#definitely a muscle thing rather than a bones thing

[deeisace]

Oh it's been a while since I've had to take painkillers to get to sleep :/

[orcelito]

i think it's just in my nature to get stabbed

if i count this, then this would be the 3rd stabbing i have endured

[vethale]

Incoming Marble Sky theory about the Marmors' origin planet and more! Spoilers ahead!

I think if we ever get to see their original planet, it might be a dark place (literally and metaphorically), with hives or cities built within ant-like cave systems. Their society also seems to work like those of ants with a queen (Moon), workers and drones.

I think the fact that the Marmors use a form of ecolocation rather than our traditional eyesight might imply that on their original planet, sight as we know it is not a viable option. Their planet might either have little to no light, making eyes redundant, or too much, which would also cause the same problem. I think their fur coloring might also be proof of this, as they seem to display bright colors with no patterns. (Patterns usually help animals, especially predators, blend into their environment, because a blotch of a single color is usually easy to spot). However, there is also a possibility that their coloring might be a result of them becoming the dominant species: We see this with domesticated animals- think cows or cats, with white patches of fur, that make them easier to spot. When colors no longer affect their survival, new color variations tend to pop up.

I also think the fact that they are bipedal (with tails) also tells us that like humans, they might have started walking on all fours and then went up. This allows the brain to become larger, because the neck can hold up more weight, boosting their intelligence. Animals that walk on all fours are usually limited in this aspect because the neck muscles do all the work, so their heads can't get heavier.

The existence of tails might imply that those are still required for balancing purposes. Humans used to have tails but we kinda didn't need them and they went away, but the tail bone still exists. The fact that Marmors still needed them might imply that they still had to climb a lot in their original planet - maybe they live on trees (there's some ants that build their hives hanging from them! Super cool tbh) or they build their homes on cliffs/mountains.

I personally think them living in mountains or cave systems is the more likely option. In the comic we have already gotten the comparison with ants, who tend to build their little hives with tunnel systems going in all directions. This would make their tails useful for climbing, as well as their special eyesight and connections useful for navigating the hive. I mean, a connection like the one we have seen in the latest update is not only useful for hunting but also for their hives, as they can quickly figure out where more "manpower" is needed vs where there's already enough of them in one place.

Also, they have both sharp claws and teeth. Obviously those teeth are stylized in the comic, but they seem very very sharp. Definitely made for ripping and shredding. So it's very likely that the Marmors are obligate carnivores, meaning that, unlike dogs or bears, they can ONLY eat meat. I mention this because those claws would also be useful for hunting and disabling prey BUT connecting this to the cave system theory: Those claws are big and sharp, whoch might also be useful for digging. The giant anteater, for example, has some seriously sharp claws. This thing does NOT hunt other animals, besides ants and termines lmao, but uses those sharp claws to dig into the really hard ground. And those claws are SHARP, boy. They use them regularly to wars off and ERASE jaguargs. Yes, jaguars. So maybe these sharp claws might be tools AND weapons for the Marmors, useful for deleting your prey and digging into the ground!

Going back to the ant comparison: ants society usually has a queen, her simps, and the worker ants. The queen lays the eggs. If those are fertilised by the male drones, they become female workers but if not, they become male drones (the simps lmao). Ecliptica mentions that she is tall because she is a female AND the center of their network. Obviously these are aliens, but I think we can draw parallels: she might be their queen, the only one that reproduces -which would also explain their "children belong to everyone and noone" attitude"- while the rest might simply be the workers. I say workers, even if they are male, because I think the drones might actually be something else. We have seen smaller Marmors like Shepherd's assistants. Now, they might just be small or younger, BUT they could also be the lower ranking drones.

So, to sum up: I think Marmors come from a planet with little light, where they build their hives/societies in ant-like cave systems, digging into the ground. They might also have an ant-like society, that revolves around their queen, the workers and the lower ranking drones, where everyone but the queen is a male.

[peachsukii]

Hiii omg I love your writings so much!!

May i request texting katsuki while reader is drunk in a bar (maybe bc reader just broke up with her previous boyfriend or sth. It’s up to you but please make it spicy 🔥) (also 18+ please 🥹)

ohhhh the things swirling in my head about this!!! thank you for the request nonnie & hope it delivers! 💜

on the rocks

『 ♡ 』  k.bakugo x fem!reader ꒰ pro-hero au | age 24 | friends to fwb ꒱ ⇢ your week couldn’t get any worse. between a screw up at work and getting dumped out of the blue, you needed to desperately let off some steam. thank goodness the girls were more than happy to take you out for the night in the city and spoil you with a good time. everything’s fine until you receive a text that spirals into an unpredicted hookup.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ 18+ MDNI mentions of alcohol, mild/implied smut, suggestive texting, friends to friends with benefits, heavy flirting, sexually comfortable reader, reader went through a break-up, soft bakugo, fluffy ꒰ cross posted to ao3 | wc; ~2.6k ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

The bartender hands you the drink you ordered, nodding a thanks when you smile at her. You’re not drunk, per se, but you’re definitely buzzed - that warm and fuzzy feeling dancing through your veins, letting you relax for the first time all week. Tonight's goal was to think about absolutely nothing, to let go of all the shit weighing on your shoulders. Even if it's just for one night, anything to shake away the pain you've been carrying.

But the alcohol seems to be betraying you, forcibly shoving those thoughts to the forefront of your mind instead of burying them.

Memories of your ex begin to haunt you as your mind wanders aimlessly, the dam bursting that was keeping it all at bay. You try and shake your head to rid yourself of the feelings, but they just wouldn’t go away.

God, fuck him and every false promise he made to you.

Some people would consider three months a short amount of time, but to you, it felt like an eternity. He seemed so sweet, caring and kind when you first met, but once he forcibly ripped off your rose-colored glasses? He was nothing but a walking pile of shit.

Suddenly, your phone dings on the bar, lighting up to show a text message notification.

'Who the fuck is texting me so late?'

You blink a few times, re-reading the contact name before it registers: Katsuki Bakugo.

That's rather...odd. He's notorious for going to bed by 9pm - it’s almost midnight. You two were friends, sure, but never the 'text you in the middle of the night' type of friends. Curious to know what he wanted, you open the text to reveal nothing but a picture. When you squint through your hazy vision, you realize just what you're looking at.

It's a picture of Bakugo from the neck down, laying on his bed in nothing but grey sweats that are tugged down and nestled at the bottom of his hip bones. The pose accentuates the delicious deep V below his abs and shows the blonde trail disappearing underneath the hem of his sweatpants. The shadows trace each well-earned muscle, perfectly outlining them in the dim light of his bedroom.

Was this meant for you? Did he send it to you by accident? Your mind goes blank, stopping your previous train of thought about your stupid ex.

…did he send it to you on purpose? Your core pulses at the thought, causing you to cross your legs defensively.

Right on queue, another text pops up, your phone vibrating in your hands.

[katsuki] fuck, sorry. that was an accident

That was a bold face fucking lie, and you knew it. Bakugo's not that stupid to send the wrong text by mistake, especially a selfie. There's no way in hell he would even take a picture like that for someone unless he wanted it to be seen.

Liquid courage does you a favor when you reply, loosely teasing him about it.

[you] damn, katsuki. who's the lucky girl?

You don't notice Mina approaching you with how intently you're staring at your phone screen, startling you when she taps your shoulder.

"What are ya doing over here?! Come dance with us!" she pleads, pulling on your arm. She notices how you're clutching your phone like a lifeline and the coral tint on your cheeks. She quirks an eyebrow at you. "Who are you texting?"

Oh god, find a lie - fast! She'll see right through your facade if you don't.

"No one, just a spam text."

Mina stares at you - shit, she knows you're lying.

"You're a shit liar, babe. Who is it?"

"I got a random text from Katsuki," you admit, the flush in your cheeks deepening at his name. Are you into him, or is it the alcohol in your system? It's no secret that he's attractive, he's always been effortlessly handsome. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't checked him out a few times, but never acted on it. The two of you were friends and you’d assumed he didn't think much else of you.

Mina grabs the phone from your hands, entering in your passcode (how did she know it?!) and reading the texts. Her eyes blow open, pinching the screen to zoom in on the photo. You scramble to grab the phone back to quit her oogling as she's squealing with glee.

"Holy shit!" she yells. "Accident my ass, Blasty. Damn, that's hot."

"Mina! Keep your voice down," you beg, locking the screen to prevent anyone else from seeing.

"No one is listening over this music," she squawks, punching you lightly in the arm. "Come back to us soon you minx!"

And with that, she leaves you at the bar, returning to the dance circle with the rest of your girlfriends. Your phone vibrates a few more times in your hand and recaptures your attention.

[katsuki] thought you'd like a distraction [katsuki] shit, if this is weird, just tell me and i'll fuck off [katsuki] i should've just asked instead

So it was on purpose. You swallow hard as you shakily type out your reply, trying to keep your cool.

[you] it's not weird, what made you think of me? [katsuki] mina wouldn't shut the fuck up about you earlier. sent me pictures of you in the dress you have on, couldn't get it outta my head

When the fuck did Mina do that?! You had thought she was taking pictures of herself earlier at your apartment. That sneaky bitch!

[you] goddammit mina, i'm sorry about her. why would she send them to you?

You see the typing indicator pop up and disappear a few times before his response arrives.

[katsuki] you know how she is, playing matchmaker and shit with everybody [katsuki] honestly? i'm not mad about it [you] oh? [you] so that's why you sent it to me. hell of a pickup line kats [katsuki] fuck off [katsuki] i can't deny that you're gorgeous [you] yeah? feelings mutual

Your face is burning hot, sitting at the bar in disbelief that Bakugo's flirting with you. And it was all because he was infatuated with what you're wearing? He couldn't get it out of his head?

You're still debating on whether you want to yell at or thank Mina for igniting this fire. [katsuki] where are you right now? [you] sitting at the bar, some club in the city

Another picture is delivered to you on screen and has your jaw dropping to the floor.

The picture is closer to his face this time, cut off at his cheekbones and barely illuminated as Bakugo's fingers are parted over his mouth. His tongue is lazily hanging above his bottom lip with a string of salvia attached to one of his fingers.

Your legs twitch as you bite your lip, imagining his face slotted between your thighs.

[you] holy shit, katsuki...fuck [katsuki] find a bathroom or some dark corner [katsuki] there's more where that came from. just say the word, princess

The pet name is doing things to you that you didn't think was possible. Your overloaded with a sudden rush of arousal, heat twisting in your belly at his promise. Grabbing your bag from the chair, you bolt to the nearest bathroom and lock the door behind you. Luckily, this club's on the nicer side, the bathroom not being as scummy as you thought it would be. You set your things on the counter and grab your phone, turning the camera on and pointing it in the mirror.

If that's how he wanted to play? You could play right back.

[you] that deserves a reward

The photo attached shows your breast pushed closed together, daring to spill out of the top of your dress and wearing the poutiest lip you could muster.

Bakugo’s response is immediate.

[katsuki] goddamn, your tits look amazing in that dress [you] would you believe me if i said they look better out of it?

