#but it is the gateway to much much more spice

[sinkat-arts]

Three Weeks

(Follow up to 24 hours)

Kurodai | 22k | Explicit

(E rating because they're talking about things pretty openly... sorry, no actual spicy times in this one, guys)

Three weeks have passed since Daichi met Kuroo and had the strangest, most wonderful weekend in... probably his whole damn life. Even better... through some miraculous twist of fate, Kuroo seems to be just as into Daichi as Daichi is into Kuroo.

Of course, that miracle hasn't come without complications. That'd be too easy, wouldn't it?

“It’s just,” he said, choking a little on the words, “If you say all that to anyone… what… what makes me special, I guess.” As soon as he said it, he realized how childish it sounded. He shook his head sharply and rubbed his face. “No, that’s stupid, I’m sorry…”  “Hey,” Kuroo said, finally taking Daichi’s chin between a thumb and forefinger, stilling that constant rocking and making him look into his eyes. Daichi was shocked to see they were red and shining, too. “It’s not stupid. It’s a good question. It has so many answers already, and we’re only just starting out."

Read it on AO3 >

[harmonysanreads]

could we get more of being alhaithams wife… he has me in a chokehold omg waxing remorse, waning candlelight and flickering candlelight were so good‼️

btw do u take emoji anons? id like to be 🎀 if u do!

Hell yes, I thought you'd never ask :) I took my time with this, hope you don't mind and welcome abroad dearest 🎀<3

Desire, Denial, Demise

yandere!al haitham x f!reader

cw(s): yandere, drugging (not to reader), lots of tension, allusions to stockholm syndrome

wc : 2.5k+

[ previously in this au ]

The curry is boiling.

The strange symphony of the bubbling broth, the heated haze veiling around the kitchen and the appetising aroma of spices open the gateway for you to temporarily lose yourself somewhere far, far away. You're thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. Your fingers, victimized to small cuts from occasional slip ups during chopping vegetables, are fiddling with a tiny vial, its exact contents are unknown even to you but its apparent enough that its less palatable than the steaming curry.

It would seem as if you'd been at this practice for some time now, sometimes taking off the clog of the vial to slightly dip it at the dish only to pull away before any of the substance actually fell only to clog it up again and resume stirring the curry instead. The curry itself is almost ready but you're still unable to reach a decision. You seem to be far more interested in the rhythm of the bubbles appearing and disappearing, a peculiar peace enveloping your heart, so much so that even the rising temperature around the stove fails to have your attention swayed.

What does break your trance is the pair of firm arms snaking around your waist and an embrace, so deceptively loving and domesticated, because, you're neither allowed inner peace nor to pass your attention to something that wasn't your husband.

Alhaitham has a talent for making almost anything appear normal to outsiders, by which you'd imply the oh-so loving gestures he initiates with the excuse of your marital bond. In truth, they're as one sided as his love for you and if this was even just a few months ago you would've resisted but not now, for you've learned. Learned how to tempt the monster with scraps of its desires, promising something greater and slowly gaining its trust, so that when eventually you shatter it to irreparable bits, the monster would feel ten times the hurt it'd inflicted upon you.

Or, that's what you've been scheming to do to your beloved husband and you're hoping the poison containing vial you not-so-subtly hide away from his gaze would just do the trick.

“What do you have there?”

You vaguely lean towards his abdomen (not like there's much space to considering how close he already holds you), eyes still fixated on the stove.

“Curry,”

“And?” he probes further, whether its intentional or not you can't deduce from his even tone.

Your eyes move towards the right, you sense him doing the same, “More curry,”

“And.. soup. I had intended to make biryani but you arrived so early, sorry.”

It's not like you're completely lying, you were hoping to have some more time alone. After all, having more varieties of dishes would've made it less suspicious when you refused to eat a single one. You don't even have to turn around to see some of Alhaitham's facial muscles churn in distaste against your cheek, you've seen it more times than you cared to count. Alhaitham doesn't like soup, or anything that hinders his peaceful reading time but there's a counter theory in your head, suspecting whether he'd noticed something amiss yet. Because if he did, he's doing a splendid job at pretending that he hasn't.

You're not so easily thrown off-the-edge anymore either, you learned how to act from the master himself. Though, you would be lying if you said this sudden low guarded approach wasn't irking you the slightest. You hadn't wrapped your arms around his shoulders nor pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek upon his return like you usually do to act like the loving housewife you aren't, you didn't greet him with the usual ‘welcome home’ that you know makes his heart melt and on top of that, you're fidgeting with your surroundings. You don't dare to think this routine you'd painstakingly followed the past months to lower his guard actually had this much affect, this is Alhaitham you're dealing with.

So you're only left with the hypothesis that he has taken notice and will jumpscare you with it any moment, as much as you hoped against it. Finally, after what felt like forever, you turn off the stove and face the Acting Grand Sage, he doesn't loosen his hold in the slightest.

“How about you freshen up while I serve the dinner? You look like you've got a headache— annoying scholars again?”

You push aside the urge to pinch his cheeks, opting to instead hold his face in your hands with as much delicacy as you can gather and you almost falter when he answers by leaning into your touch. No matter how many times you've done this, you can never take his reciprocations seriously. Or rather, you can't believe just how easy it gets him to do so with each passing day.

For a moment, you feel like a wicked villain. Alhaitham looks so at peace in your palms (literally), his innocence right now could convince anyone that he hadn't committed any of the atrocities he did to get you where you were at now. You hear the echo of a nagging thought, this really might've been the ideal married life so many dreamed of ; a husband that views you above everything else, a secure place to stay and stability, overall.

Alhaitham would often tell you how people would kill to be loved in the way he loves you, you'd never actually let his theories in your head but now, you found yourself hesitating. All this strenuously built trust would crumble like the sand palace Kaveh had planned to make in a drunken stupor should you get caught and in the off chance that you don't, this.. almost, almost perfect marriage life would too if you really poured out the poison from the vial.

“Alright,” Alhaitham presses one kiss to your palm and leaves. Leaves.

You wonder if Alhaitham was hiding more surprises for the night, for, he never lets you off easy. You watch his silhouette vanish within the inner-quarters of his house, you peak around the corner to see if he was hiding there or not and— nothing. As much as you despised acknowledging it, your husband was always an uncertain amount of steps ahead. You might be his weak-spot but even you haven't been an exception to his overwhelming scrutiny, because, a wise man knows to guard his weakness well.

So, for that man to just leave without gauging the cause of your peculiar behavior like he's always (or, now that you think about it ; when was the last time he'd tweaked with your mind? three months ago? four? five?) done sends your nerves ablaze. You take out the vial from where you'd tucked it in, almost dropping it because of your restless fingers. You're still facing the entrance of the kitchen, the vial is brought up to your eye-level. The translucent liquid lacks any indication of it actually being a poison, it came as the byproduct of your last escape attempt months ago ; exchanged with all your remaining mora from an equally shady merchant — you didn't care then, you knew you'd be caught so might as well take a weapon with you back, right? At present though, you found yourself slowly regretting that decision, unless you're to experiment with it personally, there's really no way for you to be certain.

You shake your head, nonsense. You aren't the one dying when you still have hope, you weren't the one who'd forced someone to be their spouse with methods that make you shudder upon recollection, you deserved freedom and he, deserved proper punishment for his crimes.

You take off the cog of the vial, glancing one last time towards the direction Alhaitham went. You still your hand from shaking and celestia, you can still feel Alhaitham's lingering kiss there.

Without even looking you pour the entire vial of the substance into one of the pots and then toss the vial out of the window. You grasp at the kitchen counter, heaving.

You did it.

-

The next time you face Alhaitham, he looks eerily pleasant. You do your duty of serving him the food, hesitating on putting the curry on his plate and you almost consider throwing it out with some half-assed excuse but gather your resolve again. You will see an end to this. Keeping your expression placid, you take a seat on the opposite end of the table and serve yourself something to avoid suspicion. It's as quiet as it normally is since neither you nor Alhaitham are that talkative while eating, you sometimes sneak a glance towards him to see if there's any change ; he seems to notice this.

“You're awfully interested in my face today, is something the matter?”

“Ah, I was just wondering if you're finding the food palatable.”

Your husband tilts his head, you never ask for his opinions regarding anything ; was today a special occasion by any chance? Alhaitham searches his memories, no, your anniversary passed last month and even then, your effort for that day wasn't anything remarkable.

“Anything made by you is good,”

Alhaitham may mistake your aversion of gaze as fluster because of his unexpectedly suave comment but in reality, his way-too-honest answer struck your conscience. You shook your head, counting the seconds rather impatiently, no appetite aiding you to finish your plate.

Why isn't the poison taking affect?

Momentarily, the merchant's twinkling eyes upon handing you the vial flashes in your mind and it inclines you to think that you may have been scammed. All the while, Alhaitham seems to have finished his plate, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

“[Y/N], be honest, is something bothering you?”

You nearly jump out of your seat at his voice and your husband looks at you with more concern but asks for no further clarification.

Yes, you almost utter out, “No,”

Your eyes dart around the dinner table where most dishes still lay untouched, Alhaitham seemed to have eaten very little. When your eyes settle on the bowl of soup, a dreading realization strikes.

Don't tell me.. I didn't poison the soup instead, did I..?

“Actually,” you cringe at the sudden high pitch of your voice but it does its job in halting Alhaitham from getting up and possibly making his way to you, his eyes press you to continue. It only occurs to you then, what are you supposed to tell him now? ‘I poisoned this soup that I know you clearly dislike because I hate you so please, gobble it up and end my misery?’

This isn't the time for jokes, wake up!

“Haitham, to be honest, I prepared that soup for you with your stress induced state in mind. But.. ” you wet your lips and choke out the rest, voice fading in a sad adagio, “Since you don't like soup, I guess I'll just have to throw it out.”

It takes everything in your will-power to not break the pathetic act and slap yourself. You don't dare look up and see your husband's expression, already mentally preparing him to drop the bomb and interrogate you on all your weird mannerisms tonight.

In no way will Alhaitham of all people buy that, I wouldn't believe that, not even a rat will believe that, whoa—

You expected exactly two outcomes after your sad excuse of convincing (brought fresh to you by past experiences) ; 1. He tells you to eat half of the soup first, probably with the surface level reason that he won't be able to finish all of it and when you inevitably refuse, the truth will be revealed and 2. No need for roundabout approaches, you wouldn't be surprised if Alhaitham knew your scheme since the start. But no amount of past experience could prepare you for when your conniving husband took the bowl of the soup that he repeatedly said he despised and gulped it down in one go, without an ounce of hesitation — all because you muttered you made it especially for him?

(Admittedly, you feel a little touched.)

You stop gaping like a fish and with a fake cough chastise him, “Dear me, no one was stealing that from you, you could've just taken your time — what if you burned your throat?”

Alhaitham chugs down a glass of water, he doesn't look the most content with that decision either but seeing you worry over him like this... he has no regrets.

“The faster, the better, no? I really would just like to go sleep now.”

Hmm, he wasn't entirely wrong about that. The faster the poison takes effect the better it is for you but, he doesn't need to know that part. It's dead silent again, none of you seem compelled to move, your focus is on Alhaitham solely ; in the first few seconds, he seemed fine but then he started to loosen the collar of his shirt, an obvious expression of discomfort painting his normal poker face. You lean forward in your chair, unable to tear your eyes away.

“On a second thought, you were right. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so hastily. It feels...so...hot...?”

Alhaitham's voice fades to incoherent words, he brings a hand to the locks of his gray hair, laboured breaths filling the vacancy of the dining room.

And then, his head meets the wood of the table.

You push back your chair, unable to believe the sight before you. That was fast, way too fast, perhaps. You take ginger steps towards Alhaitham's chair, when you're beside the Scribe's unmoving body, the weight of the situation drops on you unmercifully.

Wait wait wait, t-then this means that... I.....I killed my husband...

You can feel your vision blurring, no no, you're supposed to be happy! Happy that his tyranny is finally over! Happy that he'll no longer be able to hurt you or any other being for that — happy that he's gone.

