#hi from the main blog

[wrenderart]

I made this a couple of months ago but. hack your 3ds. do it right now.

[screwpinecaprice]

Oh oof I slipped and hit them with dark and serious beam. 😣

[tricking-and-ghosting]

on a doylist level i'm sure it's just because they didn't want to make a whole second set of sprites but from a watsonian perspective i'm obsessed with the fact that sissel-as-yomiel has the exact same mannerisms as regular yomiel

[hers-underwraps]

Why Dashi is my favourite character 🩷

This is something I've been wanting to talk about for awhile. I've been putting it off because I typically like to keep my posts lighthearted and fun. Also, this is kinda a personal thing for me lol. However I just think it's important to get it out there.

————————————————————————

Feelings around Dashi in the Octonauts community are so mixed, some people enjoy her whilst other have a pure hatred for Dashi. Unfortunately, there is a large majority that holds that hatred in their hear or people that like her but only for her aesthetic. Hence this is why I wanted to get my thought of why I valued her out there as someone who values her deeply for her character.

Dashi has always been someone I've idolised. As a young girl, she was the epitome of a woman. She was able to exist as someone confident in what her passion was, someone who actively engaged in fields such as coding and engineering, she could lead her crew and be a daredevil. She was also able to be confident in her femininity, she could love pink, and she could love photography and her music. She's an older sister (and a really good one at that), she can be a little silly and she could hold quality/unique relationships with other members of the team. She was also able to accomplish all of this authentically. She wasn't considered a rare exception in the show, this was just considered the norm and it was honestly something I envy so much.

This was something that I took away from the main series of the Octonauts.

That's what she meant to me from the limited screen time that she got. I remember watching the damselfish episode and thinking omg this is the coolest thing ever. Or that episode where they made the tiny camera of the worm and glued it back together. The manta-ray episode where she was so determined to achieve her goal. She held quality relationships with several members. Seriously one of my favourite Dashi moments with the others was her running off with kwazii in the Siphonophore episode. She was always a central member in leading the team and was confident in her leadership/decisions. A few I remember off the top of my head were the episode where they needed a new bubble generator, that one episode where half the crew got beached and she and kwazii were working to get them back or the surfing snail episode. Also I know this isn't from the OG series but I really like her in the ring of fire and San Actun specials (I refuse to watch the Great Barrier Reef special so idk what was happening there)

This was how I interpreted her character before I found out there was a spin-off series that put her in a central role, which honestly was awesome to me because it just affirmed my interpretation of Dashi. It affirmed that my way of interpreting her was not just in my head. Everything she meant to me was real.

This is what made it more heartbreaking for me when I found out that there were so many people who hated her role in both the original and spinoff series. These people thought her role was forced, that her character choices were off and that she was just another mary-sue.

I think a lot of people fail to see one of the main reasons as to why Dashi is an important character to the people that do value her.

This stems from how important representation is for young people. The original series was released back in 2010. Looking at this era contextually, sexism in everyday life was still a massive problem. Stereotypical traditional roles were heavily enforced in media and everyday life. Basic rights for women were largely failing to be met. Even though things have improved a little bit since then, sexism is still a massive issue that affects every woman. So you can imagine how much it meant to the young girls watching this show to see an autonomous and feminine character being able to achieve so much.

Even though she was a side character in the main series, she was who you looked at, I mean how could you not? Just looking at her aesthetically she is quite literally the only one with a stereotypical "feminine" colour palette. She was the only girl on the crew that presented in a traditionally feminine way.

Then you're probably thinking but what about tweak? Well yes, she was absolutely a groundbreaking character too. However, she is presented in such a masculine way that I don't always feel like she has the same impact that Dashi does. She was original going to be a man and she is aired as a man in other translations of The Octonauts (the Russian one off the top of my head). She is as typically "feminine" as Dashi, she honestly lacks any of those qualities. NOTE: (NO HATE TO TWEAK OR GIRLS WHO ARE LIKE HER, I LOVE TWEAK AND MASC GIRLIES)

This is important to me because when I was younger I believed that in order to have a passion in fields that were considered more "masculine" such as science or mathematics you had to reject femininity. That stereotype was so heavily pushed on me and it was genuinely so damaging. I felt that I had to reject everything feminine and I did. I remember getting reprimanded and told "I'm barely even a woman" for my interests. I always felt that I had to sacrifice a part of myself and it was genuinely such a depressing way to be. Sometimes its so bad that I just has breakdowns because I feel I don't belong and I always have that impending feeling of doom that I ever will. I always feel so isolated because I genuinely found it so hard to find other women who shared that interest. On the rare chance I did find someone, they were cases similar to Tweak, girls that had rejected and demonised all feminity to the point where they were basically considered dudes.

