just waiting to gather my thoughts, talk things out with people who know better than I, and avoid rushing in to things.

I have not seen the allegations in full, since I am avoiding Twitter and I blocked the main accuser for reasons stated in my original response. I think many of their accusations are unfounded and based on anger, and I will explain why.

First the smaller things I will address:  I do draw porn and I am not ashamed of it. It is completely aged up, behind an adult paywall, and not depicting any taboo act. I do not think this is an issue.

Second, orientalism and my art: I have stated many times that I pull from cultural dress for my work and my designs. Characters like Willow have designs inspired by Korean Hanfu and specific periods in Korean history. However, many characters are not designed based on Asian cultures, and if they are, are not fetishized or romanticized. In my version of the boiling isles, every witch is the distant descendant of a human who slipped through the veins and passed things like food and accessories down with them, as well as articles of clothing also being adopted after slipping into the realm. I am only aware of one specific character being named, if not please inform me, but Amity is based on Tudor period English fashion and Turkish clothing, specifically Kazakh. I will insert my references here.

If my use of referential clothing is inappropriate to you, I severely apologize. I think there are so many amazing cultures with interesting dress that I wanted to draw and if I used an article of clothing in an inappropriate fashion, I apologize.

However, orientalism connotes a fantasy I do not have and my work does not indulge in consciously- these people are people and are not exotic aliens that exist to please white people, wearing costumes that deface cultural practices. I intend their style of dress as a natural evolution, because the culture on the boiling Isles developed independently of the real world, and just like in real life, while many remnants of the past still exist in people's clothing, styles change with time. If my art was orientalist without my knowledge, I apologize, and I will change my way of making this sort of art in the future and do more research on what I draw.

I hope my depictions of these things don't make you feel like I view them as props; when I draw clothes, it's usually because I read an article or a book about a group of people and felt moved. The weight to culture is what conveys me to draw what I draw, and I wanted to make people feel seen. If that wasn't my place, I apologize once again, and in the future, my art will rely a lot less on cultural reference, except to my own.

The racism accusation is difficult for me to explain succinctly, so I apologize if there are issues in relaying it. I am being accused of being inappropriate with my depiction of Raine and Belos in this (link here) drawing, and this post I made about how I wanted to draw Darius and Belos similarly.

My blase wording concerning my ideas on Darius and Belos was an issue, I do admit, and I apologize for the confusion. I have many issues with this statement, however. My first being that I have drawn many characters at inappropriate odds with Belos, something which many artists in the TOH fandom do. In fact, here's a link to a post I made specifically about how Belos's obsessive fixation on others, specially his brother, is a metaphor for his colonialist and evangalistic evil. The issue in my recent piece is that I did not convey the toxicity and possession angle enough. The thing that compelled me about Belos and Raine was that Belos's tendency to try to break and destroy those that oppose him is something Raine turns around on him, using his own manipulative tactics and his overeager desire to defeat them to their advantage. 

The way Raine looks at the viewer with no emotion when Belos is attempting to draw one from them, Belos's bravado and desperation putting them at odds, but they are in control. It was not a romanticization, it was about power, and how Belos invades boundaries to get what he wants, destroying everything he touches. I don't ship them, this isn't ship art, just like my art of Caleb and Belos isn't ship art. Belos's insidious perversion is the focus.

It was a similar thought for Darius too, since me and some friends had watched Eda’s Requiem that day and I was thinking about the coven heads and Belos. At that moment, I was viewing Raine as the character, the politician and revolutionary. Their hatred of Belos consumed them and made them better, powerful enough to defeat him through passion, and that resonated deeply with me.

 I know as a white person I have blind spots. There are things that I don't notice that can be harmful, but I don't have the experience to tell. In the past, I drew one piece that I now deeply regret, of a swap au where Luz was the emperor instead of Belos, with Camilla as a grimwalker. Camilla was very burly and large, and in the moment I didn't see how frankly uncomfortable it was, but when I was informed by friends and the public, I realized how it looked, deleted it, and apologized.

However, I think in this case it is a question of interpretation. Insidious possession was my intention, and I have drawn this many times before with different characters. I don't see it as particularly erotic because Raine is a person of color, and it frankly disgusts me to think about it like that.

