#but while i have the floor i will also say this applies equally to the tendency to treat characters like muriel or beezlebub as women

[mommyashtoreth]

I was about to sit down and write a whole post about the ideological slippery slope of treating Aziraphale and Crowley, two textually and word-of-God nonbinary characters, as strictly "male" because they are played by men and thus (yknow, under cisnormativity) "look like men", and how that reflects not-so-greatly on real life trans and nonbinary people, especially but not limited to trans and nonbinary people who "look male," and then I realized how absolutely insane I would sound opening with "the ideological slippery slope" in a post about a show that contains the sentence "you have sinned very bigly"

[witchofthesouls]

I love your bayverse Isekai AU, will there be any more snippets on the shenanigans with our feral wildling prime with equally feral newsparks and politically rogue sentinel actively failing and somehow successfully courting the said feral prime while simutaneously giving the metaphorical middle finger to the council regime.

You're standing in the middle of a pale desert. The white sand ripples without wind, and it's endless without anything in sight. A stark divide between the ground and dark sky. The stars are strange. Dripping like a child's clumsy first ventures into watercolors; saturated, vibrant hues fading into weak trailing brushstrokes. With enough concentration, you parse out the shapes of the stars, outlines squirming, moving back and forth, bleeding across the night like odd-shaped marbles.

Someone calls out, and you turn to see a fluttering-

______

You wake up, and the dream fades. The remaining echoes of crying easily meld into the newsparks' wails for your attention, even under Thundercracker's crooning engines, calm field, and fuel production. They look for you, blindly reaching out, fields refusing to settle until well entangled under your own and dozing on your chest.

______

Because you and information slugs don't mix, you're learning the old-fashioned way: direct practice.

And there's nothing in this current life nor your past human one that could prepare you for Iaconi dining etiquette and their culinary practices.

Sentinel is surprisingly patient and encouraging. Star Saber, on the other hand, is demanding and pompous as usual.

A few pieces of the cutlery are familiar in a vague shape-sense, like a spoon should be a spoon, but the spoons' handles have delicate metal leaves with tiny bundles of shiny berries. One grouping is so fragile that the shells jiggled as it rose from a well-hidden compartment from the table. Another clutch isn't round but more hexagonal. A blue hexagon-like raspberry with reddish fuzz.

There's also a tool that looks like a love-child between a well-used slinky and nunchucks and a doohicky that combined a two-pronged fork with a honey dipper.

There's nothing on the table that looks remotely close to honey or a sauce to use said dipper.

You deeply yearn for the simplicity of Thundercracker's cubes and her endless supply of snacks.

Biting the bullet, you commit to a spoon, and Star Saber exudes disdain as you try to scoop out the plain tofu lookalike on your plate. It jiggles and warps the moment the utensil touches it, and the berries, every single one, fall off. The hard ones bounce off, tinking across the table and floor, and the fragile ones splatter the tofu. A contained mess of color and sound clash as discordant strings and chimes overlay and warp.

Sentinel is then right by you. "Like this," he says, and he takes your hand to pick up the fork end, guiding you to twirl the dipper right over the plain tofu block. It quivers, and there's a lovely wind-chime noise before the entire thing flows upward, carving into long, unbroken chains by following the grooves, and artfully twirling backdown into a nest.

A plate of color-splattered noodles now sits before you.

Sentinel uses the slinky, applying the nunckuck ends to his thumb and middle finger and gently bounces the slinky over the noodles. The noodles slither their way into the middle, and after a mouthful is gathered, he brings the contraption near his face, flicking off the thumb attachment and the flexible tubing and 'drinks' his food as if it's a straw itself.

A sharp, ringing hum grabs your attention, prickling over your senses at vibrates in your field. When Star Saber stops circling the rim of the wine glass, the hum dies down as well.

"You failed when we entered." You stare blankly at the Seeker, and he clicks his glossa before explaining, "The most prominent member signals the rest to sit."

"But I waited for you because you're the most experienced!" Star Saber had literally spent weeks beating it into your processor about the teacher-student dynamic: who sits, who stands, who dismisses, and many other important, little steps of social nuance.

"Yes. If this was an educational setup, but this is a formal meal, it's the established Prime that signals to everyone else to sit."

You throw all caution to wind and reach over to the turn table in the middle. Sentinel laughs as you manually spin it until you reach your target: the deconstructed savory pies basket.

Star Saber remains unamused as you take a bite of the sphere, and spices flood your senses, coating your glossa with a hearty, thick gravy. The 'wrapping is supposed to be peeled, but it's completely edible and flaky layers.

It's a performance piece with the right sounds and gestures. The wrapping would gracefully unravel, and the contents reorganize itself into a sophisticated piece of art before settling into cups to be eaten one by one.

You find it more comfortable to eat the pie in one whole go. Star Saber deeply sighs at your atrocious manners and actually snaps at Sentinel when the mech decides to follow your lead.

[scary-lasagna]

HEYY! Wondering if you do everymanhybrid and if so could you write a HABIT x reader headcannons? Relationship in general I don’t have specifics in mind

I might have mentioned him in passing before, but I'll definitely write something about him for his place in my AU, it's a bit ooc from EMH but it's very interesting.

HABIT

Habit is...not mentally stable in the slightest.

The only time he would fall in love is if it either a.) benefited him or b.) you were smokin' hot and he obsesses over you

And be prepared to hear him mull and complain over both Slender and Zalgo, both who equally piss him off but he's forced to be nice to one of the two.

But when Habit falls, he will fall hard. You will sit on a royal pedestal, and HABIT your knight in shining armor. There would be nothing he is against doing for you.

He grovels at your feet, swearing to always protect you, to keep you fed, to keep you safe and warm, to-

“I KNOW you only asked for Kirspy Kreme, but darling my point still stands.” And he pulls his unsettling, ear-to-ear grin out of his back pocket to plaster on his face.

But all-in-all he’s your little guard dog.

Most of his working hours are spent obsessing over Slender’s history and origins, striving to find any bit of information that will lead to his downfall.

The rest of his work day is spent over tea with Zalgo, not that he ever drinks any, he’s really just there for the lemon squares and latest celebrity news that haven’t hit the 6 o clock channels yet.

After all, Zalgo has close ties to all of the higher ups. He always has the best gossip.

He might shove some pastries in his pockets for you if anything looks of your taste, but they’re usually melted or crumbled by the time he gets home. Usually he licks the remains out of his pocket (gross).

There’s also a room in your shared space that you are never allowed to go in, two if you’re counting the closet.

A room filled to the brim with ancient texts, books, artifacts, and knives hold a red herring for a closet in that same room filled with many different types of guns, weapons, cursed artifacts, and a haunted McDonalds coupon from 2008.

HABIT and Evan function similarly to Liu and Sully, however HABIT has the upper hand in the body. It’s a once in a blue moon occurrence that Evan will peek through and attempt to escape the house and/or try to kill you, thinking you kidnapped him.

Freaked the hell out of you the first time it happened before HABIT managed to grab hold of the reigns.

Safe to say, Evan was properly dealt with that night in the dimension of HABITs brain, being held in a void of endless whispering and torment while you sat with HABIT, watching Twilight just to make fun of it.

He’s also kind of…not the brightest. He always has the right idea, but never quite sure how to execute it properly. This is the explanation of the many failed assassination attempts toward Slender and his brothers.

He has been sucker punched more times than he can count by 3/4 of them. Splendor just talks him down with a therapy session and it works in more ways than one.

But this also applies to relationships. You want roses? He gets you daisies because they look better, even though you specified roses.

A fancy restaurant date? Takes you on a cruise. You didn’t want or pack for a cruise. Neither did he. Don’t ask where he got the money.

Right idea, wrong execution.

He’s also extremely clingy, even though it’s been implied, but he will quite literally hover around you, waiting to be acknowledged or asked to do something for you, because if he’s not working, he doesn’t have anything else worth tending to except for you.

You’ve once asked for alone time and he quite literally sat in the floor of the kitchen and twiddled his toes until you got peckish for a snack and stumbled on him.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I was waiting for you to ask me to get you a cookie.”

[slaymitchabernathy]

Silent Night

The cold December air bites at Coriolanus through his heavy burgundy coat.

He doesn't hate the cold per se, but he does hate how it causes people to move slower, to come up with more excuses as to why things haven't been done properly. That's why he's out here in the first place, watching his Avoxes set up the lights they put on all of the shrubbery every year for the holidays.

If he had his way, there would be no decorations. December is just another month to him, but all the Presidents before him have always decorated the outside and inside of the Presidential Mansion and he won't be the one to break tradition.

"Much better," he decides, watching them wrap the trees with strings of lights. He doesn't want to be out here any longer if he can help it, not when he has a meeting very soon. "You'll oversee the rest," he tells one of the landscapers who's in charge of maintaining every plant on the premises. They quickly nod, "Yes sir, of course, sir."

Coriolanus resists the urge to roll his eyes and treks back to the front door of the Mansion, a door he rarely uses but he doesn't want to walk all the way over to the side entrance. He walks up the steps and pushes the door open, sighing when the warm air hits him. He pulls his coat sleeve back and checks his watch, he's right on schedule.

Perfect.

He strides by the front room, also known as the formal living room, and comes to a halt when he sees an unamely sight.

His wife. Talking to the Avoxes while helping them decorate the large Christmas tree they always keep by the window.

The tree is another thing he could do without, but, as tradition demands, he has his staff put it up and decorate it every year. It does look rather pretty at night with the lights shining through the window but he's never personally put a single ornament on the tree.

But his pretty little wife is hanging ornament after ornament while talking to the Avoxes as if they can talk back to her. He watches as she sits on the floor, picking different ornaments from a box beside her. She's wearing a red dress, a dress he bought her a few weeks ago for the upcoming holiday season. They'd have to make lots of appearances.

The dress is long-sleeved, made of soft velvet material. The front has lots of intricately sewn patterns such as doves and festive berries, he knew she'd like it. Her hair is pulled back from her face, tied with a red bow, he's sure she looks very pretty right now but the fact still stands that she's mingling with servants.

"Oh, that's a pretty one," she says when an Avox shows her a white ornament.

He scoffs and shakes his head, now in a terrible mood after witnessing such blatant mixing of upper class and commoner.

He walks down the great hall at a quickened pace, furious with her behavior. When Coriolanus was proposed the idea of marrying Soarynn, he was promised a number of things. She would give him children, she'd be a loyal, doting wife. She'd be perfectly well-behaved.

Clearly, that didn't apply to how she addressed household staff.

He'll have to talk to his advisors about this, thank goodness no one else saw her. He'd be the talk of the Capitol, Coriolanus Snow's little wife holding hands with the Avoxes, treating them as equals.