These are tears of happiness, right? Right?

You hands move to wipe them furiously, you don't believe it, there is no way he'll die that easily. You'd fantasized about this moment so many times ; when the colour from his disgustingly beautiful eyes fades, you'll be on your merry way from this hellish life, you'll be allowed to wander anywhere, befriend anyone — but now, such desired dreams have lost their colour, as well. With no regard to your escape plans, your hand reaches for his unmoving figure, hunched over the table ; your senses are closing in, you can see nothing but him, you can hear nothing but the ringing in your ears and you're not sure what happens afterwards.

One moment, you feel your skin barely graze his shirt and the next, something warm springs up, grabs your wrist and your back slams against the table, legs dangling over...

Huh?

There is Alhaitham, up and about, albeit he looks.. perturbed and delirious. Extremely delirious.

“Sly woman, what were you thinking?”

Heated skin, reddened face, hearts in the eyes—

These symptoms, oh no...

You try to shove him off and create as much distance as possible, the effect your puny struggling has is non-existent ; he only holds you more suffocatingly in his lap, closing in slowly slowly slowly—

That is the moment you accept ; you have been scammed, just not in the way you were speculating you've been.

[ash-rigby]

It Becomes Us (Male Mutated Werewolf)[NB/M]

Featured Characters: A nonbinary human (initially) and a male werewolf. Both are adults.

Description: Nightingale, a sorcerer who studies interdimensional portals, accidentally opened a gateway which led to their werewolf partner being bitten by an unknown creature. Orion feels changed in a way he can’t place and asks to be restrained during the next full moon as he is worried it will affect his typical shift. Little do either of them know, but his concerns are completely founded, as intense yet exciting changes occur. And perhaps they’re a little contagious.

Contains: Eventual Monster/Monster, Light Bondage, Transformation, Stomach Mouth, Long Tongues, Tentacles, Diphallia, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Excessive Cum, Praise Kink.

Nonbinary Character Anatomy: Nightingale uses a spell which allows them to switch their genitals at will. They utilize both a penis and a vagina at separate times during this scenario. Terms for both sets are used. Their original sex is not specified and their chest goes undescribed.

Content Warning: Body Horror

Completion Date: February 29th, 2024

Word Count: 4937

Requested by @mushki-art (this was won via a raffle; requests are not always open) who asked for a submissive werewolf story and invited me to spice it up with some eldritch elements. I hope you like it!

-

The tension immediately left Orion the moment he was bound. He released a relieved sigh, a soft expression coming over his face that made Nightingale want to kiss the breath out of him. Or tease his body until those honey-brown eyes swam with tears. But despite his position, it wasn’t the time for it; this was technically their fault.

“Comfortable?” they asked him, allowing themself the somewhat innocent action of running their hand through his thick, dark chest hair.

Orion cleared his throat and shifted under their touch. “As much as I can be.”

He was laid out on their bed, Nightingale’s magic purple rings glowing at his wrists and ankles which kept his arms out from his sides and his legs lightly apart. It wasn’t an uncommon look for him. Nightingale’s eyes trailed over his naked form, their lips quirking at the sight of his already half-full, twitching erection. He was always easily excitable in the days leading up to the full moon. At least that was a sign of normality.

They sat on the edge of the bed as their hand travelled to the newly healed bite scar on Orion’s left bicep. An uninterrupted ring of teeth marks with a single puncture at the center. The colour was dark and shifted to carry a green tint in certain light. It had baffled Nightingale for weeks, matching nothing in any of their peers’ records. They gently ran their finger around it.

“You simply can’t help getting bitten by things, can you?” Nightingale asked. “First that mangy, cursed wolf and now whatever this wants to call itself.”

Orion shrugged as much as his bonds allowed, giving a crooked grin. “I must be tasty.”

“Oh, I can vouch for that.”

“Really though,” Orion said, bringing Nightingale’s attention back to his face. “Thank you for doing this. It’s hard to say what’s going to happen tonight…and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Nightingale leaned over him and wrapped a set of deft fingers around his neck. His breath hitched, pulse quickening under their pressing thumb. He swallowed hard against their palm as his eyes glazed.

Nightingale smirked. “You couldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to.”

They closed the distance and kissed him, invading his mouth with their tongue and making him moan. His sweet noises stirred a needy throb between their legs. There was nothing they wanted more than to take him apart.

He was panting when they pulled back. A drop of saliva escaped the corner of his mouth. Nightingale licked it back up past his lips, passing once more over his lower teeth before moving away.

Orion whimpered. “Touch me? Please? Just a little before—.”

Nightingale shook their head and clicked their tongue at him.

“Down, boy,” they said. “You know that can trigger you to shift early.”

“Right…right,” Orion said. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, an involuntary growl sounding in his throat as he released it. “Fuck.”

He was hard, his cock straining and leaking as he hissed his desperate curses. Nightingale only just managed to keep their head about them. Respecting their partner’s concerns had to come first. They swiftly stood from the bed and moved towards the door.

“I’ll responsibly admit that you are far too tempting,” they said, drinking in the bound, aroused form they were walking away from with immense regret. “I have some things to finish up. Will you be fine on your own for a while, darling?”

“Yeah,” Orion said. His hands curled into shaking fists. “Probably for the best. I—I need to calm down and your scent is…it’s a lot right now.”

“Poor thing,” Nightingale said with a theatrical pout. “Though…if all our worries turn out to be for nought, I’m also looking forward to some play time.”

Orion groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. “Not helping.”

“Apologies. I’ll see you later.”

Nightingale left the bedroom and closed the door behind them before making their way to the candlelit workshop. They went to the organized chaos of their desk; loose papers, open books, their peacock-feathered quill. It was easy to pick up where they left off in transcribing spells from a borrowed tome but their mind still wandered.

It had been a little over two weeks since the incident that led Orion to wish himself bound. Nightingale’s interest in exploring other planes and dimensions was to blame. However, they didn’t regret their choice of pursuits. Years prior, it had allowed them to uncover a sigil that granted the ability to shift their body’s sex at will; which had been a godsend to ease their frequent but not constant dissatisfaction with their birth equipment.

However, portal-based magics were unpredictable by nature. Not to mention intricate. One misplaced stroke in drawing a circle could send one off their target; as Nightingale had unfortunately discovered. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They prided themselves on their attention to detail but perhaps they had become cocky after so many successes.

The portal opened to a clearly hostile environment. A long, maw-bearing tentacle had lashed out at Nightingale almost immediately. Orion, ever the dependable protector, lunged to their rescue. But he paid the price of a nasty bite wound and gods knew what else. He told them he felt changed in a way he couldn’t place. Some ineffable thing that had been lodged deep inside him and brought fear.

Nightingale was forced to hastily destroy the circle during the struggle to banish the portal, thus wiping away any knowledge of where they went wrong. They had been trying to recreate their mistake. It was dangerous, recklessly opening unknown portals, but having access to where the creature originated from was looking to be the only way to glean answers. To fix this.

With a heavy sigh, Nightingale set aside their quill and stared at the closed bedroom door across the room. They usually took great joy in binding Orion; he was so well-behaved for them. The unease on his face had soured things. However, not enough to void their arousal it seemed.

Despite the circumstances and attempts to distract themself, Nightingale was unable to banish the lewd thoughts from their mind. Orion had looked so pretty, spread out and tied down as he whimpered into their kisses. How wracked by need he was; panting, begging, weeping from his hard yet untouched cock.

Nightingale couldn’t help themself; perhaps it was what this worry needed. Quick hands untied the front of their robes and pulled them aside. Their breath stuttered as their fingers went straight to what was currently their pussy. They were already wet.

The goal was release; not a prolonged, indulgent pleasure. Nightingale stroked themselves furiously, the sigil tattooed on their abdomen glowing warm as they focused on their clit to make it larger. The growth was rapid and they whimpered at the swelling sensation. Its stout two inches pulsed under their hand, aching to feel that familiar lapping tongue.

“Orion,” they whispered. “Orion…Orion.”

Their hand flew over their sopping folds and clit. The filthy, wet sound of it was the only one in the room as they bit back their moans. In their mind was a vivid evocation of themself bearing down on a thick, raging werewolf cock as its owner tearfully begged to be inside them. It had throbbed so desperately against their pussy, the thick knot bulging in anticipation at its base but doomed to not fulfill its purpose that night.

A memory of a delicious, mournful cry as Orion came all over his heaving chest heralded Nightingale’s only briefly satisfying orgasm—gods, they needed him.

Nightingale slumped in their chair, a relentless quiver between their legs. Their swollen clit twitched as if suggesting a second round but they denied it. How dare they consider touching themself stupid at such a time? Shame was hot in their chest. Panting, their eyes drifted from slick-glistening fingers to the closed bedroom door, concern as much as arousal remaining unabated.

Please be okay.

It was then that they heard something, muffled behind the wood of the door. Orion’s voice, deeper and laced with growls. Their gaze snapped to the clock. It was only a little after nine in the evening; his shift normally happened closer to midnight. He was groaning, sounding distressed. Nightingale shot out of the chair and raced towards the bedroom, not bothering to take the time to close their robe before bursting inside.

They could barely process what they saw.

Orion had undergone a change. That was expected; though the exact form, not so much. The wolven features Nightingale knew were visible even through such mutation. But his dark fur carried a green tint. Gnarled horns sprung from his brow. Countless eyes adorned his shoulders and upper chest like a mantle, as wide and rolling as the four on his face. A long, tentacle-like tongue stuck out from his open mouth as he cried out. But Nightingale knew then that it wasn’t out of pain.

He was moaning in pleasure and they could see why. A second pair of arms had sprouted below the first, unfettered by Nightingale’s magic as their large hands stroked his cock; no—cocks. He had two. His mindless pumping was halted with a flick of Nightingale’s hand and glowing rings affixing to his wrists.

Orion growled in frustration but seemed to quickly come back to himself. Though his raging dicks continued to visibly pulse against his palms. All of his many bright yellow, now-reptilian eyes met theirs. His voice held a serrated edge and somehow sounded like two speaking in tandem, echoing and deep as an abyss.

“F-fuck…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t give me permission to—I-I couldn’t help it. Please don’t leave me like this—oh, gods, I need to cum.”

Nightingale shushed him gently, waving their hands to situate his new appendages at his sides. With him laying still and fully spread, a last oddity made itself known. A large, fanged maw had opened up in his stomach. The surrounding fur was wet with drool. Nightingale watched as a tongue snaked out from it and wrapped itself around one of his swelling knots. Orion groaned.

“Stop that,” Nightingale hissed, fearful and vexed over his lack of priorities. But he obeyed, keening as the tongue retracted and the strange, wide lips pressed tightly together. “This is serious, darling.”

They strode over to the bedside, heart pounding; though, to their chagrin, for two reasons. Cursing the pulse being echoed in their needy cunt, Nightingale looked Orion over. One half of his eyes fixated on their naked form visible between either side of their open robe while the other stared longingly at his dual endowment.

“Are you in any pain?” Nightingale asked.

“N-no,” Orion said. “It felt good. Really good. More than usual.”

Nightingale nodded, recalling his reassurances that shifting was a full-body pleasure instead of agony. Stretching, swelling, elongating. Hence the large erection he typically sported by the end of it that begged for any and all attention.

Orion had managed to calm himself somewhat and was speaking clearly. Disregarding the clear issue of him prioritizing the need to satisfy his arousal, his mind was still there. He hadn’t been lost to some unknown abomination's will—thank goodness.

“Well, you seem like yourself so far,” Nightingale said, a bit of tension leaving them as curiosity began to brew. They were certain he wouldn’t be hurt from touching and carded a gentle hand into his chest fur. “Any new urges? Aside from cumming in two damn directions at once.”

Their eyes flicked to his cocks, watching as precum pearled at one of the tips and lazily dripped down the thick shaft. It took everything in them not to rush and catch it with their tongue. They tried not to long too much for the taste. Or at least not let that show on their face.

