#every day at my job I understand it more and more

[markrosewater]

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

[beloveds-embrace]

Continuation to dragon price and chubby reader please 🙏😞

Diluc pfp i love u

Original Post

John Price is not a patient man. Not when it comes to things that are his.

And you, sweetheart, are already his. You just don’t know it yet.

He’s been careful, methodical, weaving his presence into your life like an unshakable constant. He’s a fixture in your mornings, a reliable shadow at your counter, and whether you know it or not, you’ve begun to expect him. Your smile comes easier when you see him, your eyes seeking him out. You chat with him without hesitation, your voice warm and sweet, and he tucks every detail away, hoarding even the very sound of you, the shape of your words like a dragon collects gold.

But it’s not enough.

Not when you’re still here, in this little café, where anyone can walk in and see you, talk to you, try to take what is his. It sets his teeth on edge, his tail twitching, scales bristling beneath his clothes when he catches another man watching you too long. They linger at the counter, pretending they don’t notice the way his gaze darkens, the way his body shifts ever so slightly toward you in silent, possessive warning.

They don’t see it. But you do.

He knows you notice. How could you not? He’s big in ways that command attention, and though he reigns in the more fearsome parts of himself unless needed, there’s an undeniable weight to his presence, something that makes you still for half a second before recovering with that soft smile.

But he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flick to him when someone stands too close, or how you visibly relax when he’s near. He doesn’t miss how, even if you don’t understand why, you seem to gravitate toward him.

Good.

His plan is simple; You like him- he knows you do. He can smell it, if he wouldn’t even consider anything else. You trust him, at least enough to lean into his presence when you’re uncertain. And that’s all he needs to start pulling you in.

“You work too much, love.” He comments one morning, leaning on the counter as you prepare his tea. You laugh, shaking your head. Today, you’ve forgobe your usual uniform pants and are wearing a skirt instead. It cups the soft mound of your belly, your love handles, and John has never felt hungrier in all his life.

“Says you.”

He smirks, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “I mean it. You’re always here.”

You hum, shrugging. “It’s my job.”

“I’d wager you don’t take much time for yourself,” he says, and when you look up at him, brow raised, he tilts his head, voice dropping into something lower, warmer, that has you ducking your head and a shy smile blooming on your pretty face. “Let me take you out, love.”

The words settle between you, heavy and inevitable. You blink, momentarily caught off guard, before you offer him a shy nod.

“As a thank you for the tea?” You tease.

“As a thank you for puttin’ up with me, lovie.”

It’s playful, easy, but the way he looks at you makes your breath hitch. You chew your lip, glancing at the line forming behind him.

“I- ”

“I’ll pick you up after your shift,” he cuts in smoothly, already knowing your answer. Already knowing you won’t say no.

And you don’t.

The first outing is simple; desserts at another place, something neutral, something easy. He doesn’t overwhelm, doesn’t push, but he watches. He takes note of how you react to him outside of work, how you lean into his warmth without realizing it, how your eyes soften when he pays for your food without a second thought- and he makes note of which ones are your favorite.

The next time, it’s dinner. And the time after that, it’s a night drive to the hills, where he lets you see a glimpse of him, of the way his eyes gleam in the dark, the way his wings spread beneath the moonlight.

And through it all, he talks about his boys. About Johnny, who would adore your laugh, who would try to make you smile every second of the day. About Kyle, who would charm you effortlessly, but who would love you with a quiet steadiness that would never waver. About Simon, who would linger in your periphery until you beckoned him closer, who would tuck you into his arms and keep you there like a secret only he was meant to hold.

He speaks of them as though they are already yours. As though you are already theirs.

And when he finally invites you to his home, to the place where his hoard waits, it’s not a request.

It’s a confirmation.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing over your wrist, reverent, aching, and hungry. He’s been so patient. His boys have been so patient, even if they pore over ever little slip of you he brings home. He could have been forceful and you’d never would have been able to fight back against him- but he didn’t. You don’t deserve such treatment unwarranted, and John has lived a long life- darlings like you always folded, anyways.

“Come home, love.”

[babsworlds]

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON.

pairing. dad! Tangerine x mom! reader

synopsis. your son was just like his father.

warnings. uncle! Lemon, mentions of violence, no use of y/n.

YOU FINALLY FOUND PEACE in your chaotic life after discovering you were pregnant. It was the moment that changed everything. Tangerine promised to be there for you and your future child, so he quit his dangerous job. The two of you moved to the peaceful countryside of England, seeking a fresh start and a safer, simpler life.

Settling down in a cozy cottage surrounded by beautiful nature, you started to build a new life together. The quiet and serene environment offered a much-needed contrast to the intense world you had left behind. You found happiness and joy in raising your family.

Sixteen years later, your home was filled with laughter and love, thanks to your son, Lewis. He was just like his father, Tangerine, in every way—looks, personality, and behavior. Lewis brought energy and joy to your home, and you often marveled at how much he reminded you of his father.

That was confirmed for you when you and Tangerine were called in to Lewis’ school because he beat up his classmate for talking trash about his girlfriend, Emma.

You tried to be a real parent figure, feeling mad at your son for hurting someone, but secretly proud of him for standing up for his girlfriend.

Tangerine, on the other hand, was openly proud. He was a proud father.

It was Saturday, sunny and hot weather in the countryside—a perfect day for a grill party with Lemon.

You and Lewis sat at the table in the garden. You were engrossed in a book, while Lewis was deeply invested in his phone. Tangerine was busy at the grill, expertly preparing the meal.

The familiar sound of a car approaching caught your attention. Lemon got out, already waving at you with his characteristic enthusiasm. “How’s my favorite family?” Lemon called out cheerfully.

You glanced at Lewis, noticing the lingering tension. Despite the relaxed setting, the previous conflict still hung in the air.

Lemon, ever perceptive, picked up on the vibe and approached the table with a gentle smile. “Hey, everything alright?” he asked, his tone filled with concern.

Tangerine looked up from the grill, giving Lemon a welcoming nod. “Hey, bro. Just the usual family dynamics,” he said with a chuckle.

Lemon took a seat next to Lewis, and you engaged him in a conversation about his new job. Eventually, the conversation turned to Lewis.

"And what about you, man? You're unusually quiet," Lemon asked, looking at Lewis.

You glanced at your son again. "C'mon, brag to Uncle," you encouraged with a smile. Just then, Tangerine appeared behind them, carrying the food.

"He got into his first fight," Tangerine announced with a proud smile.