This is still something I struggle with so much today. Yes, a girl can enter into a STEM field without being burnt at the stake but there's still so very few. I'm sitting in physics and mathematics classes where I'm effectively the only girl there. Female scientists are never talked about and I'm by other teachers as a rare exception. I still struggle to feel as if I can exist as both feminine and as someone who can be passionate about STEM. Being feminine is so demonised and intimidating in those fields due to the sheer lack of representation, you feel as if it's necessary to conform to a more masculine demeanour. On the flip side, having a genuine passion for STEM is so freaky in the eyes of other girls. If I try and talk about something remotely related to that, I feel as if they're about to hurl tomatoes at me so I never talk about it. It feels like I can never exist authentically and fully as myself, some days I feel like I lose myself, like I don't belong. I value being feminine I really do. I've always been passionate about feminism, I love the colour pink, pretty things and I like presenting that way. But I also love STEM I'm so passionate about it. I just wish there was a way that I could exist as both.

This is why I idolise Dashi so much. She is what I want to be. She's confident in her femininity and confident in her career. She doesn't; need to sacrifice this to achieve her goals. She can exist in a male-dominated crew (which is a realistic scenario for an irl workplace in those fields) without changing that about her. She isn't treated as a rare exception but just valued a normal part of the team.

She is a Stargirl to so many young girls. She exists as an autonomous and bright character, she isn't entirely defined by just her career or gender but she actively represents both. She's realistic, she's flawed, and she grows so much throughout the series and I think her growth is then appreciated in the spin-off. In a world that's lacking authentic representation in both media and so many male-dominated fields, it's so important to realise the innate value of these characters.

So that's why Dashi is my favourite character. She means the world to me.

She always has and always will 🩷

[thunderberryz]

Slides everyone a Donatello

[daddy-ul]

The biggest Metallica fan there is.

[nonranghaes]

mentions: food + chris is implied to be slightly older than reader + mentions of reader having chubby cheeks.

sometimes your boyfriend simply chooses to be your biggest tormentor. exhibit a: he’s been teasing you about the (’cute’ in his words) way you eat strawberries for the past several minutes.

“i’m just saying!” he says with a laugh, watching you from the couch. “you’re just so cute about it!”

you still don’t get it, and he hasn’t elaborated in the slightest. you think it might be in the same way he finds his other friends closer to your age cute when they so much as breathe sometimes--like felix. then again, you’ve seen the way felix acts sometimes, and it is, indeed, cute. but all you’re doing is eating some strawberries you cut the tops off of, and you aren’t doing it any cuter than how a person normally eats strawberries. you’re literally just eating them. simple as that.

you pick up the bowl and move over to sit with him instead. “just try to explain.”

and he manages to quell his giggles as he hugs the pillow he’s been holding tighter against his chest. “okay,” he says. “you love strawberries.”

this is a fact. most people know it about you, but you’d say they’re probably your favorite fruit--or among the top of your list if nothing else.

“so you get this really cute look on your face when you eat a really good strawberry,” he says. “also... these,” he reach out, pinching one of your cheeks, and he chuckles again when you grimace. “automatically make you cute. it’s like when jisung eats and his cheeks puff out.”

you swat at his hand, “so you’re saying i look like a squirrel.”

“no!” he laughs, “i’m saying all of it just makes you... cuter.” he paws through the air until he catches your hand in his. “it’s like when you say i’m cute.”

“because you are!”

“i don’t get it--you say it when i’m not even doing anything!”

“because you’re cute!”

he giggles, pulling the bowl of strawberries aside as he ditches the pillow in favor for you. “then i guess,” he places the quickest peck against your lips, eyes crinkling as he smiles hard, “we just have to agree that we’re both cute.” 

even if you don’t get it... you think you can agree to that one.

[shroudbud]

"KNEEL BEFORE ME, YOU ABSOLUTE PEST!!!"

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Akihiko practically has to excavate the first-aid kit from under layers and layers of built up miscellanea that has been stashed in the supply closet over the years. As he digs, he thanks god, Buddha, or whoever else might be listening that Shinji hadn’t put up a fight about being checked over. That has to count as a minor miracle.