Absolutely not.

He's worked too hard to let Soarynn tarnish his perfect reputation.

When he enters his study, his advisors are already waiting for him, talking amongst themselves.

"I have an emergency," he tells them, rounding his desk and taking off his coat. His most trusted and loyal advisor, Quintus Heavensbee immediately sits up in his seat, "What is it Coriolanus?"

Coriolanus sits in his chair with a heavy sigh, he can't believe what he witnessed. "I saw Soarynn decorating the tree, helping the Avoxes. You said she'd be well-behaved, that she'd never step out of line."

Quintus frowns, nervously looking at the other advisors, "She has been perfectly behaved since you married," he reminds Coriolanus, "she consummated the marriage did she not?" Coriolanus scoffs a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Yes, she spread her legs and let me fuck her like the little virgin whore she is, what a surprise."

The men stiffen at his vulgar choice of words but he could care less. He only agreed to this marriage on the condition that Soarynn would do exactly as she was told. And for the past five months, she has. She wears what he tells her to wear, says what he wants her to say, and always bends over when he needs a quick fuck.

But this is unacceptable.

Quintus sighs, shaking his head, "Bring the girl here," he says to no one in particular. Someone eventually gets up and leaves the room, tension is still thick in the air.

"Coriolanus, listen to me, this is only a momentary lapse," Quintus urges, "once she falls pregnant, you'll have your heir and all will be well."

Coriolanus could care less about an heir right now. There are lots of ways to have a baby, but very few to keep his wife in check.

"I cannot afford a single mark on my image," he tells Quintus, leaving no room for discussion.

Soarynn is brought into the room a second later, hands clasped in front of her, face filled with confusion. Quintus beckons her over to sit next to him in the other empty chair that sits directly across from the desk and Soarynn quietly obliges. She sits down like the proper Capitol lady she is, hands in her lap, eyes forward, back straight.

"My dear," Quintus says, "we have been made aware that you have been spending time with the staff of your household." Soarynn furrows her eyebrows, so oblivious to how much power she holds as the First Lady. "I, I don't understand," she says softly.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes, she's always been so soft-spoken, so soft that he often has to lean down to hear what she's saying. That won't help her in this case.

"You were talking to the Avoxes," he plainly states, her attention now on him, "I saw you just a moment ago, decorating the tree like you're some lowly maid who's been tasked with such an insignificant job."

Quintus shoots Coriolanus a look, he's always approached Soarynn with a more kinder, gentler tone that tends to go over much better compared to how Coriolanus likes to say things. But Coriolanus doesn't really care for her feelings, not when he can effectively get his point across regardless of his tone.

Sure enough, her eyes water with tears, and her bottom lip trembles, a telltale sign that she's about to start crying. "Here we go," he mutters. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble," she tells him, "I just wanted to help."

Even Quintus can't seem to understand the appeal of helping the Avoxes, "Soarynn, your job is to keep your husband happy and to dutifully serve your country," Quintus reminds her, using a stern tone, "we've gone over this before, remember?"

Soarynn wipes a single tear with the back of her hand, nodding, "I remember."

Quintus grunts, pleased with her fast answer, "Good. Now apologize to your husband and all will be well as long as an incident like this never occurs again."

Soarynn looks down at her lap, trembling in her seat. Coriolanus knows he might be blowing this out of proportion but it's good to remind her of her place. Below him and every man in this room.

"I'm sorry Coriolanus," she whispers, fidgeting with her fingers.

Coriolanus tilts his head and leans back in his chair, a bored look on his face now that he can't really play with her anymore, "What're you sorry for darling?"

Soarynn swallows, she hates confrontation more than anything and hates being ridiculed in front of others. Both things he loves to use to his advantage. "For embarrassing you."

Coriolanus hums, he could push her a bit further, just to really watch her break. "That's alright darling, we can't always expect you to remember the rules. Now come here and give me a kiss and you can be on your way."

Another thing Soarynn hates, public affection.

The sick, twisted part of him loves touching her in public, squeezing her waist, kissing her cheek, twirling her hair in with his fingers. Anything to make her flustered.

Soarynn slowly rises from her seat, taking her sweet time to talk around his desk but he's in no rush either, in fact, he's got all the time in the world. She nervously looks around the room at all the men watching her, so much older than her. Maybe she thought he'd dismiss them.

"Before the day is over Soarynn," he snaps when she lingers for too long. Soarynn sniffles and leans down, quickly pressing her lips against his. Kissing makes her flustered too, initiating any physical contact with him is something she strays far away from.

Coriolanus groans when she pulls away but she's already turning on her heel, desperate to leave this suffocating room. "If it happens again then I'll execute every single one of them," he calls, watching her almost trip over her shoes. She looks back at him, eyes wide with fear, "I mean it," he tells her, "unless you're ordering them to do something, you will not talk to them. Am I understood?"

All she can do is nod, "Yes."

She's out of the room after that, closing the doors behind her.

"Well," he says, reaching for his pen, "why don't we start this meeting hmm?"

꧁ ꧂

It starts snowing at dinner.

Coriolanus only glances out the window when Persephone Creed points it out. He's more focused on his food and on his wife who hasn't uttered a single word since their guests arrived. It's nothing out of the ordinary really, Soarynn rarely talks when they have people over for dinner but he knows that she's terrified to say the wrong thing after what happened earlier today.

"The lights outside look beautiful," Livia Ravenstill tells him, "I wish our apartment building would put more effort into decorating the building's exterior for the holidays."

Coriolanus swallows his soup, "I don't particularly care for the lights, I suppose women find it more endearing than men." Livia rolls her eyes, she's always been easy to rile up, especially after a glass of wine and she's already had two, "Well what about you Soarynn? Do you like the lights?"

Soarynn looks up from her soup, clearly not expecting to be brought into the conversation at all, let alone a debate that her husband is involved in, "They're fine," she says, looking back down. Livia huffs and looks around the table, "Do none of you appreciate the holidays? Goodness, it's like no one here has a soul anymore."

Just me, Coriolanus thinks, although he hasn't had a soul for a while now.

"What do you want for Christmas Soarynn?" Festus Creed asks, hoping to change the subject. Soarynn is just having a rough day, chastised by her husband, and now forced to partake in small talk. The poor thing.

Soarynn looks around the table at all the eager eyes watching her, waiting for her to answer, "A kitten," she answers softly.

Coriolanus raises an eyebrow, a kitten?

Festus chuckles, shaking his head, "Good luck with that. Coriolanus here hates animals in the house."

Soarynn shrinks back into her seat, "Maybe some books then," she decides. Coriolanus nods, books are good, they keep her quiet and occupied for hours. He takes her hand into his and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it, "Whatever she wants, she gets," he says, earning him several dreamy sighs from the women.

Soarynn forces a tight smile onto her face and nods in agreement. She may not like him but she can play along with his game.

That's all she really is to him at the end of the day, a token in his game.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus sits on the edge of his bed while Soarynn undresses. He thought about having sex but he's not in the mood tonight, his meeting left him drained, and that dinner didn't help at all.

He watches her slide her dress off her slender body, letting it pool around her ankles on the floor. Many things can be said for Soarynn, things about her kind demeanor or youthful beauty but her body is something else. Coriolanus was promised a lot of things when it came to her body. He could do whatever he wanted to her, she'd be quiet and complacent. She was a virgin, she'd bleed once he took her virginity. She would always be soft, smooth and hairless, and above all, willing to please him.

Soarynn gathers her dress and walks into their bathroom, leaving him with his thoughts. He thinks about their conversation at dinner, how she mentioned wanting a kitten even though she hasn't mentioned it in the past.

Was she keeping that from him?

He suddenly grows angry, his wife shouldn't keep secrets from him. "Soarynn," he calls, "come here."

Soarynn walks out of the bathroom, now wrapped in her robe, "Yes?"

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted a kitten?"

Soarynn opens her mouth but then closes it, she's afraid to answer him. "Why?" He presses, gripping the edges of the bed. Soarynn brushes her hair behind her ears, "You never asked," she mumbles, "and it's not important."

He stands up and she immediately takes a step back, "Do you think I have time to ask about your every want? You have everything you could possibly need and yet you're always asking for more," he hisses, walking towards her.

Soarynn shakes her head, trying to take another step back but she's backed herself into the wall, with nowhere to go, "I'm sorry," she whimpers, "I'm sorry Coriolanus. I didn't mean to keep it from you."

He finally reaches her and grabs her jaw, holding it tightly in his hand, "I think you need to be taught a lesson," he says lowly, scanning her up and down. Soarynn gasps when he goes to untie her robe, letting him see that she's still wearing her bralette and panties. "I'll be good," she promises, pleading with him, "do anything you want."

Coriolanus smirks, "Be careful what you promise me, darling."

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn is in tears, begging, pleading as he drags her towards the doors that lead out to the veranda.

"Coriolanus, please! Please, I'll be good! I'll do better!"

He keeps his tight grip on her arm, probably bruising it in the process but he doesn't care. He pulls open the doors and the cold air hits them, sending chills down his spine. "After this, I have no doubt that you'll be perfectly behaved for me," he tells her, walking out onto the veranda. Soarynn yelps when he pulls on her arm, almost falling to the ground.

Coriolanus looks down at his pitiful excuse for a wife. Dressed only in her intimates, trembling in his hold with tear-stained cheeks.

He leads them down the steps, not caring if she hurts a foot in the process. His eyes are set on his greenhouse, a glass cage, perfect for teaching lessons.

"Coriolanus," she sobs, digging her heels into the grass once they reach the bottom, "please, I don't, I don't want to go in there."

Coriolanus laughs, it's cute how she still thinks that he cares what she wants. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key to unlock the doors to the greenhouse. Inside are his prized roses, grown to perfection. They've been made to withstand the coldest temperatures in case of a power outage but right now it's quite warm in here.

He drags Soarynn inside and pushes her toward the fountain in the center. She stumbles and falls onto the ground, crying out in pain. "Maybe a night in the cold will teach you to be grateful for what you have, grateful for the husband you have who keeps you safe, who gives you what you need," he says, looking down on her.

More tears fall down her cheeks, "I'm sorry," she whispers.

He nods, turning to walk back out, "You will be," he says.

Coriolanus closes the glass doors behind him, making sure to lock them before walking around to the back of the greenhouse. He can see Soarynn watching him, following him with that pitiful stare. He finally reaches the back where there's a maintenance box with a few switches inside of it. Most of them are for the lights but one is for the heating.

He turns it off.

Soarynn shakily walks up to the glass panes, resting her hands on them while trying to talk to him but it's pointless. The glass is thick and he doesn't care to hear what she has to say. He can hear the heating begin to turn off, hear a machine shudder to a stop, and then it's quiet.

