#i don't really need color/note taking functions

[seoafin]

if anybody uses e-readers plz hmu with recs/suggestions 😁

[maddascanbe-blog]

Oh guys. We are so back.

After ALMOST A YEAR I finally got around to drawing the guys. I started with Marc, because I already knew where I wanted too go with his design. All of their civilian designs need revisions, mostly because of art style changes.

I already mentioned in his first redesign that I was pretty much overhauling his personality. That's still true here. The only thing Marc lacks confidence in is his showing his writing to people, he's very friendly and really excited to try things his friends recommend, like soccer or joining art club. Just not with showing his fanfictions to people just yet. Hey we've all been there buddy.

He's got a decent following on Ao3 i'd imagine.

As for design, the darker skin tone is an obvious change, I kept misremembering Marc to have darker skin so I figured I'd role with it. I also made his hair brown instead of black and- Oh, oh fuck his hairstyle in cannon. Agh, it hurts. Note, I don't think Marc was intentionally supposed to look very fashionable, and I tried to carry that through here, bro is wearing mixed metals, a red jacket and a tye dye muscle tee, but at least the colors are a little nicer.

Reverser isn't too different, aside from the lack of hood and no lipstick. Mostly cause I spent 20 minutes struggling to draw his mouth. But I hope you can forgive me because I did give Rooster Bold lipstick instead!

I like rooster bolds design- in theory? I think it looks kind of off in cannon. Definitely my favorite design from Penalteam.

Oh and uh, the season 6 design, we've only seen him in the intro, but why is Rooster Bold 80% blue now?? When Oriko is explicitly orange?? Love the shoes though.

[Edit:]

I have also decided to change the Rooster Miraculous itself some. Now the power is called Chicken Scratch, and the function is that a user writes down a rule. But everyone must be effected by it, not just the attacker.

So theoretically, RB could write "Everytime someone score a point everytime they have the ball." But not "I score everytime I have the ball." So he needs to be clever about it. In addition, the rules tend to have a monkeys paw effect, so the user needs to be willing to take the bad with the good.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

✨️ poc artists recommendations ✨️

Kendrick Lamar

Mitski

Babymetal

On a serious note i will never understand your anons. Like. EVEN setting aside actual music bloggers of color - RateYourMusic exists. Pitchfork exists. Can anyone here me. Hello. I think i need to take my mood stabilizers rn

god first off that list is so funny, you did it you listed every artist of color! nobody needs anything but that!

but in all seriousness it's like. okay. here's my Thots on this as a White Woman(TM). I think that for a lot of people (especially white people) who don't really engage with a lot of art by people of color (especially Black artists, we for real get so weird about Black people) but are aware of and uncomfortable with that gap there's like. there's like a lot of self-imposed pressure to find something by a POC and Really Like It as fast as possible so that they can validate to themselves and any imagined onlookers that they're Not Racist.

this is, obviously, a flagrant misunderstanding of what racism is and how it functions and frequently veers into tokenization Really Fast, not to mention it just needlessly complicates the process of diversifying a media diet because it makes people really scared of engaging with something that they might not like. because if you're trying to listen to, say, A Black Musician for the first time ever to demonstrate that you're not racist, but you picked somebody who's not really to your taste, then suddenly there's a sense that this reflects poorly on you. if all you've ever loved is, like, country/folky music and you try listening to Kendrick because he's somehow the only artist of color you know then yeah, you're probably going to have a bad time, because you should have been checking out Brittney Spencer and Joy Oladokun and Amythyst Kiah and Allison Russell and Kaia Kater, just to name a few. the problem isn't that you hate All Music By Black People Because You're Racist, it's that you listened to one(1) guy and you weren't into him so you got scared and gave up instead of hunting around for something you'd actually like.

which is why you get clowns like me getting anointed god's most special little white boy because I like rap and being treated like an authority on all music genres who can somehow direct all of my people to an artist that I magically know for sure they'll enjoy because they don't want to take the time to just do a google search and listen to some shit and see what sticks like they would with white artists.

[scribbledghost]

Inhuman!III Headcanons

Note: i figured I'd start this series off with our favorite Noodle Man (affectionate), because I don't see a lot of x reader stuff for him and that's a shame :(

General:

His primary inhuman ability is metamorphosis. He can change his physical appearance at will.

III tends to keep the same general features (two eyes, normal amount of limbs, etc), but his hair is constantly changing. He's also prone to adjusting the amount of teeth he has, as well as the sharpness of them.

Ever the prankster, he likes to startle the other vessels from time to time with this. More than once he's scared them by elongating his limbs or adding more appendages. The biggest mistake the vessels ever made was telling him about Slenderman.

He purrs! All of the vessels can, but III is the only one who really takes advantage of it. The others do too, but rarely.

Very fond of his outfits. Thankfully, he's constantly finding new clothing in his wardrobe, courtesy of Sleep.

Very chatty compared to the other vessels! While the rest sort of prefer the telepathic route for communication, III prefers to speak aloud.

Voted "most likely to get into trouble". The Shenanigans are endless tbh, and it's not unusual for him to end up in a situation where he has to call upon the manor itself or one of the others for help. (There's a reason most of the chandeliers in the manor have been removed).

Also the most likely to do stuff just to see if it hurts him. Think "I'm functionally immortal. Surely it won't hurt if this critter I found bites me". It does hurt. He does it again a week later.

Fluff:

That being said, he loves to make you laugh. Any time you're down and need cheering up, III is your man. There's not much he won't do to get at least a giggle out of you.

Turns into a bit of a boa constrictor when you cuddle. The man is all limbs even without altering their length, so it's normal for the two of you to take the phrase "getting tangled up" very literally.

So. Much. Energy. Seriously, he's always pulling you here and there to join him on adventures, babbling away the whole time as he tells you stories or just talks to you.

In the same vein, he's very prone to just. Blurting out his feelings about you. The rest of the vessels are more reserved, some only saying such things through your mental connection, but III has no trouble telling you out loud how much he cares about you.

III really, really likes to make you things as gifts. Granted, sometimes they can be a bit... eccentric (necklace pendant made out of one of his own teeth, for example), but they really do come from a place of love.

Very fond of just... running his hands over you. Whether it be lightly tracing your shoulder, keeping a hand at your back, or just slinging an arm around your shoulders, III is a very affectionate vessel.

Loves wearing matching things!! Get checkered socks to match his and he's over the moon. Even if it's something as simple as wearing matching colors, he just likes being able to see he's tied to you in some way, shape, or form.

Breaks out the purring often, especially when you let him rest his head on your chest. He'll just plop down atop you and start rumbling. He'll gladly lay there for hours if you'll let him - even going so far as to get into some slight trouble for missing practice/rehearsals.

Smut (under the cut):

Remember how I said he can change his body at will? I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. He'll adjust the size of his cock to be exactly what you want. Too big? He'll tone it down. Need more? Say less. (He's also been known to uh. "Create" more of them, should you ask. But you didn't hear that from me).

Likes to nip and bite at you. It's his most common form of foreplay; just nibbling at your pulse point or gently grabbing your shoulder with his mouth. It's never hard enough to break the skin or make you bleed, it's just a habit he's developed.

Every once in a while, when he's feeling particularly needy, he'll conjure up multiple arms. Just to be able to feel you under as many of his hands as possible. Also comes in handy (no pun intended) considering he can grope you everywhere at the same time. He doesn't have to choose.

Likes to tease, in any way imaginable. With his words, his touch, anything. If he doesn't have you begging for more at some point, then he hasn't done his job.

Whether he is soft or rough is really a coin toss. Some times he can be so gentle it almost hurts, murmuring quiet words of praise and littering your skin with kisses. Other times he can't contain himself and needs to simply have you in any way you'll let him. What causes the flip is really anyone's guess.

Has a wide submissive streak. More than once you've been able to pin him beneath you as you straddle his hips, only for him to look up at you with eyes as wide as his grin. He'll gladly let you take control whenever you want.

I'm sure this comes as no surprise, but the man is an expert at dirty talk. Any kind of talk you want, he's got it at the ready for you. Most of the time it's a mix between praise and playful condescension.

I've mentioned it briefly elsewhere, but III loves to come on you. Anywhere you'll let him, he doesn't care, as long as he can see it trailing down your skin. Your stomach or back are his usual go-to locations, however.

[weirdmagideon]

Gideon headcanons because we need more of them I think‼️

-Born on July 9th, 2002 (this kid is older than me wtf)

-Rainbow baby, idk why but it just makes sense to me.

-He has BPD and OCD because I say so (l'm projecting)

-He becomes a correctional psychologist when he's older. He's been in the prison system and he's seen what it does to other people, he genuinely wants to help and he's better at listening to people when he's older.

-Volunteers at an animal shelter post weirdmageddon.

-Tries to reconnect with his parents post weirdmageddon. He eventually connects really well with his mom, but his relationship with his dad is always a bit weird and awkward.

-Briefly thought about becoming a vampire so he doesn't have to grow out of the cute kid thing, decided against it because the town was dumb, but not that dumb. 

-His dad tried to fix his corrupting soul/anger issues using the memory gun, and it backfired horribly by blocking out most of his memories with his parents.  (Also I should note that he does have a memory tube thing in the graphic novel and I think more people should know about it)

-In a pokemon au he would have a Woobat fight me. (Pale blue, psychic, no neck, ect)

-Befriends Pacifica post weirdmageddon. It kinda starts out as them hanging out together because nobody else will, but they end up having a genuine connection.

-He helps his ex convict friends with functioning in the real world after weirdmageddon, as much as he can anyways.

-Has minor identity crisis after weirdmageddon and during his "regular kid phase" he wants to be normal but normal doesn't really fit him.

-Eventually adopts the biker aesthetic from the ex-convicts after a while too. Ghost eyes gives him his old blue headband from prison. He kinda plays into the whole "outcast" thing.

-I also just like the idea of cute aesthetic -> actually evil and punk aesthetic -> chill guy that's trying to be better if that makes sense lmao.

-Ghost eyes just kinda lives with him now. He's allowed to adopt a grown ass man, as a treat.

-Some of the ex-convicts end up working at Bud's auto mart. And fix up the cars after they kinda took over during weirdmageddon.

-Ghost eyes and Gideon's parents have a weird relationship at first, but they eventually kinda co-parent him together. (Pic related)

-His "love" for Mabel was actually just him getting super attached to his first friend that treated him like a person and was around his age and thinking “she's a girl and I like her therefore we need to date each other”

-Loves rodents and small birds :)

-He also really likes to read. He and Dipper like the same books, but they have wildly different takes that they will fight each other over.