Lemon looked confused, then turned to Lewis, who finally looked up from his phone with a light, yet proud smile on his lips. "No way!” Lemon breathed out. "Congratulations!”

"Lemon!" you exclaimed, a mix of exasperation and amusement in your voice.

Lewis shrugged, explaining, "What would I do? He was talking shit about Em."

Tangerine sat down next to you, clearly proud of his son's actions. Despite the tension, there was a sense of camaraderie and understanding among all of you.

You all started eating, and the table was quiet until Lemon broke the silence. “You know, Lew, it really reminds me of when your father beat someone up for threatening your mom,” Lemon said with a nostalgic smile.

You remembered the situation vividly and couldn't help but smile a bit too. Lewis looked at his father, who nodded in confirmation, then turned to Lemon. “Really?” Lewis asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Yeah,” Lemon said, leaning in. “He took his head and—”

“Don’t give him ideas!” you shouted, cutting Lemon off before he could get into the gory details.

“Tell me more about how my parents were before I was born,” Lewis turned to Lemon, his curiosity evident. You and Tangerine had always kept your past jobs a secret, believing that he didn’t need to know about that part of your lives.

Lemon chuckled, glancing at you and Tangerine for approval before speaking. “Well, your parents were quite the dynamic duo. Always on some grand adventure, making the world a little bit safer.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Adventures? Like what?”

You and Tangerine exchanged a knowing look. It was a delicate line to walk—sharing enough to satisfy his curiosity without revealing too much.

“They were like… problem solvers,” Lemon explained, choosing his words carefully. “Whenever someone needed help, they were there to take care of things. Very brave and very skilled.”

Lewis looked intrigued. “So, you guys were like… heroes?”

Tangerine smiled, his eyes reflecting the memories. “Something like that, mate.”

But Lewis was already sixteen, and he wasn’t really dumb. He knew you weren’t exactly heroes in the traditional sense. He could see through the carefully chosen words and the evasive answers. He knew there was more to the story, more to his parents’ past than they were letting on.

Lewis leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you and Tangerine. “So, you guys weren’t really… just problem solvers, were you?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

“Maybe I would tell you, but because you are exactly like your father and have stupid ideas like him, I won’t,” you said with a smile, placing your hand on Lewis’ shoulder.

Lewis chuckled, a light of understanding in his eyes. “Fair enough,” he said, appreciating the honesty.

You all shared a moment of laughter, the tension easing as the conversation shifted to more light-hearted topics.

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day eight: fuzzy pink handcuffs

ᰔ pairing: din djarin x reader

ᰔ summary: the mandalorian is on another bounty mission. he expects to find who he's looking for, not himself cuffed in your bed.

ᰔ author's note: i read a post by @psyzook that talked about how din is more awkward and touch-starved, and i knew when i made this list, i had to put him in the fuzzy pink handcuffs. it's like a rite of passage. also i am not a big star wars girl so please forgive any misuse of information. i did so much research, but i'll always be a trekkie at the end of the day ✋😔 i tried my hardest— anything for my baby din

ᰔ content warning: 18+ // MDNI!!!! sub!din, dom!reader, oral (m!receiving) afab!reader (mention of breasts), din is is silent and awkward, premature ejaculation, fuzzy pink handcuffs

Din felt as if he had met his match when it came to you. He had seen it all, every corner of the never-ending universe threw a fastball at him. He had seen the depraved and the greedy in every form. It was hard to look towards the light when he had been face to face with darkness time and time again.

When he agreed to take a bounty job on Zeltros, he knew it would be a struggle from the start. Many who had tried to follow through with war or overtaking had failed due to the nature of the planet. Din had heard of the failing of other bounty hunters, but he was sure he was stronger than whatever temptation the others had faced.

The mission was easy enough. Find one of the wealthiest residents and return them to the Imperial Center. Din knew to not dig his helmet into business that wasn't his, but he wondered what was so important that the bounty was well beyond the standard price. Whoever's head it was must have been important if he had to bring them in alive.

Easier said than done, but the Mandalorian didn't back down. He had faced a few zeltrons in his time, and this one was no different.

You, though?

You were beyond anything he had seen in his time, in any interaction he'd had. Din was unsure if it had been the way you held yourself, or how easily you had tempted him with your sweet words.

"I believe I've heard of the head this bounty is plastered on. Please, follow me." You turned, not waiting for him to accept the invitation. Even the way your sheer red robes flourished as you ascended the front steps had Din bewitched. He followed without a word, his head ducked down as if to hide how his chest tightened.

"You could tell me the information out here," Din returned. Despite his argument, it didn't stop the way he followed you. He hoped to find the information he needed and continue on with the hunt for his bounty. He was on a mission.

"And have others listen where they're not welcome? I prefer to speak in private. As a follower of Mandalore, I'm sure you understand the importance of privacy." You glanced over your shoulder with a smirk.

"I suppose." Din left it at that. He kept a bit of distance between you. As he took in the decor, he was surprised by the lively coloring and flourish that had donned each piece of furniture.

"You mentioned this bounty had to be brought in alive. May I ask if they've provided a reason why?" You led him into the open space that was the center of your home. It was covered in warm oranges and pinks, sleek and polished in preparation for any visitor. On the walls and in display cases were various art pieces you had collected over time.

Din took notice of each item. He recognized some of the art styles, all front different sectors of space he had been in. How you had acquired some pieces, he wasn't sure. As he took in the details of your space, he realized how little he knew about you. The tip to talk to you had been an anonymous message, but it was as good a place to start as any.

"I tend to not ask unless it's imperative to the bounty." He kept a hand on the blaster on his hip. It wasn't subtle, but Din only relied on the art of subtlety when there was something at stake.

"You amuse me, Mandalorian. I hope I can be of service," you mused. You waited for a response, but there was a silence that filled the air. Din cleared his throat, and you turned to see what he was looking at.

"Ever seen anything like it?" You smirked as you moved towards the case. In the tall glass case was your most novelty possessions, some from your home planet and some from stretches beyond your sector. Even with the mask on, you felt his gaze follow your every move as you opened the glass.

At the center of a black velvet pillow was a set of cuffs. Din had seen plenty of bindings for every set of appendages on the body. From high tech to basic, they had all been similar in shape and fashion. These were unlike any he had seen; never before had he seen something so frivolous.

"No," Din finally quipped. "They look useless."

It was true. If he had tried to use pink, fuzzy handcuffs on a bounty of his, they'd laugh right in his face before they made a break for it. Not that he blamed them, considering they looked flimsy from where he stood.