Soarynn goes still, looking around her glass prison for the rest of the night with wide eyes. She's a bit slow but he didn't marry her for her high intelligence.

Then, it hits her.

She's pounding on the glass now, crying, begging for him to let her out. The glass is too thick for her to break though. He turns off the lights next, just for the fun of it.

"Goodnight darling," he says even though she can't hear him. But she looks so pretty, sobbing while begging to be let out, scarcely dressed.

He begins walking away, he'll come back for her in the morning.

She won't freeze to death but she'll certainly learn how good she has it.

Coriolanus walks back up the stairs, looking forward to a quiet night.

A silent night.

꧁ ꧂

꧁ Three Weeks Later ꧂

Coriolanus sits in his favorite armchair, sipping a glass of bourbon while watching his wife open up another present. Christmas morning came quietly enough, neither of them rushed downstairs to open any presents. They had breakfast, he read the paper, and tuned into the parade the city throws every year for the holidays.

He admires how pretty Soarynn looks right now, sitting on her knees while on the floor, tearing open another gift. He dressed her in a green dress today, it's soft like her, and the skirt is made of tulle while the bodice is styled like a corset, showing off her small frame. Her hair is perfectly curled and styled and she smells like vanilla, she looks so perfect.

It's a rather domestic feeling, opening presents together.

He's so glad they're able to enjoy this, especially after that horrible incident where Soarynn got locked in the greenhouse for an entire night. Poor thing was trembling from the cold, lips blue, teeth chattering, couldn't get a word out.

A lesson she needed to learn a long time ago in his opinion.

Since then, she's been so good for him, so pliant and obedient. Never stepping out of line, talking back, or making a fool out of him. He would've done it months ago if he knew this would be the end result.

Soarynn gently sets aside the torn wrapping paper and holds out a new sketchbook, beautifully binded with a thick leather cover. She's rather good at drawing and he already gifted her some new paints.

"Thank you," she says, looking up at him, "it's beautiful."

Coriolanus nods, pleased that she is pleased with her gift, "You're welcome darling."

She reaches under the tree and pulls out another wrapped gift, "This one's for you." He takes it from her and sets his glass down on the end table, "What's this hmm?" She already got him several gifts, not as many as he got her but after their little incident, he's had no problem showering her with gifts to remind her that as long as she behaves, no one has to get hurt.

Soarynn blushes, looking down at her lap, "I remembered you mentioning it at a dinner we attended." Now his curiosity is piqued, he tears open the gift and is very surprised to see a telescope, perfectly encased in shiny packaging. He had mentioned it once, offhandedly and he was a little drunk but she clearly remembered it.

"How sweet," he muses, setting the box down, "how good of you to remember."

Soarynn nods, only meeting his gaze momentarily before looking back down. He sighs, she's still skittish around him since that night, well-behaved but constantly on edge. Good, she ought to have a healthy fear of him.

"I have another gift for you," he tells her, looking over at the doorway to the front room. An Avox appears right after he says that, holding a large red box with a bow on top. Soarynn eyes the box once it's set in front of her, "What is it?"

His lips curl into a smile, "Open it."

Soarynn cautiously lifts the lid off of the box and gasps, dropping the lid in the process. She gently reaches into the box and pulls out a fluffy white kitten with bright eyes, the same shade as Soarynn's coincidentally.

"Oh," she says, "oh it's perfect, it's so perfect, thank you!" Coriolanus watches her with her new kitten, quite pleased that he's turned out to be the hero after all that's transpired. The kitten meows, wiggling in Soarynn's hands and she carefully sets it down on the floor. Coriolanus lifts his foot when the kitten bats at his leather shoe, "She'll have to be trained," he tells Soarynn, "and she can't sleep in our room. Ever."

Soarynn nods, not caring about his rules or conditions. She's already enamored by this cat, he can see it so clearly. "She will," Soarynn says, "she'll be trained and so well behaved I promise."

Coriolanus hums, leaning back against the sofa while watching Soarynn play with her new kitten. The feline is easily entertained, running under the tree, playing with the wrapping paper. Everything she does so easily entertains Soarynn.

This will be good for her, something to care for until he puts a child in her. Also something he can use against her, threaten to take away in case she misbehaves, steps out of line. A weakness.

He'd like to imagine that this time next year they'll have their first child. Soarynn will already be pregnant with their second one, he won't stop at one and he needs an heir.

Coriolanus isn't too fond of children but Soarynn likes them. Babies are just so loud, always crying. He'll have to cherish these nights when it's just the two of them.

These silent nights.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

{ Part 2. }

{ Part 2. | Alternate Version }

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @villiansarehottest @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @kickmybark @melodyoflovee |

[petrichormore]

The QSMP Dead 3 (Phil, BBH, Missa) & Their Differences

(BUCKLE UP ITS A HEADCANON POST WHERE I TRY TO SORT OUT THE REALLY CONFUSING DEATH LORE ON THE QSMP)

(I WATCH PHIL BUT NOT RELIGIOUSLY PLEASE ADD OR CORRECT INFO, CROWS)

(I’VE WATCHED SOME OF MISSA’S QSMP STREAMS BUT NOT ALL OF THEM, SO SAME THING APPLIES)

HERE WE GO

Philza:

- The Angel of Death (Not to be confused with Bad, who is a fallen Angel)

- Married to the Goddess of Death (Death in this case is referring to the Concept/Domain)

- NOT responsible for ferrying souls like a Reaper. His title is designated due to both his immortal status and deadly reputation, as well as his connection to the Goddess - similarly to how a queen might designate a knight.

- Immortal: He has higher survivability than Bad and seemingly puts a little more effort into his Days-Spent-Alive-In-A-Row streak (Past lives? Potentially a multi-dimensional being)

- Can commune well with most (if not all) gods and form semi-normal relationships with them as an equal.

- Cannot commune well with (or perhaps avoids talking to) the general dead. Despite not being able to see/hear dead people himself, he can pass the trait to his offspring as seen with Lullah. (It’s possible her power stems from both Phil and Bad. That’s what you call a whombo-combo. Sorry, Lullah.)

- Has no real connection to Bad as their duties do not usually overlap, but they are aware of each other. (AKA they are “coworkers” but Phil has no inherent authority over Bad. Their little office cubicles are on different floors.)

BadBoyHalo:

- The Grim Reaper (not to be confused with a regular Reaper - there is only one Grim Reaper working at a time) and a Fallen Angel, specifically (Thanatos?) one of the four biblical horsemen of the apocalypse/one of four angels trapped under the biblical Euphrates river.

- He is the “Death” horseman and can be referred to as “Death” but is not a death god. Rather his job led him to be associated with Death (the process/journey)

- Immortal: He can’t necessarily survive better but he will revive no matter what and cannot die the same way twice. (Past lives? Potentially a multi-dimensional being.) Despite not being as hardy as Phil, he may be older (although it’s difficult to quantify)

- Cannot commune well with gods and is seemingly not viewed as equal (although he has connections with the goddess Hecate - also a death goddess but not the death goddess. Hecate is more-so a goddess of crossroads - the transition between life and death. She may be his employer.)

- Can commune EXTREMELY well with the general dead (can potentially recognize and cultivate this ability in others - as seen with Dapper and Lullah)

- See the end for Grim Reaper/Reaper duties and differences

Missa:

- I don’t have much to go off here I’m gonna be honest. Him being a reaper isn’t even canon.

- That being said

- Missa is a Reaper, a normal one, of the Undead variety.

- NOT Immortal (at least not like Bad and Phil): As an Undead creature he cannot die of old age/sickness but can otherwise be slain so he has to be a bit more careful. He is not as unbothered by death/killing as Philza and BBH. He is also not nearly as old - the fact that they are so chill about each other is sometimes to his detriment.

- He cannot commune with any gods unless granted the ability by Phil or another power. He can communicate with the dead minimally but it’s kind of like if you tried to talk to a parrot (again, unless it’s being ‘translated’ by Bad or another power).

- Missa has necromantic magic, not enough inherent power to revive himself but enough to heal his own wounds and revive smaller things. (I know Bad ‘revived’ Missa’s mini-me for him but for the sake of Lore I’m gonna say Missa did that with his magic and Bad just kinda helped him focus it.)

- Missa and Bad, while both being Reapers, do not quite function with the same purpose and therefore Bad has no inherent authority over Missa. They are like two cats - even if one is bigger than the other they are still both cats. Also death doesn’t care about hierarchy.

- Missa actually does his job which is why he is frequently gone. Bad and Phil, on the other hand, are straight-up chilling. (Phil’s job doesn’t require him to go out collecting souls and Bad kinda doesn’t care. What are they gonna do, fire him?)

GRIM REAPER VS. REAPER DIFFERENCES

- Reapers are collectors and guides of souls in the afterlife - helping them make the journey from life to death. They cannot commune with souls they are not explicitly collecting, and do not choose who they do and don’t collect.

- Undead Reapers were mortals who were chosen in life and trained upon death to be Reapers. They are returned to life specifically for this purpose, and once dead cannot revive themselves - they can only come back if they are once again chosen and pulled back by an outside force.

- The Grim Reaper is also a collector and guide, however they can also foresee a living soul’s journey (as seen with Bad’s conversation with Pac) as well as alter it (Bad generally does this by Killing People). The Grim Reaper can commune with all souls regardless of circumstances and can also play favorites as long as balance is kept. Similarly, while the Grim Reaper cannot return souls that have already passed the crossroads, they can reach out to any soul they please, to talk to them or anchor them to a given realm.

- All Reapers frown upon upsetting the balance of death and life - however ‘balance’ can be left up to their discretion, for the most part. So sometimes emotions can cloud judgement.

- All Reapers are recruited as it is a job title and not a species. However, among undead reapers skulls are common adornments (as seen with Missa.) The Grim Reaper has a straight-up hood-and-scythe dress code. The employer of all Reapers is generally unknown although Hecates is a plausible suspect. The Grim Reaper still must train under the former Grim Reaper, just as a Reaper must train under another Reaper. Bad and Missa can train new Reapers, but Missa cannot choose who becomes a reaper, and Bad cannot choose who will be the next Grim. Bad can also help others if they are born with an affinity for the dead as he has plenty of souls on hand to practice with. Missa can do this as well, but he cannot summon souls to practice with, he can only use what he has available.

[crustaceanzeitgeist]

🍡 New Year’s Eve with Fat Gum

***

“Happy New Year, Fat Gum!”

“Hey, Toyomitsu, Happy New Year!”