It has been a while since they’ve dressed each other’s wounds like this, now that he thinks of it. Since before Shinji had left, back when Akihiko was the only one on the team with any healing abilities and they’d had to budget his stamina to a miserly degree. 

These days, between Takeba, Amada, and Arisato, they basically never have to worry about anybody spreading themselves too thin with healing, so they don’t ever leave Tartarus battered enough to need mundane patching up.

Once he finally finds the kit, Akihiko sheds his battle harness and armband and sets them gracelessly on the dining table. He settles on the couch next to Shinji while he undresses himself. It’s slow going, Shinji’s movements stiff and careful, but Akihiko doesn’t insult him by butting in. He peels his gloves off and waits patiently. When Shinji pulls the sweater over his head, his hat slides off along with it. He doesn’t bother putting it back on.

He looks smaller without any of his usual layers to bulk out his shape. It feels wrong to think of Shinji as ‘small’ in any context, even if it’s only in comparison. Objectively, Akihiko knows it isn’t even true– Shinji’s taller now than he was back then, his shoulders wider and his ribcage broader.

At the same time, it’s harrowingly true. He’s visibly underweight, and not all of that can be due to his time in the coma. It’s like there simply isn’t enough of him, and what’s there is stretched too-thin over his frame.

This is also the first time Akihiko’s seen the bandages around Shinji’s shoulder and abdomen. There are no red stains seeping through the gauze, which is a relief. He starts to carefully peel the medical tape free from Shinji’s skin, letting the crash course Nakai-san had given him on bandage changing run on loop through his mind.

It doesn’t occur to him until the first bandage is removed and the knotted starburst shape is on full display: it’s the first time Akihiko has seen the scars, either.

A halo of puckered skin interrupts Shinj’s shoulder, fanning out in shiny pink ridges around the bruise-red, sunken center. Its twin on his chest is slightly larger and more concave.

He hadn’t realized how big any of them would be. The ones up near his shoulder especially, where the bullet had gone all the way through him–

It reinforces with sickening clarity just how much of a miracle it is that Shinji pulled through. That he’s still here.

Akihiko jolts. Shinji isn’t even facing in his direction, so what–?

Shinji rolls one shoulder– the unscarred one– and Akihiko knows without needing to look that he’s rolling his eyes too. He ignores the display of petulance and gets to work surveying for new damage, starting with the shoulder.

There’s no fresh blood, and the area around the scar doesn’t look damaged or inflamed at least. Just to be sure, Akihiko probes the surrounding skin gingerly with the pads of his fingers, testing for swelling or anything that feels overly warm to the touch.

Shinji shudders and Akihiko jerks his hand away.

Shinji only shrugs– he does it with both shoulders, evidently by mistake, since he immediately flinches and bites out a curse under his breath.

Well, even if he’s downplaying it, he’s still admitting to it. Akihiko had been planning on getting Shinji started with his physical therapy routine tomorrow (or today, he supposes, since it’s after midnight) but…now he’s not sure.

Maybe he should hold off and give Shinji a break. He knows both from his own experience and the extensive amount of research he’d pored over after Shinji had (begrudgingly) asked for his help– pushing too hard will only stall his recovery, or even make things worse. 

There are some simple stretches he could try to coach Shinji through that wouldn’t be too strenuous or time-consuming, and that might also help with the pain. But he knows Shinji will still push back against even that, on principle if nothing else. Picking that particular fight would probably put just as much strain on his body as Akihiko was trying to avoid to begin with.

And hell, after everything that’s happened, Akihiko isn’t sure he has the energy for it, either. They all deserve a break.

Shinji obeys with the put-upon air of a cat being moved out of the way of foot traffic, but he’s not able to fully conceal how much of an effort it is for him. The scar on Shinji’s side doesn’t seem to have re-opened either. There is no exit wound counterpart on his back.

Unbidden, Akihiko’s thoughts are invaded by the question of whether they had removed every piece of the bullet while Shinji was on the operating table, or if some fragments of it had been irretrievable. Nausea crawls through his stomach at the idea. He doesn’t ask.