-Speaking of Dipper he kinda becomes a mentor/ older sibling figure to him. Dipper finds himself seeing himself in Gideon and giving him advice and stuff, and Gideon ends up genuinely listening to him.

-They share a lot of interests surprisingly! Mysteries, the secrets of Gravity Falls, books that are probably meant for older readers, ect. They don't agree on much though. (Dipper and Gideon parallels make me go insane btw)

-He and Pacifica are able to be friends with Mabel and her group of friends after a while. Gideon feels more comfortable in girl friend groups, he feels like he's able to be himself more.

-After a while Mrs Gleeful starts to regain her memories, and she starts to get overwhelmed. Her and Gideon stay at the mystery shack for a bit to sort out their feelings about both her and Bud being in a brainwash cult and the fact that Gideon doesn't remember a lot of his childhood because of it. (Also Mrs Gleeful and Melody should be friends I think. Also Gideon and Soos should also be friends. Everyone should be friends. Friendship is magic guys.) 

-He had his mom's hair color before the amulet changed it. I'm a brown haired Gideon truther sorry but not really. 

-His hair goes back to normal sorta?? Some parts are permanently white. He might start dying his hair one color so it doesn't stand out as much.

-His hair was that long because he physically couldn't cut it due to the effects of the amulet. (This is the most oddly specific curse ever who tf made this amulet)

-He is able to cut his hair eventually, but he doesn't realize it on his own. A monster tries to attack him but it gets his hair instead, giving him the first haircut he's had in years lmao.

-He doesn't know that Ford is the author. He actively avoids him because he associates his face with being tortured for like. Two days straight.

-He eventually finds out after a while and he's...Very conflicted. On one hand he looked up to this guy and even sorta admired him, but over time he started to blame "whoever's bright idea it was to hide a book of cursed spells near a kindergarten”

-Ford tried to apologize to him and it's extremely awkward because 1. Ford is the most autistic man alive and 2. Gideon tried to kill his grandkids because of the amulets' influence. Everyone involved feels really guilty, confused and terrible.

-Gideon gets over it eventually though. It takes the help of Ford explaining why he did what he did (aka the evil demon ex making him not think clearly) and a therapist, but he slowly gets better.

-The amulet was it's own entity that talked to him, Gideon considered it a friend even. After he loses it, when he's almost asleep, he can hear it whispering to him. Whispering how It misses him so much, and he needs to take revenge on those that wronged the both of them.

-The whispers slowly get fainter in prison, and completely stop post weirdmageddon.

-Gideon gets a FUCKING THERAPIST‼️

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 4

Part 3

"And you said yes?", Robin said, her voice impressively even.

"I did", Steve said, phone on speaker as he got ready for work. "I figure, if he's going to have a sugar baby, might as well be me, right? I think this is the universe giving me a break."

"Okay, yeah, sure, until he takes you out and gets you involved in like drugs or something, or takes his anger out on you when he doesn't win a Grammy or something. Or worse, you're a mistress and his actual spouse comes for revenge. OR you actually get really involved with him, help him get even more famous, have very talented children, but then his drug running gets you arrested and when you get out of jail he acts like he doesn't know you and estranges your children!"

Steve paused in putting on his shoes, grinning. "You've been watching Empire."

"Terrence did Taraji so dirty Steve."

"But not enough to learn their characters' names. I need you to catch up so we can watch season 2 together." It hurt being away from her. Before, whenever one of them started obsessing over a show, they could literally sit down and put aside one of their days off to binge a bunch of episodes.

"Sorry, let's get back to you dating a rockstar? Steve? Steve."

"We're not dating. He's just gonna text me whenever he wants to fuck. That's it. He might buy me something nice from time to time." Steve grabbed his keys and went out the door, nearly stepping on something left on the floor in front of it.

"Okay, yeah, sure, but isn't this the reason you cut your parents out? Did they want this exact life for you?", Robin asked.

"No, this is totally different. For one thing, Eddie doesn't want commitment. He doesn't want kids out of me. And even if I attend events with him, I'm just arm candy, but you know, in a good way."

"There's a bad way to be arm candy?"

Steve thought back to the functions he had to go to when still under his parents' thumb. There was definitely a bad way to hang off someone's arm like a decoration. He looked to the little box in his hand. No note, but it had clearly been placed in front of his apartment.

He opened it and found an expensive looking watching inside. The face was a cool navy blue color. He didn't need a card to know who it was from.

"Eddie's different from the guys my parents wanted", Steve said. "And when it's over, I'll at least have something to show for it."

"Just don't be stupid about this, dingus. If this goes sideways, I won't be close by to save your ass."

"Noted", Steve said as he closed the box and continued on his way to work.

-------------------

The next time Eddie texted him, it was to go to lunch. It was a more casual setting than before, but still a pretty high end sushi restaurant.

"I must admit, I called you here under false pretenses, Steve", Eddie said as they sat in a booth.

Steve smiled at his serious tone. "I gathered, given our whole arrangement." Being taken out somewhere was typically a prelude for something intimate later, even in a normal relationship. When Eddie asked him out, Steve full expected sex. He wasn't complaining, last time had been very nice. He wondered how long until Eddie sent a simple 'u up?' booty call.

"I have to attend some fancy lunch meeting in a couple days and they're taking us to a sushi place", Eddie started to explain. "Problem is, I hate sushi."

"...Did you...are we here to train your taste buds or something?", Steve asked.

Eddie nodded. "These are some pretty important people and I can't sit there and tell them my favorite fish is whatever they use for fish sticks."

"Pretty sure it's cod."

"What? Nevermind. I just need to get one of everything and force myself to acquire a taste for it", Eddie said, eyes narrowing in focus at the menu.

Steve smiled. It was cute how serious he was being. He thought back to previous gatherings when some alpha would try and force a drink on him or when the hors d'oeuvres being served weren't to his liking.

"Want some advice?", he offered, continuing when Eddie nodded with his big Bambi eyes, "Instead of forcing yourself to like something, you should be able to say why you don't like something."

"Sounds like complaining", Eddie said, putting the menu down.

"No, you sound cultured", Steve clarified. "Watch." He cleared his throat and held up his glass of water. "Thank you for offering, but I only drink water from a natural spring. I prefer Canadian or Icelandic, but I'll take Swedish if you have it. Nothing from Switzerland though, it has this horrid mineral after taste to it." He set the glass down, adjusting under Eddie's wide eyed gaze.

"I don't know if that was bullshit or not but it sounded legit."

"It's legit what some girl said at a party once. I've never sourced where my water came from, but it works for just about anything. If you can articulate why you don't like something, it comes off better than just saying you don't like it."

"What kind of parties did you go to?", Eddie smirked.

Steve shrunk a little. "Just, you know, parties. So what's your experience with sushi?"

"Supermarket stuff", Eddie said simply.

"....You're kidding. How long have you been a rockstar?"

"I didn't realize this was an interview."

Steve tapped the table as he considered something. He looked to the other part of the restaurant. The bar where chefs were preparing the food. He almost asked Eddie a question directly, but remembered his role as a sugar baby. It wasn't his job to ask how much something would cost or even to ask Eddie to spend the money. All he needed to do was ask for what he wanted.

So he moved over to Eddie's side of the booth and leaned in close to his space. "I think you need something a little more...fresh."

"Fresh?", Eddie echoed as Steve led him to stand.

"And flavorful."

"Uh-huh."

"And satisfying", Steve whispered the last part before sitting down at the bar.

Eddie didn't know when Steve got him here but he did and he ordered something called 'omakase' and suddenly the chef's hands got really busy. He put a little filet of something on rice and then took a blow torch to it.

"I didn't know you could cook the fish..."

It was placed in front of him, but Eddie was still skeptical, which Steve noticed.

"'Omakase' means you're trusting the chef to pick out the best for you", he said. Then Steve took his chopsticks and picked up his piece. He ate it in one bite and Eddie subconsciously swallowed as he watched it pass his beautiful lips and then slide down that gorgeous throat. He wasn't even eating sexily, that was just how far gone he was.

Then Steve picked up Eddie's piece and held it to his lips. Eddie didn't even hesitate to open up and let it in. Tender rice, delicate fish, a total opposite to the sushi he'd experienced before. And it didn't stop there. The chef served cut after cut and each time, Steve asked him what he liked or didn't like.

Eddie was no slouch when it came to language. So he was able to come up with that on his own. He had just never considered respectfully refusing food and to do so with a haughty air deserving of a celebrity.

"Mmm, great choice on the shrimp", Eddie praised the chef. "Texture is superb. Sweet on the tongue too. Nice one, Tatsuro-san."

"Better than the crab?", Steve asked.

"I'm sorry, but nothin' beats an old fashioned crab boil for me. It's the only way I can eat crab."

"You've got opinions and you know how to voice them. I never imagined that be an issue for you, but I think you're ready now."

"Oh I've got opinions out the wazoo. I was just taught to never complain about food."

"Good boy", Tatsuro commented as he prepared something else.

"Very good", Steve agreed as an oyster on a half shell was put in front of him and Eddie.

Tatsuro winked at Eddie and he tried not to think about it as they finished up the course. He was absolutely not thinking about how oysters were an aphrodisiac, or how he'd had a great time, or how this felt like a date and not an outing with a hot piece. He wasn't doing a good job of being a sugar daddy, was he?

Time to fix that up right away. He paid for the meal, leaving a generous tip and led Steve out the restaurant, arm around his waist.

"You were extremely helpful. I can honestly say I like sushi now", he beamed. "And I think excellent service deserves a reward."

"You gonna give me a tip too?", Steve teased. And there was certainly a tip Eddie wanted to give him. Really the whole thing, but he had another idea in mind. And thankfully the appropriate place wasn't too far from here.

"You're buying me a suit?", Steve realized as they walked into a tailor's.

"I've got an eye for these kind of things. And you need something to match your new watch", Eddie said. He had a feeling Steve knew what to do, so he let him free.

Steve gave him a look and Eddie made a 'go on' motion. So Steve went, picking out different pieces for himself to assemble a new suit. There was a man awaiting any need of assistance and did so once Steve came out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirrors.

Eddie was sitting before him, watching as Steve appraised his reflection and the tailor took some of his measurements. The suit was in silver, with a black shirt underneath. He finished of the look with a dark blue handkerchief in the chest pocket. It already looked great. Eddie knew he'd be breathtaking once it was bespoke. He ached to put his hands on him but public decency kept him from doing so.

"You look good enough to show off", Eddie praised.