You smile at hearing all the good wishes among coworkers outside your small office while finishing up for the evening as the agency located in Esuha City was closing for the night. Your smile broadens in anticipation of your New Year’s Eve date with Taishiro that you’ve been thinking about all day.

A few months ago any potential New Year’s Eve plans would have looked like a hot and spicy date hugging a warm bowl of curry ramen while curled up on the couch watching a romance movie. The summer day you walked into the Fat Gum Agency to apply for the administrative assistant position that had been posted shortly after finishing your administration courses would change everything when you ultimately met a certain BMI Pro Hero. Your professional relationship with Toyomitsu has remained as such while in the workplace…but friendship quickly turned into something more when he said to call him Taishiro just before asking if he could take you out for a coffee, or a matcha tea, sometime. Then there was a dinner followed by a kiss on the cheek…then a movie where he slowly took your hand in his in a darkened theatre…until one rainy fall afternoon you both got caught in a downpour on the way back to his place with the intention of baking cookies but he helped you out of your wet clothes and warmed you up instead…

“You ready to go, sugar?”

You quickly glance up to see Taishiro’s handsome face smiling at you from around your open doorway, feeling your heated face blushing.

“I, um, think I am,” you say while closing your laptop. “Has everyone left already?”

“Yeah, other than Amajiki, everyone was excited about starting celebrations.”

Pro Hero Suneater was staying behind at the agency to be on call in case of any emergencies. You and Taishiro exchange sympathetic smiles as it’s known that although Tamaki Amajiki would have been politely invited by various colleagues to join in on that night’s festivities, his crippling social anxiety has probably been the reason for him to decline any such invitations. However, you and Taishiro also know that Amajiki is more than happy breaking out some snacks to spend hours on the computer online gaming with his other shy friends until falling asleep on their keyboards.

“Well then my big and handsome Pro Hero, let’s get going!” You take Taishiro’s offered arm as you come around your desk and meet him at the doorway.

***

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Everyone counted down to midnight while Taishiro held you by the waist, your hands on his broad shoulders, while slow dancing to the saxophone notes of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

“Six! Five! Four!”

Taishiro smiled while counting down, his face ever so slowly drawing closer to yours. You smiled back, giddy with excitement while thinking back on your evening.

After an hour’s drive both of you had finally reached the Park Hyatt Kyoto where Taishiro had booked a room for the night. Dinner reservations wouldn’t have been made on time if you had allowed Taishiro to continue kissing your neck while helping to zip up your dress. Your long day at work had started catching up to you so Taishiro took you out dancing and afterwards plying you with various sweetened treats from food vendors like custard filled taiyaki, strawberry mochi, and brown sugar dango. A short but brisk walk led you both back to the bar and lounge at the hotel to sip some sweetened sake only to be whisked back onto the dance floor where you now found yourself swaying to the music in Taishiro’s arms.

Indeed, your current giddiness could probably be attributed in equal parts to excitement, over tiredness and a sugar high.

“Three! Two! One!”

“Happy New Year, sugar,” he says gently as his lips descend on yours.

“Happy New Year, Taishiro,” you reply as you kiss him back passionately.

“Back to our room?”

“Okay,” you say while stifling a yawn.

On the elevator ride up you lean heavily on your big Pro Hero while he murmurs in your ear how he can’t wait to help you out of your dress, making you shiver. Reaching your room he suggests both of you taking a bubble bath to further celebrate the night. You agree and he goes in to start running the water while you change into a fluffy robe. When Taishiro emerges from the bathroom in his robe to let you know everything is ready he finds you…curled up fast asleep in the middle of the king sized bed. He smiles at you adorably, dims all the lights, gently picks you up and places you on him where you cuddle into his big body.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” he whispers as he kisses your forehead.

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

[katblu42]

Dinosaur Bandaids

I am totally blaming thanking @womble1 for inspiring this one, with one little line from her Sweetapple Slice 8 fic.

Also many thanks to @gumnut-logic for the read-through and help with the piece that was missing.

CW for mentions of blood/bleeding (nothing gory)

Virgil fumbled the opening of the box, contents spilling to the floor as he attempted to grab what he needed with just one hand.  He cursed himself for his clumsiness.  Again.  It was clumsiness born of distraction that had necessitated the raiding of the little first aid kit to begin with.

Just a simple slip of the screwdriver and his left hand now had a nice bloody gouge in it.  Not deep, and not longer than a few millimetres, but bleeding profusely, and a little painful.  He had immediately wrapped a somewhat clean rag around his hand to staunch the bleeding while he fetched a bandaid to put over the wound.  Next stop would be the sink to clean the area before applying the sticky plaster.  If he was quick no one else would be any the wiser about his little mishap.

Of course, his hopes on that front were dashed as he bent to pick up the mess.

“Hey Virg!  Watch doin’?”  Gordon asked with mock innocence.

Virgil simply huffed in reply as Gordon scooped up the handful of little paper packets.

“Dinosaur bandaids, huh?”  A raised eyebrow to rival one of Virgil’s own was deployed, along with a knowing grin.  “Here, let me help.”

Plain beige sticking plasters were a rarity on Tracy Island.

The older residents of the villa would say it was because the Terrible Two had always demanded bright colours and fun designs on their wound dressings when they were little, and no one had ever bothered to change the habit during re-stocking purchases.

The Two in question would complain and say it was because said older residents had never admitted that the little ones were now adults.

There were some practical reasons too.  A brightly coloured sticky plaster that had fallen off while performing tasks like food preparation or some types of maintenance would be more easily visible than plain beige.

If Virgil was honest with himself he’d say the real reason was because they all sometimes needed the little mood lift the bright designs provided.  It was part of the magic ability bandaids had to make small injuries better.

Virgil allowed Gordon to take his hand and begin the process of cleaning and dressing the injury.  Once done, Gordon gently smoothed the sticky plaster’s edges down one last time before looking up and locking eyes with his big brother.

“There you go.  All better.  The dinosaurs will take care of that little scratch.”

Virgil matched his little brother’s smile and thanked him with a hug before returning the box of bandaids to their rightful place.

Long gone were the days when Gordon or Alan would come running to a big brother because of some perceived injury that was completely invisible.  The application of a blue bandaid covered in brightly coloured fish, or a black one with little red rockets, and a kiss to make it better was all it took to have a little brother smiling and running off to do more mischief.

Mom had done the same for the older boys when they had needed their bumps and scrapes tended.  And Dad and Grandma had done their share of both patching up, and sticky plaster purchasing.  There had never been boring beige ones as far back as Virgil could remember.  And there had often been a variety of sizes and shapes in the medicine cabinet.

The habit had stuck so fast (not unlike the plasters themselves) that it had even affected the restocking of the Thunderbirds. Plain bandaids in a variety of sizes and skin tones were carried in every kit and medbay, but there were almost equal numbers of the patterned ones in the larger first aid kits.

Offering an injured child a choice of dinosaurs or aeroplanes was sometimes just the right kind of distraction from the fear and confusion of whatever event they had just been through.  Virgil had even patched up a few beloved dolls and plushies with their own teddy bear plaster.

But, the novelty bandaids worked equally well on adults. 

There had been so many occasions when Virgil had treated a rescuee with only minor cuts and scrapes, but with the tell-tale tremble and haunted expression that prompted him to offer the choice of plain or patterned.  Without fail the glassy eyes would focus on the various designs, the tension in their bodies would ease and the bandaid magic would begin to take effect as they made their choice.

After all, when you’ve been through an event traumatic enough to require a Thunderbird to the rescue, doesn’t everyone deserve their very own superhero or fairy princess plaster to patch their wounds and lift their mood.

[gamerism]

Kiryu Kazumi is an interesting exercise in fandom, in my opinion. And I wanna talk about that.

[Kazumi is the fan created drag persona for Kiryu. Often Kiryu is genderfluid or exploring identity through her.]

Kazumi places a few tiers down the "non-canon fandom iceberg". She exists in response to Goromi who is already a very minor thing in canon, and was written as a Bit/with the intent to make an offensive joke about drag/ect, the fandom were the ones who made Goromi mean more than that. So Kazumi is a layer down from all of that already.

Despite her existence being entirely fanmade, she's not a vehicle for the fandom to cannibalise the source material into something unrecognisable purely for fanworks' sake. Though she might look it on the surface.

If the fandom decided to make Goromi mean something because she's the most blatant moment of queercoding for Majima in a long history of queercoding for him, then her theme is ultimately masculinity in canon.

Which is absolutely what Kazumi is about. Kiryu sits at the very beating heart of Like A Dragon's themes about masculinity. Be it toxic, be it ideals, be it the kind of appearances you're expected to maintain in the yakuza. Kiryu shoulders the heavy burden of them all.

We see him exhibit both positive and toxic masculinity throughout the series. But what the games have rarely brought up for him, is the rejection of masculinity in any context, or at least, femininity in equal amounts.

This isn't really surprising, if they're unwilling to make Majima say he's gay with his own mouth after using queerness as a means to Other him and make him seem dangerous, untrustworthy and even scary...they're certainly not going to have their shining beacon of Honour, Kiryu, do that. (Majima's queerness and coding has changed role somewhat over time and is generally more neutral or positive in positioning now. But even as recently as Yakuza Kiwami, it was being used in a negative way.)

So Kazumi serves the purpose for fans who wish to delve more deeply into that thorny complex relationship to masculinity.

[Kazumi In Kiwami 2 On NexusMods] By kiryussideburns.

Personally I find the idea of Kiryu exploring Kazumi as a means of escape, as a means of fully free self expression (something Kiryu has never had), really really interesting. I also find the time frame she's generally written in interesting. Most people place her post-2005. Kazama is dead. This is a hugely important factor in Kiryu's willingness to take the risk to explore gender expression. Kazama is not the kind of man who approves of any (perceived) weakness in men. In Kiryu and Nishiki's lives he's who instills a lot of toxic aspects of masculinity in them. I'd also hazard a strong guess that he's homophobic, though we don't actually know that.

The next largest factor is that December 2005 is the point where Kiryu leaves the Tojo Clan permanently. Kiryu definitely still cares a great deal deep down about his image and public perception within the underworld after leaving, but his day-to-day is no longer dictated by the rules of that life.

(Some people, me included, also dabble in Kazumi in 1988. But the same things essentially apply there. Kazama is in prison & as far away as he can functionally be while alive. And Kiryu is out of the Tojo Clan temporarily.)

As someone so enamoured with this exploration of gender expression for the character, I was floored when LAD Gaiden allowed Kiryu to wear makeup. Seriously, I had to go lay down to calm down about it when playing Gaiden day of release.

(Gaiden's lighting is very contrasted, I did my best to find a screenshot where you can actually see the makeup.)