"I suppose in your line of work, they would be," you chuckled. "However, I must attest to their usefulness in other situations." You held the handcuffs, brushing a thumb over the exquisite fur that donned it. It had been sourced from a loth-wolf pelt and dipped in fruit dye— that, you had done yourself. The muddled white and grey did no justice for your tastes. Now, it was a vibrant pink thanks to the meiloorun fruit you had wrung dry.

"How? I fail to see how you could detain someone with these." You let the Mandalorian take the cuffs out of your hand so he was able to examine them. It was amusing to see him shift them in his hands, his gloved thumb brushing over the fur.

You were quiet for a beat before you moved closer to the bounty hunter. As you did, you shifted your shoulder to let the edge of your robe slip. Even with the chill in the air, you didn't mind how it left your skin exposed.

"It's not so much what you detain them with, but how you detain them. You should know that well enough, Mandalorian. I'm sure you've captured your fair share of brutes with far less than those."

Din was quiet for one beat, followed by another. He marveled at the handcuffs, then your shoulder. While he had been propositioned by plenty of people, both bounties and bystanders, this felt different. His body felt tense as it dawned on him, what you were implying.

"I have," he broke the silence. "It's about the situation— how you keep them compliant." His gaze flicked towards your face. He hadn't missed the smirk on your lips, not that you tried to hide it.

"Exactly. These require submission." You grabbed for the cuffs again, yet you didn't put them back in the case.

"Submission?" Din asked. You nodded and reached for his hand, which he let you take. It surprised both of you, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, you popped one side of the cuff open and placed it wound his wrist. It settled in the leather divot left where the two metal pieces of his armor divided.

You gently tugged Din's hand, and it moved without much resistance. He was thankful for the mask; it hid the way his eyes had widened. He had never been willingly cuffed, let alone moved without force.

"I'd like to show you just how useful they can be." You waited until his helmet shifted, a slight nod that you made out. Without another word, you led him down the hallway by way of the other cuff in your hand.

Din felt stiff and awkward with each clunky step towards your bedroom. He wasn't sure what to say, how to break whatever simmering tension had built between you two. Out of all the propositions he had faced, why did he falter at yours?

Just like the rest of your home, your room was vibrant with hues of oranges and pinks cast across the furniture. Din noticed the large window that allowed him to take in the vast horizon of Zeltros, an overview of the bustling city below.

As Din took in the sight, you gave another gentle tug towards your bed. He hesitated, his movements stiff as he shifted in his spot. You started to speak but before you managed to get anything out, he sat on the bed. His back was flush against the headboard, which had been made of repurposed copper pipes.

"When using these," you began as you sat in front of him. "You must relinquish some control. Unable to use your hands, it requires the ability trust in your partner." Your robe slipped further down to expose your bare chest as you looped one of Din's arms through the pipe. As you clasped the other cuff around his other hand, you felt him sink further into the bed. You glanced down to see your breasts spilled out of your robe, right above the bounty hunter's helmet.

Din had never been more thankful for the safety of his face covering. He was completely flush; it would have been impossible to hide the way he stared at your breasts. He cleared his throat before he spoke up.

"Why should I trust you?" Din was even more thankful for the modulator, which warped the tense tone in his voice.

"You have no reason," you shook your head. "Just as I have no reason to trust that you won't break one of my prized possessions." You settled between his legs, both your hands on his sturdy thighs. Even through the fabric of his pants, you saw what effect the pink handcuffs had on him.

"You use these often?" Din asked, as if deflecting distracted him from the ache in his cock. It had been ages since he felt any sort of release, and even longer since it had been at the hands of someone else.

"No. Only for special occasions." You moved for his belt and fiddled with the latch. It dropped off his waist, pooled underneath as it fell on the bed. He watched your hands under the armor chest plate to undo the button on his pants.

"What makes this so special?" Din asked. He felt his chest tighten, his breath short as you released his cock from the confines of the linen pants.

"It's not every day that a Mandalorian comes to my home, looking for my help." You didn't give the answer much thought, your own form of deflection. Instead of focusing on the conversation, you brushed your thumb over the head of his leaking cock as your hand ghosted over his shaft. You smirked as he shifted at the gentle touch.

"How long has it been? Since you've felt the touch of another." As you spoke, you leaned down to press a light kiss on his slit. Even the voice modulator couldn't hide the choked back sound he made.

The Mandalorian was silent, as you expected. His hips shifted as you swiped your tongue along the underside of the tip. The way he twitched in your hand only made you swipe your tongue again.

"Not one for casual conversation?" You mused in a teasing tone. "I suppose that comes with your occupation, bounty hunter." When your lips weren't on his cock, your hand was wrapped around his shaft as you slowly jerked him off.

Din was overwhelmed by the slow, tantalizing pace at which your hand moved. He resisted bucking up into your hand, to chase the high you gave him, but it felt near impossible. He had denied himself so much over his life, and this moment of weakness ate at him. He had to remain strong—

Your head dipped down again, the warmth of your mouth too much for him to handle. Before he managed to speak, hot, thick ropes hit your tongue and the back of your throat. Your hand continued up and down his shaft as you coaxed him through his orgasm.

"Sorry," Din's voice was gruff, even with it being altered. He felt a different type of heat crawl up his neck and all over his face.

"No need to apologize," you assured him once your lips popped off his cock, not without a string of white saliva popping as you pulled away. "The throws of pleasure can do things to us that we cannot predict." Before you sat up straight, you wiped at your lower lip and licked your finger clean.

"It's... it's been some time. Since I've found myself in someone's bed," Din admitted. Even after the pleasure that had shuttered through him, his body craved more— anything you were willing to give him.

"Well, if you ever crave a warm bed to find yourself in," you leaned in and braced yourself on his sturdy shoulders. "You find me. Maybe I'll wear the handcuffs next time, if you think you've learned your lesson."

You pressed a kiss to the top of the bounty hunter's helmet before you tucked him back into his pants. While you wanted to keep him there for hours and keep him pliable, you knew he had other business to tend to.

You just wondered how long it would take him to realize that his bounty had been right under his nose this entire time. Amazing what a set of fuzzy pink handcuffs could do.

[kittendreaw]

Actor! Satoru x F! Reader.

Mainlist

Pt.2

Satoru was on top of the world, he was the prince of Hollywood, the new heartthrob of the big screen, sounds fantastic, doesn't it?

It was for everyone except you, his poor manager, the only reason you haven't quit is because of how ridiculously good the pay is.

"Just Please make my job easier Satoru." You couldn't help but be frustrated, Dealing with Satoru was sometimes like dealing with a spoiled brat and sometimes it was just worse.

"Well, I'll pay you for that."

