#degrees of WOKENESS

[fungus-no69]

Thinking about the angel tf

I think ice should form on their eyelashes and brows, I think they should be eternally cold. I think they should be eerily beautiful to the point of uncanny, too perfect to be real. I think touch should sear and blister because of the agonising heat of a human's body. I think their touch should feel like a salve. I think they should have some form of religious delusion or guilt, why wouldn't they? They are messengers of God and by far one of the very few pure people in this cursed town. I think they should always be in some form of debilitating pain from housing a creature in their body that is far too powerful to contain. From carrying a halo that symbolises a burden, from wings that weigh them down and weren't made for a human. I think

[gunsatthaphan]

#petition to release the frog jump 🐸

[khaopybara]

No one likes being flirted with more than June with her nong View.

[inkyquince]

Thinking about being fwb with the older gen when they were younger.

cw. uhhhh. not much. implied rough sex, a mind break on eden's side, neglect of emotional stuff but some is implied, stalker-y obsessive harper, remy get the idea to start the underground farm from you and general friends with benefits stuff.

characters. bailey. eden. harper. briar. remy.

For Bailey, its a need to release stress, and you just happen to be the one person in the friendship group he could stand enough to not just spend extra time with, but spend it bending you over the back of his bed frame and railing you, all the while you can hear giggling from behind the door. He doesn't give a shit, he knows that the walls are thin in the orphanage, but this isn't for you. If you happen to cum, then, hey, it makes you tighten up around his cock and makes his own orgasm just a bit better. Don't think so much about how he offers you a smoke afterwards, when he refuses to even share his sacred, battered packet of ciggies with Eden. Don't start thinking he's soft. But maybe you should feel grateful that when you message for him to come over, he actually replies to you. Most of the others get ignored.

For Eden, it started out as pity. Probably the last of the group to loose his virginity, with Bailey snarking that he knows for a fact that Eden spends most of his time at night jerking his cock. He's just too intimidating for anyone at school to give him a chance, and the boys in the locker room have noticed how fucking fat his cock is anyway. There was a betting pool to see how long until he snapped. So what if it was pity. So what if his gaze thrilled you as you slowly took off your shirt in front of him, slowly unbuttoning as his grip on his knees tightened, his knuckles whitening. So what if by the time you tucked your thumbs into your underwear, his erection was straining against his jeans. It started as pity, for your friend to finally loose his v-card, and went on to Eden ripping at your clothes every time you two were alone, wrestling your body down onto his fat cock, bullying your hole, your friendship grated down into veiled attention around the others, and desperate rutting each second you two were alone.

It was obvious that Harper had wanted this for so long. Everyone could tell that the freak had such a crush on you. Always so attentive, popping up at your elbow, wanting to carry your books, saying you smelt nice that day, that he'll help tutor you, asking you if you want to go with him for ice cream after class. But you had to give credit where it's due, he was smart. Just one bad break up, and his selfless offerings of helping you feel better. That's all it took for him to take his rightful place between your thighs, getting to enjoy your needy riding, your kisses, the way you'd clench around his fingers when the dipped into your underwear during class. He encourages you to use him, use him, use him all you want, for stress relief, for any kinks you want to try. He likes it all, as long as he gets to touch you.

Briar just likes sex. He fucking loves it. In the future, he might tire of it, and just enjoy the delicacies of life paid for by bought sex, but not yet. You know you're just one of a rotation, but it feels different... At least to you. Sharing a group of friends, one night getting too drunk, and suddenly his tongue is dragging against your hole, being told you to squeal all you like, maybe someone from the party will hear you and come to see what's happening. Then Briar messaging you to come to him from then on. He likes watching you hump his cock, introducing you to the amass of sex toys he has, sharing a double ended dildo while he tortures your nipples with bites and harsh sucks. He makes no secret of his other conquests, people he also enjoys having sex with, but there's something about being the only one that can lean against him at a group hang out, his thumb rubbing small circles into your thigh, as the others argue on how to split the bill.