I wanted to address this one last because it makes me the most angry. There has been an assertion floating around that I fetishize native culture, depicting Evelyn naked and the (based on canon, by the way-barbarians are mentioned more than once) barbarian lore page. To this is to say: I am native European, specifically Irish. My drawings have helped me realize who I am and my relation to my culture, and I write and draw to depict my experiences and my family's. I am called “ignorant”, however people assume Evelyn, who is based on a bastardized version of my ancestors and the barbarians who are based on how my people were talked about by the British, are all perversions of “real” native people.

These are the Pict 'barbarians' Evelyn is based on.

My people were killed for speaking their language, my grandma doesn't know what happened to her grandmother because she had to escape, and there are fewer Irish people in Ireland now than there were 200 years ago. There are so many native people on Earth and no one person is going to have the same experience, and just because our experiences don't line up doesn't mean mine don't matter in this conversation.

 I am a victim of colonization and I am passionate about the topic, it's why TOH enchanted me. I was moved by the insidious nature of Belos's reign, how it slowly killed everyone it touched. How culture was stomped out with bullshit law, how Belos sought complete control over those he viewed as stupid and barbaric. That's what I make art about, about why he's wrong, about what he did. I won't ever apologize for sharing my experiences, and I have tried to be mature this whole time, but it is frankly xenophobic and ignorant of you to assert otherwise.

Tl;dr: I am sorry if my depictions of your culture felt like I was using them as toys or for my own gain, and I need to take more care in addressing my blind spots and talking to people about ideas before I have them. You don't deserve to be a plaything, and in the future my art will look very different. However, I think many of these accusations are purely people piling on to already present accusations with more stuff because they like to feel like they're on the right side of an argument. I resent the fact that I have been told my culture doesn't matter in this conversation when I relay my experiences, just because ours don't match up. 

I'm going to keep doing what I love and making things, probably stuff you won't see. I have a medical condition that gets worse with stress so I will be offline for a bit. Thank you and good day.

[beastyeastfreak]

Mystic flour x dark cacao soldier! Reader part two

Link to part one

There will be a part three, likely the final part will be four but maybe not idk hehehe :)

Cw and tags: romantic, reader gets called young they’re an adult, reader is turning evil

Summary: Awakening above the cloud cover, you are faced with the decision to stay and discover more about Mystic Flour cookie and become part of her grand plan or attempt to escape and return to your kingdom.

This ones longer also this is written pre silent salt update so it’ll probably be outdated T-T

🌾 - You felt light, the way you feel when you reach your bed for the first time after a long shift. You were surrounded by fluffy grass and embraced by warm fog. It hadn’t been long since you were transported to this mountain top, at least according to the sun’s position in the sky. It was the highest peak, the world below obscured by hills of white clouds. The air here was thin, even climbing up to where you just were you struggled to breathe. Yet now you felt as though you could breathe with no issues. You began to sit up, there was no clanking of armor, you looked down. You were in only your dark tunic and pants, and your weapons were gone just cloth remained.

🌾 - You wanted to collapse back into the grass but you were stopped as you heard laughter in the distance. Not sharp like that of a wrongdoer, but warm like you were overhearing a family dinner. You began to sit up, through the few trees and single grey brick building you could see a sea of clouds all around occasionally broken by other mountaintops. It was more akin to islands than anything. If not for the fact that if you fell you would fall to your crumbling, you’d actually be comforted and maybe awed by the sight.

🌾 - You stood up, looking around for your items but found nothing. She had stripped you of your defense and offense, if something were to find you… someone… You shook the thought away. You needed to go. You had no way of returning to the cacao kingdom and you had no way of defending yourself against the beast, though how she acted made it seem like you didn’t exactly need to do that… Did you want to attack her anyway?- Yes! You shook your head. You shouldn’t fall prey to the beasts trap! Your admittedly somewhat pitiful attempt at flirting only further ensnared you within her web. Whatever feelings you have or have had wasn’t real, the only thing that should be on your mind was leaving… and not the way her eyes caught the golden light or the soft shimmer of her veil.

🌾 - You began to sneak towards the sound of laughter, the white flowers and deep warm grass did little to hide you. You were trained for hiding in the snow, numbing yourself when your dough began to prick from the cold, getting your footing on ice. You were out of your depth. You spotted a group of odd beings, they looked to be made of dumplings. They sat inside a fairly small one room building. The walls black and roof gold. They were playing a game of Go, those who were not playing were sitting around the table and sharing jokes. Maybe they knew the way down, they had to have gotten up here somehow. You stalk around the building before finding the door, you knock gently on the wood.