You turn the camera back on and click the record button, sensually slipping the top of your dress down and letting your breasts loosely lay over the bust. Your nipples are pebbled from the rousing desire flowing through you, making them standing perfectly at attention. You give the camera a wink and squeeze one of your breasts playfully. Once you're happy with the video, you send it with no hesitation and readjust your dress. [katsuki] holy fuck [katsuki] you alone? That's not the response you expected, but you roll with it. [you] yeah, one person bathroom

- Incoming Call: Katsuki Bakugo -

You stare at the contact screen for a few seconds before picking up.

"Hey Kat," you greet, nervousness wracking your body, the thrill of the situation making your heart flutter.

"I wanted 'ta hear your voice instead," Bakugo groans, heavy breaths following his words. "I never thought you'd...want to do this with me."

You can't help but laugh under your breath. "Never thought you wanted to, either."

You're thankful that your not drunk off your ass after all - you want to remember this. You're tipsy, but coherent.

And turned on to high heaven.

Bakugo breaks the silence before you cut him off. "I know you're fresh outta-"

"Katsuki, he's not worth mentioning. I'm focused on you right now."

"Yeah? Tell me more."

"I'd love to see what you're hiding under those sweats, Dynamight. I'm practically a puddle just thinking about it. How do you think my lips would look wrapped around you?"

You can hear Bakugo exhale into the phone and groan. He tries to hide it, but fails miserably.

"Cat got your tongue, huh? Too forward?"

"N-no. It's fuckin' hot. Shit," he whispers with baited breath. "God, what club are you at again?"

"The one near Shibuya station. Crystal Crown, I think. Why?"

There's a pause before you hear various clicks and a beep or two from his side before he answers.

"Changed my mind, this ain't happenin' over the phone the first time. You're 15 minutes from my place, I'm comin' to get ya."

You can feel your panties soak from your excitement, clenching at the thought of him just ravaging you in his car and not being able to make it back to his apartment before touching you like a man starved.

"Coming to sweep me off my feet or to fuck my brains out?" The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, but you don’t regret it when you hear Bakugo moan in response - loudly.

"Fuckin’ - have you been stockpilin’ this shit ‘ta say to me?" He laughs. “You’re gonna kill me before I leave the damn apartment.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so easy to play with,” you joke playfully, twirling a piece of your hair in your fingers. “Better get here before I change my mind, find some other rebound in this stupid club.”

“I’ll be your fuckin’ rebound any day of the week, sweetheart. Ain’t no guy in that building better than me.”

His confidence makes it difficult to bite back the moan in your throat.

“Guess you need to prove it. Get your ass over here, I’ll be out front. You better be wearing those sweats.”

You’re about to hang up when you hear Bakugo say something quietly, too muted for you to make out right away.

“Kats?”

He clears his throat before repeating himself, his voice soft and low. “You sure y’want this? I don’t wanna fuck anythin’ up or whatever.”

“You won’t fuck anything up, nothing wrong with friends fucking with no strings attached. I already flashed my tits at you, no turning back now.”

You subtly hear him let go of the breath he was holding and a hollow chuckle, sounding relieved at your answer.

“Good. See ya soon.”

The line ends with a click, leaving you with your thoughts while staring in the bathroom mirror. You didn’t realize how badly you’ve been shaking until you attempt to walk, unexpectedly stumbling like a baby deer on your heels. Once you gather yourself, you exit the bathroom and hurry over to the dance floor. Mina spots you, rolling her eyes and placing her hands on her hips when you approach the group.

“Where the hell have you been?!” She shouts over the music. “I was starting to think you died in there.”

“I’m heading home,” you say while waving your hand, brushing away her worries.

“Oh…oh my god. Is Bakugo coming to get you?!”

“Mina!”

Jiro and Uraraka turn in your direction, yelling in unison. “Bakugo?!?!”

You palm your face, desperately attempting to hide your flared cheeks as the girls squeal and cheer for you.

“Stop it! We’re still just friends!”

Mina clicks her tongue. “Uh-huh. That’s what I said about Kiri a year ago, and now look at us!”

“You gotta let us know how it goes,” Uraraka winks, elbowing you in the rib. "Rumor has it he lives up to his hero name in bed."

Before the interrogation continues, you back away from the group with a smile and turn for the entrance. You slide through the doors and slip out onto the sidewalk and see Bakugo parked out front, smiling as his eyes spot you on the busy street.

Has he ever smiled at you like that before?

He gets out of the car and walks around to greet you.

“Hey Katsu-”

Before you can process what’s happening, Bakugo’s got one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck. He gently leans you against the car as he swoops down to place a featherlight kiss to your lips. You squeak before melting into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sparks are flying through your whole body - a sensation you haven’t felt for a long time. When the two of you part, his eyes are half-lidded, cheeks flushed and lips parted with shallow breaths.

“Ready to go?” He asks, removing the hand from your neck and stroking your cheek with his thumb. Your heart is in your throat, strangling any words you try to say, so instead, you just nod ‘yes.’ Bakugo walks you to the passenger side and opens the door for you, just like any other time you’ve hung out. When he shuts the door and goes to walk to the drivers side, you finally notice he’s wearing the damn grey sweatpants.

The entire drive back to his place, Bakugo’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh. His fingers danced over your skin, playing with the hem of your dress and gingerly squeezing the plush surface every so often. You return the favor, walking your fingers up the inside of his thigh a few times, stopping short of the growing tent in his sweats. Pulling up to his apartment complex seems to take the breath out of both of you. He turns the car off and you sit idly in silence, it's only a minute or two, but feels like a lifetime.

Bakugo gets out first, jogging over to your side to open your door. He takes your hand as you stand, closing the door behind you and swiftly sweeping you off your feet into his arms, bridal style.

"Wow, do all the girls you bring home get this treatment?" you tease, planting a kiss on his warm cheek.

"Never had the pleasure of bringin' a princess home, so no."

That shuts you up and makes you quiver in his hold.

"I'm honored, sir Dynamight. Take me to your castle!" You swoon, dramatically leaning back with a hand over your head.

Bakugo shakes his head and grins, starting to jog through the parking lot and up the stairs with you. You hold onto his shoulders while giggling uncontrollably, ecstatic to see where the night takes you.

One things for certain - you haven't thought about your ex once. And you look forward to keeping it that way.

tags; @slayfics @maddietries

[runninriot]

Beautiful Boy

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

week 3 prompt: lingerie | rated: E | wc: 4.551 | tags: shy eddie munson, lovingly mean steve harrington, dom/sub undertones, sexual content, self confidence issues, body worship | complete fic on ao3

  “This is stupid. So, so stupid.”

Eddie has been keeping himself locked away in the bathroom for way too long now. He should go out and face the music, but he can’t, feels too humiliated to move.

   “What the hell am I doing?”

He should’ve known it was a bad idea to agree to this, should’ve known his childish behaviour would come back to bite his ass.

Eddie lost a bet to his boyfriend, a stupid bet he’d agreed to easily because when has he ever said no to a challenge? But Steve beat him and now Eddie is getting ready to pay up.

Or at least he’s trying to. Because he’s still not sure he can really pull it off.

He keeps turning from left to right, skeptically looking at his reflection in the mirror.

    God, he looks ridiculous, doesn’t he.

This stuff isn’t made for him. It’s for people with less bony asses. People with more meat on them and with defined muscles they can show off. Pretty people, whose perfect bodies would shine covered in black lace.

Eddie just looks… wrong. Like he’s trying to be something he’s definitely not.

The dainty floral pattern is a harsh contrast to the crooked lines adorning his skin – too soft, too delicate, enhancing all his little flaws and blemishes rather than fulfilling the purpose of making him feel good. That’s why people usually choose to wear these things, right? To feel hot and pretty and confident.

Well. He definitely doesn’t.

He hates the way the panties sit too low on his hips, digging into the sharp edges of his bones. The way they sit snug around his flat ass, revealing the lack of shape. The matching bralette is made of the same lacy material, thin straps holding nothing in place – Eddie’s not graced with the body of a god like Steve is. He’s got nothing much to show off.

Eddie takes one more look at himself and sighs defeated when he sees someone he doesn't recognise staring back from the mirror.

And it bothers him, how much he hates the view. How insecure it makes him feel, how it makes him question what Steve sees in him, why he settled for someone like Eddie when he could’ve had anyone else.

Someone just as beautiful as him.

At least Steve will get a good laugh out if it. That’s probably why he thought of the punishment in the first place. Not necessarily to make fun of Eddie, he’s not that mean. But- whatever.

A bet is a bet, and he lost, so he’ll suck it up and get it over with.

He’s got a one-man-crowd waiting for him in the bedroom and the sooner he gets what he wants, the sooner Eddie can get out of this fucking lingerie.

-----

Steve’s buzzing with anticipation. He’s been sitting on the bed for what feels like hours, waiting for Eddie to finally come out of the bathroom.

He’s been dreaming about this forever, literally. It’s a secret fantasy he’s had ever since Eddie and him started dating a few months ago, since they started exploring each other’s bodies in the most intimate ways.

To see Eddie’s perfect body covered in lacy lingerie, to let his fingers dance over the soft fabric, gently caressing what’s underneath, mouthing at his cock through his panties just to tease, just rile him up – God, what a vision, what a thought. And soon, so soon, it’ll become reality.

He can’t wait for his boyfriend to walk out dressed in the matching pieces Steve had chosen himself, went for the black set because it’s Eddie’s favourite colour.

Steve’s hard just from imagining it. Can barely keep his hands to himself at the dirty thoughts looping in his mind.

He needs to see it. Needs Eddie to come out right now or he’ll combust.

And then, finally, Eddie does. Slowly opens the bedroom door before he hesitantly steps in. And he’s even more beautiful than Steve could ever have imagined.

Standing there, all shy and pretty, with his cheeks tinted pink and his arms crossed before his chest, looking so… so perfect.

   “Fuck,“ is all Steve can get out, too stunned, too lost in the vision his boyfriend is.

He let’s his eyes roam slowly from his face to his shoulder, following the line of the straps down to where the v-shaped neckline reveals Eddie’s hairless, tattooed chest. Stops to take in the sight of his pierced nipples, metal glinting through sheer fabric that hugs his shape so beautifully.

Eyes raking further down, Steve feels his own cock twitch - the low cut panties enhance Eddie’s narrow waist perfectly, catching Steve’s full attention where the lace encloses Eddie’s glorious dick. He’s soft but still prominent under the see-through material that leaves nothing to the imagination.

It’s a mouth-watering vision and Steve silently curses himself for not being bold enough to get the fishnet stockings, too. They’d sit so perfectly around Eddie’s muscular thighs and long legs.

    “It’s okay, Steve. You can laugh. I know I look stupid.“

Eddie’s words pull him out of his trance and Steve blinks a few times, feeling a little hazy.

The words take some time to sink in but once they do, Steve suddenly notices that what he thought was Eddie just being a bit shy is actually him being uncomfortable. That the way he tries to hide his body behind his own arms is not him acting coy, it’s him being ashamed.

    Oh, hell no.

That just won’t do. That’s not what Steve had planned.