It starts with Remy just wanting it out of the way. Everything in his life is planned out meticulously, and once he hits 19, he quietly registers that most people his age are loosing their virginity, consenting or not. He will inherit the estate in his late twenties, he'll graduate from university early, and he'll make his mark on the town like his family has done for generations, with the riding school, with the investments. He'll find something that's uniquely him. But in the meantime, he'll hit the average amount of milestones that his peers do. You just happened to be the least objectionable to loose his virginity to. Between you and Wren, you're the one that'll be nice and submissive and let him enjoy himself however he likes, without some boneheaded suggestion of doing something stupid. So, he gets to take you to the estate, to fuck you on a bed more expensive than anything you could ever afford again. It's good. He likes it. But one day, in the fields with the others, overlooking some rinky dink farm with a family of red heads trying to make it nice, you do something. He's eating an apple, leaning against a tree, with you sitting by his feet with Wren's head in your lap, letting you braid his already too long hair. There's a crunch. He looks down and you cheekily took a bite out of the apple, smiling up at him. It itches his brain just right. He extends it to your mouth and watches as you laugh and take another bite. You become more of a pet from then on. Eating out of his hand, getting fucked in the ass, with a stirring fixation rousing in his stomach when he thinks back on how sweet you looked, eating his apple. Almost like one of the cows on the farm down below.

[kebriones]

sunday morning sketch

[softmangoes]

waxing and waning | ivory wraith x pc

18+ only | companion to 13 moons

you think they're dreams: the nights you are able to meet, the nights when he is able to walk through the veil like a gossamer curtain and haunt the streets of the town to beckon you closer, closer, closer. 

he can feel your disbelief arise when you touch him, your hands warm against his cool skin. 

"i don't know if this is real," you say, your breath like an ember at the hollow of his neck. 

"this is real," he answers, voice mournful. beneath the veneer of centuries upon centuries of separation, there is a flicker of recognition that he senses within you. you know him. you know this. you remember, right? you must. "as real as the tide. as real as each breaking wave that kisses your feet." 

he kisses you. trails his lips and hands along your jaw and your neck in a delicious descent that feels akin to a plea.

your breath hitches when he cups your hips and dips his head between your legs. his tongue is long and he has missed the way his mouth makes you writhe, makes you clench your thighs out of need for more. and you always want more, droplet. your desire pierces the air, coats his tongue, slicks your skin with a light sheen that makes you glisten in the glow of his presence. 

he leaves you wanting. the wraith has known you for far longer than the years you have lived this lifetime. he knows how your body responds to the pleasures of the flesh: it is the same way no matter the vessel your soul has chosen for shelter. each time you are just about to crest, he pulls away - not far, but just enough to make you tangle your fingers in his hair and whine. 

"please," you say, the sharp exhalation fogging the air. 

"as you wish." his fingers press deeper into your skin as his tentacles coil around your trembling body.

this is the moment when you say his name - not the title taken from the legends about the lake or the hushed whispers said with widened eyes in the firelight - but the name as you knew him, as you loved him all those lifetimes ago. 

he doesn't know what hurts more: the absence of your memory or its temporary recollection. both are worthy of grief, but the pain lances through him in different ways. there is either the ache of longing or the dread of knowing that the night will end and the slate will once again be wiped clean. 

"it's you," you say, your chest rising and falling rapidly from the exertion. your warmth fills the cold damp of the ruin as you push yourself up to caress his face. "they...changed you." 

without fail, you always mention the ritual. it was the day they tore you away from his arms and stripped him of everything he was. the cell was cold. damp. even now, he could remember his own screams rip through the air.

"are you afraid?" his eyes avert from yours, hesitant. he must ask this every time out of fear that the answer will be different. one day, you will want to look away, he is sure of it. 

but what happens next is always the same. 