"You look like you have somewhere in mind", Steve said, looking at the other man through the mirror.

"There's a shindig goin' down that I wouldn't mind having a date to."

Eddie put in the order for the suit to be done the day before the event. "Let's head back to my place."

This time, as they traveled, Steve was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. His hand stroked Eddie's thigh, getting close to where he wanted but never actually touching.

"What're you thinking about?", he asked when he noticed how hard Eddie was holding the wheel.

"Oysters. And you." And how he really should get a personal driver on hand.

Steve laughed softly and let a finger do circles on his crotch. "I think our chef was trying to be subtle. But I know what oysters are supposed to do."

"Oh?"

"And I don't need any culinary suggestion to get me in the mood." Honestly, he kind of felt like blowing Eddie now and probably would have chanced it if it wasn't still light out. "Can you be a good boy like he said?"

Eddie nodded.

"Good. Because we still have to take the elevator."

They didn't get as far as they did the first time they took this elevator but Eddie did attach himself to Steve's back and kissed at his neck. Once again, Steve could see their reflection in the wall. Eddie's eyes roamed his torso, wanting to go further but holding back. He only got bold enough to pinch a nipple through his shirt when the doors opened to their floor.

Steve only moved because of Eddie's prompting, finding it very easy to melt in his hold. They got about two steps out of the elevator before Eddie pushed him against the wall, kissing his lips and running his hands up under his shirt.

"Saw you lookin' at yourself in the elevator. Pretty baby likes how he looks?"

Steve's only response was to moan against his lips and rub against his leg. The closest camera was all the way at the end of the hall, though they'd be screwed if anyone opened up their door. He knew he looked good and liked looking good. And he'd seen the way Eddie's eyes were glued to him at the tailor's. That was a good feeling too.

Eddie took out his key card to open up his door and pulled Steve inside. They migrated to the couch, just needing to get horizontal. Steve lied underneath, Eddie's leg in between his again and providing friction as he rutted up against it. It was so hot, Eddie wanted to watch him get off just like this. If he got his pants off he could watch that sweet pussy drag-

Steve nearly jolted off the couch when a loud guitar riff sounded from Eddie's back pocket.

"Shit", Eddie hissed when he realized who was calling. He could ignore it, but he knew they'd just keep it up until they got to his door.

"You need to take that?", Steve asked, voice a little breathless.

"Just-just gimme a moment, it'll be quick." Eddie answered and Steve could be patient. He just couldn't be good and patient. He rubbed at Eddie's arm before taking his hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and swirled his tongue around his index finger, keeping his gaze down at first and then looking up at Eddie.

The man above him was speechless, up until whoever he was talking to shouted at him from the other end and got his attention again. Well, half of it anyway. The other half was on Steve sucking down two of his fingers now. Eddie groaned both in frustration and the beautiful man under him. Steve was only half following the conversation but it sounded like their time together might be cut short.

Eddie hung up with a sigh. "Baby...baby I gotta go."

"Right now?", Steve asked.

"Yeah but...but if you could, I mean you can stay here until I get done. It'll be quick, just a couple of hours tops. And I can take you out to dinner too."

"You want me to stay?"

Eddie's hair shook as he nodded. He stood up, glad he had a bit of time to calm his boner down. Then he saw Steve lying there on the couch, lips kissed wet and certain his lips farther down were just as glistening. He leaned over to cup him between the legs, feeling the warmth through his clothes.

"Don't forget who this belongs to", he growled when Steve whimpered.

"Okay." And because this man was sent from above, he whispered, "Daddy."

Eddie couldn't hold back then, kissing him hard, tongue marking his insides while rubbing Steve through his pants. He unzipped them, thinking he could just get him off quick when the ringtone sounded again. Pulling back was the hardest thing to do.

"Keep it nice and warm for me", Eddie said before fully removing himself.

"Hurry back."

And then Steve was alone. In a rockstar's hotel room. He thought about what a sugar baby might do when their daddy went off for what must be a very important but impromptu meeting, especially when it stopped such a heated moment. It became very obvious what he needed to do and so he headed straight for the bedroom.

Part 5

I need you to know that when I first envisioned this fic it was literally just supposed to be smut with connecting scenes but it somehow turned to "don't catch feelings" and "oops we're accidentally dating" the fic so here we are.

Tag Team

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @marklee-blackmore @dragonmama76 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi

[jokingmisfit]

The Game (Whatever You Say, Master)

Dhawan!Master x Fem!Non-Human!Reader

Notes- Homies, it wasn't supposed to be this long I swear (it's a 6k fic)! This wasn't supposed to have a plot, but it grew its own. I just needed to write something where someone matches the Masters freak. I am so sorry, but at the same time I'm really not. Also, this is the story that made me find out the time lords bleed orange.

Warnings- SMUT, Reader kinda looks down on humans, Reader used to be human, Reader has incredibly heightened senses, Animalistic(kinda cat(ish)) Reader, Reader is a freak, brief mentions of experimentation, The Doctor and Reader don't have a great friendship, Neither of these bitches are stable, Mass Genocide(?), Hair pulling, Choking, (Sorta) Scent Kink, Spitting, Bondage, Master caught feelings real quick, Reader becomes submissive even quicker, Dhawan!Master is loud in bed (you can't convince me otherwise), Oral (M receiving), Facefucking(?), Very brief reference to the Cheetah Virus, P in V Penetration, Cumming Inside, No Protection (Don't Do That), Mentions of getting Reader a collar

Honestly, you didn't actually know why you were doing this. Maybe it was because you actually cared, or perhaps it was the Doctor's voice in the back of your head reminding you that your only job was to get the other three out even if it meant sacrificing yourself. The sacrificing part was left unsaid, but it was certainly implied, as you are the only other non-human in your little group of five. Don't you just love a good governmental experiment turned man-made monster?

The library was as grand as all the other old and decorative rooms in the castle. A large balcony, that you weren’t afraid to throw yourself off of if it came down to it. Bookshelves spanning all but one singular wall, painting the room with color steering away from the orangey glow the sunset was causing. Velvet covered furniture decorated the room and made it all the more functional. The marble floors are partially covered by the carpet laying out in front of the couch and under the small circular table.

You can hear the people outside, running and fighting and dying. You can hear their screams and you can hear the bombs going off. You can hear the crackle of the many fires burning throughout their village. This whole planet brought to complete chaos by one being. And it’s no surprise who. You can hear the time lord's footsteps leading down the hall. The angry beating of his feet on the marble. You can practically hear the smile in his voice as he calls down the way. Tempting and teasing like an overly proud predator.

You didn’t stray far from the entrance of the library tempting the man back. A call to follow you in. As soon as he starts to round the corner you bolt into the room. His cackle follows suit. You could hide or run further in, but instead you wait. Becking reality to make this all real.

You turn around as he arrives in the doorway. A proud smirk on his lips, and a satisfied smile on your own. His stance is as proud as his smirk; you notice the split second he takes to scan the room prepared completely for an ambush.

“You know I always loved a good game of cat and mouse, but I didn’t expect you to actually bite.” You laugh, mocking him.

“I’d tread carefully, girl. You’re far more breakable than you realize.”

A glare passes in your eyes. Did he really think you were just another wayward human? How stupid could he be? Wasn’t he supposed to be the smart one? How rude. Maybe you were human before, but not now. Now, you were better than a human; incredibly more animalistic but still better.

“Keep deluding yourself, maybe you’ll actually get somewhere with it.” 

“Oh,” The Master laughs. “I am going to enjoy killing you.”

“You can try.” You challenge, dangerously.

“Believe me, Pet,” He spit the last word out like it was poison. “I’m going to kill you and every other bug that gets in my way. I’m going to burn all of this to the ground, blow up every village and every castle on this pathetic little planet, and the Doctor won’t be able to stop me. Not this time”

You scoff. "Whatever you say, Master." You draw out his title dripping sarcasm off of every syllable. 

But he was right. That’s why you were barred up in this room with him. Strategically trapped, self sacrificing, all in the hopes that the Doctor could get all the people she possibly could off the planet. Hoping that Three Stooges listened to your commands for once and went back to the TARDIS where the Doctor could drag them off to safety.

"Oh, whatever I say now?" He was taunting you, a poor attempt at playing with his food. He had you in a corner and you both knew it. It was quite interesting to you, however, how the Master speaks every word with a flourish of bravado.

Fuck it, you can hear them, they still need a distraction. "Anything. You. Say." You push back, giving him a proper challenge. 

His eyes bored into yours without showing a hint of emotion peaking through. Your own held his easily with entertainment pouring into your stare. He was waiting for you to crumble, to give up the fight, beg and plead for your life, but you weren't one of the Doctor's pretty little humans, fragile and precious. You were made of chemicals and horrible(hilarious) trauma, and for you the game was only just starting. Truly, you wanted to see how far you could push him too. 

Both of your eyes bled with daring. Both of your minds rang out the same question, "how far?".

He smiles only for a singular moment before he continues his neutral facade. "Kneel."

A simple command that's made hundreds if not billions crumble at his feet; a command he’s made a million times before you. You’d be lying if you said your heart rate didn’t pick up.

A smirk plays on your lips. "You see," you say, stepping forward. "I am quite literally a man-made abomination, and games like this are exactly what I live for." You drop to your knees much closer to him than where you stood before, but still slightly out of reach. Your eyes remaining locked on his as you drop.

“Well isn’t this fun?” He laughs again. Your smile never drops.

“It is.”

He claps his hands in excitement. “So agreeable to… Maybe you really are a pet.”

“Careful,” You say as he steps closer. “I bite.”

The Master's hand slides into your hair. A purr almost escapes your chest as his fingers scrap against your scalp. It only lasts a second before he’s pulling it roughly, forcing you to crane your neck to look at his face as he leans over you.

He licks his lips. “So do I.” He grins, all teeth, threatening. “Now… Where to start? Ah! Here's a good one.” His hand tightens into an even tighter pull and you almost cry out. “Tell me. Where is the Doctor?”

You roll your eyes. Of course that’s what he wants. Obsessive much. A sigh leaves your lips deflating at your disappointment of where he’s taken the game.

“I have no idea.”

If even possible he pulls more on your hair; you think if he pulled anymore he’d rip it out. “And here I thought you said anything.”

Despite him growling in your face anger and teeth bared on display, you keep your composer. “I’m not lying… Well, maybe I have an idea, but truthfully I have no actual clue where exactly they are.” You continue breath heavy as you inhale his air.

“And where do you think they could be?”