Luckily, he knows just how to turn this around.

-----

continue reading here

[shalomniscient]

@ the anon who sent in the fuckgirl feixiao ask, tumblr died on me and sent your ask into the void while i was working on it 💀💀💀 so i’m rewriting it as a regular post shdhskksks my apologies 😔😔😔 this has some abo themes and very generous usage of the ‘love at first sight’ trope. also do mind the tags !!!

cw. allusions to/mentions of slavery

feixiao likes to call herself the lacking general, for she lacks in rivals, regrets and worries. yet for all she enjoys this title, there are instances where it certainly does not apply. for example, she does not lack in loyalty, in strength and in courage. but perhaps most importantly, is thatshe very much does not lack in women.

the merlin’s claw has somewhat of a reputation for being a rather… notorious tomcat. it is not uncommon to find the general at one of the few turquoise pavillions dotted across the yaoqing. of course, these establishments are vetted and regulated by the responsible commissions, and any services provided within the walls of the compound are entirely legal. after all, it would certainly be quite the scandal if the general frequented a place outside the law for any other reason than to bring down its judgement. in any case, many of these establishments eagerly await the foxian’s arrival upon every victorious battle, which is when she arrives with her entourage of soldiers in tow, high off a win against the abundance devils. drink and pleasure and debauchery flow freely on these nights like lifeblood.

and in the middle of it all sits feixiao, the great general and the star of the show. she’s surrounded by courtesans eager for her attention, who giggle and coo and bat their lashes at each word she says. they’re pretty—naturally—and perhaps a little too well into their cups. the bolder ones reach out to touch her arms, bare of her coat, tracing their fingers over the muscles of her biceps. they breathe sultry promises into her ears, coy and inviting, but feixiao hardly hears a word, because she’s far too preoccupied looking at you.

you’re entertaining a group of her men, refilling their tankards and smiling politely as they babble drunkenly. she drinks in the sight of your profile from afar like you’re the only drink she’ll indulge in tonight, from the line of your jaw to the swell of your lips and the bare, exposed skin of your nape. her gaze lingers on your hands, definitely smaller than hers, and she wonders what it’d be like to lace them with her own. what it’d be like to feel them card through her hair, scratch the base of her ears, and cradle the curve of her cheek. something bone-deep aches in her, and she’s standing up and moving before her brain even catches up to her body. the whines of the courtesans she’s left behind don’t even register as she walks up to you, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome flutter in her chest.

(feixiao will later learn that what she feels is want. she doesn’t recognise it at first, because the first thing all slaves learn is that your wants are unimportant. but she is free now, has been for years, and this wanting in her chest is here to stay—and all it wants is you.)

so when you lift your head look at her, meeting her teal eyes, she’s completely and utterly gone.

feixiao has never believed in true mates. the childhood she had—if it could even be called such—could certainly kill any notion of fate or romance in a person. nothing could ever undo those scars, but something in her soothes at the sight of you and the scent of you that fills her nose, light and sweet like mint and honey. it settles on her tongue, and she swallows like she wants to drown in it. to feel it fill her lungs until it permeates into her blood. she runs her tongue under the pointed tips of her fangs, aching with want, before offering as charming a smile as she can muster and asking for your name.

you give it to her, and the rest, as they say, is history.

[maxellminidisc]

Making my own post on how we should frankly all work on weight training/bearing excercises for our bone and muscle health into old age cause op of the one I saw was a crypto terf.

Anyway, its really important to do so because it genuinely helps in aiding your bone density and muscle strength. If you're not aware weight training has nothing to do with weight loss but rather is a term for targeted exercises that strengthening the muscles, their force output, and endurance. Mostly weight lifting is what's associated with weight training, but stuff like isometrics can also be a form of weight training; stuff like planks, wall squats, etc.

Training the force output of your muscles ends up benefiting your joints and bones because they adapt to the increase in mass and strength by building up your bone density. Bone density is important in preventing things like osteoporosis, which basically makes your bones incredibly susceptible and fragile to major fractions and makes healing much more difficult as you age.

As you age as well, the weakening of your bones, muscles, and tendons also makes it harder for you to balance yourself and leads to a higher risk of falls. So, starting sooner will help prevent falls, fractures, and possible fatality in the future. If you have older folks you're close to, definitely encourage that they start doing balance exercises now rather than later to help them gain some resistance and prevention for their later years or to help make their lives a lil easier if they are in their later years.

Theres tons of simple at home exercises and routines on YouTube that accommodate seniors and to some extent folks with mobility issues to regain balance or work on weight training. Routines which are fully seated or supported by chairs are good alternative exercises I've seen and even done with my mom who's now in her early 60s with knee issues. You dont have to be a senior to check some of these out and do them either!

[pursuitseternal]

“Love Me or Hate Me” update, the Act 1 Romance retold for enemies🩸🗡️

Astarion x Tav (Katja) | Explicit | 3.9 K

Summary: A tryst in the moonlight, a truce negotiated.

CW: manipulative Astarion, scary monster Astarion, mild mild name calling degradation, first bite alt, act 1 romance alt, vaginal fingering, blood loss aftercare, Katja’s backstory begins

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Ch. 2: “Little Treat”

Despite the calm the wine gave her heart, Katja’s head was clear. Clear, and focused on confronting the monster that had sunk his claws into her.

Sunk his cock, more like.

She shook the thought away, focusing instead on her path and ignoring the way her back felt naked without her axe. It made her unnerved and unsettled, same way he did.

Her booted feet entered the clearing, empty save the starlight, quiet save her own increasingly ragged breathing. “Alright, you fucker,” she called, singsong and mocking, “I’ve come to discuss our truce.”

Nothing. Only a slight breeze made the leaves rustle as it moved the humid summer air.

Fuck.

Had he left? Unlikely. Not the vampire’s way to let go of an advantage once pressed. Lying in wait somewhere, waiting to have her?

Definitely.

Rolling her shoulders, Katja slunk deeper into the glade, her eyes scanning every shadow for crimson and white—flashes of his eyes or his fangs. This was a huge mistake, she groaned. She shouldn’t have left her axe, coming nearly defenseless to meet him, not when every nail and fang and muscle in his taut body was a weapon by itself. The scar on her cheek stung, a painless reminder of the great pain that could come should she ever underestimate a monster again.

Swiftly, she hurried back to the treeline, sneaking a small dagger from the top of her boot. The enamel of her sgian-dubh graced her with a quick comfort the second her palm enclosed around it. She stalked from tree to tree, careful of the deepest shadows, knowing the wind was carrying her scent.

Even though he probably scented her already. Too late and too dangerous.

She heard him before she saw him. A shallow creaking breath behind her right ear to make her round. Buried in the shadows she just passed, his face sunk into the gloom, eyelids closed to hide his unnatural eyes.

Eyes that flashed open the moment she noticed him.

One quick second to react, her dagger flew for his chest, sure in its aim and deadly in precision. But it wasn’t enough, not as ice cold fingers ensnared her wrist and so effortlessly deflected the blow. A creaking death rattle, he inhaled after denying his lungs of air as he waited. The noise made her shiver, a bone chilling distraction as he sped them both into the moonlight, slamming her back against a tree.

“There you are,” he crooned. “I’ve been waiting…” His other hand carefully pried her dagger away, letting it fall carelessly at their feet. “Let’s talk terms, little brat, rather than just jumping to blades immediately, hmm?”

“You’ve wanted to kill me since the moment you saw me,” Katja hissed, thrashing and fuming, his sinewy strength caging her frame to lock her beneath him. Identical to just hours ago. Fuck, how could she be so stupid again.

“No, when I first saw you, I figured you for a feisty little thing. I saw a tasty morsel. I saw a strong warrior, someone who might have been willing to ensure my strength by lending just a little of her blood.” His laugh was low in his throat and dangerous. “Then I found out you were Gur. A monster hunter one to boot. That’s when I wanted to kill you, darling.”

“Then why haven’t you? Missing your balls?” she kneed him in the groin, hard enough to make a man fold in two. For him, he just let out a breath and growled closer in her face.

“Oh, I think you know my balls are in perfect working order, brat,” he snarled, hips pressing against her belly as a nice little souvenir to their earlier tryst. He quirked a brow, running a finger up the side of her neck with chilling, featherlight touches. “Maybe I just like to play with my food…”

“I’d rather fuck you again,” Katja hissed. jutting her chin up at him, a picture of eager defiance.

“Oh I have little doubt of that. A pity sex isn’t on our list of topics to discuss in our little truce.” His grin spread across his face, wider by the second, as his jaw dropped. “Oh no, your idiocy cost me safety and access to blood to keep me strong and well fed. You’re going to provide both for me.”

“Why?” she asked blatantly, her chest heaving with every breath beneath her cream-colored shirt. “Because you’ll kill me? Or you’ll torture me?”

Astarion’s eyes hardened. “As fitting a circle of revenge it would be to end you, child of the Gur, it’ll be far more… entertaining for me to make you help me.”

“Why would I help you?”

“Because for once, having a monster hunter on my side might just prove useful to me. To us. We can be mutually beneficial. His gaze raked down her body, “You’ve come of age in your tribe, clearly, and yet you do not bear the mark of a hunter yet. You’re eager, still trying to prove your worth to your gods and your elders….” He fought the need to roll his eyes. “If you ensure my strength and safety, if you feed me and protect me, I’ll let you help me defeat the most powerful Vampire Lord on the Sword Coast, my old master, Cazador Szarr.”

The way he spat that name even made her heart quicken with the same mix of fear and loathing that so clearly painted his sharp and pale face.

“If you don’t kill me, you’ll have my help taking down a monster far, far worse than me. And in due time….” He grabbed her hand from his chest, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing the fragile bones and veins of her inner wrist, “you’ll earn yourself a trophy worth being named lead hunter of your tribe, someone worth killing far more than my weak and humble self.” His crimson eyes flashed dangerously, the very mention of his end at her hand seeming to make him laugh. “So, let’s put that out of our cute, little empty head, hmm?”

Katja’s mind spun, hazy from wine and the forbidden heat between her thighs.

“What’s in it for you?” she hissed, glaring as he pressed his thick lips in a kiss atop those pale blue wrist veins.

Eyes flashing, he smirked, keeping his attention on that thin skin of her arm. “Freedom, a chance for vengeance against him… and a chance to take advantage of your people’s headstrong barbarity,” he paused long enough to catch the look on her face. Disgust, arousal, anger, and intrigue. “All I require is your blade at my service and the small matter of your blood for my strength.”

Those treacherous lips kissed her sensitive skin again, a nibble of his blunt front teeth making her squirm. Gods, his tongue was wet and cold, sending every hair on her arm to stand on end as he drew her sleeve to ruck at her elbow. Katja hated it, but worse, she hated the damp that collected between her thighs. And the worst, she hated how his nostrils flared as he could smell it.

Astarion’s eyes darkened and dilated, gleaming with anticipation. “Even if I couldn’t smell your betraying excitement, your heart dances to the command of my touch,” his lips brushed her skin as he spoke. “My little traitorous treat, what will your people think when they see the marks you will bear forever from my bite?” His chuckle tickled her every nerve. “You must know the carnal thrill that is a vampire’s bite… the slice of cold, the rush of pleasure…”

Katja jerked her arm, only to find his grip like iron on her limb.