[sforzesco]

 Then, on his arrival in Constantinople, after much counsel with himself, considering that he was already unequal to the amount of pressing business and believing that there was no room for delay, on the twenty-eighth of March he brought the aforesaid Valens into one of the suburbs​ and with the consent of all (for no one ventured to oppose) proclaimed him Augustus. Then he adorned him with the imperial insignia and put a diadem on his head, and brought him back in his own carriage, thus having indeed a lawful partner in his power, but, as the further course of our narrative will show, one who was as compliant as a subordinate. No sooner were these arrangements perfected without disturbance than both emperors were seized with violent and lingering fevers--

AM 26.4.3-4

this was one of those illustrations that was originally supposed to be a 5 page comic until I realized I don't know anything about later roman empire architecture or visuals or art or anything, so we'll revisit that later. maybe

for right now though, these two are fascinating. we have two brothers acting as one body, even becoming ill in tandem with each other, it's giving This Throne Is Cursed. like, the last time I read about emperors coming down with life threatening illnesses, it was Caligula, and that moment in his biography marked a very specific tone shift. I spent the rest of the (first) time reading about Valens and Valentinian waiting for something comparable to Caligula's reign to happen lmao (Dio 59. 8. 1-2)

and since Caligula was already on the mind, I started thinking about Tiberius: I think he would've loved these two since he had a whole thing about twin-ification and brothers and etc etc etc. ofc, Rome is both a Mouth and a Tomb, so it's going to go badly for someone/everyone eventually, but honestly I think that Valentinian and Valens were the best we could've hoped for. like it could've been so much worse

Tiberius and the Heavenly Twins, Edward Champlin

Failure of Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A.D, Noel Lenski

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[deceit-and-knowledge]

Sage what's your take on "chubby recluse"

(Ps: Im talking about Sof thinking about chubby recluse in that one drawing)

ooc: 😏 sage is that one moto moto song

f: o-oh um... well.. i....i'd really like it..haha.. t-there would be more of him to hug and h-he'd be soft.. and..big..... and comfortable.....and.... it's recluse..... he would be eating more w-which is good and I.......

I'm exposing myself...hahaha...

The drawing

Smilk wants a pv that could probably kill him with a slap

Sage wants a pillow <- recluse is normally built like a twig

[justforclowns]

Cost of Recompense

Price of Forgiveness (The clown epic by @birchbow ) Ageswap Au.

~4,350 words.

Warnings: clowns, light knife play, mentions of torture, overall kinda horny and self hatey vibes.

This and all following chapters will be posted on Ao3 in time but I am on a waiting list and very impatient. Woe, clowns be upon ye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Relax, little brother." He coos at you gentle.

Relax. Motherfucking relax, he says. 

Your name is Kurloz Makara and how are you supposed to relax with your lordship laid bare beneath you?  

He isn't fully bare. He has just shed the dark shall he usually wears amongst the faithful and removed the tight purple shirt beneath. You can see the dark, scar littered expanse of his chest rise and fall with his breaths. You can pick out the scars made by others and those most likely self inflicted. You linger on the damage self done. It serves as a reminder as to why you are here; in the Big Top, on the throne, straddling the king of colors lap with a short blade in hand held just above his stomach. 

You were not built correctly. Ever since you were small there has been something about hurting other trolls that got to you a little too strongly to just be a macabre interest. The way a troll in pain would writhe and how those beautiful short breaths would leave them all sharp through clenched fangs. It got to you something fierce. You learned the lesson young that you ain't right in the head. You were only a little less young when you learned to hide that fact. 

You hid it well all things considered. At 7 sweeps you made your way through conscription and onto the holy fleet no issue. Horns held high but not too high till you earned your place. And earn it you rightly fucking did. 

It wasn't easy by any means. You managed, though. Carved yourself a badass reputation and a good standing amongst the kin you do so cherish. You hold a passion for the family and a need to prove yourself unmatched by any troll you've met before. One comes close but you will not spare that heathen a single thought. 

Some said you had help. That your sign already held weight in the church which granted you special treatment. It wasn't exactly the biggest mystery that you and His High Holy Hilarity were cut from the same cloth. Put the two of you next to each other in front of someone with eyes and even they could get the idea in their head. As for the idea that he gave you any motherfucking boons, that you didn't earn, just by virtue of being built the same never had any frond to stand on as far as you were concerned. But people still thought it. 

You proved them wrong time and time again. Mission after mission and sweep after sweep you proved it was all 100% you that got you where you were today. Some of the rumor spreaders got brave with their claims and brought them right to you, displeased with your success and too stubborn to accept that they were wrong.

You got a skill in you to turn the brave away running. 