"You pay me to be your manager, not your babysitter so please stay here and cooperate."

And of course he didn't because it was complicated, no matter how long he had been in the industry he was still a pain in the ass for assistants, makeup artists, directors, photographers, etc. Basically anyone who had the misfortune to work with him.

It was always the same, you should be used to it by now but it was impossible.

"What do you mean you're not going to come with me?"

"It's not that hard to understand."

He rolled his eyes while his arms crossed over his chest. No matter your size or how high your heels are, Satoru was simply giant in front of you. "Don't be a Smartass, Yn, you're my manager, you have to come with me."

"Nanami will do the job of going with you that night."

"but I don't want Nanami! "

"I'll be busy with some paperwork that night."

" Well, have Nanami do the paperwork and you come with me."

" It's not that easy."

Yes, it was that easy but you hated big events and going to the Oscars was torture for you, you had managed to get away on most occasions but Satoru was getting more and more insistent.

"Why?"

You let out a sigh, you could make up as many excuses as you could he just always kept asking.

"Satoru, look, I don't want to go."

"Why?"

"I don't know I just-" You could deal with people, that was no longer the problem but you still don't get used to all the cameras ready to capture every second.

"Why do you mean? It's not that hard, you just have to get pretty and come with me, you can do that."

"But I don't want."

"But you don't want." He repeated, clearly he was not happy and clearly not the day was not going to end without him getting what he wanted. There was a pause in which no one said anything. "I'm your boss, you can't tell me no."

"You should review workers' rights, Satoru."

"Dammit." He muttered. "Just say yes, please. I swear it won't be so terrible, besides I already bought you a dress, it would be rude of you to refuse it."

A pair of puppy eyes and a few more pleas and just as he wanted it, there you were with the pretty burgundy dress, the high black heels and gloves of the same color.

"Look at you, you are beautiful."

Satoru approached you, observing every detail of your appearance. It was true that the dress was pretty and that the makeup artist had done an excellent job, but you couldn't help but make your stomach churn every time you remembered the place you were going.

"But I know how to do it even better."

Satoru called one of the attendants who held out a box from which he pulled out a diamond necklace. It was beautiful and also damn expensive, it was the kind of thing you'd never pay for but always admire from afar. Satoru put it around your neck giving the final touch to your look that night.

"I-" It was too much for you, you couldn't accept it.

"Not a single word, tonight you have to stand out, after all you are my date." You felt your soul leave your body for a few seconds, you had planned to stay as hidden as you could but Satoru wanted you next to him posing for the cameras, this was definitely too much, much more than you were ready to do, you couldn't, Your mind was only thinking about all the negative possibilities this could bring and all the embarrassing things you could do. You wanted to throw up, was it too late to get back to the paperwork plan?

"What?"

[djarins-cyare]

Get to know your moots!

Thank you for the tag, @djarinmuse! I love these little questionnaires 😊. Challenging myself to be more succinct in my answers for once (yeeeah, don’t all hold your breath 😅)

What’s the origin of your blog title?

In a stunning lack of originality, I just used my writing pseudonym for my blog title: Jyar’ika. If it’s not obvious, that’s the Mando’a word cyar’ika (sweetheart) with a J for Jem replacing the C. It’s pronounced JAH-ree-kah, with emphasis on the first syllable (like Jessica or Erika). And on my sideblog, since it’s a rec blog, I’ve just titled it “Jyar’ika enjoyed…” because apparently WYSIWYG with me 🤗.

OTP(s) + shipname:

Oh man, there’ve been many over the years. I was an early X-Files fan, so MSR in real-time, of course. I shipped both Bangel and Spuffy at different points. Big on Polivia in the first few seasons of Fringe (when I discovered fanfiction existed). Fell completely down the fanfic rabbit hole with Carter/O’Neill from Stargate SG-1 (who unsatisfyingly never seemed to get a portmanteau ship name). Those are probably the main ones.

Favourite colour:

Teal; all shades thereof.

Favourite game:

It’s gotta be the old point n’ click PC games I played as a kid in the 90s, but I can’t pick one favourite. Big fan of the Monkey Island games, the Indiana Jones games, Maniac Mansion and Day of the Tentacle – basically anything LucasArts. Also, every game in the Broken Sword series, the Gabriel Knight series, and the Tex Murphy series. These are a fraction of the titles I played and loved.

Song stuck in your head:

I was doom-scrolling on Twitter the other day and saw (didn’t even hear!) a tweet saying Take That’s song ‘Shine’ was released 18 years ago, and it’s so iconic that my brain immediately played it to me. It’s been in there for days now! I was recently shocked and saddened to learn that most Americans don’t know about Take That 😱😭. I was never a massive fan or anything, but they are UK pop legends.

Weirdest habit/trait:

People at work think it’s weird that I don’t like speaking on the phone. If I have to have a phone call, I need to know what time it’ll be so I can prepare. But it’s because, without a visual of the other person, I find reading between the lines of neurotypical conversation more difficult. I can do it, but it���s an effort, and I need time to prepare for that kind of brain-taxing interaction.

Hobbies:

The Mandalorian, duh. Writing fics about it, mainly.

If you work, what’s your profession?

I’m in criminal law, basically doing the lawyers’ jobs for them because I have a critical eye for detail and can catch stuff they miss when preparing cases. But I never did my LPC, so I don’t have to go to court and do all the scary legal argument stuff. Win.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

Author of a well-loved fiction series. I aim to make this happen one day, though at the rate I’m going, I’ll probably be retired when it finally happens! It comforts me to know that Douglas Adams always found writing to be a slow and arduous process, too.

Something you’re good at:

The English language, I guess. I have a good understanding of the technical side of writing.

Something you’re bad at:

In contrast to the above, the poetry of writing. I often struggle to ensure my writing is sufficiently dynamic and beautiful, and I have to go over things many times to try and inject more soul into my words. I’m glad I’m aware of this weakness, though – every day’s a school day, and there’s plenty of time and space to improve.

Something you love:

The Mandalorian, duh. Specifically Din Djarin.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

The Mandalorian, duh. Specifically Din Djarin.

Something you hate:

I try not to hate; this world needs more love. And if I can’t avoid hating, I do it quietly and won’t share it. So, I’ll pass on this question, thanks.

Something you collect:

Words. I love learning new ones. I love learning additional definitions and nuances of ones I already know. I can never have enough words.

Something you forget:

The time. Seriously, I have no sense of time whatsoever and am late for everything. I’ve just looked at the clock and realised it’s coming up 6:00am, and I haven’t gone to bed yet because I didn’t realise how late it is.