"never." several emotions flit within your eyes: anger, grief, an ache reflected back. they are always the same, your eyes. they are how he determines whether or not it's really you. 

you guide him onto the bed of woven reeds. the first time you had ever kissed him in your new body, tears ran down his cheeks. now, he wraps his hands around your waist and makes a sound like a gasp when you meet his lips. 

the legends about the lake tell of a monster that lives within its depths: a nightmare unlike anything else, a beast, a demon with a maw that hungers for more and more. 

over the years, many have tried to exorcise him from this realm. hells, some have almost succeeded to cut the tether anchoring him here. and after all those attempts, he exacted horrors that made him worthy of his title as a terror. the wraith has rended flesh from muscle, crushed limbs within the grasp of his tentacles, watched with eternal patience for the bubbling screams to cease.

but in all those years, you are the only being that has ever felled him.

when you kiss his neck this time, it is not with the empty hunger of a distant dream but rather a desperation amplified by countless lifetimes spent apart. ah, droplet - you will never truly be apart from him. he would sooner split the sky. 

"i love you," you murmur. he cannot bruise, but he can feel the remnants of your teeth and mouth like a hot streak along his collarbone. 

your eyes close when you finally take him. since his transformation, his length has...increased. at first, he was worried you wouldn't acclimate well to the change, but right now you fuck him inside of you with only your hitched breaths giving any indication of your strain. could he expect any different? you had always been ambitious.

"you are mine," you say, opening your eyes to reveal them glazed with pleasure. "always." 

"i am yours," he echoes. the tendrils, so cool and soft, caress your body gently. it is only for you that he retracts the thousands of tiny teeth back into the gelatinous flesh. it is only with you that he becomes less of a monster and more of the long-gone mortal that only ever desired your touch. "forever." 

the wraith has many hands and so many limbs. he uses them all to coax all manner of sounds from your sweet mouth. the ruins are lonely, so silent when you are gone. it is important to take advantage of the time he has to hear your song. 

you say his name again. this time, it sounds like a sigh of relief, of centuries peeling away until only this very moment remains. his name is a prayer in your mouth, a light in the dark, the last remaining braid of fate binding him to the fleeting remnants of his own humanity. 

the wraith takes his time to lay you back on the reeds. the unholy transformation has granted him many horrible gifts, but the one he has grown to be grateful for is his never-ending stamina. he will ruin you until you have no choice but to remember, to stay within the confines of your shared memories. with each forbidden tryst, the specter knows he grows closer to having you completely.

when you take his fingers into your mouth, memories surface: you mewling quietly in his embrace as he rocked his hips against yours just mere feet away from the labyrinthine rows of the busy archives. your tongue was so hot against his fingertips. even now, he could remember the way your legs trembled as he whispered his adoration into the shell of your ear. 

"there is only this," he says, wrapping spectral tendrils around your soul. in this form, he can tear a rift in this world. during the blood moon, he can work to make you his. "there is only us." 

when he comes, he whispers your name against your lips. it is your name as he knew you. the same name as he loved you. 

moments later, the both of you lie breathless on the reeds. he wove them tightly just the way that you taught him how all the lives ago so that they are soft and supple against your bare skin. 

"i remember," you say, looking into eyes like two endless skies. "every life and every time you found me." there is a pause. "the dawn will wash it all away." it is not a question, but a certainty.

"yes." his voice is hollow, already mourning the coming sunrise. a body can only hold so many lives and within your soul there are countless, after all. at the end of each blood moon, the world must reset to maintain the balance of all things. 

but the wraith is no mere thing: he is an anomaly, an abomination, a weight to tip the scale of existence in his favor. a monster, through and through.

one day, the moon will bathe the sky in blood and it will not set. then, droplet, he will have you. he will make sure of it.

[artbyblastweave]

I think it's extremely important to be able to distinguish between a comic-book writer who's actually meaningfully right-wing and a comic-book writer who's a fuckin' edgelord out to piss people off, which is its own thing with its own problems

[ruinichii]

can you tell us more about kyrie being self-aware? do you perhaps have a save with cheats on? because i've been wondering what would happen if the LI's or DOL npcs started like, noticing things in the game that shouldn't happen in real life (ex, pc suddenly getting a bunch of money, pc teleporting, etc..) please share your thoughts! love your content! <3

Yep Kyries save has cheats while Yumei doesn't thoughh he did start off without cheats and got tons of trauma (that's why he despises me lmao)

Kyrie's actions are controlled by the Player (in his case, me) he's aware of that, but he doesn't really feel that he's being controlled at the same time which makes him a bit hysterical because he can't differentiate between his actions and Mine.