Through voodoo or club or just sharp wit you took every challenge worth taking as another chance to show you weren't fucking around. So if those that think you're riding your ancestors coattails are still out there they at least have the brains to keep their filthy mouths shut about it. 

You would never use your ancestors' status to your advantage. Even if it had nothing to do with pride you would just feel wrong using him that way. You admire him a good deal and not just because he is the head of your church. 

You admire him maybe too much. You have now, for a while. Which is why you can't fathom the situation you are currently in. 

Your eyes snap up to The Grand Highblood's face when he shifts closer to you. His hand, bigger than yours but not much colder, wraps carefully around your forearm. You are trembling. When did you start trembling? 

"Are you having second thoughts?" He asks. His voice is smooth and low, the slightest breathy hitch at the end that makes something possessive and stupid stir inside of you. Your eyes stay on his face, his pretty face, like the one you see in the mirror but aged and softer around the eyes. Kinder, the rumors say, when it gets to reprimanding kin who done what some could consider a shallow wrong. Soft fucking pusher for the family. So soft. 

You open your mouth to respond yet the words fail you. Of all times. Of all the times in your 12 sweeps of life, why now? Why? 

He is looking at you. The excitement his eyes held begins to fade to something more resigned. He smiles so sweetly at you. "I understand," he tells you, removing his hand from your arm. "Ain't no shame in backing out brother. Was a strange request to begin with. I understand if you can't get your chill on with- nngh!" He shudders as you drag the knife from his collarbone to just above the hem of his pants. "Oh fuck-"

You bite back a groan as you skillfully flip the knife in your fingers and drag it back up. You aren't pressing enough to cut him deep but you do begin to see thin purple lines appearing along his flesh. These cuts burn with the touch of air, sharp and precise, opening up just enough to let the nerve endings fire off in panic. You drove a man mad with a couple hundred of these one time. 

The muscles in his stomach flex and he shudders again. "A-aah~ ah c'mon motherfucker you can go harder than that c'mon I've seen you work." He encourages.

He has seen you work. Seen you pry answers from prisoners maws way too quickly for your liking. Much to the suspicious awe of your fellow churchmates. Your skill in inquisition got so well known that he came to see for himself one night. You didn't know he was watching when you raked deep gashes down a heretic’s arms and pinned them closed with those wicked stinging needles you've come to love. You didn't know that when you stepped out of that room and he was there, smiling and giving you praise, that he may have been feeling just as electrified as you were at the moment. 

He must have felt it. He must be feeling it if the way he lifts himself up against your blade is anything to go by. The high pitched noise in his throat you don't dare call a whine makes your insides twist and shiver. Shakes the words you've been searching for loose from your thinkpan.

 "You like this?" Your voice comes out a breathless whisper. You feel stupid for asking, he must like it if he is letting you, there's no way he would let you this close if he didn't. 

Unless that soft pusher of his is telling him you need it. Unless you slipped up somehow and he saw the aching need to cause hurt that you have inside you. Unless he is forcing himself to take it as he thinks no one else will- Unless- 

The shaky whimper that comes from him along with "Oh brother please-" snaps you from your thoughts. Back to reality you smell the slightest twinge of blood in the air. You look down and see that while you were having a miniature double damned crisis he had shifted close enough to you to have pierced himself ever so slightly with your knife. Just a few inches above the arch of his hip a pool of royal purple fills and finally drips down his side and disappears. Your throat feels too dry and your mouth too wet. 

You have drawn the blood of your holy king. You have cornered him on his throne and cut into him. He is shirtless beneath you, those kind round eyes watching you with fondness undeserved.

You don't feel the knife slip from your hand but you do feel his arm come up around your back. You do hear his soft, sing song praise at the edge of your conscious mind. 

"Good." He tells you. "You did good. We don't gotta do no more than that. Felt good brother, don't go getting harsh on yourself now. Ah shit you poor thing…" 

"Good?" you shoot back at him. Looking up to his face, bristling with the feelings this whole situation has brought up. What is this to him? Why is he doing this? He always looks at the family soft but does he let the family sit in his lap and take knife to his flesh? Does he rest his hand on their back and praise them for doing so? "I stabbed you and you tell me I did good?" 

He chuckles. "Well, yeah. Hardly call that a stab, little brother. It'll be gone in a night at worst." His hand moves along your back in a slow motion. Your claws twitch. "What'd you think of that? Tell me." 

You can't disobey him. 