The makeup, nail polish and pearl earrings in the Boutique was kind of unbelievable to me. I know RGG didn't really mean anything by it, that they didn't make those customisation options because they were going to touch on these themes. But even the hint of that in canon, it was so much more than I ever expected....even if it did go nowhere, as I knew it would.

It kind of gives me hope that Goromi might mean something more than just an offensive joke (in canon anyway) in the future. Or if not Goromi than something else, in LAD9 or such. Either way Kazumi will continue to be fandom legacy for gender expression, presentation and what the expectations Kiryu & other characters have resting on them mean.

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝘼𝙏𝙎𝙑 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

Cw: no witty title, it's just headcanons about their weather preferences.

MILES MORALES is a totally a spring/autumn kind of guy, maybe slightly inclined towards fall, he likes the cafes and overall aesthetic, drawing on rainy days typa stuff. And he likes the cold weather outfits better, he doesn't get that cold, but his mom definitely tells him to wear more layers of clothing because it's cold and he'll get sick.

Heat resistance: 6/10

Cold resistance: 7/10

GWEN STACY is a summer girl, surprisingly. However, her heat tolerance is very bad, so it's common to her to have a killer headache after a beach day, she says it's worth it, she also sunburns really easily and has to apply sunscreen in copious amounts. She doesn't dislike the cold, but I think her favorite part of winter is the snow, she loves snowball fights (snowball wars, to her) and hot cocoa, she doesn't like spring as much since she became spider-woman, she doesn't have terrible allergies, but she has some, and it gets hard to breathe under the mask.

Heat resistance: 4/10

Cold resistance: 7/10

PETER B. PARKER is also an autumn enjoyer, he loves Halloween, loves the occasional rain, and it loves that the color palette reminds him of Mary Jane, he's cheesy like that. He likes winter too, mostly Christmas (I headcanon him as partly jewish, but he celebrates Christmas, you cannot tell me this man doesn't leave cookies for Santa), summer is not his favorite part of the year, but he learned to love it for his wife.

Heat resistance: 5/10

Cold resistance: 9/10

HOBIE BROWN has no preferences, I mean, he has them, but they're constantly changing. He likes winter/fall clothes better, but it doesn't matter, because this motherfucker has the best heat tolerance ever, he doesn't even break a sweat, it's 40°c outside and he's wearing a leather coat and combat boots while Gwen is becoming a puddle on the floor. He likes to eat ice cream, no matter the season, he also bites ice lollies/popsicles. 💔

Heat resistance: 10/10

Cold resistance: 8/10

PAVITR PRABHAKAR loves spring, he doesn't like that valentine's day is in winter, he thinks it should be in spring!! It's much nicer!! He also likes the festivals that occur that time of the year. He has mild allergies but not enough to make him dislike this beautiful time of the year. He likes the rest of seasons equally, but spring takes the grand prize by a long shot. He doesn't have particularly bad cold resistance, but he likes wearing a lot of knitted items.

Heat resistance: 7/10

Cold resistance: 7/10

MIGUEL O'HARA is a winter person. I think he really enjoyed summers when he had Gabriela, because she was on vacation and they did cool summer activities together. But now that time of the year brings him sadness, and he never loved the summer to start with, he doesn't like to sweat.

Heat resistance: 5/10

Cold resistance: 8/10

JESSICA DREW likes spring, she likes cold strawberry lemonade, maybe a beer after fixing her bike, he likes to get flowers for herself and be gifted flowers. She also strikes me as a morning person, so she loves those healthy breakfasts with fruits and granola. She likes having the summer vibe without the heat. She's another hot cocoa lover, but she wants to perfect the best recipe, and tries every winter, and she's a sucker for maple syrup, and can't wait to spend winters with his child.

Heat resistance: 8/10

Cold resistance: 7/10

MARGO KESS likes winter too, but it'd be most appropriate to say it's late autumn she likes staying indoors, but being able to go for a walk or simply step out of the house without a blizzard, she likes the freedom it provides, it doesn't force you indoors, it just makes it easier. She's adores the cottagecore spring though, but it's mostly the aesthetic, but it does feel nice to have some warmth hitting your skin after winter.

Heat resistance: 5/10

Cold resistance: 6/10

PETER PARKER aka Spider-Noir doesn't have much of a preference, his world doesn't have colors, so he can't fully appreciate spring, winter feels the most natural to him, but he'll pick summer because he likes seeing his Mary Jane in summer dresses. He has average tolerance for any climate, so he's quite indifferent.

Heat resistance: 6/10

Cold resistance: 6/10

PENI PARKER likes summer! She likes going to the pool, eating ice cream, going to convenience stores to buy icy treats, loves summer fruits, summer really cheers her up, spring is a close second though. She still likes winter, mostly the festivities.

Heat resistance: 9/10

Cold resistance: 8/10

GAYATRI SINGH likes spring, this is due Pavitr's influence, she always liked spring, but seeing him so hyped really pulls her heart strings, she also likes celebrating Sikh new year with her father, she has good childhood memories. She does hate something, and that's SWEAT, she hates it, she can stand sweaty hands, but she'd distract the other person and wipe her hands in desperation, and I'm sure she's the type of person who'd leave the bed because Pavitr was sweaty, or who'd take a cold shower in the middle of the night because of this. So summer is not for her, early spring is her favorite time. She also enjoys autumn a lot.

Heat resistance: 4/10

Cold resistance: 6/10

GANKE LEE is a winter lover through and through, he likes the snow, has mixed feelings about Seollal, but loves it most of the time, and his favorite part is staying inside drinking a hot beverage. He loves winter but has poor tolerance to the cold, like Gwen and summer, so he's freezing most of the time, but it's okay (he'll steal all the sweaters Miles doesn't use).

Heat resistance: 5/10

Cold resistance: 3/10

MILES G. MORALES was one of those kids whose nose constantly bled during the summer, he also fainted a couple times, he's embarrassed by it, so he always has a fan near him, and eats a lot of ice cream and cold drinks to lower his body temperature. He can't bring himself to hate summer though, it's his mother favorite time of the year, and he's a mama's boy. His favorite time of the year is also fall, because the weather isn't that extreme and he still gets to enjoy the cold.

Heat resistance: 2/10

Cold resistance: 9/10

RIO MORALES loves summer with her whole heart, she's the mom that makes caldo when it's hot like hell outside, she loves going to the farmer's market to buy fresh fruit, and she loves having a girl's night with her friends during the summer. She loathes the cold, not because she can't resist it, but because she is paranoid about her and her family getting sick. She used to give Miles those weird ass concoctions that claimed to solve every illness, she still threatens to give it to him when he's leaving home without a jacket. She trusts vic vaporub with her life.

Heat resistance: 10/10

Cold resistance: 7/10

JEFFERSON DAVIS is fucking cold blooded, when it's hot outside he acts like a lizard bathing in the rays of sunlight. Obviously his favorite season is summer. He wears so many layers under his police uniform he needs a bigger size during the winter. Jefferson loves Brooklyn and could never leave, but it's SO COLD, he has asked Rio more than once, "honey, do you ever feel like going back to Puerto Rico?" And she's like "Jeff what the hell???".

Heat resistance: 10/10

Cold resistance: 1/10

MARY JANE WATSON loves new year's eve and Christmas, winter really brings back beautiful memories of her youth with Peter, but MJ is a summer gal at heart. She has a (strictly monogamous) hot girl summer every year, she likes feeling sexy and desired by her husband and doesn't want to take the spark for granted. She loves taking Mayday to the beach with her, and buys her the cutest toddler bathing suits, they regularly buy matching ones, MJ wearing a bikini and May on a frilly onesie. Unlike the other snowbunnies in this post, she doesn't sunburn easily, just gets a lot more freckles. She still doesn't leave the sun screen behind, ever.

Heat resistance: 8/10

Cold resistance: 8/10

[revasserium]

balter + sakusa 🥺

send me a word and a character, and i'll write you a fic

practice makes perfect

sakusa kiyoomi; 2,272 words; fluff... that's it, sakusa isn't good at dancing, you convince him to do it anyway

“wow… i didn’t know that he could move like that…”

“ah… but uhm… it’s kind of shocking, isn’t it?”

“what, that sakusa kiyoomi could be so bad at something?”

komori laughs into his hand, glancing over to the dance floor where one sakusa kiyoomi is doing what seems like his best attempt at a popular dance move and failing rather miserably.

“well… at least he looks like he’s having fun,” komori says, grinning as he catches your eyes over sakusa’s shoulder and raises a hand in greeting. you smile back, shooting him a wink before going back to your equally abysmal dancing by sakusa’s side.

“but. i don’t dance.”

sakusa blinks at you from across the hotel room table, his black coffee steaming between you, his jersey laid out in pristine condition on the freshly made bed. you hum as you reach for another piece of toast, applying a generous dose of butter and strawberry jam with a the same knife, seemingly oblivious to sakusa’s tiny wince as you jab the knife back into the jam jar. the toast is satisfyingly crunchy as you take a bite, making your toes curl as you finally look up to meet his eyes.

“yeah, so?”

sakusa licks his lips, his eyes flickering between the half-bitten monstrosity of toast in your hand and the crumbs littering the corner of your mouth. he bites down the urge to lunge across the table and wipe them away and maybe push you back into bed in the process, but he knows that there isn’t quite enough time for that. not today, anyway. but maybe tomorrow —

“so, why did you put me on the guest list for the dance party tonight?”

it’s a perfectly reasonable question, he thinks, even as you let out a melodramatic sigh, cramming the rest of the butter-jam-toast into your mouth and making for another slice.

“because, all your friends are gonna be there. and weren’t you saying just last week that you missed them?”

“i never said i missed them.”

“you said it’s been a while since you’ve seen them.”

“yeah, because it has.”

“so, you miss them.”

“that’s not —” sakusa sighs, reaching for his coffee. he takes a slow sip, counts his breaths, savors the bitter and tang. meanwhile, you crinkle your nose and frown at him, slathering more butter-jam onto your toast.

“kiyoomi-kun… have you ever done anything you were bad at?”

sakusa frowns at the question — what a strange thing to ask — why would he ever do anything he knew he’d be bad at? he narrows his eyes as you grin and shove the rest of the toast into your mouth. you lick your lips and sakusa bites back the urge to sigh — caught halfway between endeared and annoyed at the mess you’re making.

“no. i can’t say i have.”

“you should try it — could be fun!” you make a show of licking clean your fingers and smacking your lips.

sakusa shudders, unsure if he’s put off by the motion or turned on by it.

“right.”

you hike an eyebrow, “oh, c’mon — you can’t have been good at everything the first time you tried it — what about volleyball? were you good at it the first time you ever played?”

“yes,” sakusa deadpans, and you roll your eyes.