🌾 - “Did you hear that?” One says, another responds. “Maybe its that nice little haetae,” you hear that voice approaching before opening the door. “Oh! Its a little cookie!” They exclaim, the others lean over to look around this dumpling being. You don’t give them a chance to speak, though they seem to be interested. “I apologize for interrupting, would you happen to know the way down?” You say, they stare for a minute before breaking into snickers and laughs. “A way down the youngster says!” The one playing the black team chuckles. “With a mark like that?” Another says. You stare, “a.. what?”

🌾 - “A mark, that big white spot on your forehead?” Your heart sinks, your reaction is telling enough. The being at the door steps aside to let you in. “Have you not looked in a mirror?” The one who let you in says, the two at the board keep playing. There was a free cushion next to a table with a tea pot beside them, you were gestured to sit, you stood. “I just need to leave, i have to return to my kingdom.” You say in a way that hopefully didn’t betray your fears. “Oh you youngsters, always have places to be. Sit down, have some tea, you look as anxious as a cakehound runt.” The dumpling being says, pouring a cup for you. It was herbal, it smelt like something your mother would make when you’d return from training. You cave, sitting down next to them and taking the warm cup in your hands which were colder than you realized. You look down at the cup, more specifically your reflection. Turning your head down you see it, a pure white mark on your forehead, the exact place Mystic Flours souljam rested.

🌾 - “I’ve heard of other beasts marking mortals but never her, you must be brave or foolish.” The dumpling being chuckles, you take a sip mildly flustered but for the most part still frightened. “Am i in danger?” You say in a whisper. Another dumpling answers for the one you were speaking to. “If I’ve seen anything you’re out of danger.” He says and laughs at his own joke. You sigh, you and your big ideas. Flirt with the beast, you thought. It’s a good idea and will help your king, you assumed! “How do i leave?” You ask again, the dumpling being takes a sip and speaks, losing an edge of playfulness. “Listen closely, mortal, your enemy is not an easy foe. Your kingdom may protect you but it will leave scars.” They take another sip, “I will show you the way if you wish to go, but will running complete why you came in the first place?”

🌾 - You stare blankly, then avert your eyes. You came to beast yeast to keep your people safe. If Mystic Flour was still alive and was giving you an advantage against her then you were more helpful here than at the wall. You take another sip of your tea. Then out of no where your head begins to feel numb, small pulses which come and go. You open your mouth to speak but the door nearby slides open, it was her. Her eyes closed, she stood regal as ever.

🌾 - “She’s finally paid us a visit, its been what- 1000 years?” One of the dumpling immortals says. “Hm,” she hums disinterested, she doesn’t turn her head to you or anything just speaks. “Come,” she says and you abide wordlessly, your heart is falling further into your stomach, fear boils in your mind. You turn to the dumpling that you had spoken to, “thank you.” You say and place the tea down. “Next time you visit, you’ll have to play a game against me as payment,” they smile and you nod walking out the door. You follow her out the door, closing it behind her. It was a lot colder out than you first realized, the warmth of the building had made you realize that.

🌾 - You did not speak, wind whistled for you. She began to lead you down a set of stairs engraved into the side of the mountain, a long fall awaited you if you misstepped. She was calm though, in the face of the potential of death she remained expressionless. You decided not to focus on that though, you kept your gaze on your footing. “How did meeting with my king go?..” You speak without truly thinking about it. She hums again, “he will see my way soon enough as did you.” She begins, then looks at you out of the corner of her eye, “he is not your ruler.” She firmly states. Her gaze was enough to make even the strongest general crumble, but somehow Dark Cacao survived. Unfortunately it seemed likely you would not be returning with him. “Right,” you replied. “My apologies.”

🌾 - She closes her eyes again, facing forward once more. You continue speaking, “why did you remove my armor?” You ask as you begin to walk through a cloud, squinting to see where you were going. “I will grant you new armor, you bore a symbol of resolution unlike mine.” She replied, you speak again. “Speaking of marks-“ she cut you off. “If you return to your kingdom that mark will spread, you will turn to flour. It is a symbol of loyalty, you will not break it.” She explains as you exit the cloud, seeing the great distance below. You know questioning further on the topic would be seen wrong, so you ask something different. “Whats next?” You glance at her, she doesn’t respond immediately but you get the sense she prefers this question to the rest. “You will get your armor then you will defend the pagoda in my absence.”