What’s your love language?

Of the five, mine is definitely the ‘acts of service’ one. I show love by trying to ease the burdens of others, and I feel loved when people do the same for me. At the other end of the scale is the ‘receiving gifts’ one… I can’t pick out gifts to save my life, and I always feel awkward receiving a gift I haven’t asked for and don’t need. Gifts are almost a hate language for me!

Favourite movie/show:

The Mandalorian, duh.

Favourite food:

I’m gonna say pizza. I don’t get to have it much anymore because I’m eating healthier these days, but I still indulge in the occasional Domino’s order.

Favourite animal:

Can I say Din Djarin when he’s been dosed with sex pollen? 😏

Are you musical?

I guess this is a yes because I’ve played a variety of musical instruments since the age of 5 (starting with the humble recorder, then violin, piano, guitar and other random stuff like the harmonica and ukulele) and was in choirs for the whole of my childhood and adolescence. I performed in several big shows, including a performance at the Royal Albert Hall of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana (even if you don’t know the name, you’ll likely know one particular movement of the cantata; it’s been overused in ads, etc). But it’s been years since I played or sang anything, so maybe notsomuch anymore.

What were you like as a child?

As a very young child: unknowingly autistic. This mainly manifested in me ruining family vacations by refusing to step foot on a beach if there was any sign of seaweed, or enter a restaurant with ceiling fans, or get in a swimming pool if there was a mosaic on the pool floor. Anything outside my regular routine was terrifying to me, but nobody knew about autism in the 80s, so my parents just thought I was overly sensitive. I learned how to mask pretty early, though, so by the time I went to school, I’d figured out how to fit in. Despite that, I was always the kid who had intense hyperfixations (boys, TV shows, bands, hobbies). I still am, really!

Favourite subject at school?

English literature. Fiction was (and still is) my happy place. I also had a massive crush on my maths teacher when I was 13-14, so I was a maths nerd for a whole year. I still remember the quadratic equation!

Least favourite subject?

Religious education. It was the one subject I failed my exams in, mainly because I’m an atheist, and as a kid, I couldn’t see the point of learning about something I didn’t believe in. Later, I realised that exploring different worldviews helps us better understand ourselves and how to respect and appreciate diversity, so as an adult, I’ve made an effort to make up for my childish ignorance by learning as much as possible.

What’s your best character trait?

My autism. It heightens my attention to detail and makes me especially concerned about others’ happiness and well-being.

What’s your worst character trait?

My autism. It frustrates neurotypicals who don’t understand why I act or respond in particular ways.

If you could change any detail of your day right now, what would it be?

I would’ve gone to bed earlier. It’s 6:31am, and I’m tired.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

I’m not interested in going backwards, so nobody really. I’d probably go forward simply to check that the world didn’t end and that the USA didn’t turn into the Free American Independent Theocratic Hegemony (F.A.I.T.H.) or anything. (That’s a Bobiverse reference for anyone who’s never read Dennis E. Taylor… which, TBF, is probably most of you since his novels are pretty niche. I recommend reading them, though – super fun and packed with geeky pop culture references).

Recommend one of your favourite fanfics (spread the love!):

I finally got around to reading You Were Marked by @handspunyarns last week, and let me tell you, I could not stop binging it. It’s been a long time since I was last addicted to a fic to this degree. I’d had it on my TBR list for a while, but I’d prioritised others because I wasn’t sure if it would resonate with me since I don’t see any of myself in the main character… but boy, was I wrong! It’s extraordinary, compelling, and at times heartbreaking and agonising, but so well-written with exquisite worldbuilding and a daringly original plot, all of which seared it into my mind forever because I’ve never read anything like it. I implore you all to try it if you haven’t already. It’s a masterpiece 💜.

I usually check to see if the people I tag have already done the game, but I’ve really gotta sleep, so I’m just gonna tag at random here. I’m really sorry if any of you have done this already.

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @cw80831 @darthbeebles @desert-fern

@dindenimchicken @frickatives @here-briefly @ishabull @jessthebaker

@lilac-boo @mosssbawls @nervoushottee @papurgaatika @qunariagenda

@roughdaysandart @the-color-is-black @the-mandawhor1an @toomanytookas @zaddymandalorian

[waughymommy]

COLLEGE STUDENT IN DIAPER 🧷

Chapter 5

That evening at the dinner table. every time I looked up, Evelyn was staring at me. She would give me a smile when our eyes met. I would smile back.

The time came, time to get our diapers on.

I have and have not been dreading this all night.

Aunt Kathy took Evelyn and I and she cleaned us, powdered us up, then diapered us. Evelyn was  first. I stared up at the ceiling while Evelyn was diapered. When it was my turn, I looked and Evelyn had lifted her upper body up on an elbow. She was watching Aunt Kathy diaper me!

Aunt Kathy and Uncle John left the livingroom and Evelyn cam and put a hand on my diapered front. Being a guy and not knowing if she was going to squeeze me there or not, I grabbed her wrist and removed her hand.

"I can feel your man thing through your diaper!" Evelyn stated.

"Evelyn please don't touch me there,I, I am over 18 and what you want will get me thrown in prison. You are only 17 years old!" I said.

"I will be 18 in three months from today though!" She pleaded!

I started thinking, yep three more months.

"You can watch when mom diapers me, John Jr. used to."

"No I can't, Aunt Kathy would cut my testicles off and poke my eyes out"

Evelyn smiled and said "Yeah she would, wouldn't she! Willy just so you know I have always had a crush on you. I looked foreward to your visits here or ours to your place, they were always the best!"

"Don't tell anyone but I have always had a huge crush on you, you were always the most beautiful girl I knew by far!" I told her!

"You noticed me! With John Jr. being so sick, everybody seen him, I was an afterthought! You took me and I got to see you play football and play tag and other games John Jr. couldnt! The worst day of my life and the best was the day he died, does that make sense?"

"Evelyn believe it or not it does, I understand it. On one hand you lost your brother the only one you had, on the other people started seeing you, mainly Aunt Kathy and Uncle John!"

"That's it, that is exactly it! Thank You!"

Aunt Kathy came back, "What are you two up to, as if I didnt know! Did he kiss you Evelyn?" She asked?

I was shocked!

"No mom, he is 18 and scared of repercussions with the law, and you." Evelyn said.

"Me? Willy your mom and I we always thought you two would be perfect for each other!"

"You did?" We both said.

Neither one of had heard this theory before.

"Go ahead kiss her!" Aunt Kathy said.

At first I looked at Aunt Kathy like she had three heads.