“Ah ah,” he scolded her in singsong, “tell me, what do you want, Katja?”

The way he flicked her name off his tongue made her shudder, and not in disgust.

“Do you want what I have to offer you? The head of an infamous vampire lord will more than atone for the sin of a bite from me from time to time.” He looked down at her, tilting her fuming face to meet his eyes, crimson eyes now soft and pleading and glistening in the moonlight. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I want blood,” she hissed, the accent of her people twisted her syllables, a threat, a promise, and a demand all in one.

And it made Astarion smirk. “Oh, darling, so do I,” he purred. Fangs sank into her wrist, stabbing with ice cold numbness into her artery. Her pulse throbbed as he sucked, the flow of her blood tangible as it left her body to fill his own. She couldn’t look away from how his thick lips stained red, how the muscles of his neck and jaw rippled with every swallow. Mesmerized, brought under his spell, she had one single thought of her own, his bite might not steal her souls like the devils, but fuck… it damned her.

Her mouth opened, her head turned as she forced herself to break her stare.

“Not so fast, my treat,” he growled against her flesh, yanking her against him to snake his other hand down the gusset of her trousers. Slick gathered at the tips of his fingers, and Katja bit her lip to keep from screaming in rapture. That icy touch caught her clit, tantalizing circles tracing over it to coax it from its hood. The bark of the oak scored her back, rough through the linen of her shirt.

Her head spun, but whether it was from the blood loss or the sin of his touch that broke her down, she wasn’t sure. Head lolling to the side, she closed her eyes, embracing the dark inside of their lids, ignoring the way her body trembled.

Ignoring that she was the prey pinned and devoured.

Astarion snarled in her ear, quiet but commanding, his lips drenched in her blood. Icy fingers clawed around her chin and yanked her back to face him.

This was it she was sure. Her death on his fingers and by his fangs. Her eyes flickered between the way his crimson gaze bored into her and the blood spatter that shone on his pale skin in the moonlight.

Katja refused to close her eyes, even if this was her end.

Yet, he only smiled, wicked and wide, his fingers suddenly teasing her folds with renewed vigor. The rakish smile, the cock of his brow, all of it taunted her, as if to say, I have you now.

“Gods,” she groaned, the sensation of his cool touch curling inside her cunt, catching something deep inside made her jerk and writhe. With every breath, she grew more aware of where he touched her, of where their bodies made contact… of those fingers working in and out of her cunt and of his death-chilled breath on her face.

“Looks who's blushing, even after being drained,” he chuckled, voice slick with her blood in his throat. He pulled her face closer, lips brushing his so she could taste the copper of her essence. “My little treat, with their cheeks… all… flushed…”

Before his last words left his tongue, his fingers shoved deepest yet inside, driving her fluttering walls to the inevitable climax. One last brush of his thumb over her clit, and she was done for. Her head slammed against the tree trunk, her legs shook so hard she slid halfway to the ground.

And he let her crumple, a mess at his feet as his fingers slipped from her folds. Her dark eyes watched in arousal, in horror, as he licked his fingers clean of her slick. “Mmm, delicious,” he crooned, leering down at her, a self-satisfied roll of his head.

“You… leech,” she panted, too boneless to get up yet. Eyes wide in suspense, she watched as he lowered himself to the ground beside her, his back resting against the tree.

Those powerful arms wrapped around her, pulling her against the cold, hard plane of his chest. “Admit it,” he smirked, the tips of his fingers under her chin tilting her face into the moonlight, “if I am a leech, you don’t mind the way I suck.” His chuckle rumbled in her left ear as he set her head back on his shoulder. “You’ll need a moment to recover from the blood loss, I fear I might have… over indulged.” His fingers pressed on her pulse point, not that he needed to touch her skin to hear her heart fluttering and thumping as it tried to make sense of what happened between them. “But don’t you dare fall asleep, you’re walking yourself back to camp, unless I have to carry you for healing. Do you understand?”

Healing?

“No… I’ll be fine. No healing,” she groaned, imagining having to ask the Cleric for Lesser Restoration… it made her stomach churn. And it made Astarion laugh.

“Out with it, what’s funny?” she snapped.

“Every thought your head shows on that pretty little face of yours,” he smirked. “What? Don’t want to go groveling for a healing spell to the woman you replaced?”

“You… fucking… arsehole,” Katja snarled, trying to shove herself off him, only to tip over and lose her balance into the dirt.

His arms caught her, that malicious chuckle growing louder as he pulled her back beside him. “Easy, darling,” he hissed as she struggled against him. “Can’t go letting my little treat pass out and die on her way back to camp…” Air rushed past her ears, her head swimming as he scooped her up. Her clothes were a rumpled mess, his fang marks still aching through her inner wrist.

At first, she tried to fight the help, weak little flails of her mortal frailty that were no match for him—immortal, well-fed, and happy. After a few minutes of that poorly planned attempt, she begrudgingly settled against his chest. Her mind was a blur of thoughts and memories, guilt pricking at her conscience for the sins committed: images of her village far away, of her family long gone, of her tribe’s elders and their disapproving scowls and scolding words of ‘guidance…’

The memory alone made her cheek sting, that long scar from the corner of her right eye to the edge of her jaw. And what was worse, he kept eyeing it now that he held her so close.

“Go ahead,” she hissed. “Ask me about my scar. Everyone does.”

Astarion gave a half-hearted laugh. “I wouldn’t presume to care about it. Besides, scars can be very personal matters, maybe even painful…” His gaze grew distant, his arms holding her stiffening. And then he shook his head, his mop of untamed silver curls tousling even more haphazardly in the moonlight. “I just assumed you were in the process of some… very important monster hunter thing… when you took a near fatal blow.”

Katja barked a laugh, too loud for his pointed ears. “Fuck you, Astarion. You don’t even know how close you are from the truth, and yet how far.”

“What? Did a dragon think you were its mate because you’re also so cold blooded and ferocious?”

Was … that a compliment? Katja would have thrown herself from his embrace if she could to question him. He sounded positively charming, purring like that as his laugh rumbled into her body. But she shook the thought from her addled skull. “No, it’s… just the mark left on a foolish girl who hesitated instead of landing the killing blow.”

“Ah, there it is, the stark brutality of the Gur,” his voice dripped with venom suddenly. “Keep your secrets then, little treat. I wouldn’t want to suddenly find myself thinking well of you, or worse, starting to like you.”

Katja gagged, overtly and dramatically, at the mere suggestion. “Please, for fucks sake. This is just an agreement for us both to benefit. You get to live, and I get a quarry that will finally prove myself to my tribe… well, once this whole Absolutist cult is defeated, and we don’t become Mindflayers, and we find a—”

“Gods, shut up,” he snapped. “I’d clap my palm over your irritating mouth if I wasn’t going to drop your sorry ass. In the meantime…” His purring, churlish lips covered hers. Their fullness demanded her silence, his tongue sweeping once across her mouth before he shoved it inside. That gagged her, that muffled her constant flow of unnecessary words.

His lips worked furiously, almost gracefully, claiming every inch of her mouth. The lingering metallic taste of her blood sickened her stomach, at least she thought that was why her stomach twisted into knots. If her head didn’t spin so much from the lack of air and the loss of blood, Katja might have even marveled at how graceful and surefooted he was stalking in the shadows as he was… otherwise engaged… all the way back to camp.

The campfire flickered warmly, and much to her horror, the light grew brighter and the sound of voices did too. Katja thrashed in his arms with what little strength she had, landing an elbow in his gut hard enough to make him grunt in pain, but not drop her. “Don’t. Don’t you dare walk me through them all…”

“Oh please,” he chuckled wickedly, that charming and sinister smile curling his bloodied lips. “Given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know.”

Her hands reached into his mess of sweaty silver curls and yanked. “Godsdammit, I mean it,” she hissed.

“Alright,” he snarled, a rough snap of fangs at her aggression. “You’re really ensuring I don’t like you, aren’t you.” He retreated into the quiet shadows, making for her tent of practical cream and silver canvas from the edges of their camp. “Once I see you properly healed up, don’t go clawing my eyes out, you feral cat,” he hissed, lowering himself into the dark of her tent to set her on her bedroll.

“What did you say?” she hissed, but he was already gone again. Healed? Katja's limbs felt cold and heavy, her breathing shallow and rapid. It was all she could manage to lay on her bedroll and wait… for Astarion, for death, for her body to recover. She didn’t know which one would come first.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, only to open once more as blue light shined behind her eyelids. That fucking silken voice purred above her. “Te absolvo…”

And suddenly all her ailments vanished.

Katja opened her eyes to see Astarion grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Feeling better?” he crooned.

“How…?”

He shrugged off her question with a graceful roll of his shoulders. “What’s the point of first taking advantage of the Cleric as a vampire if you don’t learn where she keeps her scrolls of Lesser Restoration?” He patted his pocket. “Even managed a few for the future. Besides,” his smile broadened into a full blown twistedly wicked smirk, “she’s not going to need them anymore. You will, however…”

Katja rolled her eyes and then turned her back to him under the cover of her bedroll.

A choice she instantly regretted.

A single cool finger swept down the side of her right cheek, tracing the groove of her scar from her eye to chin.

“I’ve seen you in battle. I’ve watched you slice a Hobgoblin in two today as if he was glass… Something fearsome must have sunk a claw into you, since you’re wretchedly ferocious. Dragon? Cyclops?” She turned to meet his taunting smirk. “Kobold?”

Maybe it was the rush of magic healing making her feel good. Maybe it was the way his cool fingers stoked a fire to burn in the wake of his touch. Katja swallowed and looked him in the eye. “Gnoll,” she corrected.

Astarion’s thick brows shot to his tousled hair line. “Tch,” he sucked his teeth, “my, my. You’re full of embarrassing surprises, aren’t you? One little gnoll?”

Katja frowned. “I was six, not that it matters to you and your ageless, soulless existence,” she snapped, the swirl of memories sweeping her away, a whirlpool of pain and nostalgia. “Gur children are made to face a monster in the wilderness, their first kill. My sorry ass came across a bloated, festering hyena, a Gnollspawn. My poor, little girlish heart made the simple mistake of stopping to try to help the almost-carcass instead of putting it swiftly out of its misery. It happened so fast. I pulled out my only healing potion to pour it in its mouth when…” Her memories filled with the sound of bones cracking and guts spilling over her. The image of glowing yellow eyes seared into her mind made her shiver again. “Its newborn claw almost took my eye, leaving me with this nice necrotically scared smile on the side of my face in exchange for a moment of mercy.”

Something flickered behind Astarion’s crimson eyes as he listened… shockingly attentive and uncharacteristically silent.

“No mercy, no doubts, no… sentimental feelings when it comes to monsters,” she replied quietly, holding that now hardened stare. “No Gnoll or Minotaur or Werewolf has ever caught me off guard since.”