“I don’t want to swallow you up if that’s what you’re asking,” Orion said and, despite themself, Nightingale grinned at him. “Not—not in the eating you kind of way anyway…I….”

His mouth snapped shut. The adorable thing was still under the impression that he wasn’t going to get fucked. But his eyes and straining, leaky cocks did all the begging for him. Denying him started to feel pointlessly cruel; as fun as it was under other circumstances.

This was proving to be no different from Orion’s typical shift. Not violent or dangerous. Just needy. A dog wanting to be good for his master for sweet, little rewards. Nightingale decided then that a touch of caution could be thrown to the wind. They weren’t so different from their lover after all; chasing pleasure before answers—reckless, amorous fools.

Fear abandoned, they had to admit it. This new form deeply excited them. He was beautiful. Such a striking change that begged to be known. A deep, thorough exploration was in order. One for the books indeed.

Orion’s breath hitched as Nightingale disrobed fully in one fluid, graceful motion. They climbed up onto the bed and sprawled belly down across his torso with their legs on either side of him. They pillowed their chin with their hands as they looked up into his face.

“Wh-what are you…?” he asked, bewildered.

Nightingale waggled their hips, rubbing their enlarged clit into thick fur. “I was thinking, given your over-excited state, perhaps this needs to be fucked out of you. Remember that pollen you stumbled into a few months back?”

“Yeah,” Orion breathed. They felt his heart begin to race beneath their hands, excitement from the memory and the confirmation that he was getting what he wanted. “Go for it…keep me tied up though. I don’t—I don’t know—.”

“Shh… of course, love,” Nightingale said. “I want to see what this body can do. Start with that pretty new mouth.”

They rose from Orion’s chest and turned, moving down until they were straddled over his stomach. The mouth opened beneath them with an audibly wet parting of lips. Hot, humid breath came in quick bursts against them as it opened wide; they could have sat fully into it if they had wished. The dark tentacle of a tongue writhed in the slick maw before rising and licking a line over Nightingale’s pussy. Orion shuddered.

“You’re…already soaked,” he said, digging deeper against their folds for the second pass.

Nightingale bit back a moan. “You were indisposed. I had to take matters into my own hand, so to speak.”

Orion groaned in a desperate and desolate tone.

“I know,” Nightingale said sweetly. “So awful of me to cum on my own. Not wrapped around your cock so you can feel my tight, squeezing heat milking you dry. Or buried deep inside you; throbbing, filling you until you’re leaking me.”

Every word seemed to spur Orion into licking Nightingale more fervently. A quick, ceaseless lapping as if they were water and he had been parched for days. His cocks pulsed in heavy, rhythmic tandem before them, spilling clear fluid in rivulets. The scent of him nearly had them drooling. His breath was so sweltering against their ass and cunt that it was akin to melting.

They wanted more.

“Darling,’ they said, drawing out the vowels. “I don’t recall telling you to hold ba—.”

A sharp gasp was punched from Nightingale as Orion shoved his tongue swiftly inside. He reached deeper than he ever had before with this method, twisting and pumping into them. They ground down to meet each thrust of the probing muscle.

There was a shift and a sucking sound within the maw and Nightingale felt a second tongue at their ass. They could no longer suppress a moan as it worked its way in, carefully but greedily. A third wormed into their cunt next to the first and entwined with it. A fourth, fifth, and sixth wrapped lovingly about their thighs, smearing warm saliva.

“Good boy,” Nightingale praised. “Goooood boy.”

Feeling he had earned it—and unable to help themself—, Nightingale reached out and brought their palms to those swollen cocks. They couldn’t fully wrap their hands around either one but they began to pump the throbbing shafts. Orion cried out, hips shaking and lifting as much as his restraints allowed. He dropped heavily onto the mattress as he was stroked. Precum spurted from him, running over Nightingale’s fingers.

“Y-your hands are so soft!” he said; whimpering, lower tongues thrashing inside Nightingale. “And you taste…you ta—fuuuuck. I’m not good. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog! I can’t hold it—I can’t—!”

He came with a wavering cry. Thick, copious cum pumped out of both cocks, painting Nightingale’s chest. It splattered their face; hot, musky, and landing or dripping into their open mouth. They swallowed a half mouthful as their hands relentlessly milked.

Cumming took nothing out of Orion. He breathed heavily around whines, but Nightingale’s holes were still stuffed with wildly thrusting tentacles. They released him and leaned forward until their hands met the mattress between his spread legs. The tip of a seventh tongue curled around their pulsing clit. Their head snapped back with a loud moan as they instinctively began to thrust into it.

“There you go,” they said, practically growling. “Keep that right there.”

Orion’s dicks, full of boundless vitality, were pressed against Nightingale’s cum-covered torso. Their hard, sensitive nipples grazed the weeping heads as they moved. The tentacles squirmed deep inside them. They could feel a warm mix of Orion’s saliva and their slick making a mess of their thighs.

“Perfect, darling,” they moaned. “So perfect for me. Make me cum…make me cum.”

Roiling heat built inside them, pleasure throbbing through their holes out to their clit. With a few final thrusts, they were clenching down on Orion, squirting around his tentacles and into the gaping maw. His tongues paused as if to feel them come apart. He came again with a grunt, his cum hitting the underside of Nightingale’s chin as they panted and shivered.

Before Orion could think about starting again, they stood. The tongues exited them with multiple lewd, wet noises. Slick dripped from Nightingale in their wake. Both holes quivered; spent. But their clit had other plans, twitching insistently. Wanting to be enveloped again.

Nightingale gave a breathless, unsteady chuckle before mentally reaching out to the sigil bound to them. They gazed down, always loving to watch. A, swelling sensation overtook their clit as it lengthened into a thick cock, balls hanging beneath. It pulsed itself to a full erection without the aid of touch.

They took it into their hand, stroking as they looked over their shoulder to catch Orion’s many eyes.

“Objections?” they asked with a grin.

Orion swallowed, his dual endowment still raging. “N-no.”

“Let’s get a better view, then.”

Nightingale dropped off of the bed and, with a few waves of their hands, compelled the magic rings to re-situate their darling werewolf. Orion was placed face-down, his ass in the air. His top set of arms were set reaching out over his head, while the bottom ones connected at the wrists behind his back.

The position revealed that the mantle of eyes extended over his shoulder blades. And Nightingale also watched a line of sharp, deadly spines flare out from the base of his neck to the small of his back. They sidled up behind him where his tail lay draped down.

“Show me that hole,” they said, digging a hand into the fur at his thigh.

Orion obediently raised his tail, leaving it to curl over his back. He sucked in a breath as Nightingale took his large, furry balls into their palm. They teased, watching his cocks leak onto the sheets with every caress and squeeze. The flesh between his balls and hole twitched uncontrollably.

“Nightingale,” he moaned. “Fuck me…please.”

Nightingale hummed and released him. “Wag for it.”

A sweet, little whine sounded in Orion’s throat. His tail gave a twitch before waving through the air. It was soon whipping, his ass moving with it from the sheer eager force. His balls and cocks swung as well in an enticing display.

Nightingale halted his movement without a word, hands lighting on his ass. They spread him open, ready to work his hole with their fingers. But they took pause. They had seen the wetness there and assumed it was precum from his earlier position. But his wildly twitching, swollen-looking hole seemed to be dripping a clear lubricant; like a beast in heat.

There was a scent to him that made Nightingale’s head swim. They felt their cock take up a heavy, demanding throb. Their shaft was burning in their hand as they lined themselves up, a breath shuddering from them as they pressed against the fevered ring of muscle.

Perhaps they could simply just—.

Nightingale carefully breached Orion. He took them with ease and they moaned as they were welcomed by wet, clinging walls. The squeeze was exquisite, tight yet effortlessly accommodating to their shape. A single, slow penetration had Orion wailing with pleasure which compelled Nightingale into fucking him without a second’s thought, eyes wide and heart pounding.

Unbelievable.

Their thrusts were short; despite it all, they still held a distant concern over hurting Orion. They had impetuously shoved themself in after all. But that pulsating heat continued to serve their cock so well, clasping and sucking without resistance. A perfect fuck hole.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Orion chanted, slurred in ecstasy. “It’s never felt this amazing before! Harder…please, harder!”

Nightingale bottomed out with a grunt, pausing as they activated their sigil. There was a surge of heat as their length enlarged to a broad seven inches in Orion’s ass. They grinned at his loud, unsteady moan. Their hips pulled back and rammed them in to the hilt once more.

“That’s it,” they groaned, gripping at Orion’s fur. He whined, his hole pressing in around them, and they began to slam into him. “Good boys get every inch of this cock. Ngh—because they can take it so well. You make me so hard. So wild. Oh, gods…such a good boy!”

Nearly lost in the snap of their own hips, Nightingale almost didn’t notice a strange feeling coming over them. A sensation on their sides just below the ribcage. At first, they thought it might be the sweat pouring off of them and crawling its way downward. But this was different. Like someone had pinched their flesh, pulled, and their body yielded to it far beyond its natural elasticity.

There was no pain. It felt like stretching a muscle—until the moment it escalated to a near-orgasmic pleasure. Nightingale moaned with it and all at once became aware of their ability to move something new. Doing so brought two alien—yet very familiar—appendages into their view; long, dark green tentacles that opened into toothy mouths.

“N-Nightingale?” Orion questioned, the eyes on his back falling onto the new developments. “What’s going—ahhh, fuck.”

It should have frightened Nightingale or at least given them pause. But excitement coursed through them instead. They kept driving themselves into Orion as they fixated with fascination on the tentacles, reason outmatched by the sheer, feral arousal of it all. What would it take for more?

Something in the back of their mind answered. Not with words, but with ideas. Knowledge came to them in an instant and showed Orion as the answer to their heavily aroused query.

They needed more of his cum.

A laugh laced with pleasured noises bubbled from Nightingale. They guided their tentacles to Orion’s drooling cocks and latched on, one in each maw. There was more than enough space in those wet, fleshy sleeves to take him entirely. Orion moaned, long and loud; his face was out of view but it sounded like it came from around a lolling tongue.

“Mmm, you like that?” Nightingale asked.

“Yeeees!” Orion cried, all visible eyes rolling back. “More. More. More. Suck me more!”

Nightingale began to milk him with their tentacles as they relentlessly thrust, pumping at a desperate pace. He throbbed hard in their squeezing confines as precum streamed from him. They could taste it. The saliva at the tentacles’ mouths became profuse, speaking to their eagerness and hunger. Ready to drink him dry.

It didn’t take Orion long to cum this way. His hole clenched as his cocks pulsed with release. The tentacles sucked greedily, not letting slip a single drop of hot, potent cum. Nightingale could feel it travelling through the appendages and into their body.

Give it to me, they chanted internally with a need they could sense wasn’t entirely their own. Give it all to me.

Nightingale kept fucking, plunging deeply into wet, pliant heat. Orion was still hard. He had more to give; they could sense the mutation-driven overproduction of seed taking place inside him. Churning, spurting, primed to burst and sate this madness’ appetite. They would take it all. It was theirs.

Theirs to use; a delicious, addictive means of shucking off the limiting prison that was a human form.

“Let’s feed this together,” they growled, an abyssal tone creeping in with every syllable. “Succumb with me…succumb. Su—cum. Cum. Cum.”

The tentacles drank well with Orion’s frequent orgasms. He was a mess of moans and babbled words; begging for more when he was coherent, wracked by ecstatic shaking. Nightingale’s cock dug for that sensitive spot deep inside him with every thrust, forcing out smaller spurts of cum even when he wasn’t caught in the twitching throes of release.

Nightingale took in his lewd ambrosia, being suddenly struck by the licking tendrils of an otherworldly energy. A heated tingling overtook every inch of their flesh and turned the whole of them into one active pleasure center. Every pounding beat of their heart brought a deep ecstasy, their moans wild as they fucked and swallowed and changed.