I took Evelyn and I kissed her. I kissed her for another 10 seconds. Aunt Kathy had said "That's enough, that's enough" about 3 times.

We broke Evelyn had a huge smile on her face, "Wow, that was better than I imagined it would be!"

Aunt Kathy said "I guess I will have to keep an eye on you two!"

Evelyn went to her room and I went to mine.

Evelyn now knows how I feel about her! I though.

Aunt Kathy brought me a glass of warm milk.

She waited for the glass I drank it down.

20 minutes later the milk did it's job I fell asleep.

My dreams were of Evelyn and I getting married, it was heaven.

I awoke needing to pee like crazy!

I went to go to the toilet, dammit I was wearing a diaper, a cloth diaper. Even if I could get it off I could never get it back on again.

I looked at the clock 5:43, breakfast was almost an two hours and half away at 8:30am. No way I can last that that long! 

I remembered how disappointed Aunt Kathy was that I was dry yesterday. I started trying to wet the diaper, my toilet training was strong, my bladder wouldn't let a drop out. I wasn't peeing in a toilet. I got an Idea I went and stood in front of the toilet, I was good until I felt the warmness of my urine spreading inside my diaper. My brain said "Hey wait a minute it's not supposed to feel like this!" My bladder shut down again!

"I began to say it's okay I'm wetting my bed!"

My brain said "Is that all?" My flow started again. I was done and my brain said., "Hey wait a minute, were not a bedwetter!" If I hadn't of been done, I knew that a single drop wouldnt get out now! 

I went back to bed my penis was encased in a nice warm, but damp cocoon. That was my last thought before when my alarm went off and I got up to eat breakfast.

Aunt Kathy checked me and found me wet, I had to pee about 5:45am. She looked pleased and disappointed at the same time. 

After breakfast Evelyn and I were released from our diapers. With it being Saturday we cleaned the house top to bottom.

Evelyn and I had a few more opportunities to steal a few kisses.

[maxdibert]

Hi Max (is that your name? Idk what to call you 😅), did you ever think about Severus’s daily routine—being a miserable, depressing teacher, surrounded by loud kids every day? How did he cope? Did he have any hobbies to pass the time? What did he even do all day when he wasn’t grading essays, teaching, or brewing potions? Or was that all he did? Probably read books… or perhaps he socialized with the portraits and ghosts.. I always imagined the idea of him doing nothing but the same routine every day to be really sad and depressing. But I suppose he was so numb to that lifestyle that he just got used to it.

But like.. what made him happy? I can’t imagine living a life doing a job I hate, with no friends to share my small joys with. Was he just a shell of a man? Maybe he really was depressed. How did he not kill himself? Did he only keep going out of sheer spite and his promise to protect Harry and fight against Voldemort?

Or maybe he did have some kind of social life..in pubs, in the Muggle world… idk, I have a hard time understanding how he stayed alive for so many years. I would’ve ended it, tbh. My life is my family and my hobbies, but mostly my family. I can’t imagine what life does to a person who doesn’t even have one person they can laugh with. How did that affect him?

Maybe he was at least friendly with Minerva and Poppy? And Dumbledore, sometimes and perhaps he corresponded with Lucius. But who else? 😅 He didn’t seem super close with any of them in the books, so I guess we can only argue they were on friendly terms at best. I'd love to know your thoughts. 😊

Heyyy! Actually, my name isn't Max, but you can call me that since it's the nickname I have here, so it's all good hahaha.

Well, let's see, this is something I've thought a lot about lately in terms of character development, and I think I would divide it into two parts: Severus before Harry entered Hogwarts, before Voldemort returned, and everything that followed, and Severus after he’s already caught up in a spiral of anxiety and work overload, plus being a double agent.

I think during his first years at Hogwarts, he was probably in a crazy depression, and not only because of feeling guilty for Lily’s death, but also because he was just a 21-year-old kid when he started teaching, because he was teaching at the same place where he’d been bullied, because half the people he usually interacted with were dead and the other half were in Azkaban, and because I think it must’ve been pretty hard for him to adapt to a life he really didn’t want and one he had to get used to. So, in his early twenties, I picture him as kind of a zombie, after that terrible shock, the end of the war, all the emotional damage, just a few years where he was simply going through the motions, getting used to teaching, everything was new, so that’s what his daily life was based on. I've always imagined him having a pretty good relationship with the Malfoys, I think especially when he was younger, he’d visit them now and then, maybe on weekends... But he’d spend the holidays at Spinner’s End, and in the summer, he’d lock himself in his childhood home and not leave, because being stuck there was always a kind of self-imposed punishment: Hogwarts was a prison, his childhood home another, and if he hadn’t earned his way out of one, he didn’t deserve to leave the other.

I think his reputation as a nasty teacher was forged over the years, as he gained more confidence in front of the classes, he became stricter, more demanding, and didn’t tolerate nonsense. This was probably around 25 or so. I see that phase as one of accepting grief and loss, gaining more self-assurance at work, also starting to gain more trust from Dumbledore, and beginning a rivalry with Minerva, whom I always see him resenting a bit for letting certain things happen, but at the same time, respecting her as a colleague. I picture him very focused on his work, even obsessively so, to avoid thinking about other things. He would assign as much homework as possible so he could keep his mind busy correcting it, or simply practicing potions when his sessions were over. I imagine him sleeping terribly, deciding to do extra rounds at night not because he was interested in catching students in the act, but because he couldn’t sleep well, also because it gave him an excuse to leave the castle and smoke a cigarette since everything was just so damn anxiety-inducing. I never saw him as someone extremely sociable with other teachers because most of them were already teaching when he was a student at Hogwarts and didn’t lift a finger to make his life any less miserable, but I do see him being quite polite with most of them, though never opening up personally or anything like that, always with a shield up. I think he preferred staying reading, working, or studying potions rather than going to social gatherings with them or anything like that. I don’t see him being comfortable hanging out with them or having a drink. But I do picture him being comfortable going to Muggle pubs when he spent his summers at Spinner’s End. Shitty pubs with shitty people who were already drunk from early morning, where no one knew him, and he didn’t have to explain anything to anyone, in a world where there hadn’t been a war, no one had died, and he hadn’t been part of any shady organization. I imagine him going to those kinds of grim places when he wasn’t at Hogwarts and his house felt too suffocating, having a couple of beers. I picture him having occasional, short-lived encounters with Muggles, nothing serious, just a one-night thing to let off steam because he was in his twenties and felt alone, surrounded only by kids and old people, and that was just a damn depression. I imagine him visiting the Malfoys from time to time, as Draco was getting older, and I imagine Narcissa insisting that he needed to find a good pureblood girl, as she had always done since he was barely a teenager. I picture Lucius telling him that he didn’t understand what the hell he was doing under Dumbledore’s leadership in the first years, but seeing it as a good opportunity as Draco was approaching 11. I don’t imagine him having much of a social life. I think he talked a lot with Dumbledore, had many conversations with him, and saw him as the father figure he never had. I also think he had a genuine friendship with the Malfoys, and that created a very strong conflict and cognitive dissonance for him, but he couldn’t avoid it because they had always treated him well. But I think, within what was possible, he had free time, could do his own things, have his moments, his casual encounters, read his books, peaceful stuff.