Astarion’s chest stopped rising and falling, his unnecessary breath held as he scanned that scar closer. “Well… it certainly accounts for a good deal of your ‘kill first, think never’ mentality.” He looked down at her, his mouth turned somewhere between a scowl and a smirk. “But, far be it for me to judge a story behind someone’s scars,” now his lips curled into a full-blown impish leer. “Even if it was an embarrassing tale. And don’t worry, if any gnollies cross our path… I’ll protect you…” those last words, almost crooned in a taunting sing-song. “Even if it’s too good for your kind,” he added more for himself, his molars grinding in some unshared, festering hate.

“What have you got against the Gur, anyway?” Katja bristled.

“Aside from your people’s traditional hatred of my very existence?” Astarion snarled, quietly muffled through his fangs as his head tilted slowly. “Aside from the very same lesson you learned before you could even write your name? To kill monsters on sight, fuck their own existence in this realm?” His eyes hardened, his muscles tensing, and suddenly every instinct in Katja’s body hummed to kill, to maim, to put the monster over her down.

But she just swallowed and held his gaze.

Astarion shook it off, taking a deep breath and running his hand through his messy curls as he chuckled. “Well, whatever the reasons… we need each other. Our truce still stands, after all.”

And then, his icy finger ran down the mark of her scar, and it wasn’t because of his corpse-cold touch that she shivered. Those fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face into his. “As one monster that has managed to make those precious instincts of yours falter for once, this is going to be fun,” he smirked, his voice low, an enticing rumble in his puncture-scarred throat.

Katja closed her eyes, feeling his death-chilled breath ghosting over her lips. Waiting… and waiting…

Until his touch released her face, and he was gone.

[essenceofarda]

I just learned what aphantasia is...

You're telling me there are those of you who CAN picture things in your head??!??!?!?!?!

Like, you see people's facial features in your mind???? you DON'T just see blank faces with No facial features when you try to recall someone's face??? I can't even picture my own mother's face lmao

I also can't really picture clear images and scenes in my mind. It's all extremely blurry, muted, and unclear. When i close my eyes, everything is very dark and when i try to muster up an image it's very, very difficult for me.

I always thought this was normal, but now that i think about it i definitely had better abilities at imagining things in my head when i was a child... so I wonder if Aphantasia gets worse over time??

This kinda makes me wonder how I'm able to draw, especially faces and expressions, accurately and according to my creative intentions... but I find i am able to "see" and imagine the energy/vibe/feeling of what I'm intending to draw or "Visualize", rather than a literal visual image.

Like, I can feel it in my muscles and bones the energy/vibe of somersaulting, but i can't clearly imagine a visual of someone doing it in my head?

idk. And i have no formal diagnoses of aphantasia so maybe i don't have it, but from what i've gathered and looked up, it really does seem like i have it 😳

I'm also lowkey mad about it bc like,,, i wanna picture stuff in my head too lol 😭

Anyway, who else has/might have aphantasia who is Also an artist/writer/storyteller, and how does Your brain/thoughts -> hand/artwork connection work??

[thedovesaredying]

Guardian of the Temple

König finds you alone in the jungle and decides to hunt you down for some entertainment. Unfortunately for him, the Temple Guard is still in the area.

A/N: Wanted to do something small for @ghouljams fun little König-killing event. This little story is based within an AU I'm working on currently - a crossover between CoD and Dinotopia - weird mix, I know, but trust me, I promise it works. Going to be a series of individual ships set in the same universe with Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, and Nikto.

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader (he doesn't make an appearance)

Warnings: MCD (obviously lmao), Kinda Gorey??, König is a dick who has it coming.

Rating: SFW

Masterlist: WIP

If you were paying more attention than you wouldn’t be in such a situation.  

There’s an Outsider hunting you down, tainting the steps of the temple with his foul presence alone. You’ve been working for weeks to restore the ancient ruins enough for you to begin deciphering some of the forgotten runes. Just gaining access to the site had taken months of preparation, and it could all be thrown away because of this one individual.  

You’ve heard of him before, some crazy man who’s styled himself “King” after hunting down and killing a tyrannosaurus rex on his own. You’ve heard him lord the achievement over his underlings, having them worship him as if he’s some kind of warrior God rather than a mere man.

You were spotted while collecting water from a nearby river, and the terrifying mountain of a man had been quick to sprint after you, laughing like a complete madman. You’re by no means slow, but the man’s lengthy stride has him quickly catching up to you, his huge hand grabbing you by the back of your shirt.  

He throws you to the ground and you hit the stone of the temple hard with a loud yelp. You try to crawl away from him, but you’re unable to get your legs under you before you’re grabbed again. The man, and he’s definitely König from the signature hood over his face, forces you onto your back, pinning you to the floor with a heavy foot to your chest.  

“And who might you be, little bird?” His voice is heavily accented, but the amused sneer in his tone is easily recognisable, “the Rainy Basin is no place for such a small creature, did no one tell you what terrible creatures there are out here?” 

You grip at his boot, trying to shove it off you, but swiftly giving up when it doesn’t so much as budge. “What, like you?” you snap, scowling up at him.  

“Such a feisty thing,” he laughs, pressing down harder on your aching ribs, “are you certain you aren’t one of mine?” He pulls his axe from the side of his belt, resting the edge of the blade against your throat.  

Your disgusted face must be answer enough, because he continues, “do you know why they call me, ‘König’, sweet pet?” the cold steel of his blade presses dangerously against your chin, forcing you to keep your head raised and your eyes on his, “it’s because I killed the most powerful beast on this island, that so called “king” of the Scalies, you should mind yourself, girl.”  

“Really?” You ask, before adding, “because I heard you were a coward that killed a mother rex just trying to protect her babies.” You can’t help the way you spit it at him, scowling at his ugly hood, “you really think that makes you impressive? Killing mothers and babies to feed your own ego?” 

The monstrous man pulls back his axe, readying to separate your head from the rest of your body. You can only imagine how his face is screwed up in rage at the slight to his pride, and you can’t help but smile, for you know this will not be where you die. He swings his weapon down and there’s a sickening crunch as muscle and bone are split apart. But it isn’t you that wails in agony.  

It was his mistake, really, for thinking that the rex was the biggest, baddest king in the jungle. 

König’s body falls to the side in shock, his one remaining hand reaching up to fruitlessly try and stanch the bleeding where his shoulder now abruptly ends. He had mocked you so ruthlessly for your fear moments ago, but now, the man’s eyes have nearly been consumed by his frantic pupils. His legs kick out, trying to push himself as far away from the threat as possible.  

The giganotosaurus tilts its head back, allowing the man’s arm to roll down its gullet without needing to so much as chew once for the entire limb to be small enough for it to swallow it whole. Its eyes slowly track the trail of blood across the floor, before landing on the wounded human in question.  

Like a bird playing with an insignificant insect, it takes a step toward him, using its snout to roll the man across the stone, nostrils flaring at the potent scent of iron. You can see König torn between playing dead in the hopes of boring the animal and trying to make a run for it, but it seems to matter little in the end, for the theropod grabs him around the waist with its eight-inch teeth and begins to bite down.  

The man screams, and you have the less than pleasant privilege of listening as his agonised cries quickly turn into wet gurgling. The giga’s teeth are designed for slicing through meat to let their prey bleed out, but there’s very little meat on a creature as small as a human, and so it isn’t long before the Outsider’s body falls completely limp.  

The lifeless body is dropped to the ground where the lizard begins to crunch at the remains with its hind teeth.  

You stand on shaky legs, the adrenaline very quickly causing you to crash. With a sigh, you slowly slide down one of the nearby walls of the temple, resting your head against the cool stone and moss. After a few moments, the giga makes another appearance, his massive head drifting into view. He makes a concerned rumble, nudging at your tiny body when you continue to stay resting for another few moments. 

“Thank you, Fireblood,” you breathe, gently resting a hand against the theropod’s snout, “I know you can’t understand me, but it’s much appreciated big guy.” Fireblood settles himself down beside you with a soft huff, allowing you to caress his hard scales.  

No doubt Ghost will find this rather amusing; he always did dislike that weird guy.

[the-monkeies-girl]

You are on a roll with posting XD

Love how koba is his own greatest problem. Can't even get his shit together to realize he likes this human, and it's not his stomach rejecting food. That's called ✨️love✨️, my boy, the butterflys are out for youuuu koba. I just adore how you wrote him watching the reader sleep because he thinks we are being stupid being out in the open and vulnerable.

Ceaser probably apologizes to Wills Ghost daily because damn dealing with koba and kobas feelings must wear him down. Someone get this ape king a herbal drink or smoke, and a nap before he just throws both of them into a hut to face their fears of feelings

Also, i can not wait for anaya to get some personal lovin too, he deserves it after proximus problematic self 🥲😭

Please take solace in my guilty pleasure idea thank u i love you

Like, maybe one day when you're out with Ceasar's closest council on a hunting endeavor ( You requested to go, knowing they often stumbled upon human buildings and remnants and you wanted to see what you could salvage as far as clothing, toiletries, etc ). Instead, you find your self face to face with a gun. A human stood on the other end, obviously not impressed that you had drifted onto what they deemed to be their territory. You tried to back off, holding your hands up defensively and muttering under your breath, "I just want to leave. Can-can you not point that thing at me?" You're bargaining with them that you're not a threat and you don't want to steal anything but man - Did the Simian Flu take away humanity's ability to be empathetic because despite your words, despite how frail they were coming out of your mind, the ricochetting of the gun-cocking encapsulated your entire being. You were going to die. Any no one else was around to witness other than the maniac human in front of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prepared for the worst knowing they'd just shoot you if you took off running.

Instead? In a rather large blur of events, the human in front of you were grasped by a dark figure, a few shoots were taken but the gun was yanked out of their grasp and thrown overboard, deep into the woods to be forgotten, their arm literally breaking to the point where the forearm bone was protruding from the muscles and skin before the sounds of fists hitting flesh rounded into your ears. Blinking, you were frantic to get yourself back on your feet and scrambled rather pathetically until the Ape responsible for the carnage dropped right in front of you. Eyes widening at the Bonobo in front of you, he just gives you a twisted smile.

He definitely had you convinced he just did what he did because he liked it and thought all humans deserved that. He did it to scare you, to show you that he was more than capable of taking your frail little life into his hand and crushing it into oblivion.

You're left mildly shell-shocked as Caesar and company came into view, looking at Koba standing over you menacingly, the human who had threatened you - beaten to an unrecognizable heap behind him.

Caesar asks if you're alright, but your eyes are so transfixed on Koba. The realization dawning on you that he could have very well killed you, but only killed what he deemed a necessary threat in the moment.

Surely, given the chance he would kill you. Right?

[saphira-approves]

Random headcanon, but I think Saphira would be enamored by drag culture. Honestly I think a lot of dragons would be but Saphira in particular is a) fascinated by ✨Shinies✨ and b) notably preoccupied with her own appearance. She would be FASCINATED by people who take fashion and gender to extraordinary exaggerated heights.