A green tinge spread over their skin from their hands, claws sprouting from grasping fingers. Muscle and bone alike swelled and stretched as their body grew. Their large hands were soon able to fully grip Orion’s waist and pull him into their thrusts. The bed creaked threateningly beneath them.

Their skin rippled with emerging scales and a thick mane of fur erupted at their shoulders and upper back. Horns burst from their skull and curled backwards. Facial bones shifted to account for lengthening, sharpening, multiplying teeth and the first of two long tongues that lolled from their jaws as their tailbone pleasurably stretched out into a whip-like, spiny tail. Eyes and mouths opened up where they had no business being.

Nightingale’s head tipped back. “Fuck! Fuuuuuck!”

It was discordant roars as every maw found its voice; tongues lashing, teeth gnashing. More tentacles sprouted from their back and found their way—almost of their own accord—to being pushed in alongside their now-ridged cock in Orion’s hole. They panted and grunted, saliva dripping freely; bearing down on him like the feral, horny beast they now were.

Orion was soft in their sucking tentacles. Though spent, his voice came to them clearly through the haze.

“I need it. I need it…gods, fill me!”

A thick, pulsating knot swelled at the base of Nightingale’s dick and, when the final shift of their form clicked into place, popped in as they came with a warbling howl. Cum poured from them in a rhythmically pumping torrent unlike anything they had ever experienced before. They were locked in, but their hips continued to thrust forward with every throb, rocking Orion forward with their newly acquired superior size.

Nightingale curled over Orion as the pleasure abated; a low, prehistoric-sounding growl rumbling in their heaving chest. The room was suddenly deadly silent. Save for two unsteady breaths and a wet shifting as their connected bodies swayed.

Orion broke it first, shivering beneath them. “Nightingale…are you okay?”

Nightingale could only nod, not yet having caught their breath. They looked down at him, catching his eyes and expecting to find fear or disgust now that the spell of pleasure-chasing had likely faded. But there was awe and a softness in the way the gazing mantle roamed their body. Pure adoration.

He liked this, was Nightingale’s realization. Maybe because he had always been attracted to these things. Or because he was simply looking at his lover with unconditional affection—a loyal dog through and through.

A fierce possessiveness washed over Nightingale. They dismissed Orion’s bindings so they could lay on top of him comfortably, their still-throbbing dick nestled warmly inside. He smelled amazing as they nuzzled their nose into his fur. Mine, they thought, directed at no one. The presence in the back of their mind faded with an air of satisfaction and the planted knowledge that this was permanent; it had passed on what it wanted.

The mixed feelings that brought on lasted a fleeting moment before landing easily on acceptance. Nightingale had always somewhat envied monsters; too much else for people to focus on that the specifics of their gender weren’t often a consideration. It felt right in a way. Comfortable and fitting.

Even as Nightingale settled into the reality of this new body, they were still resolved to find the portal that the being had sprung from. And given this—however exciting—development, they needed to warn their peers as well. Direct visits would be best. To all of them. All who would listen. All with the mind and body to accept It.

Consume. Spawn. Proliferate.

Nightingale’s cock pulsed.

End

Masterlist

[presidenthades]

Sorry I meant favorite characters but my phone changes words and I did not see it

Ah! I like this question too.

This will sound like a cop-out answer, but I really do love the six main characters (Targbros and Velargirls). I could probably write multiple essays about why I love them all, but I’ll try to be concise.

Aegon: He has a very snarky inner monologue that is fun to write, and he isn’t afraid to call people out. It reminds me of what I enjoyed about writing Daemon’s POV. The main difference is that Aegon has a lot more self-doubt. He can be very flippant and sometimes mean to other people, but he’s 10000% soft for Jace and I love the contrast.

Jace: I think of her as my response to the “not like other girls” trend among a lot of fantasy heroines. Jace is like other girls, but she can still be a strong, nuanced character. She embraces her femininity and tries to balance it with the need to appear like an ideal heir in a very sexist world. Jace would love the Barbie movie.

Aemond: He appears very cool and confident on the outside, and he tells himself he’s cool and confident, but if you dig deeper he has plenty of self-doubt and a need for validation. It’s a fun and tricky exercise as a writer to try to convey the multiple layers of his inner monologue. I also enjoy his “holier than thou” attitude when I know karma is coming back for him eventually 😂.

Luce: Her kid self is adorable and I feel so bad whenever I make bad things happen to her 😭. It’s a fun exercise to write her seeing things (like Rhaenyra and Daemon) but not understanding what it really means, because she’s sheltered or a little too young or deliberately ignoring what she doesn’t like. Her older self will be much more observant, and I think she’s going to have a snarky inner monologue like Aegon.

Daeron: Precious golden retriever puppy in human form! He isn’t in the show (yet?) and his book description sounds like a typical Prince Charming, which is…OK. But if you spice it up to “Prince Charming is in love with the dark witch” then it becomes 🔥🔥🔥. Of course he has a lot of growing up to do, but I’m keeping this core dynamic. Not all fantasy male love interests need to be dark and brooding (but I definitely love that trope 🖤).

Joff: Show!Joffrey hasn’t had any lines, and book!Joffrey’s defining traits are devotion to siblings, vengeful, and impetuous. Joff still shares those traits, but she’s more “the wizard behind the screen” instead of the warrior in the open. She’s snarky and can run mental circles around Daemon. She’s also my gateway to exploring more of the ASOIAF magic system. What’s not to love?

[sageserpent]

» a very warm Ōtikmihīyōwiltih your way, you've found your way to 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 . . . a place where secrets of Aztec healers come alive. We invite you to experience the powers of ancient Mesoamerican healing herbs while you're here. Immerse yourself in a fascinating culture, as you explore our carefully curated selection of botanical treasures – from sacred sage used in cleansing rituals all the way to the vibrant marigolds that adorned Aztec altars, we can assure you that you will find what you're looking for. If it's not herbs and spices you long for, feel free to reach out to our knowledgeable shopkeeper 𝐗𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐓𝐋𝐈 (she/they), who's happy to guide you on your healing journey while offering a gateway to long forgotten traditions. «

#𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓: a single muse, selective and independent original character crafted for fakevz. established in november of '23. low activity. german & english. 21+ (!) / promo credit

additional info: Xochitl Techtli, mostly just called 'Xo', is the twenty-six year old apothecary and shopowner of Sage and Serpents, an independent pharmacy located in Albuquerque, known for offering unusual healing methods that seem to work every single time. Rumor has it that people who need more than just the occational ointment leave the store changed, having to face the drastic decision of how much a healing is really worth to them. But those are just urban legends, right?

an exploration in preservation of indigenous knowledge, spirituality and belief systems, interactions with modern society, manipulation , sacrifices and having to find a balance between good and evil.

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 10.3

Lucy hesitated, taking it in.  It wasn’t a grand betrayal.  Toadswallow had his goals and whatever the nuances were, he hadn’t wanted to share them.

the fact that this isn't having an immediate impact is making me nervous it's part of a longer plan from Crooked Rook

The danger is exactly that. Pressure, inexorable, annoying, sapping away enough of your focus

taylorcore

The arrow for War, the forking branch for Nature, the hourglass arrangement of two triangles with points touching for Time, the angular C-shape for Fate, and the gateway, like a keyhole without a floor, for Death. There was another, and it sometimes replaced nature, sometimes overlapped with Fate, for Fortune, but that was a newer thing.

most of these are intuitive, but I'm curious about Fate and Death. Fate is the Threads and the woven object iirc, Death is the Pale and the skull. I'm guessing Fortune would have some kind of circle as a symbol to represent the coin?

she reached into her pocket, found her phone and coiled up earphones, and selected the first song that felt thematic, close to the top of her playlist. Au Rii – Dance Into Dark. A sultry, purring guy’s voice almost straining to push through a backdrop of throbbing, dark instrumentals and a back-backdrop of synths that were just biting enough that they could be hard to listen to.

You would think having these kinds of cues would make putting together a playlist for Pale easier. You would think!

She missed Verona.  The humor, the cleverness, the idea that no matter how bad it got, her friend could pull out an idea and salvage things.  Or partially salvage things.  Verona pushed things and kept them from never falling into a rut. She missed Avery. Avery, who could normally find her way to Lucy’s side even if she was nowhere nearby. Who was decent enough as a person that it felt like Lucy was better off for it.

🥹

When she’d been afraid that this would all mount up, and that everything would fall down in a way that put all the responsibility on her shoulders.  That she’d be essentially alone against a hostile world.

as she has felt everywhere outside her home for most of her life

The music throbbed, helping to center her and make her feel attuned to Death.  Death as something seductive to the guys, because Guilherme flirted with it to add spice to life and John kept on sacrificing his frigging self and Lucy was worried it would one day stick.  Death as dark and uncomfortable and intense as an idea.

queering the attracted-to-Death binary etc etc

Edith looked down at the beginnings of the diagram.  “Don’t.” “Any reason?” Lucy asked. “Because I said not to, Lucy."

don't pull the adult card on her

“An out of control ghoul getting at family members is something that could affect Matthew or me just as easily.  But you, as so many practitioners do, seem to treat binding diagrams and your ability to entrap us in a-” There were two more gunshots. “-cavalier way. It’s easy for you and life altering for us,” Edith finished.

maybe not the time!

“I have fire, she doesn’t like it.  Others have their own ideas.  I want you to trust us, Lucy.”

then stop planning on killing her!

She abandoned the rod, but kept the ring and hot lead ready.  She could spend a minute disarming this arrangement, but… instead she reached out to touch it, laying her hand flat against the side. The weapon ring transformed it into a weapon. A squat, rectangular shotgun. Ball bearings spilled out into the floor as she tipped it down to look at the handle.

clever way to disarm it

“You’re a clever girl, Lucy,” Guilherme said.  “You’ve learned many tricks when separated from your friends.  That’s a cleverness you need to embrace and capture.  You can do this.”

Fae teachers suck! Not the time!

She’d had other scares too.  Her fingers touched her arm where the Nettlewisp had been. You like it too much. Some small, subconscious part of herself had liked being prickly.  She’d liked that aesthetic, the twining vines, the spikes, the barbs.

the aesthetic slapped!

and once again Lucy is back to choosing whether or not to pick up the knife, between being the abrasive principled leader or the diplomat

Alexander had taught them about coup and claim.  She claimed this for herself.  She found the other connections to the other bells in this building and held them firm. Shadowy hands gripped the wire above and below the bell and held it fiercely taut. The bell jostled as smoke reached toward it from one direction, tugging, ready to pull away and jangle, but a reaching out of smoke from the opposite direction made it move back to center instead.

I am mentally pairing this scene with the one from earlier this arc of setting off the bells all at once for visuals for the Lucy song on my playlist

There were answering flashes without noise.  John.  Lucy had never meant for him to keep the silence rune on the gun.  She wondered for a moment if he’d want something more permanent-

awww

“Montague!” Matthew called out.  “Secure the remaining traps!  See if you can’t get the network!  Lucy, signal him!” There was a moment, brief, where it sure seemed like the Witch Hunter had looked at Lucy.

did the Witch Hunter have her name before? Because he seems like the kind of guy who's not averse to using mundane methods to track her down

Lucy had the feeling they’d let him pursue the ghouls, surrounded him from a very wide distance he couldn’t necessarily track, where bells and his influence were thinner, and treated the ghouls as a sacrifice or necessary risk to get the man under control.

the ghouls who are allied with Crooked Rook, not with Edith

Three things happened in the same moment, and there was nothing Lucy could do about it.  Chloe was fast, and Guilherme had taught Lucy about being fast, fighting against fast.  He knew well enough what to do. But Edith was ready, too. Fire erupted between Chloe and everyone else.

I wonder if Edith didn't want Lucy putting up barriers because using fire to contain Chloe instead would give Edith a chance to weaken or kill Chloe with plausible deniability?

She turned her attention to Edith instead. Another burst of flame and the emergence of the Girl by Candlelight made her change her mind. Lucy’s eyes widened as she realized who the most apparent target was.