And then came Harry.

Honestly, I think life after Harry at Hogwarts became pure anxiety for Severus. Because it wasn’t just managing Potions classes for seven damn years, being Head of House, doing night patrols, but also having to follow the kid around every corner to make sure he didn’t end up headless. Because Harry wasn’t just a responsibility, and he wasn’t an easy kid, but a kid who loved getting into trouble, so Severus had to babysit him both inside and outside of his work hours. And the fact that Harry came to Hogwarts only indicated that Voldemort’s return was getting closer, and when he returned, Severus completely lost his life. I mean, once he became a double agent, his life revolved around pretending on both sides, having cover stories on both sides, risking his neck, being constantly between Voldemort and Dumbledore, having to follow the plan, protect Harry, teach, work for the Order, put up with the Death Eaters, Lucius in Azkaban, Draco being doomed to kill Dumbledore, and a lot of other things. So, I basically picture him abandoning any hobbies he had, losing around 15 kilos, and just going on because, in the end, he was a kid from the streets who’d been raised to survive, and he had survival mode on 24/7, with anxiety through the roof, and that was basically it.

And then, after Dumbledore’s death, I picture him super depressed, super alone, with everything collapsing around him because the people he fought for hated him, and the people who didn’t hate him were the ones he had to betray, and I can’t imagine what that must have been like emotionally, but it probably involved a lot of wine and going back to smoking after having quit for years, because who the hell doesn’t start smoking again in a situation like that? And more anxiety, more depression, and the desire to do absolutely nothing but having to keep going, no matter what.

[sunlessea]

he supposes it doesn't think him the type for such serious reminiscing. how it would have gawked in awe, had it ever met him in his days as a helsing pup proper - such a noble heir he'd once been, with his head held high on his shoulder, presenting himself above everyone around him, most of all masters like itself. he's thankful it hadn't, though. he's not sure he ever could've looked at it with such kindness as he does now, in his time as cassius ashburnum. it never would have trusted him again, had it been irons he had fought that day he burned the bazaar down, rather than mr fires. now, he can rest his hands at either side of its neck and it does not seem to even consider the possibly that he would wrap them around its neck.

the thought had been there, when they'd first begun interacting. it had assumed this a ploy of some sort, to hunt it, surely. in this position, he could kill it, if he tried. catch it by some manner of surprise, and finish a job long forgotten. it trusts him, he notes, as he gently strokes his thumb along its jawline. its ears are flat 'gainst its head, claws gentle alone his sides ... as much as they can be, from a beast not accustomed to playing so nice.

"i believe that you trust me, and i don't think you could trust me if you didn't love me. but i also believe that if someone is incapable of telling another person their feelings out loud ... then they don't love them enough." his answer is honest, where he has not always been. his hands lower from its shoulders again to gently tug at some of the fabric its bundled in, layer upon layer of cloaks. they were already falling off as it had been, but now he parts some of them further. it is only enough, in the end, to expose some small section of its chest - enough that he may slip his hand underneath and sprawl his palm open over the lacking beat of its heart. there's no gentle thrum inside of it, like his own, no candle lit for mr irons to feign its humanity.

he wonders, yet doesn't ask. maybe it's never had very much reason to wish for human things : a heartbeat, air, passion, pleasure, love, tears, raw emotion. just like him, in an age long past. but he desires now, more than anything. enough for both of them, how his heart races, his cheeks flush, his eyes water.

but maybe it isn't so far off.

"how fondly? in what ways do you think of me? fondly enough that you want to kiss me, but not so that you will tell me that you love me. you don't know your own heart, do you? you didn't even know you had one." he is patient, even when he isn't. his own ears flatten, his expression both lonesome and yearning in his understanding. he would wait forever ... but watching the pieces slowly fall into place makes his heart ache. he wants it to love him so badly. he wants it to want him, too. "you say carnality, i just call it romance. i'm used to being misunderstood, but i want you to understand me. as a poet of veilgarden, i've turned down countless men and women in this city who sought carnal pleasure. i can't let someone touch me who doesn't love me. i just can't. my heart is my body and if anyone ever took advantage of my heart, i would kill myself."

his dramatics do not end with everyday banter or vivacious teases - but even through flowery self deprecation, he is so very serious. its hands on his hips stabilize him, however, giving him something to focus on so he doesn't lose himself in romantic reverie. by time he is done with its cloaks, the last bits of them only cling to irons' arms, and that is not something he can push off on his own. so he stares down at it, fingers tracing lines of its muscles once more. his expression is far away, distant, but not sad. he's lost in thought, paying mind to every spot that makes it shudder when his fingers move over them. it's more sensitive than he'd thought.

it grabs his attention again when it speaks, and he looks up at it with wide, doe - like eyes, curious and contemplative. before it even clarifies the heavy burden it offers him, he's taken by it, his tail swaying gently behind him with expectation. the more secure it squeezes his hips as it lifts itself to sit with him on its lap, the faster his tail starts to wag, ears at last perking up once more. for how seriously he'd worn his melancholy, his expression melts easily into tender reverence, smile 'pon his lips with narrowed eyes as their noses touch. he shifts with it, raising his arms up to wrap 'round its shoulders and pull it in closer so they can sit comfortably face - to - face. "you are not a burden, mr irons. your heart is a gift."

maybe he should've expected it to kiss him, how it had been shifting to close the space 'tween them again ... but he is still a little surprised, all the same. the second time it less brutal than the first, and as a result, less awkward - the harsh press of its lips 'gainst his own is much less feral, though still quite rough. it's charming, in a way. he thinks this is its attempt at kindness, and he does not tease it for that. he falls into line, pulling it down harder by its shoulders and letting it part his lips against its once more, 'til its tongue finds his own. he's able to shift in its lap until his legs comfortably rest at its sides, knees pressing into its thighs as his fingers tangle through its hair. its need is met by his own passion, a loving romantic at his core, even in the depths of spiraling desire, albeit of a purer context than his admissions of fantasy would suggest.