"It felt like sin, but not. Felt too good to be right. I thought- I thought you were going to laugh at me." You say. His eyes widen a little and his hand gives a soft squeeze around your waist. "I thought this was some fucked up joke. Some, motherfucking- some prank or cruelty done on me to amuse you." 

"Aint nothing like that-" 

"I thought I was dreaming, for a second. It don't feel real. Having you here, having you so open to hurting. My Lord you asked me to-" the words trail off in a pathetic wheeze as they leave you again. 

He just stares at you for a bit. You know your face can be cold and unreadable like ice when you want it to be and fuck if you don't want that real hard right now. He sees through you clear as still water anyway. His hand on your back moves up to tangle into the roots of your hair, you try to resist but fail and end up pressing back against his hand. 

"I asked you to hurt me, didn't I?" He asks even though there's no need to clarify. You don't think you could forget what he said if you tried your damnedest. The way he came to you in the halls as you wandered without reason, asked you to walk with him, talked with you like normal then got real quiet. Got a favor to ask you, little one he had said. Don't have to be doing it if you find yourself unwilling but I got a curiosity in me I think you could help sate.

He took you to the Big Top and made brief yet rattling inquiry on your desire to cause pain. Rumor spreads even as you try to forget the words whispered that made every drone season harder than the last. You winced despite yourself when he simply asked You like causing pain, brother? He did not look at you with distaste. Or with plain curiosity as he claimed to hold. He was fascinated. 

Things moved fast after that. Patience was never a virtue your lordship took much pride in. After you had affirmed his claims he had gestured for you to come up to his throne. He invited you up onto said throne, into his lap, and set the knife cool against your palm. He had asked you to…

"-take the knife to me as you like, that's what I said, yeah?" Your Lord's tone is calm, even, as if he is just double checking the facts on an arbitrary mission report form. You nod at the words because that really is what he said and here you are all rattled right to the marrow at it. 

"Cool, and that's what you did. Did it real gentle like too." 

"I stabbed you-" 

"Hey, knock shit right the fuck off." He frowns at you for the first time today. Disapproving on your statement of fact. Your hands twitch and while you don't know where the knife went you still got claws and the urge to tear into him again. Make him get his understanding on good and true about what threat you pose. You would never. 

"I'm fine, little one." His hand rubs gently at the back of your skull. "Better than fine. That was… that was real motherfucking sweet what you did for me." 

For him. He asked, you delivered. He commanded, you obeyed. You did good.

Your face must do something ugly with how his hand briefly stills. The fins on his ears twitch as he looks you over. You're ready for the disgust to settle into his features but it never comes. 

His mouth opens a second just to close the next, tongue flicking over his lips as if he was nervous. You almost laugh. Nervous, The Grand Highblood? Impossible. 

He breathes in slow, you catch the movement of his chest with your peripherals. Messiahs you want to sink your teeth in and taste him. What he says next is like a slap in the face. "Did you like it..? Would you want to do it again?" 

You look at him, really look at him. Surely there would be something, anything, letting you know this was all in jest. You hate to think so low on your Lord's humor but if this ain't some bad joke you don't know how you'll deal. 

You find nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Round and dark and royal as they come while still walking on land. Maybe a little hope but you quickly disregard it as your own. 

"I…" the sound cracks out of your throat. He grants you time to get your shit together. Moves his hand from your head down to your back, heavy but gentle. You shiver at the feeling. The sheer size of him and everything else about him.

It wouldn't be wrong to say you thought he was fine as fuck. Everybody with a working set of ganderbulbs must. Tower of lean muscle that he is, got legs for nights that had you near running to keep up with him in the halls during your first few perigees on ship. You're only a little ashamed at the fact you snuck glances whenever that dark shall left his shoulders. 

You imagine what you may feel getting to cut such a pretty motherfucker again some night. Then imagine if that pretty motherfucker was your king. Getting to hear him say 'brother please' again in that whispy way. Wondering what sounds he would make if you pressed harder, how much he could take if a stab in the hip would heal in a night. 

It all makes your bulge do something down right shameful with how it twists and tries to slip out. Your legs attempt to close and are stopped both in part by you realizing how obvious that would make your predicament and by the body you're still straddling.

You glance down, glaring slightly at the obstacle between your knees, only to be met with the still bare lower abdomen of your Lord. You look back up, not too quickly, and look at his face instead. He is watching you, lips slightly parted and eyes curious again. 