“okay then — maybe you were put on this earth to play volleyball and that’s not a fair example. hm…” you cast about for something else before a devlish grin spreads across your lips like butter and jam and sakusa is held still by both his curiosity and his certainty that this is not going to turn out well.

“what?” he asks, already snappish.

“i mean — i was just thinking — the first time we had sex… you weren’t as good as you are now but you seemed to have had a great time.”

sakusa sputters, nearly upsetting the tall glass of orange juice by his hands.

“that — what — you weren’t that good either!”

but then you’re laughing, shaking your head, “no! i wasn’t! but i also had a great time! see? you can be bad at something and still enjoy it!”

“that’s not — i mean — it’s different!”

“how would you know? have you ever danced before?”

sakusa clamps down on his bottom lip, glaring at the butter-dish, “no but — i know i wouldn’t like it.”

you lean forward, propping your chin on your hands, “how though? if you’ve never done it before?” your grin is just on the other side of a challenge and sakusa can’t fight down the feeling that maybe, just maybe — this is one battle he’s not going to win.

“i just — it’s just stupid.��

you giggle, stifling the sound behind your hand and he shoots you the best glare he can muster.

“c’mon — c’mere.” you motion for him to stand up as you push back your chair and jump to your feet.

sakusa stares, “what?”

“get up! c’mon!” you reach over and tug on his arm, nearly dragging him out of his seat before he has the good mind to stand up, if only to stop himself from tipping over.

you pull one of his hands around you waist and hold the other, palm to palm with your own. you laugh as you force the pair of you into a strange, crab-like march across the length of the hotel room and then back again. sakusa is red-cheeked and frowning by the time you finish your second pass.

“what are you doing?”

“we are dancing!”

when you try to tug him back across the room again, he pulls you to him, letting out a soft groan as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. you feel your warm breath against the tender of your skin — it leaves you shivering.

“that’s not dancing.”

you laugh, gently this time, curling your arms around the width of his body, leaning up on your tiptoes to try and hook your chin over one of his shoulders. you are fighting a losing battle — he’s always been too tall, too quiet, to suspicious — but he’s also always been yours.

“how would you know, hm? you’ve never done it!” you tease as he walks you both back towards the bed, smirking as you tumble back onto it, the length of his shadow long enough to cover your whole body, the light spilling in from the balcony window only serving to paint him in sharp, and shaper lines.

the curls of his hair look nothing short of angelic.

“because i know what it feels like to be good at something,” he answers, his breath a husky wisp of a thing, rolling like thunder across the horizon of your stretched out body and you’re powerless to resist him. you smile, you lay back. you let him tug you towards him by the soft of your hips —

“y-yeah? well… i think you could be good at dancing… if you just tried.”

“i don’t like to waste effort on things that won’t serve my future.”

you feel the mattress around you shift as he crawls over you, his arms by your ears, the tips of his curly-cued hair tickling your forehead. you reach up to sink your fingers into its depth.

“i dunno… i’d actually call it an investment.”

he pauses, cocks his head.

“and how do you figure that?”

you allow yourself the most indulgent smirk you can muster.

“i dunno… it’s just… i hear that dancing is pretty common place at weddings… but that’s just me, y’know?”

and or a second, sakusa merely blinks down at you — just long enough for doubt to start bubbling at the base of your stomach. and then —

“ah… i see…” he leans down to ghost his lips along the bare column of your neck, “so… i suppose it’s something we should practice, hm?”

“or — we could just be bad at it… and enjoy ourselves at the same time.”

his grin is decidedly lopsided when he pulls back, his head cocked.

“is that why you signed me up for the dance party tonight? to practice?”

you shrug, still pinned beneath him, your chest heaving at the proximity, the closeness of his body never failing to make yours simmer with anticipation.

“that depends, are you asking about dancing or practicing being bad at something and enjoying it?”

he leans down to kiss a slow, languid line along your collarbones, your thoughts fizzling out to mere static as he chuckles against your skin.

“either… both.”

“th-then both.”

he’s grinning when he pulls back, his expression just a tad sadistic.

“but first — we’ve still got… what? 15 minutes before we’ve gotta be downstairs for the press conference? why don’t we try doing something we’re both good at and will enjoy, hm?”

you open your mouth to answer, but he cuts you off with his lips, and then soon after that, coherent thought leaves you completely.

later that night, you’re both more than a little drunk, and for once sakusa is laughing like he actually means it, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to work through a series of ill-conceived dance steps.

you catch komori’s eyes over sakusa’s shoulder and shoot him a grin, raise your glass, and down the rest of your champagne in a single gulp. sakusa grins, wide and lazy and very, very drunk before he pulls you in, tucks your body against his and slows the pair of you to a soft sway, even as the music picks up and up and up.

eventually, komori wanders his way over to you both, his cheeks flushed with color, nursing a half-empty champagne flute as he looks you both over with an amused half-grin.

“and what might be going on here, hm?”

you grin as sakusa slowly spins the two of you in a circle and your eyes meet komori’s.

“can’t you tell? we’re practicing!”

komori’s eyebrows skyrocket, “practicing… what?”

“dancing!” this time, sakusa responds, a half-formed frown creasing his forehead as he looks over his cousin.

“you’re practicing… dancing… and can i ask why?”

you giggle as sakusa tries to dip you and it’s only by the strength of his arms that he doesn’t drop you flat on your ass.

“f-for a wedding!” you say, as sakusa pulls you back up and the pair of you continue to turn on the spot.

“w-wedding?” komori has the decency to look confused, “have you guys been invited to one?”

“nope!” you answer cheerfully.

komori blinks at you both for a full ten seconds before realization hits and his eyes go wide.

“o-oh! well — uhm — i’ll let you two get back to it, then!” he makes to back away before sakusa calls after him.

“make sure you practice too! y-you’re gonna be invited!”

komori nearly stumbles over his own feet as he turns to wave at you both.

“su-sure! alright — i’ll uh — look forward to the invite, then?”

you laugh as sakusa spins you out under his arm and pulls you back in again, almost stepping on your feet.

“don’t hold your breath — it won’t be for a while!”

komori cocks his head, “and why’s that?”

you squeal as sakusa hoists you up by the waist and spins you around.

“w-we’ve got a lot more practice to finish before we’ll be ready for it!”

and at this, komori finally laughs, shaking his had as he turns back around, flapping his hands at the both of you as he heads back towards the bar and his own group of friends.

behind him, sakusa positively pouts as he lowers you slowly to the ground.

“what’dyou mean we need alot more practice? i — i think we’re great.”

you lean up to brush your nose against his, “yeah but… i think we could be better.”

sakusa rolls his eyes, “fine — fine — we can —” he hiccups and crinkles his nose, “we can practice a bit more.”

“and then… after?” you ask, feeling suddenly breathless for a whole different reason.

“after… well after — we’ll be married.”

you bite your lips, searching his eyes for any sign of uncertainty, any clue that this might all just be a drunken farce but you find nothing except warmth, except sincerity, except a bone-deep sureness, a marrow-thick knowing.

“but… what if we’re bad at it? being married…”

sakusa leans down to cup your cheeks, his thumbs pressing against the smooth of your skin as he smiles.

“we won’t be… and if we are then… we’ll just have to practice.”

“yeah? you sure?”

“yeah — because… you can be bad at something and still enjoy it right? and… between the two of us — we can get good at anything with a bit of practice.”

you laugh, feeling something very close to tears prickling at the back of your eyes, hot and unsteady and you try your best to blink the feeling away. you clear your throat and nod.

“yeah — practice sounds good. practice sounds perfect.”

sakusa presses his lips to yours, his hands still cupping your face, “no… practice makes perfect… and that’s exactly what we’ll be — perfect.”

find my favorite prompts here || find my masterlists here

[starlightshadowsworld]

Sorry if I ended up spamming your notifs but I looked through your dashboard cuz of that Fukuzawa post- how he could feel the bond snapping if the people he consider his subordinates died, and... never in my life have I considered that bond could've applied to Fukuchi when the guy left---

(But then it crossed my mind as I write this that idk if it's fortunate or devastating for Fukuzawa if something life-threatening happened to Ranpo because Ranpo doesn't have an ability that bonded with All Men Are Equal.)

Anyways, I love your post about Atsushi being in the mafia as part of the exchange cuz I love seeing Mori suffer.

I always define Atsushi as "light in the darkness" because in Beast, that's how he was for Kyouka (he'll always be her light).

Sorry for rambling, I should've sent you this as a message but idk if you'd feel comfy about some random acc popping in your inbox.

First off, ramble away.

I love having discussions and stuff about the stuff I talk about.

You're good, I don't mind. If you or someone else was spamming my inbox, I'd let ya know.

I do generally prefer people message me thro the asks, especially if I don't know you.

That aside and onto ur message.

I just can't get over that line of Fukuzawa saying he'd know if Kunikida had died.

That in some way he would've felt it. And I see it as a connection, as an almost physical bond between them that would've been cut.

And the idea of his connection with Fukuchi breaking. What was possibly one of the oldest connections Fukuzawa had, dissolving over time.

Fukuzawa trying to hold onto it because he still sees him as his friend. But it's broken and there's nothing he can do to get it back.

And it being so sad because Fukuzawa is used to these bonds breaking at death, but Fukuchi was lost to him long before he died.

I didn't think about Ranpo.

I think Fukuzawa sees it as both a blessing and a curse that he can't feel if Ranpo is okay.

But it's a testament to their bond that it isn't required. They trust each other so much, that it's like a sixth sense for Fukuzawa to know what Ranpo's up too.

While also knowing that if he wasn't grey before he met Ranpo, he would've definitely gone grey after meeting him.

Agreed.

Atsushi is the beast beneath the moonlight. He is the literal light in the darkness.

The idea of Kyouka envisioning the light with Atsushi as a apart of that, is gonna make me cry I love them both.

Atsushi in the Port Mafia to me is Mori being like I'm gonna corrupt you and Atsushi's like power of friendship motherfucker.

Atsushi won't go to therapy but you bet your ass he's giving everyone in the Port Mafia therapy.

Atsushi met Mori as werid ex doctor who gave him good but advice once. I think he'd be a bit... Skeptical this man is the head of the Port Mafia.

I think he'd listen to him but would think through and use that advice while following his own morals.

Like he did before.

Which is infuriating and fascinating to Mori because clearly Atsushi gets where he's coming from... He just won't do it.

Quite a juxtaposition from everyone else in the Port Mafia follows Mori without question.

But Atsushi does not.

I love the idea of his interactions with Mori are him being mostly maliciously compliant.

Like he's not outright doing something wrong but he's still pissing him off.