Or that! Keeping Chloe feral and attacking lets Edith weaken Others (with her own allies not in range?), gives her a chance to get at Lucy, and maybe even deliberately keeps the Witch Hunter in play to whittle down those Others not allied with her

Lucy found the catch that served as the trigger for the little trap, then changed her mind.  She aimed down, twisting her lower body away, and pressed the muzzle against Chloe’s thigh.

kudos to Lucy for trying for non-lethal damage in a situation this dangerous

Her eyes adjusted to the light of the moonlight outside, magnified by the mask she wore, and she saw the chalk. Marred. Smudged out. Chloe leaped past it, catching Lucy. How much of this was intentional?

fuckfuckfuckfuck.

At this point Edith's only barely maintaining plausible deniability, she doesn't care anymore that Lucy knows to not trust her

The fact that the people who had gotten hurt were not their prime suspects.  John, the goblin riff-raff, Guilherme��

people who weren't warned... I guess this is a good sign for trusting Guilherme?

Melissa stopped running, skin tearing away in folds that reached around.  She lifted up off the ground, slender, tall, dark-haired Maricica, looking down at the encircled Witch Hunter. Lucy looked away, hand cupped so she couldn’t see the man. It was clear what would happen.

welp, guess that's dealt with

The sound of it all was too much.  Lucy turned away, walking, without looking at the aftermath. No, there was more aftermath to be had. This wasn’t the sort of thing that settled this easily. The Witch Hunter had friends, he had an employer, and…

GUESS THAT'S DEALT WITH

[squids-and-jellyfish]

The Phantom Thief

part 3

Chapter 2 the Luau

The Luau

   “Ugh I don't know what to wear” she grumbled to herself. How formal was this luau supposed to be? And is it in theme, would everyone be dressed in grassed skirts and Leis around their neck. She kept digging through her unpacked suitcase, clothes strewn across the floor. Finally deciding on a pink tank top and green shorts with a floral trim. Claire grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. Packed the night before with some spices, a juice melon and a few hot peppers. She wanted to be sure she didn't forget anything today. The mayor's words echoed in her mind, everything must be perfect. 

     He had only said to bring ingredients. Surely he meant just that and not an actual dish. She checked the watch on her wrist, 9:45. Shit. No time left to stress about it now. The invitation left at her door this morning said it started promptly at 10. If she left right this instant she could get there on time. Barely. She locked the door behind her before leaving the farm. 

     It took 5 minutes just to get to the town. A relatively small village. It consisted of all the essentials though.  A school, a church, a general store and even an inn. A large sign hung in an old wooden archway, “Misty Cove” symbolized she was officially there. Passing through the gateway she thought to herself, it was aptly named. Each morning the whole village was encased in a misty fog shortly after the sun began to rise. 

   She hurriedly walked passed home after home until she found herself in the village square. Most festivals and events were held there. Any given day it was always busy with chatter and laughter. Bustling with life. Housewives gossiping over a cup of tea sitting at benches. The florist had her daily booth, selling bouquets and seeds. Filling the area with the sweet aroma of various blooms. On nice days the psychic would set up outside beside her. And the bakers coffee and bread would mix with the flowers, outside his shop would smell like home. Edna, who liked to go by Granny, usually was around tending the gardens that encircle the town center while keeping an eye on the children. 

    Today however, it felt like a ghost town. Not a soul in soul sight. Leaving her walk eerily quiet. Without all the fresh scents swirling around, the air smelled almost stale and dusty like an attic. An uneasy feeling sent chills down her spine. Causing her to quicken her pace even more. The small graveyard came into sight.  A large oak sat in the middle surrounded by headstones in various states of crumbling.  The weirdest part was the grass never seemed to grow. Perpetually dead, crispy and brown. You would think if anything the decaying matter acted as a fertilizer.  Encouraging lush green growth. 

    Just a little further she thought. I'm almost there. Music filled her ears as she grew closer to the path for the beach. She relaxed, releasing the breath she had been holding for much longer than she realized.  Relief washed over her as she entered the beach. 

   “You made it!” A loud excited voice boomed. “We were all getting worried you slacked off or forgot about us” the overly cheerful Thomas chuckled. “I was about to deploy a search party for you”. Claire checked her watch again, 10:01. She was a whole one minute late and he was acting like it had been hours. 

   “Now tell me Claire, did you remember the goods?” he asked, winking with the eye behind his monocle. “The …goods?” she started to ask in response but was abruptly cut off. “YES Claire,” Mayor Thomas interjected with a condescending tone raising his eyebrows. “You're best most valuable gold star produce from your farm. Use that beautiful head of yours to think. Silly little peach.” That made her stomach turn. 

    Nudging the man standing next to him, “What did I tell you, she's not very bright is she. Now be a dear will you and go add what you've brought to stew. Can you handle that or do you need one of the men to do it for you?” “I can do it myself” she glared at him before turning to the large pot. 

[kushami-hime]

Ok so I kind of had an idea for a prompt or at least a scene.

It's based off of Inuyasha. When he makes Kagome that liver medicine/potion when she was sick. Well I was thinking kind of the same thing with Bakugou and listener.

Let's say Bakugou is sick and sneezing his brains out, having an absolute miserable time, so listener decides to make him the same medication like Inuyasha did for Kagome or something similar but the scene pretty much plays out like how it was in the episode.

Except he has a more, intense negative response to the medicine (grumpy angy Boi hours over how gross it is), he doesn't get better as fast like Kagome did, aaaand the medicine somehow may make him have a sneeze reaction too but that's up to you as well to imply.

Nonny you had me at I/nuYasha (my beloved gateway anime aaaaah)

this sounds really cute, a lot of potential for fluff as well, maybe there's just a really strong smell from the medicine that sets him off, maybe when he's sick spices get to him more than they would when he's a healthy grumpy boi? :o

[gobboguy]

Welcome to the quaint Fantasy City of Southam, nestled amidst the sprawling forests and rolling hills of the countryside. Though now little more than a large hunting village, Southam was once a thriving settlement that fell into ruin decades ago due to a devastating earthquake. Despite its diminished stature, Southam retains a unique charm and a rich history that echoes through its cobblestone streets and timeworn buildings.

History:

Southam's origins can be traced back to ancient times when it served as a bustling trading post and agricultural center. However, a catastrophic earthquake ravaged the city, leaving much of it in ruins. Over time, Southam was rebuilt as a humble hunting village, its former grandeur a distant memory.

Arts:

Despite its modest size, Southam boasts a vibrant artistic community, with local artisans crafting intricate wood carvings, tapestries, and pottery inspired by the natural beauty of the surrounding landscape. The city's residents also take pride in their traditional folk music and dances, keeping ancient customs alive through spirited performances.

Famous People:

Among Southam's notable figures is Alaric Greenleaf, a renowned hunter and tracker revered for his unparalleled skills in navigating the dense forests that surround the village. Another beloved resident is Elara Songbird, a gifted singer whose melodic voice captivates audiences at the local tavern.

Castle:

At the heart of Southam stands the sturdy Stonekeep Castle, a relic of the city's former glory. Though weathered by time and neglect, the castle's imposing walls and towering towers still stand as a symbol of resilience. Stonekeep Castle serves as a gathering place for the village council and a refuge during times of need.

Food:

The cuisine of Southam is hearty and rustic, reflecting the village's reliance on the bounties of the forest. Game meats such as venison, rabbit, and wild boar are staples of the local diet, often seasoned with aromatic herbs and spices for a burst of flavor. Foraged mushrooms, berries, and nuts complement these savory dishes, providing a taste of the wilderness.

Major Events:

Southam's annual Harvest Festival is a highlight of the village calendar, celebrating the bounty of the land and the community's resilience in the face of adversity. The festival features feasting, music, and traditional games, drawing visitors from neighboring villages to join in the festivities.

Major Exports and Imports:

Southam exports prized furs, cured meats, and handcrafted goods to nearby towns and cities, trading them for essential supplies such as grains, textiles, and tools. The village also serves as a gateway to the wilderness, offering guided hunting expeditions and outdoor adventures to travelers seeking to explore the untamed wilderness.

Beautiful Sights:

A particular structure that catches the eye in Southam is the Whispering Grove, a tranquil clearing nestled within the forest on the outskirts of the village. Here, ancient stone pillars stand sentinel among towering trees, their weathered surfaces adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from Southam's storied past. Legend has it that the Whispering Grove holds mystical powers, granting wisdom and guidance to those who seek solace within its hallowed grounds.

Leader of Southam - Lady Elara Southam:

Lady Elara Southam, a descendant of the village's founding family, inherited leadership of Southam following the untimely death of her father. Raised amidst the rugged beauty of the wilderness, Elara possesses a deep connection to the land and its people. Known for her compassion, wisdom, and unwavering determination, Lady Elara has earned the respect and admiration of the villagers through her tireless efforts to rebuild and revitalize Southam in the wake of the earthquake. Her leadership is characterized by a commitment to preserving Southam's traditions while embracing new opportunities for growth and prosperity.

Welcome to the transformed city of Muggalgrur, once the peaceful Southam, now reshaped into an Orcish stronghold following the invasion five years ago. The vibrant tapestry of Southam's cultural heritage and natural beauty has been replaced by the harsh stamp of Orcish dominance.

City Transformation:

Muggalgrur is little more than a shadow of its former self, now an Orcish inverse of the once-thriving Southam. The elegant architecture and quaint charm have been replaced with crude, imposing structures adorned with Orcish symbols and banners. The streets that once bustled with life are now eerily quiet, save for the occasional grunt or snarl of passing Orc patrols.

Orcish Rule:

Under the iron fist of Warchief Bloodlick, Muggalgrur is governed with ruthless efficiency. The city has become a hub of Orcish activity, with thralls toiling under the watchful eyes of their Orcish overlords. Former citizens of Southam have been reduced to servitude, forced into labor and subjected to the harsh rule of their new masters.

Hunting Lodge:

Castle Stonekeep, once a symbol of Southam's resilience, has been torn down and replaced with an opulent Orcish hunting lodge. The lodge serves as Warchief Bloodlick's residence, boasting lavish furnishings and adorned with trophies of Orcish conquests. From its imposing halls, Bloodlick oversees the city's operations with a keen eye and an iron will.

Leader of Muggalgrur - Warchief Bloodlick:

Warchief Bloodlick, a short but powerful Orc known for his mastery of horseback riding, rules Muggalgrur with an iron fist. He earned his title through bloodshed and cunning, rising through the ranks of the Orcish horde to claim leadership of the city. Bloodlick's leadership is characterized by brutality and ruthlessness, with dissenters swiftly dealt with and obedience demanded without question.

Alaric Greenleaf and Elara Songbird:

Alaric Greenleaf, once a revered hunter of Southam, met his demise defending the city against the Orcish invaders. His corpse now hangs from a cage at the city entrance, a grim reminder of the price of resistance. Elara Songbird, once a beloved singer, has been reduced to a thrall in service to Warchief Bloodlick. Forced to sing every night as the Orcs dine in their opulent lodge, her melodic voice now serves as a haunting echo of Muggalgrur's tragic transformation.

Exports and Imports:

Muggalgrur exports weapons, armor, and enslaved thralls to neighboring Orcish strongholds, fueling the war machine of the Orcish horde. The city imports rare materials, precious gems, and luxury goods to satisfy the extravagant tastes of its ruling class.

Orcish Sights:

A particular sight in Muggalgrur is the Sacrificial Altar of MOG, located within the once-tranquil Whispering Grove. Here, Orc Priestesses perform gruesome rituals during the Harvest Festival, sacrificing a Snaga virgin to appease the bloodthirsty deity. The grove, once a place of serenity and reflection, now echoes with the chilling chants of Orcish worshipers and the cries of sacrificial victims.

Harvest Festival:

The Harvest Festival has been transformed into a celebration of Orcish farming, where thralls are forced to dig up Orcroot bulbs, Thistlepods, Sweetleaf, and Zaza, Orc crops that are only palatable to their Orcish masters. The festival is a grim reminder of the thralls' servitude and the Orcs' complete domination over the land and its resources.