Honestly Alagaësian drag culture would probably have a ton of influence from dragons—you know, the bright, colorful, gem-like manifestations of magic incarnate. There’s definitely a trend to wear slit-pupil contacts and paint scale patterns with tiny glued-on crystals into their eyeshadow, and wear those claw finger cap things. There’s probably awards for “most creative integration of wings and/or tail into hair or outfit” given at any drag show that has more than one dragon-inspired look, with solutions ranging from long ponytail or lifted cape (basic) to fully articulated extra limbs (no magic, because that would be cheating) to wild abstract interpretations (someone once walked onstage with just pieces of paper tied to their back with “wings” and “tail” written on them in like five different languages. yes this one won the award.).

And that’s not even touching on elf drag, elf drag is a whole other beast, elf drag has elves like Blödgharm who normally look absolutely wild walking the runway in normal human cosplay, but with exaggerated features like extremely round human ears or extremely square human jawlines. In other circles you’ve got elf drag shows that ramp up in stages of “oh yeah this is a regular drag show” to “oh my god the trees that have been here the whole time and which i assumed were part of the forest have started walking the runway” to “that is a deer. that is straight up just a deer that wandered into the show. whatdoyoumeanit’sgettinganaward-”

Urgal drag involves exaggerating their horns with intricately carved extensions, often wood or bone, but sometimes the horn of another animal or even another Urgal—one famous Kull Urgal drag king used his late father’s horns to great effect. Their competitions also usually involve combat in some form. Basically it combines drag shows and wrestling into the ultimate “dress up in elaborate looks with elaborate personas and over-exaggerated rivalries and throw down about it” pastime. They also tend to focus on makeup rather than clothes—obviously what they do wear is still intricate and beautiful, often woven to tell a story or represent a clan or idea, but the REAL visual focus is the exaggeration of the physical form, turning a broad muscled chest into that of a bear or bird, or even a mountain, animated into a humanoid form. Basically imagine if the colossi from Shadow of the Colossus were drag personas, you’d be pretty close to what I’m envisioning here.

Dwarf drag is heavily rooted in clan identity, rather than gender, as well as religion. Dwarven drag houses will often come together within a clan and claim a patron god, with all the hostility and rivalries that would entail. As a counter-culture to this, there’s always a few subversive houses established to welcome anyone from any clan, or for those ostracized from their clans, which often face vicious backlash and are ascribed reputations of dishonorable traitors, though they are rarely outright declared criminals. This results in a subculture of “anonymous” drag, where these subversive houses protect themselves by maintaining secrecy of their members and numbers, and craft personas and looks that also act as disguises. Though to some this only reinforces their untrustworthy reputations, these secretive houses are staunch bastions of those treated unfairly by dwarven society, with a perspective greater than clan ties, and due to their anonymity have been influential in several key moments of dwarven history in uniting the clans for crucial decisions.

Werecat drag is done entirely in cat form. It’s definitely done in the style of the “Be Best” competition from Centaurworld, ie to be your best self, whatever that is. There’s never a winner because every werecat votes for themself. Yes even the judges. Yes even the audience. It’s basically a big party of self-appreciation taken to narcissistic heights. Every participant gets a prize, and that prize is not getting mauled by the judges for not voting for the judges. When dragons start doing drag, this is the model they follow.

Alagaësian drag. I just think it’d be neat. Happy pride everybody.

[toomuchracket]

i'd rather jump in your bones (dad!matty x reader)

(hi! a lovely anon sent me an ask about sleeping with dilf-to-be matty on your babymoon before having baba 1, which a couple of other people have also asked for, so here it is, a really REALLY long fic! smut, with a little bit of fluff because i am a sappy bitch lol. anyway, hope you enjoy! <3)

(also if you're unfamiliar with my dad!matty/flatmate!matty tags, this might be a little jarring in places, so i'd recommend reading some of those posts first to get a handle on the lore)

it's 8am when you're woken up by the baby kicking, her (as of last week's 20-week scan it's confirmed that, yes, she is a she) tiny little limbs bouncing off different parts of your stomach like the old dvd logo that would appear if you left the player on pause for too long. you snort quietly to yourself at that comparison, making a mental note to tell it to matty when he wakes up. actually, you're surprised he hasn't woken up yet; his arm is currently draped softly over the bump as he snores lightly behind you, so he should also be able to feel his daughter kicking.

although, in fairness, if you didn't have a developing human in your stomach operating on a different sleep schedule to yours, the things you and your husband got up to last night would have definitely kept you asleep at this time too.

but you don't mind being awake in circumstances like these: carrying your healthy (and presumably happy) baby; feeling the nearly-naked and gloriously handsome love of your life cosied up beside you; noticing the morning sun and various faint italian conversations creeping into the room via the patio door, left ajar in the scorching heat of last night. it's an early summer morning on the shores of lake garda, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be right now.

baba, though, would apparently rather you were somewhere else - almost on cue, she settles herself in such a way that your awareness of your own bladder becomes unavoidable. with a whispered "you like being a little bit mean to mummy, don't you? you're lucky i love you so much, my girl", you extract yourself from matty's hold without waking him - a feat you mastered a few weeks into sharing a bed with him post-movie nights in the flat back in the day - and pull yourself out of bed. feeling slightly exposed in your panty-clad state, you shrug on matty's black tank top from yesterday, carelessly tossed on the end of the bed, before wandering to the bathroom.

matty appears in the doorway maybe five minutes later, once you've appeased your daughter (so to speak) and brushed your teeth; he copies the latter act himself, after placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, holding his toothbrush in one hand and you in the other. you take these two minutes of matty preoccupation to ogle him, trailing your eyes down his abs and v-line to the waistband of his boxers, admiring the way his arm muscles flex and contract as he brushes his teeth, and just generally marvelling at the way your husband manages to make the most basic of tasks look so ridiculously attractive.

after matty spits out the last of the toothpaste - the sight of which, whorishly, sends a burst of heat between your legs - he turns to you and pulls you into a sweet, overwhelmingly minty kiss. "morning, my love," he smiles, after breaking the kiss and taking your hands in his. "i take it our girl woke you up?"

the obvious joy in matty's voice when he refers to your daughter makes you smile too. "only a few minutes ago, but yeah, she did - all quiet now, but she was kicking quite enthusiastically."

"really?" matty asks, crouching down so he's eye level with your cotton-covered stomach and sliding a warm hand under the fabric to rest there. "you gonna be a footballer one day, baba? that'd be cool. especially if you played for newcastle like daddy did when he was a kid. but pro. definitely pro."

you scoff. "our daughter in a career where she could be far better at her job than a man but would never get the same recognition as him? i don't want her to be that much like me, babe."

"fair point, sweetheart," matty says as he stands, kissing you on the forehead. "but you should still be proud of your work anyway, even though they gave that stupid dick the case over you. i think you're an incredible lawyer, regardless of the fact you're also a little thief when it comes to my wardrobe."

he looks pointedly at the tank top you're wearing, before smirking at you. you put your hands on your hips and stare back at matty. "it's the bump, isn't it?"

your husband's brow furrows. "what?"

"you used to love me wearing your clothes," you sigh faux-dramatically, sidling past matty back into the bedroom and standing in front of the full-length mirror. "you encouraged it, actually. and now, here i am, pregnant with your baby, and you call me a thief for stealing a top. must be the bump."

matty comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your middle and pressing kisses into your neck. "you know all too fucking well that that's not the case, darlin'."

you're having too much fun with this. you do know matty's arguably never found you sexier than he does right now, but you don't want him to tell you that - you need him to prove it. so you sigh, tilt your head and look at your reflection. "hmmm, i don't know, babe. kinda seems like the bump might be a problem for you."

"right, that's it," matty scoops you up bridal-style and carries you the short walk to the bed, setting you down gently and bringing himself to hover over you. he kisses you deeply, passionately, but languidly, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away to murmur against your mouth. "want a repeat of last night, sweetheart, so i can prove to you how much i love your body? yeah? want me to kiss all over those gorgeous tits, that perfect little bump, all down the insides of those fucking thighs of yours, before i eat you out? whatever you want, i'll do it."

interesting. you keep your eyes on matty's adorably eager, turned-on face, watching his eyes roll back ever so slightly when you rake your hand through his hair and tug slightly. "whatever i want? really?"

"if it gets through to you just how fucking hot you look carrying my baby, yeah," matty replies, kissing you again. his face softens as he pulls away, calloused fingers coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "my perfect, perfect wife, mother of my child, love of my life."

"you're so sweet, angel, and i loved how gentle you were with me last night. but," you smile, leaning into matty's hand. "you know what i really want, something that hasn't happened in a little while that i'd love right now?"

"tell me, darlin'."

you lean in to whisper in matty's ear, tugging his hoop earring lightly between your teeth before you do. "want you to fuck me like i'm still your little slut. can you do that for me, matty? please?"

the effect your words have on your husband is instantaneous (and extremely inflating to your ego) - matty's breaths become shallow and shaky, his hips begin to grind into yours, and those beautiful eyes of his flutter shut, presumably as he imagines obliging your request. when they reopen, the pupils are almost totally dilated, out of nothing more than sheer lust for you; they lock onto your own eyes as matty speaks. "that depends... d'you think you've been good enough, sweetheart?"

fuck yes. you look up at matty through your eyelashes, batting your lids a couple of times for good measure, and nod. "m'always good for you."

"even when you're stealing my clothes?" comes the reply, accompanied by a smirk. you smile back just as evilly, and quickly pull the offending tank top off and throw it to the side. "s'not stolen anymore."

for the second time in about a minute, matty's eyes darken with desire for you. "christ, you're so beautiful," he moans, before crashing his lips onto yours and his tongue into your mouth. "alright, darlin', i'll fuck you like the good little slut i know you really are. my good little slut."

"mmm, always, always for you," you smile against matty's lips, before meeting them with your own for another makeout. "thank you."

"you're welcome, angel. now," your husband's face turns slightly more serious. "how do you want to go about this? need to make sure you feel good before i can make you feel even better, yeah?"

nodding, you reach across to matty's side of the bed, grabbing one of the big silk-covered pillows - anticipating what you're about to do, matty takes it from you, quickly sliding it under your lower back and tailbone as you lift your hips. caressing them lightly, matty scans your face for any sign of discomfort. "you good?"

"perfect."

"too fucking right you are, babe," matty grins, kissing you passionately yet again. he bites your lower lip - which pulls a moan from within your chest - before releasing it slowly, dragging the soft cells between his teeth. "and now it's time for the fun bit."

matty's mouth is on your neck before you can reply, the feeling of his lips against your sweet spot turning your words to whines; they're closely followed by teeth and tongue and back to lips, as your husband - apparently not content with just decorating your body with the baby bump - adorns your neck with a hickey. as he begins to trail these scarlet marks of affection down the column of your throat, matty's hands come up to your tits, squeezing the sensitive swollen flesh and rolling and pinching your nipples between calloused fingers.

by the time matty's mouth replaces his fingers, alternating between each tit, you're soaked through your silky underwear. you tell him as much through a series of breathy moans, in the hope that he'll cease his ministrations on your tits and settle himself between your soft thighs, but it's in vain. matty simply continues to mouth his way down your body, kissing down your sternum and all over your bump (which, admittedly, you do find very sweet even in your horny state); only once he's done this does he pay any mind to the dark green fabric covering the place you want him most.