An evil smile crosses your face as you hear a very distant humming of the TARDIS as it dematerializes. “Leaving.”

Rage passes on his face. “What do you mean leaving?” The Master practically screams in your face. 

He stomps around the room and towards the balcony. You remain kneeling, watching with utter amusement. 

He overlooks the village.The chaos significantly lessened as there is barely a person left to annihilate. She couldn’t save all of them. The Doctor cleared out the planet the best she could, but there were stubborn people and people who hid; none worth sacrificing billions of others for. Though, you replay for a moment the sound of Yaz and Graham pulling the Doctor away, claiming she did the best she could.

You can hear the thunder of his twin hearts pounding faster and harder in his chest. Anger overflowing his senses.

“I did say it was a game.”

Perhaps you were too bold, but you couldn’t help how wide you smiled at your success. You didn’t really care all that much about the people, but it was fun to play hero. Even more fun to piss off someone who likes to play God.

He’s back over, crowding and grabbing you within a second. Eyes ablaze with furry, but there’s something lingering underneath hiding within the madness, and you desperately wanted to pull it out. His hands shake as he grips your hair again and wraps his other around your throat.

Your breath comes out in puffs as he chokes you ever so slightly. Not once do you lose your grin. Then he smiles back. A manic laughter pouring from his mouth as he jerks you forward while almost collapsing to the ground with you.

“She left you here!”

You still don’t change your demeanor; you simply humm in response. A confirmation of what you both already know. 

Deep down you know you should be bothered. It’s likely the reason he pointed it out so joyfully. The Master thought the revelation would hurt you, but this was the plan all along. You were durable. You could handle yourself. When push comes to shove, both you and the Doctor know you weren’t as important as the others. There was no real connection between you, and your skills were entirely replaceable.

His laughter ends abruptly. He narrows his eyes at you in a sudden glare. “That doesn’t bother you at all.” It wasn’t a question, he was just pointing out a simple fact.

Finally his hands soften. The Master is close to kneeling on the ground with you, but his knees hover just above the ground leaving him in more of a crouch. He unwraps his hand from your neck. Eyes wide as he points slightly at you and slightly towards the sky.

“You are an interesting little creature, aren’t you?”

His face is once again unreadable as he stares at you. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Why was he just staring? Why did he stop trying to hurt you? Curiosity overtakes you; you focus as much as you can on hearing those thoughts.

It brings on a headache as you weave through the walls and pull at the bars for just a peek inside. It was like the two of you were having a staring contest. You wonder if he was trying to get into your head too. You’ll admit, you’ve built up some pretty heavy barriers yourself.

When you finally do find a crack your head is filled with a beating. A rhythmic beating of drums filling you up. Your eyes widen, but your smile remains. It was no wonder he was so unhinged. This was horrid, and you knew that even if you were directly touching it your own mind made it quieter to protect you, even then it was still too loud.

You let go of your hold, laughing as the sound leaves you alone. You can feel him grab at your hair just a bit tighter as your head drops to look down. You keep laughing just for a second more.

“God, it’s no wonder your fucking nuts.” It comes out in breathy giggles.

He starts to scowl. “Careful, you aren’t special enough for me not to snap your neck.”

“It’s loud. Isn’t it?”

He looks unnerved for a second. Like he wasn’t sure, but he could guess what you were referring to.

“I used to have something like that.” You confess easily. “Wasn’t as rhythmic though. More… melodic. A humming rather than a beating. Mine was louder, but I’m assuming yours is louder in your head than it was in mine.”

The Master starts to shake again. Indignation and terror painting his face. Then in an instant it all drops. He looks like a lost puppy, a scared boy only for a minute. As soon as it started it ended and his face was completely neutral. Analyzing, trying to tear you apart in his mind, dissecting, and trying to understand every facet of your being.

“You heard the drums?” 

“That wasn’t a demand.”

“Answer the damn question!” He says pulling your faces even closer together.

“For a second.” You answer quietly, you were just now realizing this was more of a sensitive subject than you initially thought. “You don’t have enough cracks to get any other view. Then again, I know it isn’t easy thinking of much else when your own thoughts are being drowned out by something beyond you.”

He laughs again. It sounds pained. Then the Master stands. Your eyes follow his face upwards. You’re still kneeling there as you were before, but your grin is gone, replaced by your own neutral look. Once more you couldn’t read his face, couldn’t decode his eyes.

“I’m debating on keeping you…” The Master confesses. “Alive.” He adds on like he had forgotten to before.

You tilt your head, he was such an odd man.

“Tell me, you’re not human?”

“Not anymore.” Your voice comes out sweeter than you thought it would. Your interest in the game regrowing.

“Tell me, then, what are you?” His eyebrows raise. 

He’s so animated, you think.

“I have no idea.”

The Master hums in thought. He starts to pace in front of you; not angrily, just a casual back and forth as he seems to debate his next move.

“Call me by my name.” He commands settling in front of you again.

Excitement lights in your eyes. He really is such an odd man. “Master.”

“Again.”

“Master.”

He laughs somehow lightly and darkly. “One more time, Love.” He scrunches his nose as he speaks.

“Master.”

He’s staring down at you with a look you don’t quite understand. A double meaning is at play here and you simply weren’t getting it.

The time lord looks around the room. Another moment he’s taking to debate. Looking back down at you he unbuttons his suit jacket. He breathes a heavy breath out his nose as he glares down at you. You can’t tell if he’s actually angry or not.

He unbuckles his belt, pulling it out of its loops. “Put your hands behind your back.”

“Adding on rules?” You playfully ask.

“Many.” He whispers.

The Masters hands are warm against your cold ones. Slightly comforting. The leather of his belt encircles your wrists and he pulls it tightly entrapping your arms behind you.

He rounds you again and huffs out another laugh, hand covering his mouth just for a second.

“Tell me. Are you a good pet?”

You giggle. “Define good.”

“I thought I was making the demands.” He looks like he’s about to pounce on you as he steps forward.

You debated for a moment. Eyebrows furrowing as you thought. What did he want? You had to figure it out. You’ve never been good at losing. He’s standing incredibly close and if you stopped looking at him to look straight forward you’d be face to, well, groin. Which was bulking out quite a bit, but you weren’t going to focus on that. Even if you could smell the precum leaking out. Even if you could smell the Masters arousal. You weren’t going to think about it. You were almost certain you’ve found out that double meaning.

“Please?” You stare up, hoping this is what he wanted.

His expression doesn’t change, if anything it solidifies. Especially in his eyes. His hand moves back to your hair. He pets it down like he’s proud of you. You almost purr again from the attention. Also his overwhelming scent, but you’re still trying to ignore that.

The Master lets out a shaky breath. “A good pet does everything she's told. She lets her master do whatever he pleases. Begs when told so.” He lists with a smile. “Close your eyes.”

Easily you allow them to slip shut. You’re not losing this game.

“Open your mouth.”

And you do.

His hand tips your face up more. You hear the gathering of spit in his mouth then you taste it on your tongue. It filled you with heat and disgust. Clenching around nothing and attempting not to shiver, you don’t move an inch.

“Swallow it.” He commands with a heavy voice.

You swallow his spit as graciously as you could. Even as you follow his directions, you have to question, when the hell did the game switch to this?

“Show me.”

You open your mouth again, making a show of sticking your tongue out. His hand stops petting your hair, and you almost whine at the loss. 

The Master takes a single step back. “Keep your eyes closed.”

You listen closely to the sound of him fiddling with a button and a zipper, the sound of clothes rustling. Your breath gets slightly caught in your throat as the overwhelming scent of heat and obvious arousal becomes the only thing you can smell. You may have shifted your thighs together as best you could, but you’ll never admit that.

Your eyes remain closed and your tongue is still hanging out with saliva starting to drip down it as you salivate at the smell of him.

“Be a good pet,” He says with his hand goes back into your hair, simply resting on your head. “Open your eyes. Beg your master to let you taste him.”

Though you didn’t want to look away from those hungry eyes, you couldn’t help but glance at the large member sitting right in front of your mouth. You could almost taste it already, salty and heavy on your tongue.

Finally you allow the whine to roll up your throat and you hear him making the quietest groan. “Please…” The air feels far too thick. You aren’t sure you’ve ever played a game like this before. “Please, Master. Please let- please I wanna taste you…” You didn’t have to, but you couldn’t help but tack on in a whisper. “You smell like you taste good.”

“Well then. Go ahead.” He grins down at you.

You lean in as his hand pushes your head towards his cock. It hits your tongue and you can’t stop yourself from swiping a lick across the slit. You were right it was salty, you were also right when you thought he would taste good cause he does. Even though your eyes weren’t locked on his, he was still staring down at you. You take the tip into your mouth, completely swirling your tongue around it, kind of like you were tasting a new candy. Fuck, he tasted better than candy. 

“Don’t try to tease, Dear.”

You suck off with a pop. “ ‘M not.” You claim simply before going back to licking him, a bit glad he seemed to find it humorous.

You didn’t think you were teasing, just trying to enjoy this new game. You sink as far as you can. You choke a bit trying to fit him into your mouth. He groans above you, and your eyes shoot up to his face. You try to push deeper when you see the pleasure on his face. It was entertaining. You pull back sucking as you do so. It wouldn’t be so difficult if you could use your hands. You try to get him deeper this time and when you fail to do so he grips your hair and pushes himself deeper into you. You choke around him and try your best to swirl and suck.

“That’s it pet.” He rasps out far too loudly. 

The Masters cock is heavy and hot in your mouth. He’s thick and long and it makes your jaw hurt. Whenever you pull back he pushes back in. You can barely catch your breath and the smell of his skin is invading your nose while his pubic hair itches it. You don’t think you’ve ever been turned on this much before. He was everywhere and the only thing you could truly think of.

“Such a good girl.” He moans

The push and pull causes drool to slide down your chin dripping onto your chest. His groans make it hard to care about the pain growing at the base of your skull as he pulls at your hair. You can feel the Masters muscles tighten before he stops giving you any control to please him.

“Going to ravish you after this.” He promises breathlessly.

His hips thrust to meet your face while simultaneously he pulls your head forward to meet the pace. You moan around him as more precum leaks out into the back of your throat and onto your tongue. It’s painful and you love it. Tears start dropping out of your eyes at the strain. Your brain was shutting down, but at the same time felt ignited with electricity.

The Master whispers words in a language you’ve never heard. You assume it’s either praise or swearing. He’s stiff as his thrusts get even more aggressive and sloppy.