🌾 - “You’re leaving?” You say with false disappointment. “If you wish to attend a meeting of beasts i will not deny you that,” she says and stops in front of a large door into the mountain. You cursed your big mouth, now you had to follow through. “I’d be a bad soldier if i did not keep you safe.” You respond, you almost swear a smile tugs at her lips. “You will find your weapon and armor beyond these doors, i will wait here.” You nod and open the doors, sparing a glance at her before closing them.

🌾 - You head in, theres a door at the end of the hallway with light poking from beneath it. You walk there, opening the door to find a suit of black with yellow gold plating. It didn’t look like it was fit for someone as low rank as them, it looked like it was for someone important. You wonder why she even had this, she didn’t seem like she needed any armored guards. You sighed, by putting this on you were finalizing allegiance to her. Its just for show, you told yourself, your people would not leave you behind. You just needed to play nice until you could see an opening. You began to put it on, it was a little heavier than your typical armor. It felt tailored for your body, fitting perfectly against you. You then pulled the weapon out of the sheathe, a thin blade curved slightly. The handle was seemingly made from both ivory and metal, shaped around eachother in a swirling fashion. The blade itself was similar in shape to your sword thankfully, though it felt more ornamental to be fair. You stared at the glint in of the golden blade, just play nice.

🌾 - You opened the door, she was still standing there. Her head turned to you, though her eyes were closed you felt as if she looked you up and down. “Hm, it’ll do. I’ll make my own adjustments in due time,” she states and steps forward towards you. Your cheeks felt a bit warm at the thought. “Truthfully,” she begins in a slightly lower tone. “I really despised seeing you wearing the insignia of a fool when you’re so much better.” She stood directly in front of you, your mouth felt dry. You just stood, trying to keep a straight face as spiders built soft nests within your heart. You really shouldn’t feel this way but witches was it hard not to. She puts one hand on the side of your face beneath your helmet. “If you prove yourself so, when i dethrone him i will put you in his place.” Your heart jumped, “No!- i mean-“ you reacted harshly and had to fix the damage before she could assume anything. “I don’t trust myself in such a position, i take orders not give them- besides i see no other cookie as fit as you to lead.” She raises an eyebrow just enough to be noticed, “charming.” She notes, then pulls away though still in front of you. “I do not know who will be attending only that i must be there, whatever the outcome do not make a scene.” She spoke, you didn’t need to be told twice. You nod, then within moments flour clouds begin to swirl around. You look down and notice your vision becoming white, great this again.

🌾 - You open your eyes and find yourself at the steps of a mighty castle like structure. It was hexagon shaped from what you could tell. The two walls on each side of the door were adorned with tall stained glass windows, they must’ve been the beasts. You figured each side had its own beast window. She began to walk up the steps already, you weren’t allowed anymore time to admire. As you walk up the large steps - why did the beasts like stairs so much! - your eyes catch something blue and black darting into the bushes beneath the black window. You go a bit ahead of her, opening the door for you which earns a hum of gratitude from her. Inside you hear boisterous laughter and speaking.

🌾 - The building seemed to be like a cup in a way, there was a hallway all around a main room in the center. There was another door leading into the main room where the shouting was coming from, you stepped forward and opened it for her as well, the laughter had stopped as the cookies inside diverted their attention to her. You beheld the beast of destruction accompanied by three cookies, a tiger like spice matching the beast, a childish cookie with apples in her hair and a dark cookie with a microphone. There were five chairs around a circular table in the center of the room, each on personalized to the cookies with their soul jam engraved and cushion color. The tiger like cookie was adorned with fresh injuries she was tending to, the beast of destruction had a few injuries of his own. “I see your encounters went similarly to mine,” she deadpans as you follow behind her. With a touch on your shoulder, a silent command to stay by the door, you stand and watch. The tiger like cookie and the other two stood some distance away, not far but closer than the beasts were to you. “And what of your souljam?” The beast of destruction questions with a sharp toothed grin despite his obvious loss. She doesn’t answer that, “where is Shadow Milk?” She asks, the two cookies that did not match the beast in front of you must be another’s. “He scurried off to Eternal Sugars garden, he heard she was getting a bit too comfortable with her other half.” He responds, leaning back in his chair, he glances at you, you feel terrified but your face remains as blank as fresh snow.