humanity is hardly so simple for those born inhuman. to neatly box the wild and often inconsistent flux of its feelings into something kine could comprehend, to balance learned nature with its basal instinct—its love resulting comes intertwined with a certain hunger. and that is difficult to explain, more than just a comfortable warmth against its chest, more than excitement, or an ache in its stomach, it is, above all else, an intense and indomitable craving. it feels it 'cross every inch of its body, inside and out, with every kiss he steals and how earnestly he wraps himself around it.

the way he touches it drives it absolutely mad, in a way it is not wholly certain that it actually minds : it is naught like anything it, personally, had it proffer a more accurate definition, fantasized, and it thinks it might then be the surprise of it that leaves it feeling so willfully captured. his fingers tracing 'gainst subtle ripples of muscle and skin follow a trail so delightfully sensitive in ways it could never have expected, untouched as it had been in its self-imposed isolation. it likes the warmth it feels 'neath his palms, against his body, his breath against its lips the few moments their lips part and how it feels his breathing quiver with each slow, arduous draw of its tongue over the wound begged-open 'neath its teeth; it likes how he always beckons it closer with his blood still on its tongue, deepening their kiss with venture of his own will. it likes how its body cannot decide, in continued conflict of its own heart, if it should purr or growl, and how often it alternates 'tween both muffled by his lips.

not to say that it is without surprise when his body shifts. though it is, perhaps, more muted a shock than t'would otherwise be, were he any other. and it may as well be purely for the lack of force, rather than strength—it feels when his leg hooks even tighter 'cross its back, the subtle pressure of his heel pressing into its side, but this too feels more like he is simply beckoning it follow his lead. and that is the bigger surprise, how simply it relents.

this, yes, has it growl. but that is merely natural response for any predator proper pushed to such a vulnerable point. even fully clothed, having rolled gently 'pon its back with his encouragement, it feels so exposed laying beneath him! it mourns the taste of him, same as the pressure of his lips, but it is stalled in its own personal languishing by how sternly he seems look back at it—it can't recall a moment he's ever been so, even when they'd first met. and that, more than anything, piques its interest and begs its attention.

better would it be the sort of blushing maiden with heat rushing to flood her cheeks at such a thought, than how stone-faced it is in their reality. there is no pretty poetry to weave how it stares up at him, wide-eyed and ears slowly pressing 'gainst its head for cause of ... not embarrassment, quite, but something like— it has heard far cruder things, years passed before they ever crossed paths, but it thinks it is his clarification most that his its chest constrict, fang pulling the soft flesh of its cheek 'neath to chew as it tries to pretend it is not quite so affected as it most certainly is. it is not shy, but it is not ... this particularly brazen, either. he definitely is special.

" do you believe i love you? " its voice feels particularly hoarse, even to it : and it presumes it is only cause for how often it was stolen in their heated exchange, every gasp or moan or plea stifled by each their eager tongues. but even so, its tone is cautious; careful, where what little inflection it is able to offer cannot otherwise be misconstrued for rejection. its chest aches too, feeling how his hands continue making their way 'cross its skin, the bulk of its body, but that nagging pull has grown increasingly familiar in the passing weeks. it considers itself lucky merely only shuddering when his fingers brush over dips along its body that are more sensitive than most. the tension ebbs and flows, but its fixation 'pon him is unwavering.

it thinks its gaze shakes while he speaks, rapt, a subtle quiver align with the occasional shiver that runs its way through its body. it's a far different tone than how he has ever approached it—and yet, it is somehow just the same. desire spoken from the heart, a romantic at his core, no matter how salacious the tale he could weave, he hardly need speak of the love he feels for it for it to comprehend. it hurts when it swallows, 'round the growing lump in its throat.

" it ... is true, the subjects of which my thoughts have drifted to. i have thought about what it might have been like to kiss you more than i am open to admit. though i do— ... did not understand the process. i desired to. i do think of you fondly. in numerous ways, and that is strange to me. " like would he be to forgive it, its quiet voice; barely above murmur, that, as it gradually takes to unraveling its hold 'round his waist, slowly pulling its hands down over his hips as it speaks, " i would never think less of you for carnality. i think you are naive, at your best, but physicality or need for is hardly my concern. i do not understand you, or what you have done to me. of that, i feel as if i no longer know myself. "

his hair tickles its cheek, its jaw; shrouds them where what few parts of its cloaks still cling to it offer little protection from the intensity of his gaze. " it is a heavy burden to ask of you, elysium, but ... " it starts, but pauses soon after; its hands have settled neatly over his hips, and though it does squeeze them long enough to beckon even more of his attention, it uses its tight grip as means to steady itself as it lifts itself up to brush its nose up 'gainst his own. once more, merely a breath apart—and it really does savor the feeling, nearly more than the blood it still knows clings to his lips. and its too, though it's quick to swipe that away as it pulls itself closer to him. hands travelling slow from hip to side, pressing down gently 'long the slight curve of his waist. " —perhaps you might be willing to bring clarity to my own heart? " it has not suddenly become anymore confident in the gesture as it had started. but it is difficult to be too clumsy, this close. no sooner has it finished speaking before it closes the distance; and once more, it pushes its lips hard against his own. not in curiosity, or even impulse : it needs him.

[britishassistant]

Twisted Wonderland was so real for having the enemies in the first Halloween special be entitled customers

[thebirdandhersong]

Lol

[the-red-hoodlum]

killing people who don’t get an animals consent before touching them &/or ignore when animals are visibly uncomfortable with being touched.

[flufflecat]

Got to stolen century in my relisten and started tearing up at work because of magnus carving the duck. Just me in the back room, crying over the dish sink for normal reasons.

[lemongogo]

can i ask.how u guys practice ur creativity <3 how u practice ur imagination or like.. how u experiment with ur art, how u come to ideas and how u develop them.<3 pretty please <3

[lakemichigans]

how r u doing today ?? sending u love and vibes 〰️〰️〰️〰️<3<3<3

thank you 🥺💖 i'm okay i just wish i didn't have to work until close tonight. i think i'm going to talk to my boss about working early mornings instead because i don't feel safe walking outside at night anymore and it scares me that someone can memorize my schedule & route home if they pay enough attention. but i'm also scared to rock the boat when i've only been working here for a month :( all the people i work with have been really protective of me so far and i think they would understand but i hate being a burden more than anything

[apocalypticdemon]

I am so beyond ready to quit this job. Wednesday cannot come fast enough.