"fuck, sweetheart," matty sighs, rubbing your soft thighs and teasing his fingertips along the waistband of your underwear. "can see how fucking wet you are already. is it all for me, angel? tell me."

you nod furiously. "all for you, always all for you."

"good girl," matty smiles, placing a kiss to your inner thigh before peeling your panties down, throwing them somewhere in the sunlight-dappled room. he reattaches his lips to your thigh, leaving another hickey and you moaning his name, while his index finger glides up your slit to collect some of your wetness - suddenly, matty's leaning over you, bringing the same finger to your lips. "taste yourself for me, darlin'."

fuck. without breaking eye contact with your husband, you take his finger into your mouth, moaning at the tang of your own arousal on your tongue, hollowing your cheeks around the digit and swirling your tongue across the tip, before releasing matty's finger with a pop. you smile radiantly up at the love of your life, watching you with lust-heavy eyes, and you speak. "yummy."

"jesus christ, you're such a slut. i fucking love it," matty laughs in disbelief, before kissing you again. as he does, the finger that was just in your mouth makes its way between your legs again, ghosting over your clit before teasing your entrance. "and i love fucking you. can i, now, with my fingers?"

"please, please."

"so polite, even when you're so fucking desperate for me. alright, sweetheart, i'll give you what you want."

with that, matty settles himself between your thighs, and - without warning - thrusts two fingers into you, moving them at a rapid pace. you whine at the sudden pleasure coursing through your body, clenching around matty's fingers and clawing at the bedsheets beneath you. "fuck, please don't stop, want you to make me cum."

matty lets out a huff of laughter, eyes fixated on the fingers he's repeatedly ramming and curling inside you. "oh, you wanna cum, do you? that all you want?"

whimpering out a series of "no"s, you shake your head - although, you're not sure if your husband will see the motion over the writhing of your hips and subsequent movement of the bump. "want your tongue on my clit, too."

"beg for it, then."

jesus christ.

you do as you're told, though, aching for matty to eat you out like you know he's aching to do. "god, fuck... please, baby, please - oh, holy fuck - please, need you to go down on me, need your mouth on my clit, need it to make me cum- oh, yes!"

just as impatient as you, matty starts to suck on your clit before you've even finished your wanton pleas, his fingers still pounding into you. he moans into you at the taste, the hum reverberating through your body and bringing you closer to your quickly approaching orgasm, then flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue - deft, rhythmic strokes you soon recognise as letters, your husband spelling out his name on the most intimate part of your body. whether it's because of your realisation or the motion itself, you don't know, but you immediately feel the white-hot pleasure in your lower body begin to grow rapidly and make your legs jerk involuntarily. "shit, matty, m'close, m'so fucking close. can i cum? please?"

matty pulls his mouth from you to speak; his left hand replaces it on your clit, while his right continues thrusting into you. he looks like sex itself, cheeks red and glistening with your wetness, dark eyes hungry. "do it."

you don't need much more encouragement - even without your husband's hands deftly working on your core, the sheer sight of him and the rasp of his command could tip you over the edge into bliss. with a cry of his name, your body goes rigid and then shakes uncontrollably as your orgasm hits, matty moaning in harmony with you as he feels you clench and then cum on his fingers. he pulls them out of you and into his mouth, eyes closing in ecstasy as he does; when they reopen, they flick to make contact with yours in a wink. then, just as the aftershocks of your climax are beginning to peter out, matty ducks his head back down to your centre and licks into your entrance, turning the epicurean geiger counter in your body back up to an eleven in one fell swoop.

you gasp at the sensitivity, reaching down as best you can to grab a handful of greying curls, but your efforts are futile; matty locks his arms around your thighs in a vice grip and continues to essentially make out with your cunt, nose bumping beautifully against your clit as he tongue-fucks you to another rapidly approaching orgasm. because you're still recovering from the first one, this climax builds so quickly within you that you don't even have time to warn matty - he knows you're about to cum, though, from the way your legs go from shaking to clamping around his head (something he's told you on more than one occasion that he absolutely loves) and your moans become stuttered, shallower, sexier. so he keeps his motions up, only stopping once he feels your wetness soak his face and hears you scream his name, your legs loosening and trembling slightly on the silky sheets.

after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and stretching his slightly-sore jaw, matty pulls himself up from between your legs and rests on one arm beside you, leaning over to kiss you deeply. "my good girl. how are you feeling? are you still comfy? do you need a little break?"

panting, you beam up at your husband, matching his lovestruck gaze with your own. "i'm feeling like i want you to fuck me now."

matty laughs, kissing your nose. "you're insatiable, missus."

"and you love it."

"i really do," matty smiles, shifting to hover on his knees above you. "position still good for you?"

"yeah, darlin'," you say, making a little kissy face at matty - he makes one in return, pressing his lips to yours in a little peck - and bringing your hands to pull down the waistband of his boxers; matty quickly takes over, yanking them off and leaving you both naked. "now fuck me hard, please."

"mmm, alright," matty smirks, running the head of his hard cock up and down your folds and teasing it at your entrance. "but remember - you asked for it."

his cock is inside you as soon as he finishes talking, both of you groaning as matty bottoms out - yours quickly turns to a whine as he begins to thrust into you, deep, hard strokes that have your eyes rolling back into your head. the sight of you so fucked out - tits bouncing with every thrust, hands clinging to the metal bars of the headboard, mouth agape and jaw quivering - makes matty moan too. "fuck, look at you, taking my cock so perfectly like the good little slut you are. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?"

you can't even answer, too caught up in how good your husband fucking you feels to remember how to talk. matty, who never misses an opportunity to be ever so slightly sadistic, isn't letting you get away with staying wordless. "answer me, baby."

"mhmm," you manage to croak out, whimpering as a particular thrust hits a particularly good spot inside you. "yours."

"gonna prove it and cum for me again, angel?" matty pants, grabbing your ankles and holding your legs in the air for leverage so he can continue to hit that one perfect spot inside you. "gonna cum all over my cock, and make me cum too? make me fill you up again?"

whining again, you nod furiously. the two previous climaxes have loosened your body up so much that you can feel your third hurtling towards you already - you just need matty to keep up his thrusts for a tiny little bit longer. "don't stop, please, keep fucking me. m'almost there."

"yeah? me too, sweetheart," matty breathes, his thrusts continuing, but getting slightly shallower. "fuck, i'm close. you wanna cum together?"

"please."

"ok, darlin', whatever you want," your husband smiles dazedly. leaning forward slightly again, his right hand leaves its place on your ankle to take up its original residence on your clit, circling in time with the thrusts. "let go for me, whenever you're ready. c'mon, sweetheart, come on my cock."

you're not sure what triggers it - matty's words, his hand on your clit, his relentless fucking, the way he looks at you like you hung the moon, or a combination of everything - but, as if on cue, your third orgasm of the morning hits you. and it hits hard, sending your eyes and head back and your back arching off the bed in sheer pleasure; so hard, in fact, that it triggers matty's orgasm, signified by a guttural cry of your name and a feeling of pure warmth in your core as he finishes inside you.

again, your husband pulls out of you quickly and licks a flat stripe up your core. this time, though, he's back hovering over you within seconds, tapping your lips with two fingers. instinctively, you open your mouth, and matty spits the mixture of your respective releases onto your tongue; you swallow obligingly without comment nor question, earning you a radiant smile, an affectionate "slut", and a soft, lazy kiss.

you pull away reluctantly from matty's lips, bringing a hand to caress his slightly stubbly jaw. "thank you. i love you."

"i love you too, darlin'," matty nuzzles into your hand cutely, a total contrast to the way he was fucking you mere minutes ago. "what a way to start the morning, yeah? proper workout, that."

"well, i did need a way to work off all that extra pasta the little nonnas in the restaurants keep force-feeding me," you giggle. "'for the bambino' my arse. they're just trying to get us not to leave!"

"i think i could stay here, you know," matty ponders, absentmindedly smoothing your hair. "you, me, baba, in this town, in this bed, just snuggling our days away."

"that sounds dreamy."

"yeah," matty sighs, pecking your lips again. "we don't have plans until dinner tonight - wanna practice staying here and snuggling for a few hours?"

"nah."

"what? why?"

"because," you sigh, rubbing your stomach. "baba's woken up and she'd decided it's time for me to piss again."

matty snorts. "impeccable timing. i think she gets that from me. remember that time i-"

"matty, i love you, i really do, but i do need you to shut up and help me to the bathroom now, please."

"alright, alright. whatever you need, wifey."

[spectralgecko]

Could you like critique my art pls

Specifically the art dump and that chosen fanart

Alrighty, sorry this took a while, mixture of getting sick and traveling.

Chosen One:

Because this is a) very stylized to begin with, b) a fairly minimalist format, and c) a very straightforward character design, there’s not tons to critique. It’s mostly a matter of lighting. By and large everything looks like it’s coming from the right direction, and the form looks proportionally correct. The only thing I’m a little thrown by is the eye placement – there’s not enough information to quite tell me where he’s facing and at what angle, partly because the oval of the eye isn’t sitting at right angles with the flare. That’s the only thing I’d really point out here, though.

Doodle Dump:

Perspective sketches:

These all seem to be pretty straightforward perspective exercises. The set up looks good, seems coherent enough. The topmost roof on the house of the fifth one looks a little odd, but that might just be an inking mistake. The internal details are also good. The sixth one looks a little wonky, but I think that might just be a mix of the photo and the extreme angle. Internally though, it works. The dude’s head looks a little far back on his shoulders – that or the shading on his torso needs to come farther up.

The lady:

I’m not sure if this is just how you took the photo, but she looks like she’s leaning to the right (our right) a little bit. Could just be a camera thing, though, hard to say. Hold it up to a mirror and see what it does. The proportions overall are solid, but there’s a couple details to work with. The calf muscle of her right leg seems a little too far out in comparison to her left leg, like it should be behind the leg more, since normally that leg would be facing us more than the left. Depends a little on how the leg is meant to be angled though. That leaning issue I mentioned earlier also looks like it could be solved by nudging the left leg out farther so she’s not “overbalancing.” The clothes look good as well, but the blazer button seems a little too far from the edge of the blazer’s front. I’d either move the button closer to the edge, or bring the fabric in farther – otherwise the tension makes the fabric behave weirdly and fold in on itself (speaking as someone who often wears blazers. Button + Fabric physics are a Whole Thing™). Also, and this is comparatively the big E on the chart – her frontmost hand. There’s… something weird going on with the wrist, and I think the hand angle too. As it is, her hand looks like it’s bending quite a ways back, more than people can usually do without pulling it while the arm is turned like that. Normally, the fingers and palm would be angled towards us a little more. Also, the arm doesn’t sit quite that high above the wrist junction – mostly looks like an overcorrection of some sort. The finger shapes are a little odd too here – the thumb doesn’t usually bend like that, and the fingers themselves look more like the back angle on the hand rather than the front.

Hand sketches:

These are all quite good, though there’s definitely some quirks here and there.