Moans slip past his lips as he finally buries into the back of your throat, choking you harder as white liquid burns its way down your throat. You try your best to swallow, but you sputter a few times before getting it all down. You can hear his deep, rapid breathing. Through blurry eyes you can see his head is tilted up towards the roof.

He pulls out of your mouth and you take a deep breath in. Despite the drool and tears covering your face you do your best to stay calm and neutral. Looking back up at him for more demands. God, if it was possible you’d be dripping onto the floor right now. You really hope the game isn't over yet. You almost thought it was as he shoved himself back into his pants.

Finally he looks back down at you. He’s smiling like a maniac. “You did,” He takes a moment to let out a breathy laugh. “A wonderful job, Pet.”

You straightened up slightly at the praise, but gave no other reaction.

“Tell me. Would you like to be rewarded?”

His eyes are alight with something new. You hesitate. Was this a test?

For the first time since the game began you’re the one to turn your eyes away. Glancing at the floor with a warm, pink face.

“Yes… Please.”

“Oh~” The Master laughs again. “Where did that confidence go?”

He grabs your face and when you meet his eyes again you’re able to pinpoint the look in his eyes. Fascination.

“Come here, little animal. You deserve a reward.” 

He pulls you up and over to the couch. Before pushing you down, he tears the straps of your dress before unzipping the back and pulling it off of you. While he does he doesn’t once stop looking at your face, well until the dress falls to the floor then he scales his eyes over your body for just a moment. A satisfied smile plays on his lips. The velvet is soft and simultaneously scratchy on your skin.

The Master forces you down onto the cushions, pressing your back into the red seating. He stands over you for a minute longer, he stares down at you, at your body. In a swift motion he rips your panties away. Senses overwhelmed and losing the ability to keep composure, you yelp with surprise at the action. He laughs lightly. His hand runs over your stomach and over your chest before he moves to hover above you.

“I must admit. You are a pretty thing.”

His legs trap yours in between. He isn’t fully on the couch, it’s far too small, instead he bends one leg on the inside and keeps the other planted on the floor. Your head is slightly propped up by the pillows right by the arm rest. Your arms strain and press painfully into your back.

Instantly his hands move around you. They touch and squeeze and caress every inch in their wake. He takes handfuls of your tits and squeezes them roughly causing another squeak to escape your mouth. 

“So sweet suddenly… Where did that little challenger go?”

Where did your confidence go? You are putty in his hands and you have no idea why. No clue other than he feels good.

He pinches your nipple. “I want an answer, love.”

“I don’t know…” He’s barely touched you and you’re already panting. 

He laughs. “You don’t know.” The Master mocks you.

“You just feel so good…” You whisper trying to hide your face in the backing of the couch.

His hand forces your face out of the cushions, and before you can even blink his lips are on yours. You thought he tasted good before, but having his tongue dominating and sliding over yours you think you might cum from just the taste. You can feel him still smiling through it. The curve of his lips every time he pulls back just to dive in again. His hands are everywhere. He squeezes your hips and pinches your nipples. He squeezes one of your thighs in his hand only to move away from you completely.

Straightening up he stares down at you.

“Sit up.”

He pulls you the rest of the way when you struggle. Your face is left buried in his chest as he pushes against you to undo his belt from your wrists. He still smells so good. When he pulls away he brings your hands to the front with him.

“Well, go on, Darling. Undress me.”

A smile pulls at your lips and you start with his tie. You all but throw the fabric to the floor once it’s off his neck. You push off his jacket and toss it with the tie on the carpet. The buttons of his vest come undone easily, but he starts roaming his hands over you again. Pinching and squeezing and touching. It makes your hands shake as you finally get the final button. He helps you shrug off the vest and you throw it with the rest, the pile of purple slowly growing on the floor. You’ll admit you are starting to lose patience. How many layers does he have to wear? You’re close to tearing his shirt off completely. He once again laughs at you, but concedes and finishes the buttons, tossing the shirt over.

The second you could see the skin of his chest, of his neck you wanted to bite. A primal part of you screaming to mark him as much as you possibly could. Without waiting for another command you throw yourself forward, latching your lips onto his. Your hands tangle into his hair, a purr coming from your chest with how soft it is. His hand finds its way back to your throat and he pins you back down.

The Master's beaming. “Did you just purr?”

“I’m sorry…” You cast your eyes away.

He just continues to snicker. As he does he plants open mouthed kisses onto your neck and chest. Your arms lay uselessly against his chest as he lavishes you with attention. You realize how little control you really do have when you bite your lip and a fang pierces through. That wasn’t the only little detail, no, your nails sharpened. A normally alarming show of your lack of humanity. He won’t mind, right?

Your claw-like nails scrape across the Masters chest, lines of pink following suit. A hissing whine crawls up and out of your lungs when he gently bites down on your tit. Your interest is dying down and you try to pull him back to your mouth. Was he ever going to actually touch you?

“You really aren’t human.” 

You stare wide eyed as he prys your mouth open and runs his thumb over your bottom two fangs.

“What is a violent little thing like you doing traveling with the doctor?” He questions quietly. His hands move to inspect your nails.

“Can’t go back to Earth.”

Steering away from the uncomfortable thoughts, you pull his hand towards your face. You kiss his hand but focus more on nipping and kissing his wrist. His scent strong and his pulse beating rhythmically against your lips.

“Hmmm. Fascinating little pet.”

“Master…” You draw out. “Please.”

“Please, what?” He questions, squeezing your neck for a second.

Fuck. What did he want you to say now? All you can think is that you need him. Is that what he wanted?

“Please, Master… I need you.” You hesitate as he squeezes a bit tighter. “Need you in me…” You whine and moan while he chokes you more and more.

A white light turns black and then you can breathe again. You can’t help but moan again as you intake air.

“Such a good pet… So perfect for her Master.”

Finally, finally, his hand snakes between your legs. You’re almost certain you’ve ruined this couch already.

“This is why we wait, Darling, all I have to do is push into you now. No need for stretching you out, you’re already so wet it’ll barely hurt.” He informs you much too proudly.

Even as he undoes his pants for a second time. Once again he didn’t shed them completely, only pulling them down enough to free his cock. He slides his member up and down your folds and you buck your hips forward with a whine.

“Be patient.” He orders. His hand taking your breath away again. “You’ve done so well… Don’t start being a brat now.”

As he allows you air again he starts pushing in. You stiffen at the feeling of being stretched. A hiss slipping out, your hands gripping his shoulders causing little beads of orange to grow. He keeps pushing in, a groan slipping from his own mouth. You're both panting when he bottoms out. His eyes are filled with a terrifying look of admiration. A whimper leaves your mouth when he leans it. He only lays some of his weight on top of you. A purr rumbles from him and you almost jump out of your skin. It only lasts for what feels like a moment, but it has to be much longer than that. The action calms you down completely and you melt into the time lord's arms.

He hums again as he rolls his hips into you. You breathe out a soft gasp from the action. Taking that as initiative the Master pulls almost completely out of you before slowly pushing back in. As nice as it felt you needed more. So much desperation built up you needed release. You buck your hips forward in encouragement. Head falling back when he starts getting faster.

The Master growls above you. “Shouldn’t have waited… Love, you feel divine.”

You whine at the praise, trying your best to match his pace. His hand still rests heavily on your throat, and though it doesn’t squeeze it presses you down forcefully into the seating. You both pant and heave in between sloppy kisses. Your hands have moved from his shoulders to his back and draw thick orangey lines across it. Your nails dig in and cause blood to drip down. 

“Since you seem to…  like making me bleed…” He stops to whisper something in that language again. “I see it’s only fair if… I return the favor.”

While one hand holds your thigh, lifting your leg to get a better angle, his other hand leaves your throat to wrap into your hair pulling until your neck is bent and barred to the man. His lips suck and kiss the skin before he bites down violently. You scream out in pleasure at the feeling. You honestly believe it was the reason you started to feel the tightening of the coil in your stomach.

You moan out and pleas fall from your lips like a prayer. He’s pushing into you deeply and you can feel every curve and line of his member inside of you. His lips don’t leave your neck once licking and biting and kissing.

“Master, Master, Master!” Falls from your lips like a mantra. Like his name is the only word you know.

He doesn’t need to tell you to cum, because he moves his hand down from your thigh to rub at your clit. You try to buck at his pace but the Master’s thrusts are sporadic and timed perfectly at the same time and you can’t keep up. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head and you think you might be drooling. Noises fall from your mouth without care.

Your breath catches as that coil inside you starts to fracture. Pulling and pulling with little tears until it snaps and you're screaming out like you’re being killed with pleasure. It doesn’t take long for the Master to follow, still the overstimulation brought you close to your peak for a second time already. His thrusts start to slow and stutter. He burrows deep inside and you croon as you cum again at the feeling of hot liquid filling you up.

Exhaustion fills your body and you go completely limp under him. Your arms falling uselessly. You’ve never been so tired after only one round before. The Master rests with his head still in the crook of your neck. 

“Tell me…” He says panting. “Did you just cum a second time all because I came in you?”

It was a tease. A trick, and even though you were on the edge of passing out, you still realize this, but you answer anyway, voice hoarse and tired. “Yes.”

If he were a human he wouldn’t be able to hear it, but if you needed more proof he wasn’t outside of the orange blood and doubled heartbeats, you got it easily when he laughs one more time at your responses.

You drift in and out of consciousness as he gets off of you and moves around. You think he’s getting dressed, but honestly you didn’t really care what he was doing, the urge to rest far too strong. You hear yet another huff of laughter, and peel your eyes open. Standing in front of the balcony fully dressed and far too composed after what transpired stands the Master tall and proud.

As if he could sense your eyes watching he turns around and saunters back towards you. When his hand starts petting your hair you let a gentle purr pass through you. You wanted to go to sleep, but you suppose this wasn’t too bad. Your naked form draped across the couch, but with the heat of the planet and moment you were rather comfortable. The sun has set completely and it casts the room in a peaceful glow of the planet's three moons.

“I certainly can’t let you go now.” The Master whispers as if he wasn’t even talking to you.

You hum, opening your eyes to question him.

His eyes bore into your soul again. He drops his gaze back to your neck, and when he wraps his hand back around it you whine.

“Wouldn’t be much of a problem to get you fitted with a nice collar.”

You don’t get a chance to question that statement as he’s already moving again. He drapes his suit jacket across your body then picks you up gracefully. What did you weigh nothing to him? Even so, you let your head rest against his chest. The Master carries you through a few halls in the castle before coming to a stop at a grandfather clock. Simply using his foot to push open what you slowly understood was the door to his TARDIS. 