🌾 - Your ears begin to ring when his gaze lingers, it feels as though something is slithering up your back. You’re convinced he was about to stand and come to you but whatever Mystic flour begins to say draws his gaze away. But that slithering feeling does not leave, now it felt like it was on your right shoulder. You turn your head just enough to see a small serpent, black and blue only about as thick as your finger but making up for it in length. “Mystic Flours got herself a new minion, i wasn’t aware she was capable of indulging hehehehe!” A small playful voice comes from it, you look around at anywhere but the snake on your shoulder. “But i think you were found by the wrong beast! Pretending are we?” It giggles, if your stomach could drop anymore it’d be in your feet. The other cookies were too focused on what the beasts were saying. You look down at this beast in snakes scales. “I hope you know what you’re doing, this armor isn’t hiding the fact you’re just a tiny cookie meddling in our business!” Your fingers were trembling, heart rate picking up. “You knoooow, if im not mistaken you’re a cacao soldier! It’s strange because i saw a ship waving their colors leaving beast yeast.” They left you? You think in response. “The realization setting in yet? The-“ you were broken out of thought as the snake was yanked off you by mystic flour. She was squeezing it by the neck, it writhed and curled around her wrist, hissing. It soon became a cookie itself, her grip remained around this beasts neck. “Ah- ack! Let me go why don’t you! I was just saying hi to the ne- AGH!- minion!” He tries to push away from her, legs kicking against the floor and tendril like hair swaying. Burning spice was simply laughing at the sight. She dropped him, he hit the floor then floated away. “Geez cant a guy do a little crowd work?”

🌾 - “There are important matters to discuss,” Mystic Flour speaks calmly. Her anger was felt rather than heard, you wondered if only you felt it. You wondered why she did that for you. “Are we sure we want to discuss it here with potential spys among us?” He questioned with a big grin. Burning spice answered for him, “Uggghhh,” he turns to the four of you. “You lot go guard outside, now enough of your antics and tell us what happened in the garden.” He says leaning against the table which was noticeably more damaged on his side. “Yes, great destroyer!” The tiger cookie says and stands up, the other two glance at their respective minions to follow. You’re the last one out, you only catch a snippet of what was happening.

🌾 - Admittedly the other three weren’t important in your eyes, so the first thing you tried to do was slip outside. You were stopped by the childish one, “Master Shadow Milk talked to you in person! What did he say? Did he talk about me?!” You stare down “uh..-“ you cant get much of a word in. “Where is Mystic Flours other assistant? Are you a replacement?” The spice firmly asks you. “I dont-“ you still cant respond. “What happened at the pagoda? Got any exclusive information as to Mystic Flours fight with her souljam holder?” The last one says with a grin. You don’t even entertain a response just stare annoyed at the three of them. “Do you intend on berating me or doing what you were told to do?” You say, somewhat parroting your old teachers words.

🌾 - The tiger cookie growls, “I am the general of the spice swarm! Do not act as if you are above me!” She says in a hushed yell, loud enough to get her point across but not loud enough to bother the beasts inside. You’re remain dead faced, the only movement is you glancing at her injuries then back at her eyes. A quiet insult. She catches that and growls again, her claws make an appearance. “The Great Destroyer would happily make an example out of the Ivory Pagoda!” She practically hisses. Anger sparks in your being and you aren’t quite sure why, you actually very quickly resented the fact you wanted to defend the Ivory pagoda and its master. You don’t step forward, “Im sure he would,” you respond with a bit of an edge in your tone.

🌾 - “Now, as entertaining as this is how about we actually do our job or.. you know?” The purple one says with sass. The tension begins to ease a bit, the spice says nothing, just walks past you bumping your shoulder. You don’t say anything either, you glance at the other two and walk outside. You were in your element now, standing guard in front of something. Nature serenading you and easing your thoughts. The serenity allowed you time to plan, and come to terms. You were alone now, your kingdom had left you to die or perhaps thought you had not revived. You were on your own with a beast interested in you to say the least and you were maybe a little interested in her. You weren’t sure whether to see this as a curse or a blessing. You were taken away from your whole life, protecting a wall and a starving kingdom. You were now personally serving an ancient souljam holder as a high ranking cookie, as high ranking as you could get at least. You were like her, you knew you were, theres a deep desire within you to see the suffering end and perhaps apathy is the way to it the same was she is your end to suffering. You felt horrible, a deep, gaping pit within you had opened up. You did not want to return to the Cacao kingdom as a soldier, you wanted to return beside her.