Kyrie isn't really approachable so most of the people who notice something off about Kyrie are People of Interest or the LI.

Kyrie often comments to whitney about the underground brothel if he ever mess with Kyrie. He also doesn't seem that affected by negative outcomes and/or stressful situations, he's just smiling like he's aware of what will happen next (he does). Kyrie's unbothered of his circumstances since in the end, it will all just end up winning in my his favour (making him nihilistic.)

Kyrie is odd which makes him unapproachable thus, regular NPC's don't spare him a glance to see him teleport or all that jizz so i can't say anything about that.

Named/regular NPC's do get a sense of deja vu everytime Kyrie loads a previous save to choose a different route.

If people do notice, in which case, Named NPC's it goes like this;

He doesn't teleport if they're looking unless he really wants to mess with them (whitney) lol

AND THANK YOU OMG KISSES/p

[softpine]

she's looking especially sacrificial lamb today 🥩

[hakusins]

(quickly cobbled together but I shove him in your direction)

HJEJHBFJBHEF MOOSEN YOU CAN'T JUST DROP THESE THINGS !!! SO SUDDENLY !!!!

LOOK! she's malfunctioning!!!

whitney the faithful swap au -> @just-dol-headshots

[nikkalick]

I have chronic back pain, have for a while. It’s not so bad now that I had surgery, but I lived with it for years. I tried to go to a doctor for it, but they just said to lose weight, so I learned to live with the pain until one morning I couldn’t get up from bed. Couldn’t move without feeling like electricity was running up and down my back, burning my spine and leg from the inside.

This had me back in front of a doctor who (thankfully) listened and then for an entire year my insurance jerked me around requiring that I try different methods to manage the pain before finally agreeing to cover surgery.

In that year leading up to surgery something inside me broke. I couldn’t do the most basic tasks. Having to learn how to move my body in just the right way so that I wouldn’t lock up trying to wipe my own ass is one of my least favorite memories. Next to it is a tie between falling at my sister’s wedding because my leg gave out and being in so much pain I couldn’t sleep for days on end. I couldn’t sit, couldn’t drive, couldn’t bend or twist or even lay down without feeling like my nerves were on fire.

Work accommodated but I felt useless. I couldn’t lift inventory anymore. Couldn’t do a key part of my job that I (oddly) enjoyed doing. Commuting the hour to school twice a week was excruciating, but it was my first year of grad school. I had to push through. My professors were kind, they accommodated so that I could be as comfortable as possible in class. But I felt like a distraction, a nuisance, a bother. It was so hard to focus on lectures and homework when 90% of the input my brain was receiving was that of pain.

I grit my teeth and bore it, my mental health hit a new all time low, and I broke down in front my my mother more times than I can count. And I did this for a year because insurance refused to cover surgery unless I proved to them I needed it. I had to jump through their hoops and play by their rules to get the procedure I needed and that my care team knew I needed. I lost feeling in my leg and foot because they made me wait.

I will forever be grateful for the doctors who listened, for the physical therapist who advocated for me, for my mom who surprisingly became my rock during the whole ordeal. But my insurance company? They can go fuck themselves.

My pain before that year was bad, but not excruciating. My pain now? It’s minimal. Sometimes I still lock up and I’ll likely never have all of the sensation return to my left foot, but I’ll take the constant pins and needles over that year of pain any day. That said, had it gone on much longer I genuinely don’t know if I’d be here typing this.

Anyways…I guess what I’m saying is IF he did it, I get it. I really really get it.

[dumbhirano]

male hirano appreciation day(s)

[local-lover-boy]

Me and all of my classmates

[jula483]

!!!

[winchesterian]

just as people have done entirely too much in the opposite direction by trying to rehabilitate john as Not Abusive, Actually (entirely as pushback to trashy whumpfic which wouldn't have good characterisation as a priority anyway), this is true also for John Winchester Understanding LGBT Ally takes. yes he wouldn't be throwing around slurs 24/7 like an over the top cartoon homophobe. no i dont think he'd magically transcend the social context of his time and hold zero prejudiced views around queerness, particularly gender nonconformity.

[corruptsyd]

good morning. sydney’s small tits bouncing as she rides you