Muggalgrur stands as a stark reminder of the brutality of Orcish conquest, its once-proud heritage twisted into a grotesque mockery of its former self. Under the oppressive rule of Warchief Bloodlick, the city's inhabitants suffer in silence, their spirits broken and their hopes for freedom extinguished in the shadow of Orcish tyranny.

[lilicohirukoma]

What are your honest thoughts on:

Claudine Frollo

Li Shang Jr

Harriet Hook

Anthony Tremaine

Based on what you read about them in the books?

I'm loving all these asks

Claudine Frollo. She's interesting, Frollo is commonly cited as one of the worst villains so seeing his child while a bit impractical (he appeared pretty old) is cool! However I feel like she's underused, depending on the route they went she could've been a Quasimodo like character and represented the main moral conflict of the series/her father's movie well: She's condemned for being Frollo's daughter like Quasi was condemned for being deformed. Who is the monster and who is the man, Beast is the monster for banishing the children.

They also could've made her a terrifying force to be reckoned with. Think of this: the Isle is hopeless, depressing and it's hard to believe anyone there is in a good mental state. This is an easy gateway into baiting people into religion (as a matter of fact this is a common cult recruitment tactic) and then controlling their lives. Imagine crazy cult leader Claudine who has a group of people on the isle who are willing to do anything for God aka her, even die.

Canon Claudine is unfortunately nothing like this, she is a blank page of a person. If she were a spice she'd be flour. Descendants is honestly the mother of all wasted character potential and she's a great example.

Li Shang Jr. I have less to say about him, again he doesn't have anything unique to offer. He is the R.O.A.R captain which is expected considering his parents and is kind to Jay, coaching him in the sport. I see less potential in him tbh but that's likely bc (unpopular opinion) I don't care too much for Mulan (not a bad movie at all it just isnt for me.)

Harriet Hook. I like her! She's a tough girl with a soft spot for her siblings and Hook's crew their children. Also she is in a Crocodile fighting club, like what a woman. Now I do need to be honest and say her character isn't mindblowing but that's fine, she's not a main character and more there to color the world a bit. I wouldn't mind a spin off about her life.

Anthony Tremaine. He's funny to me, an entitled spoiled brat who needs attention. Kind of in the same vein as Prince John from Robin Hood. He acts the most like I'd expect him to and that's nice. I don't really understand why he and Dizzy are so different (I'd say Anastasia was the better sister but hey if Cinderella had Chad for a kid anything can happen.) He doesn't really stick out to me to be honest but I don't dislike him!

Sorry for the whole creative writing project on Claudine, I couldn't stop myself.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Gerald Early

Published: Jul 19, 2023

In the spring of 2020, I taught a class at Washington University in St. Louis entitled “Black Conservatives and Their Discontent: African Americans and Conservatism in America.” Eight students enrolled in the course, all of them Black. Among the readings were portions of Shelby Steele’s The Content of Our Character: A New Vision of Race in America. On one particular day, we were concentrating on Steele’s objections to affirmative action. Steele made the standard anti-affirmative-action arguments: It stigmatizes Black people as inferior and fills them with self-doubt in a mostly white setting; it makes them trade on their past of victimization; it does not improve life for most Black people. When I asked my students what they thought of these views, they did not say much at first, probably waiting to see someone else commit. Finally, one of the more activist-minded among them said that he agreed with everything that Steele said about affirmative action, which he thought shamed Black people. But, he added, with strong emotion, “I hate Steele for saying it.”

There is an adage in football, this student explained: Take what your opponents give you, even if it is not exactly what you want. The ice broken and the tone for discussion set, the rest of the class agreed. Everyone disliked affirmative action and Shelby Steele in equal measure. It was a strange revelation, for all of us in that room knew that affirmative action had made this moment possible, both for me, as a Black professor at a prominently white university, and for them, as Black undergraduates at that same institution. At that moment, it was if the same realization struck us all: What does it mean that affirmative action brought us all here to criticize affirmative action? Why are we here? Therein lies a complex story of Black people’s feelings about affirmative action as both a gateway and a burden.

“For all its imperfections,” the sociologist Orlando Patterson wrote in his 1997 book The Ordeal of Integration, “affirmative action has made a major difference in the lives of women and minorities. … In utilitarian terms it is hard to find a program that has brought so much gain to so many at so little cost. It has been the single most important factor accounting for the rise of a significant Afro-American middle class.” It was the notion that I could more easily become a middle-class professional in the white world that led me to attend the University of Pennsylvania as an undergraduate in 1970, at the beginning of the era of affirmative action in college admissions. My family thought going to Penn was a great opportunity. My sisters had attended Temple University, the working-class college, but Penn was Ivy League, a high-status school. It could open more doors for a kid of my background, so everyone thought. Perhaps it did. I cannot say for sure.

There were a few things all of us Black kids who came to Penn in that year knew. We were the aggrieved and underprivileged being given access to education’s La La Land. We were expected to be a bit churlish — diversity must have its spice of difference and social adjustment — but also dazzled by the riches. We were Dorothy in Oz with a chip on our shoulders. Second, we knew we all felt varying degrees of severe inadequacy. Huddling together sometimes eased the dislocation, but it sometimes made it worse, reinforcing the sense of being a grunt lost in the gun smoke of a war. Finally, we all knew that this largess was not going to last. There was an expiration date to affirmative action. Everyone said so: jurists, civil-rights leaders, politicians, and folks on the street. “You better get it while you can,” I remember one Black co-ed telling me, “The white folks won’t keep the gates open forever. Once it’s closed, they’ll say, ‘we gave you your chance.’ White folks’ bouts of doing right by the Negro don’t usually last long.” Realizing this made everything seem urgent to me. I felt a bit like Jesus’ disciples immediately after he died: The end could come any day now.

Black Americans have had ambivalent feelings about affirmative action since its inception in the 1960s. Though the extent and implications of the policy have changed radically over time, it has never benefited more than a small minority of Black people. Yet its symbolic importance has been enormous, especially in how it has affected the culture of higher education. Once a few Black students were admitted to elite and prominently white universities, they began to exert pressure from within to admit more Black students and hire more Black faculty. This was the fight against tokenism. The two populations of Black students and Black faculty were intertwined as a political force; together, they helped to change higher education in the United States. (The other major American institution as deeply affected by affirmative action has been the military.) What made affirmative action important for so many Black people, despite the fact that comparatively few directly benefited from this rather boutique social policy, was that it changed the way we thought about where Black people could be or where they belonged. If it was not quite the broad-based intervention Black Americans needed, they were still happy to take what they made their opponents give them.

But if affirmative action was viewed as a civil-rights victory by many Black people it never directly benefited, it often became a source of embarrassment for some it did. In college admissions, affirmative action effectively protected Black students from competing against non-Black students. Black people felt stigmatized by affirmative action because it came to mean that you had lesser qualifications — that you were admitted to a college or appointed to a job merely because of your race. In academe, a whole phalanx of jobs — including appointments in African American studies, in diversity, equity, and inclusion offices, and the like — became “race” jobs, jobs that existed in part in order to diversify the campus. Many Black people do not hold these jobs in as high a regard as, say, being the dean of an engineering or medical school. (For instance, my mother, who never understood the nature of my job but was exceedingly proud of whatever it was, would never introduce me as a professor of African American studies but rather as a professor of English.) Many Black parents do not wish their children to major in or even take courses in African American studies, as they don’t think of it as a practical or prestigious field of study. But the phenomenon of “race herding” on college campuses — students and faculty of color clustering in disciplines directly related to race — is partly misunderstood: Colleges, by their administrative nature, tend to encourage cliques, silos, and fiefdoms as vectors of power. Black people, in part, are just conforming to the academic environment, by using the element that got us in the door: our race.

This institutional development over the past 50 years has made some Black people feel uneasy about, if not ashamed of, affirmative action, and led many Black elites on both the right and the left to deny that they ever benefited from it. How can one feel pride in winning something that perversely acknowledges, or even rewards, your historically induced inadequacies? Affirmative action seems to say not just that racism persists, but that there is — still — something lacking in Black life.

While the liberal-leaning Black majority has always had mixed feelings about affirmative action, Black conservatives have been virtually unanimous in opposing it. Indeed, they have had to, if they wanted to be taken seriously by their White conservative allies. As Justice Clarence Thomas of the U.S. Supreme Court, the most prominent Black conservative in the country, wrote in his 1991 essay, “No Room at the Inn: The Loneliness of the Black Conservative”: “For blacks the litmus test” for conservatism “was fairly clear. You must be against affirmative action and against welfare.” This point is reiterated more recently in the sociologist Corey D. Fields’s Black Elephants in the Room: The Unexpected Politics of African American Republicans, which states that many Black Republicans “thought affirmative action served as a test to gauge their relative commitments to the GOP and to their fellow African Americans, particularly since the issue could easily be framed as putting race and partisanship in direct opposition.” Because Black conservatives were looked upon with suspicion by their white counterparts, suspected of prioritizing racial self-interest above ideology, they had to constantly prove themselves. This pressure was intensified by the fact that Black conservatives had little leverage among conservatives, as so few Black people voted for Republicans. Black conservatives did not bring any sort of sizable constituency with them. Of course, to have Black conservatives espouse policies that white conservatives also supported protected them, or seemed to, from the charge of racism, since conservatism and racism in the United States have long been intertwined.

For Thomas, opposition to affirmative action is a not merely a test of conservative allegiance but a principle to be defended against the wrong-headedness of Black liberalism. His 57-page concurrence to the majority decision in Students for Fair Admissions Inc. v. President and Fellows of Harvard College is a full-throated denunciation of affirmative action as a shameful and cynical form of institutionalized special pleading on behalf of Black people. He advances, once again, the paradoxical position that Black Americans can best press their claims as a special interest group by behaving as if we had no racial grievances and accepting the basic aspirational fairness of a colorblind society.

Thomas argues that “the Constitution continues to embody a simple truth: Two discriminatory wrongs cannot make a right.” The U.S. Constitution does not allow punitive racial discrimination, but it also does not permit, as the dissenters argue, any sort of compensatory racial discrimination as amelioration for past discrimination. It does not permit racial discrimination — period. He proceeds “to offer an originalist defense of the colorblind Constitution.” Part of this defense is countering the “‘antisubordination’ view of the 14th Amendment: that the amendment forbids only laws that hurt, but not help blacks.” There are two overall points that Thomas makes. The first is the legal one about the constitutionality of racial discrimination. The second is social and practical, regarding whether discriminating in favor of a racial group really winds up helping that group. The dissenters argue that affirmative action is “‘good’ for black students.” “Though I do not doubt the sincerity of my dissenting colleagues’ beliefs,” Thomas responds, “experts and elites have been wrong before — and they may prove to be wrong again.” Thomas is expressing doubt about the insistence of Black liberals that Black Americans can only achieve their full citizenship claims through racially specific emoluments. He thinks that belief is not only specious but has damaged Black people, by effectively making them more racially self-conscious.

In portions of his concurrence, Thomas offers a mildly chauvinistic version of Black history that, on the whole, shows us as a striving, hard-working folk who had intact families, full employment, and excellent schools, like the legendary Paul Laurence Dunbar High School, in Washington D.C. We Blacks went along on our self-reliant, religiously conservative, social valiant way until something called social-welfare programs in the 1960s came along, and Black progress came to a crashing halt: a virtuous, dignified people made into dysfunctional dependents overnight. (This declension story is much indebted to the economist Thomas Sowell, an intellectual who has had an enormous impact on Thomas; he refers to five different works by Sowell in his concurrence.)

Such jeremiads against the welfare state are the way Black conservatives display race pride: by telling the race to be true to itself and abhor the aberrations of liberalism and leftism. For the Black conservative, Black people being liberal or leftist is essentially inauthentic. After all, we are reminded by white Republicans and conservatives, as well Black conservatives themselves, how brave Black Republicans are for taking the positions that they do in the face of admittedly bitter and sometimes unfair or opportunistic attacks from Blacks who are, to use the conservatives’ language, still on the liberal plantation. These attacks are proof of the Black conservative’s sincerity. Black Americans were noble once, coming out of the hellfire of slavery, and they can be noble again, by following the conservative platitudes of responsibility, rectitude, and respectability.