He sits you on a couch in the rather luxurious room attached to his console and starts to move towards the controls before stopping in his tracks. He quickly walks back over to you and you give him a sleepy tilt of your head as he puts his hand inside the suit pocket.

“Almost forgot.” He grins.

Turning a knob on the control panel and he then presses the button on the device he took out of his pocket. You couldn’t see his satisfied face when he heard you jump and squeak at the sudden sound of explosions outside the ship. You really should’ve kept in mind that he was going to do that.

“Don’t worry, Pet, you’re perfectly safe with me.” He reassures darkly.

What have you done?

[hiimdip]

It's my v-pet collection aaaaa

This is random but I posted this to my Bluesky and I want to yap about it in more detail so here I go.

This is my V-Pet collection so far. I started with the Digimon Pendulum 20th which is the grey/black one on the left. I grabbed it back in 2018 and those things command for outrages prices on the secondary market now. I only now started taking it semi seriously after the re-release of the Tamagotchi Connection since I grew up with that specific device.

I don't really have a goal in mind when it comes to collecting Tamagotchi and/or Digimon and may just grab the ones that are reasonably priced or catch my interest. I know Bandai is starting to do crossovers with the Digimon V-Pets but I can't bring myself to buy those especially when the general gameplay loop is the same as the DM-20 as far as I understand (please correct me if I'm wrong).

That being said, I've been gravitating towards Tamagotchi more due to cost, accessibility, colors, and general variety. I could turn this into a mini rant of sorts when comparing Digimon to Tamagotchi but that's not the vibe I wanna bring...not yet, anyway. I just like how different a lot of the Tamagotchi devices are and I'm so excited to grab a Paradise when those drop.

The Tamagotchi that I definitely want to grab when I have the money would be the 4u and Meets/On. I hear those devices can allow for custom content and that sounds like another fun project that I would love to do. Sadly, all those devices are pretty expensive on the secondary market and will cost close to or well above the triple digits. The Tamagotchi Smart (white box on the right) also allows for custom content but that requires additional hardware and software. I *may* try it out but I feel like that's more trouble than it's worth and I don't want to risk bricking it.

I don't know if I have a favorite V-Pet yet, but I've been gravitating towards the Tamagotchi Uni (purple/green one) and the Digimon X (blue and highlighter yellow). The Uni is relatively low maintenance and, admittedly, a bit too idle but I think that works for me as that's compatible with the life I'm living right now. For something more involved, I have been enjoying the Digimon X as well. The Digimon X is probably the one I would recommend people if they really want to get into V-Pets. While the roster is smaller than the other Digimon devices, the gameplay makes up for it and is like...the simplest little RPG that would can interact with throughout the day. Also, it has a pause function which the other V-Pets don't offer other than the Pendulum 20th.

The Tamagotchi Connection (the blue bubble one) has been a treat for me as that's the main one I played when I was a kid. I believe it was the same shell too so I got blasted by nostalgia when I turned it on. It's still a fun device but I think I need to grab another one so I can take advantage of the connectivity features. It's also missing the companion website from back in the day, TamaTown, so that's also a huge bummer.

The only other one of note is that I did a custom paint job for the Digimon 20th, the one on the far left. You can see the original colors at the top where the connection is. I found the orange to be really unappealing so I tried to make it a bit more...personal! I'm glad with how it turned out and it was surprisingly easy to take apart. This is probably my least favorite device out of the bunch but it's still fun! And also the only Digimon device here that you can get for, like, 10 bucks which is a steal.

I've been rambling too long about this but I wanted to get my thoughts out there because why the hell not? Like I said, I definitely want to grab more when I have the chance to. I'm still a newbie to this scene so I want to try and get into the nitty-gritty of these funny little creatures and see if there are any hidden gems amongst the crowd. I'll also probably figure out a better backdrop for it because my bookshelf is not the most appealing thing in the world. There are a lot of art books there that are way too big for it but one day I may ramble about that too.

if you read all of this, thank for taking the time to do so. I hope that you were at least as interested as I was when I rediscovered these nifty little devices.

[irisintheafterglow]

hello!! I hope you’re having a wonderful day/night ^^ I was wondering if u could write about bakugou x deaf reader? Like bakugou’s mom is HOH (which is why she’s always screaming :0) and bakugou knows sign because of that so he can communicate w deaf reader which surprises them!

simple complication, miscommunication (pro!bakugo x deaf!reader)

wc: 2k

cw/tags: established relationship, story of first meeting, strangers to lovers, implied fem!reader but no specific pronouns used (reader does use makeup), guy being an asshole but it's ok because kats scares him away

note: hi!!!! this is probably one of my favorite (if not THE favorite) prompts i've ever received. i'm actually majoring in deaf studies and focusing on increasing deaf/HOH rep in popular media. SO! i really love this prompt. i'm hearing, so i'm always still learning from the deaf and HOH community and acknowledge that i have a lot more to learn! because of this, this is mainly from kats' perspective because i don't think it's appropriate for me, as a hearing writer, to write from the perspective of a deaf reader. i talked way too much, sorry for the long note, and i hope you like this!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous to see his own mother. 

For the twentieth time, he confirmed that the windows were clear of smudges, the floorboards were as shiny as his Hero Award trophies on the living room shelves, and the wiring on the doorbell light was functioning correctly. Everything was as it should have been. Still, an anxious churning in his gut tells him something is wrong and he throws the front door open without thinking, determinedly jabbing his thumb against the button next to the doorknob. As usual, the bright orange light by the “FRONT DOOR” sign above the hallway flashes once. Everything was working as it should have been, so he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so nauseous. He tests the door light several more times and completely forgets that you were getting ready in the bathroom. 

When he spots you, you’re wearing his bathrobe and a makeup brush is tucked behind your ear. Your eyebrows furrow in concern of why the door light started flashing an hour early as you peek out from the hallway. He gives you an apologetic look, the corner of his mouth turning down in clear dissatisfaction. 

Sorry. Testing the door light. Your mouth opens into an oh of understanding and you nod, taking note of the subtle ways your boyfriend was trying to hide his nerves. His head appears around the corner of the door when you knock your knuckles against the wall to get his attention. 

You’re gonna break your jaw if you keep it clenched like that. His frown only deepens and he can tell you’re trying not to laugh from the way your eyes sparkle. It’s nice that you’re excited to see Mrs. Bakugo again, but he’s already anticipating the tidal wave of disapproving comments about the new place you recently moved into together. Shut the door, Katsuki. You’re letting the warm air out. He reluctantly obeys, following you down the hallway to the master bathroom and hopping up onto the counter to watch you finish your makeup. He’s careful to sit in a spot where you can sign without having to turn to face him; you catch his eye in the mirror’s reflection and put your brush down with a sigh, raising your eyebrows expectantly. Food done? You already know all his dishes have been done since this morning, but you’re still trying to help him take inventory of the things he doesn’t need to worry about anymore. 

Just need to throw some extra stuff on the salad. I’ll do it before we eat. You nod, returning to tapping a neutral color onto your eyelids when you catch his shoulders sag as he huffs. The makeup brush is carefully set down again and your eyebrows return to their expectant position. 

Wanna tell me why you look so… Your fingers flutter around absentmindedly for a few seconds while you look for the right word. Dejected? 

I’m not dejected. 

Your pouty lip says otherwise, you respond with a small smirk. I’ve loved you long enough to read your body language, no matter how stiff or angry. You scrunch your face up in mock wrath and that finally makes him break the tiniest ghost of a smile. Tell me, please, so I can help you. He shakes his head and you set your mouth in a thin line in light-hearted irritation.

You don’t need to help with anything. My mom can just be a lot sometimes. You know that. You shrug, fondly remembering the first time Katsuki brought you to meet his mother. To your boyfriend’s horror, his mother got so excited to sign that she knocked over her wine glass on three separate occasions. And she really likes you, so she might end up accidentally revealing some embarrassing shit about me. 

That’s what I’m hoping for. You shoot him a wink and Katsuki can feel his face become a little warmer. I’m praying that the woman brings baby photos. His face turns a deeper shade of red and you burst out laughing, your smile a sight that he’d never get tired of. Hey, you rap your knuckles against the marble again and force him to look at you. We’ve seen scarier stuff than your mom. 

At least in those situations, I can blast my way out. 

Sure. But, if you blast your way out of tonight, you’re paying for property repairs. He sticks his tongue out at you defiantly and you copy the gesture, smiling to yourself when he slides off the counter and wraps his arms around your torso, resting his chin where your neck meets your shoulder. Your fingers gently trace his cheekbones and he meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. We’ll be fine tonight, Katsuki. I promise. Can’t be any worse than our first meeting, hmm? You feel his chest rumble against your back as he groans, hiding his face in your skin as it heats up again. 

The first time you met Katsuki was a very abnormal case of wrong place, right time. A high-threat crime boss had swiped a political candidate off the street the night before the most important debate of the season, following him as he went out to pick up snacks for his assistants. The candidate was a passionate supporter of public policy protecting the liberties of Pros, and to lose him right before an election would be catastrophic for agencies across the country. To the rest of the city, it was a public emergency; for Katsuki, it was a Tuesday night. 

“Pro on the scene, clear out!” His boots cross the police tape and the cops part the way for him like he was an activated grenade, avoiding his gaze and conveniently finding new tasks that were out of his firing range. Someone from some federal agency approaches him blabbing nonsense about how disastrous this would be if the press arrived and he all but tunes them out, his focus zeroing in on a scene happening just outside of the barricaded perimeter. 

It wasn’t uncommon for policemen to command passing civilians to keep moving, but something about the confrontation he quietly approached felt different. In any other case, the civilians would ask the police about something they weren’t allowed to disclose and then they would leave, maybe sticking around to get their ten seconds on the nightly new segment. You were clearly not like those civilians.

“Hey! I’ve got a job to do, so you better get the hell out of here or I’m gonna charge you for disturbing a crime scene!” The cop was screaming at you to the point where his voice broke and you didn’t even flinch, continuing to stare daggers into him from pure frustration. He tries to yell again and you cut him off with a series of ridiculously exaggerated gestures, looking at the policeman like he was dumb as rocks. “I don’t have time for this, and I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying!” But Katsuki does. 

“Oi!” The cop doesn’t hear him as he storms across the concrete, palms crackling. 