"I… that sounds… are you fucking with me?" 

He seems a little taken aback by your words and you fear you fucked up before he starts to laugh. You let out a little wheeze of a chuckle as well, compelled by whatever joy he has found in this scenario. He smiles at you, clear and bright. 

It takes on a sly edge as he says "Shit, if you're offering. I ain't gonna take what you don't wanna give, little one. Fuck. Fucking does sound good though. Especially when you got those miraculous hurting hands." His eyes drop down to where your hands rest against your thighs. If you were a fool you'd say he looks enticed. 

You feel your face heat up under your paint. A cocktail of emotions are swirling around in your head. Arousal, shame, confusion, to name a few. 

You take a sharp breath- watch his hands twitch- and exhale it slowly. "My Lord, I- … A brother could get a real twisted idea of what all you're asking of him. Give me the grace of speaking plainly on it. If you please.” You say, keeping your voice even, not even letting a hint of begging come through. 

The Grand Highblood sighs softly at that. He shifts underneath you, sitting up straighter. You go to move but his hand clamps down on your thigh, keeping it in place. Fuck but he's real big- and he let you get a knife in him what a day- 

"Grace you ask for is grace I will give, little one." He looks at you, a little more serious. More familiar too how you see him on the night to night. He spares a glance over your being before he continues. “I want you to hurt me. Only in ways that you want. If how you want it is to just swing around every other scattering of nights when you get the itch I'll gladly take it.” 

-Before you can even start to reel at the idea of being your Lord's torture booty call he continues-

“If you want something more steady, like the beating of a pusher, fit with all its running blood and fluttery fits, then that I can also happily do.” He tells you, looking at you fond again. Not seeing through you straight out the back but like he can see inside you. He doesn't look disgusted by what he thinks he's finding. 

You blink at him. Your mouth is an unreadable line because you will it so. He blinks back at you like a delayed mirror. You think you gather what he is saying but it's so outlandish and wild you cannot ignore the doubt it stirs in you.

“Plainly, My Lord.” You remind him brazenly. 

He laughs his soft sing song laugh at you before saying “Wanna be matesprites?”

You die. You think. That's the only explanation for the rush of everything that fills you up and threatens to blind you over three simple Alternian words. Or you're already dead and this is some hall of illusions you must endure as punishment for your transgressions. 

When you come back to yourself he's looking at you softly, with slight concern, the same look he had when he told you it was okay to back out.

Before he can tell you the same again you manage to say “Yes.” without a waiver to your voice. “If it pleases you.” You add, because you’ve been more mannerless tonight than is truly smart. 

He smiles, but it's quirked at one end, following the tilt of his head. “Would please me just fine. Would it please you though, little brother? Talk plainly at me.” He chuckles, tossing your request back at you like it's all a hate-friendly game. 

“Abso-motherfucking-lutely it would, My Lord.” You say in a near whisper, watching his face. The more genuine turn of his smile and the crinkles at the edges of his eyes show he is well and truly pleased with you. 

“Bitchtits,” He says, and wraps the other of his long arms around you to pull you up against him. You manage not to make any embarrassing sounds of delight or startlement but it does take you a shameful few seconds to realize that he is hugging you. That's it, just a hug, a simple act of affection you've seen even hate-friends give to each other on the off nights. You return it half a moment too late but you do return it. 

He's broader than you by virtue of being your own body type scaled up several notches. Being pressed flat to the expanse of his chest lets you almost feel the beat of his pusher. You can smell so much of him, his hair, his skin, the faint lingering of his blood and you certainly smell how it took him to have you put knife to his flesh. Maybe there is a rumbling sound he is making that is too low for you to hear yet, or maybe there isn't.

It's nice. It tells you what you're too stupid to realize with just your eyes. He is alive and he is happy. You squeeze him slightly and he returns the favor. Delayed mirror. 

You're taking a risk, both of you. Him so high and important and you so closed in and quiet. To let another in could spell disaster. Specifically each other. You could be planning to take his place for all he knows. He could rule you unfunny and excommunicate you. 

When you pull back, maybe hoping to voice some of these concerns, he just smiles at you. His eyes are lazy and fond, his breathing is going steady again as he comes down from the excitement of the morning. You can't bring yourself to ruin this moment for him, so you take heed of one of the first lessons all laughsassins must learn: keep your motherfucking mouth shut, motherfucker. 