Thomas details the principal points of the Black conservative’s opposition to affirmative action: It violates the colorblind intentions of the constitution, particularly the 14th Amendment; it stigmatizes Black people as inferior and in need of help; highly selective colleges that accept Black students who do not meet their admissions standards only hurt and demoralize these students; affirmative action helps only a small number of bourgeois-aspiring Black people. Nothing new in any of that.

Thomas’s concurrence is especially strident in its criticism of the dissents of his fellow Supreme Court judges, the liberal justices Ketanji Brown Jackson and Sonia Sotomayor. At one point, Thomas characterizes Jackson’s linkage of slavery and white inherited wealth as locking Black people into a “seemingly perpetual inferior caste” as “irrational,” “an insult to individual achievement and cancerous to young minds seeking to push through barriers, rather than consign themselves to permanent victimhood.”

Finally, Thomas emphasizes in his concurrence his intense dislike of racial categories, which he thinks “are little more than stereotypes, suggesting that immutable characteristics somehow conclusively determine a person’s ideology, beliefs, and abilities.” Orlando Patterson strikes a different chord: “The simple truth, the simple reality, is that ‘racial’ categorization is a fact of American life, one that we can do away with only by first acknowledging it.” Patterson’s view, like those of many other supporters of affirmative action, is that the virus that made you ill can be made into the vaccine that cures you. But if racism is evil, Black conservatives like Thomas would argue, how can the fruits of racism be good? To think as Patterson and other Black liberals do validates the logic of racism as something that can be manipulated but never transcended.

For Thomas, the ongoing insistence on racial categorization is the inevitable result of protest politics, which revels in the charisma of the category as identity. What Black conservatives fear is that Black Americans overvalue the power and the repetition of protest, which intensifies our experience as an immutable social category, which is why Black conservatives complain so passionately about Black people clinging to victimhood. This is the category-binding that denies Black people transcendence, any hope of escaping race consciousness, or of having a full-fledged, authentic life, as the Black conservative sees it. To glorify protest, Thomas and other Black conservatives argue, is simply to reduce Black people to anger and reaction.

There has been much mourning for affirmative action among liberals of all races in the past couple of weeks. But a recent Economist/YouGov survey found that 44 percent of Black people supported the court’s decision to end affirmative action, while only 36 percent oppose it. Perhaps affirmative action has been more of a burden on us than we have been willing to admit, and Thomas’s triumph may speak for more Black Americans than we realize. Will the strange hope in colorblindness in a country crazed by color save us from the tyranny of our categorization? It is actually touching that some Black folk think it can.

[ Via: https://archive.is/Vj1Jx ]

[ausetkmt]

At ChòpnBlọk in Houston, customers line up for dishes like the Golden bowl, which includes jollof rice with a Creole twist, plantains, roasted cauliflower and brussels sprouts served with a vegan curry.Credit...Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

West African Chefs Take a Page From the Fast-Casual Playbook

For these second-generation business owners, the familiar format offers a gateway to a wider audience.

At ChòpnBlọk in Houston, customers line up for dishes like the Golden bowl, which includes jollof rice with a Creole twist, plantains, roasted cauliflower and brussels sprouts served with a vegan curry.Credit...Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Oct. 3, 2022

HOUSTON — At POST Houston, a popular food hall, the lines stretch long for ChòpnBlọk, where the Nigerian American owner Ope Amosu offers a familiar customizable template — rice, vegetables, protein — that are deeply influenced by his West African pride, and his London-born, Houston-raised identity.

Take the Golden, a nod to the Gold Coast of West Africa — and to Mr. Amosu’s stint as a prep cook at Chipotle while still working as a corporate sales executive. The hearty meal includes smoky jollof rice with a Creole twist, plantains, roasted cauliflower and brussels sprouts, and comes with a vegan honey bean coconut curry that’s at once sweet and alluringly tangy. To top it all, customers can choose from various proteins marinated in Cameroon pepper.

The traditional West African restaurants that dot southwest Houston are cozy, dimly lit spaces and often family-owned. But at restaurants like ChòpnBlọk, which regularly appears on the city’s dining lists and is lauded on social media by celebrities like the “Insecure” star Yvonne Orji and the rappers Jidenna and Wale, the West African flavors and staples are quicker, more casual and — their owners argue — more accessible to non-African diners.

“We’re not trying to convince people our food is good or worthy — we already know that it is,” Mr. Amosu said. “I am, however, trying to tell our story and welcome people in who may be nervous about going to a place that feels a bit unfamiliar.”

In food halls, strip malls and shopping centers across the United States, fast-casual West African restaurants are proliferating, and the second-generation owners behind them are at once showcasing the range of these cuisines and debunking reductive myths about them.

At the Senegalese chef Pierre Thiam’s restaurant Teranga in New York City, deeply flavored customizable grain bowls help to counter racist Western perceptions that can diminish the value of the region’s cuisine.

“I hope that it helps dispel the lies that make you think of Africa as a continent of scarcity,” Mr. Thiam said. “There’s so much abundance, and there’s so much creativity that’s coming from the continent, and we get to show them that story through our food.”

The fast-casual model allows West African chefs to preserve the region’s classic flavors as well as incorporate elements of their American upbringings in a format that is recognizable to diners less familiar with the cuisine.

“We’re creating a gateway to West African food,” said Olumide Shokunbi, the owner of Spice Kitchen in Brentwood, Md.

Like Mr. Amosu, Mr. Shokunbi attended the school of Chipotle — one of the nation’s best examples of fast-casual success. During college, he began working at a Chipotle franchise on the side as he explored opening his own business.

His Spice Kitchen adopts some central components of the fast-casual model: biodegradable serving bowls, customizable meals and a varied interpretation of storied cuisines. Since it opened last fall, the restaurant has offered salmon and shrimp alongside suya — Nigerian seasoned, skewered and grilled meats — and sides like spinach efo riro, jollof rice and grilled corn.

At Suya Suya West African Grill in Philadelphia, the owner Dera Nd-Ezuma, who developed a love for tacos after immigrating from Abuja, Nigeria, to New Jersey in 2007, takes a similar approach. To amplify traditional dishes like steak marinated in Nigerian yaji, Mr. Nd-Ezuma leans into his love of tacos and offers them filled with chicken and steak suya in the requisite brown to-go container.

“There’s a reason why our restaurants are finding success,” he added. “People want to experience this cuisine, and they want to do it in a way that feels comfortable.”

Having gone to many of the city’s more conventional Nigerian restaurants, Mr. Nd-Ezuma said he sometimes found the atmosphere intimidating.

“When I get to go to African restaurants and I try to order, the menu can be a little bit overwhelming, so I can only imagine what it’s like for non-Africans,” Mr. Nd-Ezuma said.

Citing a psychology construct called “openness to experience,” which is a high predictor of whether someone would try different cuisines, Germine Awad, a professor of psychology at the University of Michigan, said that it’s not how something is served that draws patrons in, but rather their natural curiosity levels.

The growing interest in West African food within the restaurant industry aligns with immigration trends. “The more folks that come, the higher the demand for food that’s authentic and a true reflection of that community,” Ms. Awad said.

In 1980, there were about 40,000 West African immigrants living in the United States, according to data from the Pew Research Center. By 2019, that number had grown exponentially, to 890,000. Nigerian immigrants are the largest group from the region, with the most sizable communities living in cities like Atlanta, Dallas, Houston, New York City and Washington, D.C.

The inevitable expansion of fast-casual West African restaurants will continue bringing these foodways to the forefront of American dining — an overdue change, Ms. Awad believes, in the culinary world.

“It’s not just enough to have these restaurants available to people, this cuisine has to be recognized for how complex and amazing it is,” she said. “That’s the true next step for expanding the idea of the average culinary experience in the United States.”

At Teranga in San Francisco (no relation to Mr. Thiam’s restaurant), the Senegalese chef Nafy Flatley-Ba creates dishes like chicken drumsticks marinated in baobab, tamarind and Dijon, a family specialty. Highlighting Senegalese flavors is a top priority for Ms. Flatley-Ba, but equally important is showing that women can and should play a leading role in contemporary West African dining.

“It hasn’t been easy to introduce fast-casual, yet super nutritious and healthy West African food,” Ms. Flatley-Ba said. “But I have been doing it.”

Some conventional West African diners might complain that the foods at these fast-casual restaurants isn’t traditional. But that’s not Mr. Amosu’s primary concern at ChòpnBlọk. The restaurant is a chance to revel in his heritage, by creating dishes that expand on the narratives of the region’s cuisines.

“Our stuff bangs, too, and everybody should know about it,” Mr. Amosu said. “There’s no reason why we should be so insular with the pride that we have for our culture.”

Authenticity and fast-casual service aren’t mutually exclusive, and Hema Agwu and Folusho Adeyemo, the Nigerian American owners of Brooklyn Suya in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, have no interest in compromising West African flavors to please Western appetites.

“It’s all about finding the balance of being both authentic and contemporary, you know, and open for a new audience,” Mr. Agwu said.

The menu reflects multiple cultures, integrating American ingredients like kale and avocado into their suya bowls, which can come with shrimp, chicken, eggplant or tofu marinated in suya spice. But the real common ground, Mr. Agwu said, comes on the side.

“Americans love sauce,” Mr. Agwu said. “We have to give the people what they want.”

[excaive]

So there’s plant parasites right? Could someone with a plant parasite theoretically photosynthesize if it were a trait they got from one? -🐉✨

There are parasites that come from plants! But saying there are plant parasites wouldn't be wrong either :3

Generally they're called floral parasites - and it wouldn't be unlikely that there'd be a (major) floral parasite that would photosynthesize, and that could translate into giving the host more energy or endurance to keep up some physical work more than average :]

I feel like it would most commonly be an attribute the parasite has rather than the host photosynthesizing - but it would depend on the parasite type.

Like I have a handful of categories for major parasites, but they can overlap SO much, so there's a lot of variation between parasites.

The face of major floral parasites would be Spiced Mint Parasites. These are just a specific floral parasite that comes from a plant called Spiced Mint. It's just weed but minty basically lol.

Major Floral Parasites general attributes:

Gateway patterns - Visual manifestation on skin (pattern, tattoo, different texture) Often organic designs.

Conditional: Host must ingest/smoke the parasite’s origin plant to keep it healthy. Frequency varies between subtypes

Affects smell - for the better or worse.

Parasite can detach from the host’s body - ghosty, light appearance and is semi-solid by default, but can be touched through or become solid. Maintaining physical form can’t be sustained for long periods. Shape varies.

Depending on type, the parasite can allow the host to breathe unbothered in specific conditions (e.g. underwater, in high humidity, high altitudes, in smoke or any harmful gas. Might even convert breathed chemicals into something useful for other attributes)

This isn't like an exhaustive list, it's just like the most common attributes related to floral parasites, and again, there is a lot of variation between parasites :]

Something like photosynthesizing could also be another attribute for the floral parasite to maintain its ability to manifest physically. It could be something to sustain another attribute like.... idk maybe being able to cool down the host on a hot day. something like that this isn't something I've thought about before, so thank you for asking so I can explore it :] 💖

[missamyrisa2]

I know this is odd but here goes .. .. I grew up with a couple slightly different methods of tickling one of which was scratching soles. You know like your scratching an itch? A little firmly too! Proper long scratching up and down from heels to toes and back again repeatedly. I know this sounds weird but trust me it’s unbearably ticklish and always worked on all my friends. Now it’s still one of my go to moves. has anyone ever heard of this or tried or experienced it? I feel its a bit niche

So I never got into that as a tickly sensation until I had a session where my tickler was using a metal back scratcher. I was a little leery that it wouldn't tickle but much to my surprise the bite of the scratch on my soles was massively tickly. Her technique was to place the scratchy part right under my pinky toe, on that fleshy spot of sensitivity, rest it there for a moment, and make a long diagonal swipe down, then back up at a different angle to rake a new line, and back down on a similar modification. I could map out exactly where that wicked tool scratched across my sole because that is an etched in stone tickle memory for me ~ mmmh! I'm giggly wiggly toe crunchy just thinking about it! She would pause occasionally too, just lightly tapping the scratcher at the starting point before smirking and going back for more ~ unless it was to take a break and apply another round of baby oil or lightly slap my soles with the backside of the scratcher.