“Fuckin’ crazy–” You look ready to bite off the accusatory finger the cop points in your face when a strong gloved hand wraps around the asshole’s wrist, unceremoniously shoving him out of the way to listen to you himself. “Who the fuck–”

“Get lost, fuckface, and take the uselessness with you,” Katsuki seethes, putting just enough heat into his hands for the guy to yelp and scurry away. He turns around to find a scowl intense enough to rival his own and he takes a deep breath, wordlessly encouraging you to take one too. You watch with caution as he tugs his gloves off and stuffs them in his belt. Sorry about him, he signs and you blink, taken aback. These kinds of scenes make everyone on edge more on edge. 

You know sign?

My mom, she’s hard of hearing. Growing up, she taught me sign as a second language. You nod, still eyeing him a little suspiciously. I need to get back to work, but I just want to apologize for him again. You look like you’re about to respond but he looks down, fishing through a pouch of his belt and pulling out a crumpled slip of paper. This is some coupon I got a while back from a business we saved. Buy yourself a coffee. You take the ripped rectangle with a look of disgust and shock and he nods politely, turning to leave. Before he’s even one step away, he finds himself being yanked backward by the collar of his shirt, readying his Quirk to fire on pure instinct and whirling to stare you down like a bull facing a matador. His palm is scorching against your skin when he grabs your wrist, but you don’t relent. What the fuck are you doing? 

I know where they took him. Give me a map and a marker. His eyes widen and he loosens his grip but doesn’t let go, gently guiding you around the barricade, through the crowds of cops, and into the detectives’ truck. He pushes past the people surrounding the table and pulls up a digital map of the city on the touchscreen. 

Everything’s electronic now, so use this as your map, he explains and you nod in understanding, hesitantly tapping a finger on the screen and receiving a bombardment of paragraphs about crimes in the area. Dynamight’s hand moves up and down at the edge of your vision and you look up, still unsure how you’re supposed to use such a complicated piece of technology. I know. It’s over-engineered and stupid. Do you know the exact address where they took him? You shake your head and he grimaces, running a hand through his hair.

I don’t know the address, but I know the directions of how to get there. On this map, where’s the convenience store? His pointer and index finger swipe around the screen, spreading out as he zooms in on the 2D representation of the site where the candidate was taken. You copy his actions and zoom out slightly again, making sure to remember which rectangle was the convenience store. Is there a way to draw on this? Dynamight pushes a button on the edge of the table and a marker pops out. Cool.

It’s the only cool function this thing has. Everything else just makes my job harder, he signs and swears he can see the slightest smile on your face while he hands you the marker. Miraculously, you’re able to copy the navigation route you saw on one of the thug’s phones while you waited in line at the convenience store. You circle the building in bright pink and the Pro wastes no time, barking out orders to surrounding cops and re-donning his gauntlets and one glove. His ungloved hand helps you down from the truck and he pulls you aside, away from the commotion of the crime scene. Do you live near here? 

A few blocks down, yes. He fishes around a pouch on his belt again and retrieves a black ballpoint pen, handing it to you despite your obvious confusion. 

Write down your address, he signs and he holds out the back of his ungloved hand to you. 

Why? 

I’ll come find you after we make the arrests. Maybe you can let me buy you a coffee. A smirk appears on your lips and Katsuki finds his face heating up. 

Is it gonna be with the tattered coupon? He rolls his eyes and you laugh, a sound that he finds he wants to hear again and again. You later explain to Katsuki and the detectives that you were questioning why the guy in front of you had his brightness so high, and the visual eavesdropping was purely by accident. Everything following the investigation felt like happy little accidents, too: Dynamight showing up at your door one night with two coffees and the last muffin the cafe had, Bakugo crashing onto your apartment’s fire escape after a particularly dangerous operation, Katsuki asking you out to dinner officially for the first time, his mother spilling her wine several times the first time she met you. 

You knew you were in for a lifetime of more accidents when Mrs. Bakugo burst through the door fifteen minutes early, excitedly asking what venues you were looking at for your upcoming wedding. 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[clockwayswrites]

I saw that you had some very in depth organization methods when planning your fics. I am working on one now and realized how much I need something like that. Could you give an explanation and tips on how you organize your ideas?

Oh, sure! I can try my best.

For me, the desire to actually write it usually comes with a scene (or few scenes) I need to bring into existence. I don't care if it's the first scene or last or in the middle, I let myself write it! I know some people don't like writing out of order because they feel it's a 'waste' if they have to change it when they get there, but for me it's never a waste because it helped me find a mood!

I put those scenes down and then try to build a fic around them. If it's a short fic (>15K) I just start working. Medium to long I outline! I like to write the scenes I have and want out on cut up post it notes and this allows me to physically move things around, find the plot gaps, and write down the scene that I wan to go there!

(image id: post it notes cut into thirds with a scene summary written on each one. Some are grouped together as chapters and there are holes where I feel there needs to be more).

3. I take each of those scenes and make a placeholder file in my writing program! I use Scrivener so this is really easy to do because they have an outline function. Before I used scrivener, I would write them out in a doc and then also copy and past it around the parts I had written.

In Scrivener, I can also color code them and/or use the status to say if it's started, written, edited, etc! You could do this in another program by highlighting the outline different colors.

4. As you are writing, remember your outline might change! You might have scenes that no longer work (Ex lbfd I had a whole Tim & Danny bonding bit where Danny revealed he knew about the Bats I cut cause it seemed clunky) or you might need to add bits for a better flow! (Ex one chapter of lbfd split into three, but then other things got cut). And this is okay! Some things you can't know until it's written.

The more you do this the better you'll get! My first big fic (150+K) doubled in chapters and tripled in length! I needed a lot more time on the slow parts than I thought and added some things based on reader comments. For lbfd, even though things changed, chapter 22(?) was still chapter 22 when I got to it!

Hopefully this helps!

[catpersonoclock]

Fakey Specbio thoughts that I want to explore more in another art thing in the future. Long rambles below cut:

Autotomy of the head and limbs are possible because of how weird his body is; nerves, muscles, and his unique mycelial skeleton can reconnect with severed tissues of the respective type, so long as the autotomized part is reattached relatively quickly. What CANNOT be autotomized is his brain and most of his spinal cord. This kills the hybrid.

Oh yeah, the nervous system. How do I explain how a squishy lump of adipose and electricity remains upright when he takes his noggin off for a good toss? Let's just say magic for now. Or maybe he's got some funky fungus/muscle stuff going on that lets him move his brain (and eyes) about freely, which may as well be magic. I think that his brain and spinal cord, at the very least, are really just about indestructible when it comes to blunt forces or the elements, because how else can a living being live with their brain being exposed... peculiar... what is his problem... (/j)

I like to think that he regenerates fairly quickly compared to a normal human. Organics he eats becomes converted into the materials needed to reconstitute damaged parts. If there's something he can't fully digest, he spits it out like an owl pellet (gross). On the topic of eating, he is an omnivore with generalist tendencies; he will eat literally anything, even indigestible material. He is a large weird raccoon, and if you do not secure your dumpsters, he will invade them. Peppino amends this at some point, don't worry.

I'm still conflicted about how his clothes work. On one hand, I really like the idea of him wearing actual clothing, but on the other, I'm really attached to the idea that they're just naturally a part of his body as aposematic coloration, warnings to predators that he is NOT FOR EATING. I like to think the black "clothing" on him has the swirling iridescence of an oil slick, or like the plumage of a grackle. He's kinda looking like a magpie now that I think about it.

In addition to this, I've thought more on how I've perceived him in a more cephalopod fashion and I think it would be very interesting if he could change his color, and, to some degree, the shape of his body and texture of his skin, like an octopus or cuttlefish. He already changes shape in the game (the chase), but the color changing aspects are something I'm on the fence about... more thinking needed...

On the topic of how his skin is, I think it's a very strange combination of dough and human skin, except perpetually clammy. Functionally, it's very similar to ours, but the composite material results in strangeness. When overheated, stressed, or excited, perspiration gives the impression that he's melting as the collagen and other tissues loosen and drip. It's not harmful to him. While he can "sweat" bits of himself off, it's rarely ever enough to damage him significantly.

The hat. Let's talk about the hat. I said I like to think his clothes are a part of himself, but the hat perturbs me. I think it would be cute to imagine that his hat is like, actually, real and not a part of him because 1. we could see his beautiful hair (or lack thereof), 2. it'd be like... he's trying really hard to look like a chef, and for some reason, it tickles me. But I can't deny that there's some extra eldritch quality of Pizzahead not only embedding Bruno's clothing into him, but his hat too.

He's absolutely warm-blooded like a human being in my mind. I think he gets particular about temperature, at least when he's at home, kind of like a picky senior cat. Maybe he suns himself in the morning and then spends a lot of the hotter parts of the day in the shade or asleep.

On the topic of blood, he's got a surprisingly normal circulatory system. It's a little different to handle his unique anatomy but no notes, really.

I've been thinking more about how he handles water. I think he absorbs moisture through his skin like an amphibian, and too much for too long can create the inverse of the pruning effect that happens to our skin in water; retaining it instead (frogs and many other amphibians/reptiles do something similar!) and he just gets a little chubbier until the water is all processed. Maybe he can collect excess water and spit it out... sillayyyy...

[inkstars1138]

I want to say the whole shift to genAI blows my mind but tbh it does not. We've been moving that direction for years, what with kids actively plagiarizing stuff online, actively cheating, changing grades in thr system... and it hasn't been just that.

Look at Clip Studio adding in an auto color auto shading and symmetry function. Look at Photoshop actions. Look at the bezier curve tools. The people who want to look like a machine made it and then they can say "no I did". We literally spent decades trying to get people to take digital art seriously as a medium, and that it wasn't just "push a button and go' or "the machine does it for you" and look what they've done.

The knitters who the hate mistakes and humanizing elements that make a fiber craft a fiber craft and look I don't care if you want to make the finest piece of knitting you can, it's when you denigrate other fiber arts for looking like human hands made it. If people won't take it seriously because it *checks notes* "looks like an arts and crafts project (derogatory)" maybe the problem here isn't you, or the craft you're doing, it's THEM. You don't need to make perfect stuff. I am 1000% anti generative AI/genAI. I draw all of my digital art by hand. I write all of my stories and agonize over them and edit them with my own two hands, my brain, and help... from real actual people. I don't want to hear about how generativeAI and chatGPT are helpful, they are NOT. Sit down and LEARN. If you don't have time, energy, or brain power to learn? Then maybe that thing is not for you.