He keeps smiling even as you both get your shit together, settling down after the impromptu knife play and quadrant dealings. He finally lets you off the throne. You get your feet under you and feel less dizzy than you probably should. A quick mental check tells you that you did not die, your body is fine, and nothing is missing. With that out of the way, you spare a glance over to The Grand Highblood. 

He rises as well, towering over you once again. He quickly finds the knife and literally tosses it back into his sylladex; the blade flying over his shoulder and into the flashing colors before both promptly disappear. Fuck but his modus really is wild to see up close and he's so cool for knowing how to just go with it. Another way he's blessed you imagine. 

You get to see it flash again and barely make out the various things that come out get quickly tossed back in get flung out get juggled till he finds what he wants and it all goes away. All in a matter of seconds. The Grand Highblood stands there with a new shirt in his hand like it ain’t no thing. He catches you looking and looks all the more pleased for it. 

He re-dresses and you're mad about it. Which is wrigglerish and stupid, you remind yourself. You can't rightly ask he stay half naked for you. At least not yet. 

If he means this all to be for true maybe one night you will have the right to ask he stay naked. Fully naked. Just to let you look at him in all his hurting glory. Regal and holy and yours and fuck your bulge is in a Messiahs damned knot and your head ain't much better. 

“Off to ‘coon now, brother.” You hear him say. You only blink at him but he still finds the question in it quick enough. “Was late already when I pulled you out the halls, even later now. Both of us got shit to do come moonrise. Don’t we, little one?” He tilts his head at you, leading your thoughts with the question till you find the answer buried in the back of your pan. 

You do have shit to do. You were asked, at some time that is eluding your memory, to assist one of the laughsassination feeders with a ship wide lesson. Did she ask you herself? Given you can’t fully recall the interaction you would say she did. You can’t miss that.

You don’t curse or even sigh. You just lower your shoulders a bit in defeat. He chuckles all the same. You manage to give him a small smile that he returns to you bigger and brighter. 

“Suppose we do. Thank you for your time, My Lord.” You say, all formal. It gets a small snicker out of him and you feel like you’ve won something. 

He leads you to the giant double doors of the Big Top and wishes you luck on all your endeavours of the coming night. Before the doors open he bends down to press a quick kiss to your lips. It lingers only enough for you to return it and then a single beat longer. After that he pulls back and he is once again so much taller and older than you and you have to leave. You make sure to give at least a slight bow of respect before walking out into the halls. 

It is a walk, not a run, even as you get further from the throne room. Your strides are steady and quiet. For all the few passerbys know you were simply taking a stroll to clear your head in the late hours. Your mind is clear, actually. For a few seconds. 

With his sweet smiling face gone and only your lingering shame as company your thoughts get real nasty real quick. 

What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you? 

Did you really just do all that? Did he let you- ask you, you remind yourself- to do all that? Are you two something now? Something more than leader and follower? Perish the thought. Burn it. Destroy it. Leave nothing but ashes in place of a stupid wriggler’s dream. 

You hurt him and it was wonderful. You walk. You want to do it again. You walk. He wants you to do it again. 

You walk and walk and walk all the way back to your room and manage to get inside with no one knowing anything except you. No one knows what you’ve done except you. What horrible things you’ve done and will do again. Awful awful beautiful things. 

You are going to pay for this. You just don’t know how yet.

[stormyoceans]

me rn when i can't boop someone

[way-too-obsessed-gamer]

Projecting? No, Projectile. Run

[batcave-dinosaur]

Thinking about xenobio Clark dick but in a sad way. Like obviously he'd never be able to have sex without them knowing about him being Superman, unless he did it with his pants on but like. Going unreciprocated for a long time would suck anyway. But anyway, I was rereading some great superbat xenobio fics and at least a couple have Bruce mentioning that like. Alien dick (especially tentacles) are a huge fantasy for a lot of people. And that got me thinking about Clark, lonely in his young adulthood, looking into all kinds of fantasy porn and it being soothing and heartbreaking in the same breath. Because it is sort of nice, to have this part of him be desired both in spite of and because of its weirdness, but also knowing none of it comes from a place of real understanding. Cuz knowing that people desire something is not the same as knowing they would accept you, as an alien and a Person.

[serotoninisheldinkiwis]

scheduling this to post at like 3 am my time bc the anxiety is REAL lmbo anyways. schmoopy silly self-indulgent art under the break

lowk inspired by @legs-like-jelly and conversation with @nebul-anna abhjhdfbjhf