Something Dazai and Kunikida would've definitely taught him.

Like Mori's going on a whole spiel and Atsushi is just colouring on the floor with Elise paying him no attention.

And Mori can't say anything because Elise is so happy so he's just silently seething.

That whole Anne's Room episode and seeing these two interact for the first time, with Atsushi not knowing Mori's identity

Is just so intresting to me. More interactions between them is something I want.

That and I'd be curious to see if there was any information to do with the Port Mafia getting the bounty for Atsushi from the Guild and Fyodor.

Because yeah it could've just been for the reward, but was there more to it than that?

Or if the Headmaster had connections to the Port Mafia.

Because however small it may be, the Headmaster still made contact with the Port Mafia to sell a gun.

He's not from the area, but somehow arranged a meeting with them.

And in my opinion died very suspiciously.

I mean I personally hc that the injections the Headmaster was giving Atsushi were obtained from Mori when he was an underground doctor.

Whether that's true or not, idk but it would be intresting if Mori knew more about Atsushi than we realise.

But yeah that's just some of my thoughts.

[dykeredhood]

The way that wish I was watching The Terror alongside my father (the materials engineering professor…) it would genuinely/academically be a bonding experience for us

With his expertise he’d be able to tell me if lead solder on the tins of food would have really contributed to the lead poisoning of the crew (I’ll warrant that he’d say something more along the lines of: “no it did not; they (the crew) were just awful”)

To be fair, my opinions on all that are skewed because in addition to having a PhD and being a university professor, he’s also my father and didn’t believe that I was feeling unwell or experiencing any sort of distress when I told him I wasn’t feeling well and felt like I was about to pass out while I was standing on the shiny cement floor of the local warehouse store

Not the best spot to swoon and crumple to the floor at

Ofc I didn’t end up actually swooning, I’m better than that and there were no gentlemen around to conveniently catch me mid-swoon; I shambled back to my parents’ car to lay down all by myself with my feet lifted up higher than the level of my head to equalize the blood flow throughout my body and keep me from passing out; Girl Scout first aid training came in helpful, my mother’s first aid & CPR training…etc. clearly didn’t apply to me when I was in distress

Anyway. Consider how Lee Captain “Apollo” Adama confers with his father Commander Adama in the Battlestar Galactica miniseries and that’s a pretty apt representation of how fraught the relationship I have with my own father is

[fuckyeslilkim]

Rapper Lil' Kim Has Had A Profound Impact On Fashion Over The Years

hen Lil’ Kim made her debut with the 1996 album Hard Core, she utterly and completely changed the rap game. A protege of Notorious B.I.G., and the sole female member of his hip-hop group Junior M.A.F.I.A., Lil’ Kim, aka Kimberly Denise Jones, had a flow that was raw and gritty, with raunchy, sexually liberating lyrics that made critics clutch their pearls. Hard Core went on to become certified double platinum by the RIAA, cementing the then-22-year-old as a bona fide hip-hop god. But it wasn’t just Lil’ Kim’s lyrical prowess that set her apart from her contemporaries that came before her. Her sense of style also made her a trailblazer, solidifying her as a pop culture fashion icon.

While other women rappers like Queen Latifah, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, and Da Brat favored more androgynous clothing, like oversize T-shirts and baggy jeans, Lil’ Kim’s outfits were ultra-feminine, bold, risqué, and revealing — as provocative and outrageous as her songs. She wore teeny-tiny bikinis, see-through silhouettes, candy-colored wigs, and equally vibrant fur coats. She also helped popularize ’90s and noughties logomania, a trend in which designer branding is made overtly obvious on one’s clothing and accessories (the antithesis to “quiet luxury”). In Kim’s case, logomania also applied to hairstyles, as she famously wore wigs with Chanel’s double “C” logo and Versace’s Greek key motif. (The move made sense for someone who frequently name-dropped designers in her lyrics). Aside from head-to-toe designer monograms, Kim has worn a sparkly catsuit made with 965,000 crystals, embellished headpieces with matching thongs, and a gray, floor-length chinchilla coat (which she modeled next to mob daughter Victoria Gotti in the video for 2003’s “Came Back for You”). The list goes on.

“She was bringing something new that we hadn’t really seen before,” says Elizabeth Way, fashion historian and associate curator at the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT). “For so long, female rappers had been kind of marginalized and really tried to fit in with their male counterparts, especially with their style. Lil’ Kim rejected that and embraced her femininity in both her style and her lyrics.” Marissa Pelly, stylist for the rapper Ice Spice, shares a similar sentiment, pointing out how the industry made female musicians feel like they couldn’t boldly embrace their sexuality while simultaneously being perceived as “chic” or “luxury” — as if the two concepts could not co-exist. “Now when I see female artists owning their sexuality, while also being muses for some of fashion’s most elite houses, I think of — and I thank — Lil’ Kim.”

Behind every celebrity style icon is a brilliant stylist; a wizard behind the velvet curtain, so to speak. For Lil’ Kim, it was Misa Hylton. One cannot discuss Kim’s vestiary tours de force without mentioning the industry legend by her side, who had already been masterminding looks for Mary J. Blige, Faith Evans, Jodeci, and her then-boyfriend Sean “Diddy” Combs. But theirs was a match made in fashion heaven; the two women felt an immediate kinship. “I think that Kim and I were magical together and when you have that type of synergy only greatness can come forth. We were thinking outside of the box and unapologetically taking risks. People gravitate to that type of authentic and creative energy,” Hylton told Dazed in 2018.

The two women set the bar high high from the beginning with a legendary look the promotional poster for Hard Core, Kim’s debut album: a leopard print bikini and a sheer, marabou-trimmed duster. The one-piece was designed by Sex and the City costume designer Patricia Field, who owned a store in New York City from 1996 until 2016. It was known to be a hot shopping spot for fellow performers like Debbie Harry, Lady Gaga, and Kim’s friend and frequent collaborator Missy Elliott. Hylton and Kim frequented Field’s boutique almost daily. In the years — and decades — that followed, both the look, and Kim’s signature squatting pose, would be replicated by the likes of Teyana Taylor, Nicki Minaj, GloRilla, and countless others.

Hylton and Kim also went all out for the “Crush on You” music video, directed by Lance Rivera. Inspired by the The Wiz’s color-changing Emerald City disco dance sequence, the video featured the star in monochromatic technicolor outfits and matching wigs — and instantly catapulted her to mainstream MTV fame. “When you think of the blueprint for most female musicians’ styles today, you think the designer logos; the iced-out, statement jewelry; and different styles of wigs — that was all her,” explains stylist Estelle Aporongao. “Kim’s DNA runs through the contemporary fashion industry’s veins.”

In 1998, Kim donned a bejeweled caged headpiece and matching arm sleeves to the 1998 Soul Train Lady of Soul Awards, which felt like the ultimate statement. But the rapper topped herself yet again a year later when she attended the MTV Video Music Awards in a purple wig and lilac-colored, sequined jumpsuit, complete with a single purple pasty that garnered an unforgettable reaction from Diana Ross. The moment would become the stuff of award show legend.

That same year, Kim covered Interview magazine’s November issue wearing only a Louis Vuitton headgear and LV logos painted all over her body, a moment described as a “cultural reset” by celebrity stylist Audrey Brianne, who works with Chris Tucker and Tyler Posey. “At the time, it was a fresh idea no other star had rocked quite so boldly. If people weren’t already paying attention to Lil’ Kim by then, they were now,” she says.

To be clear, Lil’ Kim was interested in fashion long before she dressed in colorful furs. “Her high school friends recounted how she would spend her allowance on clothes and had Gucci before they even knew what it was,” explains Nygel Simons, a stylist and archivist, noting that the artist also worked at Bloomingdale’s prior to rapping full time. “It really shines through when an artist genuinely loves fashion.” Nowadays, it’s not out of the ordinary for a designer to dress hip-hop artists for red carpets or sit them front row at Fashion Week, but in the 1990s, that relationship didn’t really exist. Lil’ Kim had a je ne sais quoi that both attracted and inspired designers like Karl Lagerfeld, Giorgio Armani, Betsey Johnson, John Galliano, and Donatella Versace, who would dress her for her 1999 Met Gala debut.

Way long before Barbiecore would become a part of the cultural zeitgeist, Lil’ Kim sported a pink, full-length mink coat with a studded pink bra, matching hot pants, and pink snakeskin boots for the “Rock Style”-themed Met Gala. “Donatella is my girl. We’ve loved each other from the moment we first saw each other,” Kim told Vogue in 2020. “At the Met, you’re a designer’s muse, [and] she loved the fact that I have fun in her clothes.”

Lil’ Kim has also walked the runway for designers including Baby Phat, The Blonds, and VFiles. But her closest friendship is with fashion designer Marc Jacobs, whom she calls her “bestie” and who has played a significant role in her life and career. Jacobs dressed Kim for her court appearances and subsequently became her prison pen pal when she served a one-year sentence for lying to protect friends involved in a 2001 shootout. Kim sent Jacobs the Bratz doll coloring pages she painted, which he then had framed and hung in his house. Jacobs is also writing the foreword for her forthcoming memoir, The Queen Bee.

“These were interesting and important alliances for her during the early 2000s because it further legitimized the message to her fans and the public that her empire and reach extended well beyond music,” says stylist Alison Brooks, who works with television personality and hairstylist Jonathan Van Ness. “I believe it was a turning point, not so subtly signaling to other artists to bling themselves out in designer looks with confidence and embrace their curves with body positivity before body positivity became a thing.”

When it comes to her own work, Pelly says she’s strongly influenced by Lil’ Kim. “I love how effortlessly she would combine her own fun custom pieces with luxury ones, while also demonstrating a great deal of high-end fashion knowledge.” Pelly says she had this approach in mind while styling Ice Spice for the “Barbie World” music video, pairing a custom Chanel-inspired, Christian Cowan tweed set with a Barbiecore bra by Laser Kitten, custom Emilio Pucci, and pieces from the Gaultier archives. “It’s that duality that’s so inspiring to me and creates the most interesting, well-rounded looks every time.” She also drew ideas from Kim’s 2003 “Summer Jam” performance, in which she wears SS03 Jean Paul Gaultier script belts around her waist and chest. “I love when artists love the same brands I do... I tracked down the same belts for Ice’s Paper Magazine cover back in April as a nod to the OG style icon.”