In short yes~~ I know the sensation well now, and as I do, I take every tickle technique used on me and add it to my collective with my own spice~ When I want to get scratchy scratchy I like to ramp up in a line of sensations. You know what makeup tool doesn't get enough love? The mascara wand. You have to get one with longer spikes, but they can be such a neat little kindling tool, spinning in the valley under the toes, twirling between, maybe even dipping into the navel. It's like the gateway scratcher. From there a scalp massager does wonders, all those little metal arms jingling and giving nubby touches that are like the scratchies to follow, but gentle ~ it warms up the ticklish nerves on the soles and sides and belly quite well. From there, I'll bring out the bamboo paddle brush. Again, not quite scratching yet but we're getting there. Now it's a collective of nubs all working in a line to warm up the skin and get the giggles flowing with ample pressure. I love to hold a big toe and just work my hairbrush merrily while humming a melody mimicking your laughs ~<3

The oil has to come next ~ so giggly, and wiggly ~ you think it's a nice break, especially when I start massaging the slippery solution onto your soles and over your midsection in loving rubs with warm smiles. But there's a tiny grin forming on the corner of my mouth~ my cheek is receding to bare the intent. I'll wait until you're nice and relaxed, enjoying my gentle touches, and that's when my fingers will spring up and my nails will apply full force with scratchies on your soles. "Yeahhhh that's what I thought~!" I'll tease, digging my nails under the toes, raking downwards with spidering scribbles all around. Good thing your tickle spots were all properly mapped out and warmed up ahead of time~ why, even the slightest scratchy tickle will be a devastating attack~ especially when I load up my off-hand (left handed ticklers for life!) with the spikey shampoo brush, which equips right to my fingers so nicely and adds a wonderful new sensation to the mix. 

And be ready ~ because I’m not stopping at pinkening up those soles ~ ooh yes, we’re going to rosy up that belly next. The best part is that because you’re so giggly, and because I can just pinch at your sides and hips to make you wiggle more, I can simply hold my hairbrush to your tummy and let you do alll the work getting that skin so cutely blushy. Ooh, but that’s not all I’ll do, because there’s one scratchy tickle I haven’t dropped yet, and I always save it for last. With a primal tickly grin, my teeth are bared, and making a course for your tender belly. The tickle bite takes finesse ~ but I’ve had plenty of practice on helpless adorable tummies. My lips probe and glide around looking for that sweet spot, and when they do a muah marks the target, and my teeth begin grazing back and forth ~ just drawing out all that lovely sensation for you~ 

Don’t fret ~ because I’m not stopping there either ~ because now I have a hunger for your tickle spots anew, and my tickle bites are coming right for those soles next. You’ll be calling me tickle mommy all night when I hold your toes back and give each one a little love bite ~<3

[m1ckeyb3rry]

LMAO the double whammy sassy asshole dynamic is so funny but I get what you mean about its practicality LOL I’m ngl between the Isagi post and this I wonder if rewatching bllk this time is gonna lead to isagism LOL Ok but genuinely my other thought was maybe more Barou appreciation!! Or maybe if you come across a tiktok edit to some fire music of a scene in s1 it could be someone completely random/new!

STOP THE KIYORA KNITTING HC IS SO REAL??? I don’t even know how to describe it but heavy on this vibe like, especially with the “not hiding just not brought up” part you kinda cooked with that…also bro the chokehold Rio had on me….talk about gateway bird media

SSHSHS OK IM GLAD LMAOOO the hiatus scare concept honestly just shows your dedication like no one’s doing it like you…we all trust you’ll cook LMAOO

The work you do for Karasu nation is immeasurably truly…ok but I can’t wait for whatever you write next!! The request lineup honestly slaps excited for another Mira banger o7

BRO THE EDIT??? You made that a little too fast but omfg I see it….it’s literally them….

Pause the good ≠ popular thing is so real like….just because something was captivating enough to become popular doesn’t necessarily equate to it actually being thought out well either…I mean there’s several cases where the art style can just be really good or the characters are good looking and it’s enough to get people to read….

I truly think that the inability to understand the concept constructive criticism is like biggest issue plaguing communities like you are required to absolutely love every part of something like hello….

The jjk hype build up/bait is honestly so real though…you can kinda feel it in how gege handles things that he can be reliant on shock factor of capsized to try and spice things up…

Honestly same the rat tails are a no no for me….i also think in terms of more assholey characters i much prefer ones like Karasu over Kaiser LOL

Noel noa being a paid actor would be so real HAHA I can imagine that they’d maybe even just go to sign marriage documents and wouldn’t really even have a full ceremony! I don’t really know enough about weddings to say much beyond that but yeah LMAO

Ok but wait circling back, how’s the dub LMAOO any character updates….

- Karasu anon

EEK DON’T MANIFEST ISAGISM FOR ME!! i just got to second selection but i will keep my thoughts to myself until i’ve finished all of season one…also it’s so funny to see characters from the manga in the background DHDJSKS even though they never put KARASU there 😒 maybe it’s because his hair is just so obviously not side character worthy that it would stick out too much?? like less of an easter egg and more of a “look at these guys”

LMAOO kiyora is mine now 😈 and oh i loved the rio movies too!! as a bird stan it truly is the perfect movie but also in general it’s such a fun and vibrant film PLUS it’s surprisingly heavy given the intended audience

i prefer to slow cook full course dinners instead making of super quick microwave meal fics 🙏🏻 JFJDSJ that was silly but ykwim

it’s truly always a surprise what i’m going to post next i feel 😭 but agreed there’s a lot of cool stuff in my inbox that i’m excited about writing!! plus karasu nation will be fed trust i have more than a couple of requests for him as you know so i will be back 🤩

THE EDIT HAD ME CACKLING BECAUSE IT FITS TOOOO WELL 😨 kaneshiro if you’re listening give us yuki x gagamaru PLEASE they both need friends so bad

no exactly i mean me personally if an art style is good i’ll watch something that’s otherwise mediocre…you see it a LOT with manhwa too where people will gas up the most mid villainess isekai abusive male lead shit ever because of the art style 😭 and yeah the day that people realize what constructive criticism actually is will be the day we reach peace in online fandom spaces

YESS when i think asshole character i imagine like sassy jerk who’s secretly a sweetheart (karasu or barou) NOT someone who is genuinely questionable at times 😟 i think it’s a matter of lightheartedness like with characters such as karasu you know that half of the time they’re just saying bs because they’re trying to tease you but kaiser lowkey means it fr 😭 idk he’s not my fav but that doesn’t stop me from writing him if people request it HAHA

okay i actually rlly like the dub surprisingly!!! i LOVE anri’s voice (probably more than the sub) she just sounds sm more mature and actually in control of things?? her and ego’s interactions also feels more equal somehow even though the lines they’re saying are the same…smth abt the tone though makes it feel less like ego’s degrading anri and more like he’s just kind of a shithead 😭 and oddly enough i rlly enjoy niko’s voice?? it’s very satisfying to listen to somehow 🤩 everyone else’s are pretty fine so far except nagi’s 😰 lowkey i don’t really like nagi’s dub he just doesn’t sound the way i imagined nagi would 😓 his japanese VA is just too iconic ig…also i haven’t gotten there yet but i think i saw a clip of karasu’s dub from the last ep of season one and i remember not rlly liking that either 💔 he was kinda too rough sounding i think i pictured him to have less of a harsh voice and something smoother 😩 but it was also only one line so maybe i’ll like it more in the future?? not that i plan on watching s2 in dub at least at first 🤔 i will say the dub does an excellent job of feeling realistic in terms of the dialogue lines and slang…like yes this is exactly what these losers should sound like LMAOAOA it’s honestly pretty funny at times

[umichenginabroad]

Let the games begin: The Last Hurrah :(

Week 10

It’s our last full week here! Time really flew by and I can’t believe that I’ll be back in Michigan soon. To make the most of it, we stayed booked and busy to cross things off our San Sebastián bucket list. For the remaining days of our research, we also had a lot to finish up for final presentations. No more afternoon naps, we had to make this final rally count!

My week technically started on Tuesday due to the unfortunate bus situation from over the weekend (read last week’s post for that experience). I went to the beach to soak up some rays and then Jayashree and I went to this restaurant called The Yellow Deli. Maybe this is a hot take but I would say that this became one of my favorite spots to eat in all of San Sebastián, even though it doesn’t specialize in pintxos. It was mainly the vibe of the place that we enjoyed the most since it was like a funky woodland medieval tavern. The cheesecake and hot cider were a perfect combo of pure delish. Mateo always raves about the cheesecakes he eats everywhere he goes but I think he’s really missing out on this one.

On Wednesday we went to La Mamma, our favorite pasta place, since Izzy hadn’t been yet. This time, Deidra decided to try a new dish and I’ve honestly never seen someone experience that much anguish over food before. At first, she said it had a little bit of a kick to it but that didn’t seem to phase her yet. As time went on, poor Deidra started to crumble and it was obvious that the spice was winning. Sweat, tears, and hopefully not blood went into Deidra persevering like a champ through her pasta. Very proud of her for that effort, and I would show a pic of the aftermath but she’d probably kill me if I did so here’s us before Deidra’s five stages of grief:

Bataplán Thursday! At long last we got Izzy and Diego to go to the club with us for one last night out. The funny thing is that Diego kept trying to convince himself to not go but this guy ended up being the life of the party. The club life in Spain starts late and goes on into the wee hours of the morning which is definitely not for the weak. Even though we had work Friday, it was worth it to have fun with the group and do round two of arm wrestling yet again in Bataplán. Later on in the day, we got ready for one last trip which is special because of the…

Olympics!

Friday afternoon we boarded the bus to Bordeaux, about four-ish hours away to go see an Olympic soccer match. I’ve never watched an actual match in person before, so I was really excited to see all the hype and wear my San Fermín fit again in support for the one and only ESPAÑA! We did a lot of exploring the city before the game and found that it was super cute with highlights being castle gateways, a ferris wheel, mini arc de triomphe (nearly every european city has one for some reason??), and a reflection pool. To fuel for the game, we had an energizing lunch courtesy of the huge carrefour market in the city center. You can get a rotisserie chicken, roasted potatoes, and a dessert for like €5?? We then made our way to the stadium on the crazy packed and sweaty tram, then finally made it in and got our dream picture with the mascot of the olympic games: Phryge the French Hat. 

Our seats were in a good spot pretty much right in front of the goal. Earlier in the day, I had bought a spanish flag to wear like a cape and to wave around during the game. As honorary spaniards, all of us had to represent and we. didn’t. disappoint. After every goal we were putting in the WORK to do the chants like our lives depended on it. Spain won 3-1 against the Dominican Republic and I like to think that we were a tiny part of causing that win to happen. I feel like before this game I didn’t really understand what made people so crazy about soccer, but being in the stands in person changed that perspective for me and I had a fun time! At the end of the day after having the sun blast down on us in the stands, we were collapsing. Refueled at a Canadian restaurant where I tried poutine for the first time and it was pretty tasty. Then, ended up back at the reflection pool where Izzy and I went on a rampage of splashing each other to the point where our pants were beyond soaked and I had to wear my flag around me like a skirt. ‘Twas a good end to a good day!

Next week will be my final reflection post, so come back for my last blog ever, tears already! :(

Olé, olé, olé!

Emily Dobao

Biomedical Engineering

IPE San Sebastian, Spain

August 2nd, 2024