On the first one, the upper line of the middle finger is too low – if you trace it through the pointer, it doesn’t line up with its knuckle. I’m also not sure which finger is poking out past the thumb, but if the hand is angled far enough for you to see the back of the palm at all, you aren’t going to see the finger poke out, and visa versa. Also, same issue with the wrist – there is indeed a wrist bone, but it’s not that pronounced, especially not at that angle.

The second one looks good, although the ring finger looks a little broken, and the palm musculature on the pinky’s side indents in a little too far - it doesn't usually cut a straight line like that because of how it attaches to and goes around the bone there.

Three and four both look solid, though the palm-form by the pinkie is crushed down a little too far on four. Five looks good, note that the ring finger’s first joint looks bent back too far (the straight line marking the bend-point is part of it). Six looks good.

General summary:

Your hand anatomy is overall very good, with a couple issues in the wrist and palm flesh. Don’t hesitate to do through-sketching on the fingers to keep your skeletal line-up consistent.

Your perspective is good, especially with the exercises.

The freestanding gal is overall great, just with some minor detail issues and a slight lean that might just be photo angle. That's a little harder to correct for in traditional cuz there's no "flip canvas" option :P

If you’d like clarifying sketches on any of these, I’d be happy to do that.

[kastlequill]

iii/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus paradoxus

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 1.7k synopsis: the third time you save gaz tags: whumptober, infection, wound tending, hurt/comfort, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here ← prev | next →

III.

You had lost count of how many times you’d warned him about the risk of infection, which was already quite high given the sheer frequency at which he acquired open wounds.

Best keep that thing covered, soldier, had been your soft-spoken command to close out his fourth visit in the span of a month and a half. That time, a stabbed forearm, and the time before that, a nasty gash down his spine, and so on. I don’t want to see you back in my infirmary for a long while, copy?

But it seemed your cautioning had gone in one ear and out the other. It wasn’t that Gaz didn’t know how to protect himself, nor was he incapable of mitigating the damage he sustained in combat; the sergeant was a competent man, something that you greatly appreciated when it came time to patch him up.

Rather, it was more so the case that he treated his life recklessly. Surviving was one thing, but exiting the fray unscathed? That was an altogether different and separate objective which, in his mind, warranted far less concern than completing the mission.

To him, the game plan was very simple: successfully execute orders, then get the hell out of there. Bonus points if he kept the majority of his body intact and functional.

For a soldier, this logic made total sense. Such a thought process was to be expected from someone who had spent over a decade honing his physical form into a weapon and had thus learned how to mentally detach himself from his personhood whenever necessary. During the firefight, his muscles and limbs moved in accordance with years of conditioning and training, acting on autopilot. Gaz, the man who brought you lunch on your busiest days and made damn certain none of your rowdier patients were giving you shit, faded into the background; what he did became exceedingly more important than the fact that it was he who did it.

For a medic, however? The stunning lack of self-preservation irritated you to no end.

And today, that irritation spiked to a record peak the instant he walked into the medbay with unfocused eyes and beads of sweat on his brow bone, jaw slightly loose, chest heaving for air.

“Hey, Doc,” Gaz said with a wince, the greeting sounding more like a croak than anything else. He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. “I’m not feeling too good. You mind if I. . ?”

Those were the last words to leave his lips before he all but collapsed into your waiting arms. Ignoring the worry that had begun to churn in your gut, you immediately helped him stumble to a nearby cot then gradually sat him down. Instinct took over, spurring you to quickly gather your medkit, don a pair of surgical gloves, gently open his mouth, and stick a thermometer under his tongue.

High body temperature, difficulty attending to external stimuli, fast pulse���textbook signs of an infection.

You were thankful that the nurse was too busy checking on another admit to notice how you cradled his face in your hands for a beat longer than was necessary after removing the thermometer. “Gaz, I need you to stay sharp, you got that? You have to show me where you’re injured so I can do my job.”

Blinking a little more awake, he gave a curt nod and lifted up the front end of his shirt to reveal what looked to be a knife wound slightly above his left hip. If the accumulation of dried pus was anything to go off of, it must have been at least a week old.

That’s definitely infected, alright.

“Why didn’t you call this in?” You lightly pressed into the inflamed flesh around the problem site, assessing its tenderness, but stopped when he let out a low, pained hiss. “We could’ve gotten it squared away in less than half an hour and saved ourselves the trouble.”

His half-lidded stare locked onto your alert, wide eyes. “Y’told me you’d rather I not come around for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you getting sick of me already, Doc. It’s bad form.”

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Of course a soldier would interpret an offhand joke in its most literal sense. Your playful tease had been intended to disguise genuine concern. Instead, the man had gotten the impression that you were annoyed by his insistence, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

In reality, you damn near prayed to any and all deities for them to shorten the time between his visits and lengthen his stays.

“That isn’t—” You swallowed an overwhelming wave of mixed emotions. “That isn’t what I meant, Kyle.”

He grinned, suddenly very coherent and present. “So it’s Kyle now, is it? Well, if I’d bloody known some measly infection is all it’d take for you to call me by my name, then I would’ve fuckin’ done this ages ago.”

Heat rushed towards your face, mostly pocketing itself in your cheeks. Some reassurance followed suit; Gaz couldn’t be too bent out of shape if he still had the energy and mental faculties to. . . to flirt with you.

As you cleaned the oozing gash, flushing it out with cool water and dabbing on a topical antibiotic with a Q-tip, the sergeant lowered his head to watch you work, eager to witness you in your element. Perhaps it should’ve annoyed you because of how frequently his forehead bumped into yours, but you understood his curiosity well. It was only fair, considering how often you wondered about him in the field; what he did, how and why he did it.

Who he became.

The occasional graze of your fingertips along his ribcage made the skin there to ripple, and he released a shaky exhale. “What’s the verdict, then?”

“Nothing that oral antibiotics and proper wound care won’t fix. But I want to keep you here overnight for observation and rehydration.” You stuck on a lopsided bandage and used your hand to smooth out any crinkles in the adhesive. When you lifted your face to address him more directly, the slight brush of his nose against yours caused a hitch in your breathing, and you jerked backward, startled by his closeness.

A pleased hum emanated from his throat. “Always lookin’ out for me. Soon as I get this blasted thing sorted, I’ll thank you properly.”

“There’s no need,” you assured him, stepping further out of reach. “Just focus on getting better, will you? This prescription is over the course of seven days. Don’t let me hear you’ve been skipping your meds.”

Needing to put several meters between the two of you, the shelves at the backend of the clinic were the perfect escape. There, no longer in view, you sifted through various supplies until you found an open box of penicillin, counted fourteen tablets in total, then funneled the antibiotic into a standard orange prescription bottle. By the time you returned to his cot with the medication, the sergeant was already munching on a couple of crackers, courtesy of the nurse.

He visibly straightened at your arrival and softly said, “Thank you. I mean it.”

Just doing my job, was what you should have replied. Nonchalant; not the slightest bit personally vested in your patient outside of the clinic.

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll stop getting hurt all the damn time,” were the words you muttered instead, sounding like a petulant child. Or perhaps you simply sounded like someone who gave a shit.

Because you did. You, a tested combat medic who should honestly know better by now, cared deeply about him, a special operator who risked his life daily so that the rest of the world remained relatively out of harm’s way. And given the horrors you’d seen both on the battlefield and in the infirmary, to care for someone like him was a terrifying notion.

What a nuisance, these matters of the heart.

His eyes dulled at your response, and you were consumed with the desire to bring back the light in those brown depths. “You know I can’t.”

The confirmation, though expected, still stung. Knowledge was such a curse, you decided. On some occasions, it benefited you to wield it, but on others, it only brought inescapable suffering. Regardless of the consequences, the possessor of said knowledge was forced to carry it within them always, robbed of a chance at blissful ignorance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sighed, lips settling into a resigned smile. “It was worth a shot.”

From then on, the remainder of your tending to him was spent in silence. Not an awkward silence, nor an angry silence; just silence. A neutral, comfortable silence—your favorite.

All that was left to do could’ve been passed off to the technician or even skipped entirely, but you felt compelled to go the extra mile where he was involved. You wet a rag to rid his forehead of sweat and used a tissue to gently dust away the crystallized mucus in his tear ducts. Before you had the opportunity to assist him in laying flat on the cot, your pillow-fluffing was interrupted by the slight weight of cold metal meeting the warm skin of your neck.

A dog tag. His dog tag.

Your brain momentarily short-circuited. The gravity of the action was not lost on you, nor was its heavy implications. Not in the least.

“I’ll try. For you,” he clarified, resolutely holding your gaze, an oath on his lips, “I’ll try.”

Good enough, you thought. Because it had to be.

This would have to be enough, whatever this was. This, a fledgling, precursory thing. This, stealing moments with him during the brief lapses of warfare, hidden behind the plastic tarp covering the infirmary. This, assuaging your anxieties by catching sight of him from afar, the distance between your clinic and his barracks too vast. This, an invisible threshold, a nonexistent white line that warned do not cross. This, the space decreed by professionalism somehow both too much and too little.

This would have to be enough.

tbc.

[robogart]

no you're SO right about the baldurs gate writing & design. I feel like everyone played a different version of that game where the characters were actually interesting and not just like. poorly written twig people. literally none of the party members have any meat on their bones, even the fuckin "muscle lady" who looks just as twiglike as everyone else its so grating

YES the "it feels like everyone played a different version of that game" is definitely where we're at right now! I'm glad you're in the same boat, it's nice to know we're not alone!! ; w ; 🙏💖💖

It's hard with the writing, because on one hand, I'm here for classic character types and tropes - I'll eat the same ones over and over! But of course, it's always with the caveat of if they're executed well (in MY opinion, it's always subjective). For example, we LOVE Astarion in this house (and Gale has been a surprise like for us too) - but SO much of that is because how the actors delivered the characters. And Astarion in particular feels SO well done - Neil Newbon is such an excellent character actor and he FEELS like a character because the actor brings a lot of nuance to the delivery. But if anyone else voiced him, it would feel lackluster. And that's because the writing is not as strong and intentional feeling. Even the way conversations are paced feel rather clunky - and the most "succesful" dialogue is because the actor is setting better breath and pace and emotion than the dialogue and story gives on its own.

So much of the actual character depth to me feels like it is largely aided by the actors rather than the writing itself. Which I know writing that, it feels a bit DUH that's what the actors are there for. But both things can exist at the same time. And I feel bad for always pointing at Dragon Age, but it's an adjacent game in this field and it's crafted Very Well where both the performances from the actors add depth to the already solid writing. Even looking up Dragon Age writers, you can easily find who the main writers were for each character, which is what gives them SUCH a clear voice and point of view. (And I think there are some characters who are weaker in Dragon Age, but I can't argue that they don't ever feel consistent to themselves despite my opinion of their writing). Whereas so many of the characters in bg3 just feel like they were made in an aimless gamer-bro echo chamber without any direction and the only saving grace is by the performance of the actor.

But!! Rambling!! I'm so sorry @ w @;;; I'm just very impassioned by this right now = w =;;;