It’s difficult to imagine what would have happened if Lil’ Kim hadn’t paved the way for women in hip-hop to take fashion risks. Cardi B might not have worn archival Mugler to the 2019 Grammy Awards, and who knows if Megan Thee Stallion would have modeled for Calvin Klein. Then there’s the countless Kim homages artists have paid over the years: Beyoncé replicated several of Kim’s famous looks for Halloween 2017; Rihanna has cited the rapper’s penchant for experimenting with different looks as a major influence on her own fashion sense; and Miley Cyrus dressed in Kim’s MTV VMAs look for Halloween back in 2013, purple pasty and all. It’s for reasons like these that stylists like Simons believe Lil’ Kim deserves official acknowledgement for her legacy, particularly from the Council of Fashion Designers of America. (For years, fans have been calling on the CFDA to honor Kim with its annual Fashion Icon award.)

One thing’s for sure: You’d be hard-pressed to find another hip-hop fashion icon with the same enduring legacy. “Lil’ Kim is the blueprint,” says Simons. “Whenever you think you’re being presented with something new, if you search hard enough, you’ll find that Kim has already done it at some point.”

[honeypot482]

Unsure how you found my and that post, but thanks for the support! Hope you enjoy it;

You’d not even been working here for a full year yet, why would they have called you in for a performance meeting if not to get rid of you? Sure, this was a much more professional place than any you’d worked at before, but you were so sure you’d become indispensable as the management secretary. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew as you reached the meeting room, all blinds closed so that nobody could observe.

“Come in and take a seat. Get comfortable, this might take a little while to go through.”

Your boss appeared at the door just as you got there, an intimidating figure standing over you at that moment. You slip through the door and take a seat near to the other person in the room. HR, you’d guess. Your boss follows you after closing the door behind you. You’re certain you heard the click of the lock as he did so, but decide it must be your mind playing tricks. He sits across from you, next to his equally well-suited colleague.

“I’m just going to get straight into it, if that’s okay? Unfortunately, it seems that some information regarding your time outside of work and certain aspects of your… personality has been unintentionally learned by some in the office. As such, I’m afraid that I have to notify you of a change to your position with us here.”

Your mind reels, racing down every possible avenue of thought trying to figure out what it is they could possibly have found to be so quick on the trigger, but nothing particularly springs to mind. 

“You will be given a few less administration duties to perform, typically the ones other staff can perform just as easily, reducing your workload to provide time for new responsibilities we will be adding to your contract.”

That was… not what you were expecting. A promotion perhaps?

“As I said, information has recently come to light, that being your private tumblr account. I will not disclose the source of this information, but needless to say I found it very… interesting. You seem to be someone of very many nonstandard desires, if I may say so. I have been looking for a method with which to improve staff morale in our office, and I believe you might help with that.”

You can feel the heat in your cheeks burn uncontrollably. You know exactly what is on your blog, the kind of things you’ve written about, fantasised about there. There’s no way this could be leading where you think. Right?

“From here on, until you decide to leave us, you will be required to leave up to half of your allocated work time per day free to take appointments from colleagues on this floor. Your calendar will be kept up to date with when and what they request, and upon the scheduled time you will take them to the unused meeting room at the back of the office and fulfil their planned needs, regardless of what they are. Not acquiescing to these demands will be cause for a strike, and upon receipt of three in a one month timeframe your contract will be terminated. I myself will be in charge of accepting these appointment requests, and you may trust that I won’t allow the more egregious requests to pass through to ensure your safety and attendance through the week. Your tumblr account will be distributed throughout the office in every morning work allocation email and colleagues will be encouraged to browse it. Your free time not spent in appointments will be spent on your account. You will also be required to alter your uniform. It does not matter what you wear coming into this office, but during your working hours you will be wearing your underwear and nothing else. A suitable raise will of course be applied to your salary, and one set of lingerie may be purchased by the company for you per month as uniform cost.”

You sit in shocked silence, trying to ignore the increasingly large wet spot in your underwear. This sounds both terrifying and too good to be true. Surely Mr HR can't allow this? Even though an increasingly large part of you is decidedly hoping that he can. 

“I understand that this is a rather large departure from the work you were expecting to continue doing here, and you may be assured that you will only ever receive a glowing reference about your administrative duties should you decide to leave us. Your new contract is here ready to be signed, but you may take the rest of the week to consider your response. I eagerly await your decision.”

The way he looks at you tells you that he isn’t lying, and the still unknown man beside him continues to portray no emotion aside from a careful inquisitiveness towards you. If none of this is a trap, some kind of twisted test as an excuse to fire you, then there was no thought required, you’d sign it in blood if you had to. Sure, you’d had different aspirations in life, but fuck, this sounded like a dream job opportunity. Days upon days of letting the men and women you see every single day use you to take out their frustrations and get them off? Even just the thought has you close to orgasm. You look back at your boss, about to ask the question, but it seems he already knows what you’re going to ask.

“You want some kind of confirmation, right? That this isn’t a trick? Very well. Remove your clothes. All of them.”

The commanding tone in his voice isn’t one you’ve heard before, but it’s certainly one you could get used to hearing. You hesitate for a single moment before you notice that your boss is already in the process of freeing his cock from his suit pants. It’s hot. Very Hot. Hot enough that you don’t even notice yourself removing your own clothes until you’re in your underwear. You see his thick cock flinch as you remove your bra, so you can only imagine what it does when you bend at the waist and remove your panties. 

“Good. Now on your knees. Crawl over to me, and take my cock into your mouth.”

You do as requested, nervous but eyeing his thick member with lust. As you take it into your mouth you notice his smell, the same cologne he wears every day. Clearly he’d planned for this. You find you have no complaints. He rumbles out a few low groans as you find your pace and swirl your tongue around his head. As he places a hand on the back of your head and pulls you further in, you glance across to see Mr HR rubbing at his own dick through his trousers. You find yourself gagging on your boss, swallowing at his head as you feel his precum leaking out into your throat. He lets go and you pull up and away, turning instead to the still stroking man next to you. You look into his eyes as you reach towards his belt and begin unleashing his dick too. It’s nothing special, but it has a curve to it that looks like it would feel simply incredible scraping along the walls of your pussy. 

You take the new cock into your mouth as you place a hand around your boss, stroking him eagerly as he watches you force another man’s dick into the back of your mouth. The both of them moan almost in sync as you please them. It’s not enough. You need more. Still gripping your boss, you lead him around to your rear and place him right at your lips. His hands feel good as they grab your ass and spread it apart, you can almost feel his burning stare on your dripping holes. His first thrust into your cunt causes him to moan loudly, then you to moan with Mr HRs cock still in your throat, making him groan in turn. It’s the first time you’ve been spitroasted, but you already hope it won't be the last. The pounding of your boss into you feels incredible, and the way it pushes and pulls the cock in your mouth all on its own feels divine. 

Your whimpers grow in frequency as you feel the familiar tension bubbling forward, pushed on by the merciless beating your boss is giving your pussy. If you’d have known he felt this good you would have done this a year ago. You force the dick in your mouth into your throat as you cum, clenching both ends around their respective dicks as you writhe in the pleasure. The pace slows naturally as you finish, and you take the opportunity to switch, curious how you taste on your boss. You stand and turn, sitting to impale yourself on the spit-covered dick. You were right, the curve felt phenomenal slide in and out. Your boss replaces his hand in your hair, gripping a little tighter this time as he forces your lips over his head. The taste of your cum mixed with his precum tastes slightly sweet, so you have no problem sucking even harder than before as you ride Mr HR in desperate desire to tease another orgasm out. The rhythm reaches a fevered pitch as the volume of groans and lustful cries grows louder. Your boss is bottoming out in your throat as you can, and Mr HR has started fucking up deeply into you as he reaches around to tweak at your nipples and roughly grope at your bouncing tits. 

The orgasm rips through you quicker than you expected when your boss pulls your hair back so that you look into his eyes and he stares down at you, cock bouncing on your face as you keep riding on. He pulls you up when you’re done spasming, and instead puts you on your knees between the two of them. Mr HR stands, apparently getting the message, and you grab the two hard dicks bouncing around deliciously in front of your face. You pump at them steadily, licking the tips here and there, before finally deciding to just do away with the little dignity you might have left as you look up into their eyes and earnestly beg for them to spray their cum all over you. You’re in the middle of telling them just how much you need to feel it on your skin when Mr HR shoots his thick load across you, covering your neck and tits in a deliciously warm load. You let go of him and apply both hands to your boss, looking at him and pleading. He erupts with a deep grunt as an inordinately huge load covers your face and tongue. You feel some drip down onto your chest as you stand back up licking your lips.

The contract is signed before they’ve even put their cocks away. You think about cleaning up and getting dressed, but walk out naked and cum-covered instead. After all, this is your job now

The fun the office would have

[frostcorpsclub]

Suzy with a transmasc s/o? (If you haven’t already)

I’m trying to branch out writing Suzy with lgbt partners that stretch beyond her validating them through clothes while still, of course, keeping her in character. So I hope you enjoy it. 

Suzette is bisexual but she has a bit of a leaning for masculine people so she’d thoroughly enjoy your pairing. 

Perhaps a little too much. 

You’d see a side of her that most wouldn’t, a personality that normally coldy glib becomes saccharine and almost….generous. 

She would sit there after dragging you to a luxury suit fitting, swirling a glass of champagne and biting her lip. Suzy has a dream man in mind and she’s set her heart on you being it. 

You’d end up being in the fitting all day but you would come out comfortable and dashing, a pinnacle of wealthy masculinity. That being said she would also expect you to work, you wouldn’t be doing it all on your own though, she’d get you a position of some kind in a company her family owns or one they’re allied with.

More money makes that a very lucrative offer but more so the way she’d treat you after. 

Despite your own background meaning you may have started with no money at all or an equal amount to her own she’d start seeing you as the provider.

The cooks would still do the cooking and the maids would do the cleaning but she’d act like she helped! She’d even tuck your napkin into your collar and stare at you while you ate, absolutely obsessed with you.

She would kneel down on the floor next to the couch and rub your feet while she asked about your day. 

Honestly some of the things she does that are ways of showing affection to you are just straight up silly. 

“Oh my goodness! I can’t seem to lift this box! Whoever will be my knight in shining armor!”

She says about an empty box, in a house full of butlers.

This all fine and dandy but it would really depend on your preference. Maybe you’re the kind of trans masc who doesn’t mind masc terms like Sir or Mr. and enjoys dressing primarily in “manly” clothes.

If you’re not however….

Suzy wouldn’t understand the difference. She knows what a transgender man is and assumes that trans “masc” is just another word for that. You'd have to explain to her whatever exactly the term means when applied to you.

Many of her behaviors wouldn’t change as there is still that masculine aspect to things. 

She would shift her words and the clothes she helped pick out for you though. Suzy would slowly but surely come to understand that masculinity is just one aspect of who you are.

You can be her strong provider and the person she wants to spend the rest of her life making happy no matter where on the gender spectrum you may be feeling.