If you think I am trashing people who use genAI congratulations you are correct. Also if you think I am against the bezier tool, you are correct! What I hate about it is that it has become the EXPECTED way to produce art, so when people who have human errors in their art that is considered gross and unacceptable. People new to art are so afraid of their human mistakes, that instead of learning to draw, they turn to genAI and bezier tools and symmetry to achieve things they didn't learn. And don't talk to me about it improving things for disabled people. I have been in the art community LONG before genAI and symmetry tools and I had MANY disabled friends who drew (most in the traditional art field). Two different friends blind in one eye, people with disabilities that gave them tremors, people with severe EDS, people with chronic fatigue and chronic illness. And you know what they did? They adapted. Used mirrors and various disability aids and adapted their difficulties INTO their art. They improved over time. Which is what you're supposed to do. genAI takes all of that away from you. You can lol about how you produced a fic in five seconds, but what has it gotten you? Aside from garbage. There's no high when you finally type "The End" into your text field. When you say "yeah I freaking did it". When you go back and read it and go "damn I really wrote that". genAI takes the high away of putting your pencil, your stylus, your brush, whatever tool you have, down, you finished. You colored that. You drew that. Who cares what it looks like, you DID it. That is a high, and you're missing it. For a machine. So you can say "I couldn't do it, but I made the machine do it haha" God I remember when we made fun of how shitty machine produced stuff was. When we laughed at machine translation, when we laughed that the early AI chatbots, when we laughed at how creepy they were because they wanted to sound human. If you want to cheat? Do it without the computer. Do it without the machine. Go copy shit out of a SparkNotes like your predecessors did. You wanna cheat? Write all the answers in tiny words on an index card. Otherwise, put your back into it. LEARN. Y'all really are not afraid of dementia or Alzheimers and you SHOULD be. LEARN SHIT. Every time you do something with genAI, you are losing part of your brain. You wanna be smart? LEARN.

What I'm saying here is that we've basically gone the inverse of cyberpunk, we're not replacing our bodies with machine parts and keeping the human brain because flawed though they are, they're what makes us, us... we've kept our meat prisons and replaced our brains with machines and that's disappointing. Not to be all fucking Bear Grylls about it but LEARN. ADAPT. OVERCOME. Do what everyone did before this shit existed, and do it your damn self. If anyone comments on this and wilfully misunderstands WHICH KIND of AI that I am talking about, despite me actually specifying, I will eat you with butter and salt. None of you genAI and chatGPT supporters have watched Terminator (1984) and it shows. GO WATCH IT. And you know what? Watch The Matrix (1999) too. Learn to fear the machines. (fuck it watch Terminator 2 also)

[copperbadge]

Hello, hello, could you please say more about how you use Microsoft OneNote in your professional life? I need all the help I can get to stay organized & on top of things, so I would love to know.

Sure! I use it less than previous because there's less randomized stuff I need to do now, so I don't need such robust management, but I can talk about how my use began/evolved. I started using OneNote because it was less finicky than Word but still had an autosave function and basic formatting, so it was useful for initial drafts of documents, taking notes on meetings, and keeping track of information I needed at my fingertips frequently.

OneNote's largest "unit" is the Notebook. You can have multiple Notebooks but I've never bothered; still I can see how if your screen was public a lot, you'd want to put some things in a separate Notebook. The Notebook then breaks down into Sections which look like tabs, which I would assign to broad things like "Meeting Notes", "Assignments", "Templates", "Personal" and "Excel Hacks". Sections break down further into "Pages"; each page is a document stuck into place, which you can title so that you can have a list of "pages" on the sidebar and find the one you want easily. Text in Pages can be formatted to some degree, and if you copypaste from websites, it'll tag on the URL of the site you pasted from, although you can also turn that off if you want. You can drag and drop Pages from one Section to another pretty easily.

So, for example, I'd have a "Meeting Notes" Section, and when I clicked the tab for that section I'd have a list of Pages, each of which was notes from a meeting I'd attended. Every time I went into a meeting I just made a new page, gave it a meeting title and date, and took notes on the meeting into the page window. The "Meeting Notes" Section thus became a fully searchable record of meetings I'd attended and what was said. When meeting notes were no longer relevant I'd drag them to an archival Section to retire in peace.

Here's an example of my Excel section:

You can see "My Notebook" up in the left top corner, my current Sections as tabs at the top, and the pages list on the left (I think more modern OneNote skins put the pages on the right, I moved mine back). Each line on the left is a separate "page" that tells me how to do something in Excel, something I need to do a lot but can't commit to memory (or couldn't but now have, it's a trifle out of date). So we're in My Notebook, section Excel, page Formatting Stripes, and on the right you can see how to format an Excel sheet so that it has alternating colored rows (there are other ways to do this but this way the stripes always stay alternating no matter what moves where). In theory I could dump all this stuff into one Page and call it "Excel" and put it somewhere else, but I liked having an easily-visible list so I don't have to scroll a single document to find what I want.

There aren't nearly as many tab/sections as there used to be; "Assignments" covers "all work that is not excel formulas" and includes stuff like instructions for how to pull a query in our database, a list of what everyone does at our company, a yearly guide to our events program, a few other things. I don't have a "Personal" section any more but I do have 2-3 pages in the Assignments section that are personal notes.

There's no inbuilt tagging function but because the entire notebook is searchable, if you're really into tagging you can simply add keywords to the top or bottom of a page.

I have OneNote pinned to my taskbar in Windows, and it's basically always open but it autosaves, so adding stuff is super simple; if I find a bug in our database or a quirk I want to remember I just click over to OneNote and add it to the database file, or similar.

I don't use it on my phone or tablet, because if I'm at work I have access to my laptop generally, but OneNote does sync across devices as long as you're logged in, so if you have OneNote and a Microsoft login you should be able to access it in multiple places.

[guzsdaily]

The Best Thing I Added to My Notes

Daily Blogs 359 - Oct 29th, 12.024

This is probably the best thing I added to my daily notes.

What?

This is a routine heatmap. The simple explanation is that is shows how many tasks related to my routine I have done in that day, the brighter, the more tasks.

Why?

One of the things that I found is that I'm very easily insecure about myself. Even if I'm doing fine and working on the things that I like, I still have days when I almost forget everything and start doubting myself over and over thinking that I'm not doing enough. This situation happened to me a lot over the previous year, and because of the amount of pressure I placed in myself in these attacks, I started to just feel demotivated and started to stagnate. I never could really prove to myself.

And then I found about this concept, I don't know where or when necessarily, but it was about having data to prove to your own brain that you are supposed to be fine, have palpable methods to convince yourself. Not only having proof, but also, having constant feedback if you are doing fine or if you need to actually question and do a course correction.

This map, this calendar, is what proves to myself that I'm doing fine and that I am improving. Every single day I look into it since it is on my daily notes, and I can see if there are any worries or not, there's no reason anymore to doubt myself as much. Even tho not all days are the brightness, mostly because they are based on the current amount of tasks of the current routine, I can't say to myself that I'm not trying. If any of these days there is a strange black void, I can just click into it, and go back memory lane to remember.

Also, the instant feedback is great. Since I know how the brightness is calculated and that it cares about the percentage of tasks of the current routine, I don't really care that much about older cells, but I do care if some pattern start to arrive in the recent ones. Like the stripe in the first quarter of the year, when I was helping my family and wasn't able to work that much, and the brightness of the last half of the year, when I got a job and organized better my work.

And as a bonus, this map also helps me know where I am in the year. Since I do Quarterly Themes, somewhat aligned with the year seasons, having a visual clue to know what quarter I am, even more when the seasons don't affect that much the look of the ambient outside home, really helps. This clue is not only via the amount of days that passed in the calendar, but also it's color:

Red for summer, quarter one:

Red for autumn, quarter two:

Blue for winter, quarter three:

Green for spring, quarter four:

How?

I don't really know how much it is possible in other note-taking apps, but in Obisdian is kinda simple if you know a little about scripting. It uses just two plugins: Obsidian Dataview and Heatmap Calendar for Obsidian. The Dataview script used is this:

In summary, the steps are:

Get all daily notes of this year (The year value is added via the file template);

Loop over all daily notes:

Get all completed tasks of note;

Calculate the percentage of completed tasks;

Push the day entry to the calendar data, with the correct color (The value "season-spring" is put by the template).

Render the Heatmap Calendar using the function provided by the plugin.

The source code of the daily note template is available on my vault template repository.

Today's artists & creative things Music: I Gave Everything - by Connor Price

© 2024 Gustavo "Guz" L. de Mello. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

[hadesoftheladies]

FEMALE MOVIE/TV RECS (PART 9 / ADULT & FAMILY ANIMATION)

got inspired from a recommendation post so decided to make a list of movies and shows with female-centric stories/female protagonists. since i can't post all of the genres in one post, i'll split it into multiple posts and y'all can save or add to the list as you wish. (disclaimer: i have watched most of these, but i only know about the existence of others. not every movie/show on these lists will be my recommendation. my recommendations will be beneath the list with reasons. also some of these are way better than others in terms of storytelling/performance--which is why i'll list my faves separately):

Common Themes/Tropes:

-Woman/girl is OP and gets bullshit from other people for it

-Heroine tries desperately to fix the world

-Leaving home to go on adventures for the sake of a dream or doing the right thing

-Sisters are a lifeline

-Women/girls can literally do or be anything

-Violence is the only answer men will understand

-The world is so big, grand and beautiful and she wants to see more of it

-Girls being the conscience of an entire society

-Things going ham when she reaches Boss Level

-Magic (and violence) are good things, especially paired together

-A man (usually a father or guy friend) is the only conscience she has left

-F*ck marriage there's bigger problems TM

-I must save my father/sister

-Serious mommy issues

-Has an animal companion or IS the animal companion (robots also count as animal companions in terms of function imo)

-Making friends with the monster

OF WHICH ARE FOR ADULT AUDIENCES:

Pantheon

Scavenger's Reign

Blue Eye Samurai

Arcane: League of Legends

Trese

HAVEN'T WATCHED:

Pantheon

Lilo & Stitch

Fiona & Cake

Star Vs. The Forces of Evil

Trese

Princess Mononoke

Green Snake

The Breadwinner

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Violet Evergarden

Barbie in The Diamond Castle

Monsters Vs Aliens

Epic

Finding Dory

Encanto

The Incredibles II

Tinkerbell: Legend of The Neverbeast

Brave

WOULD HIGHLY RECOMMEND:

Blue Eye Samurai (10/10) (super gritty, but the perfect revenge story, puts John Wick to shame)

Scavenger's Reign (8/10) (split story, but two of the main characters are women, and one is a black lesbian! fantastic animation, though don't watch if you're intensely trypophobic, it can be sci-fi horror)

Mulan (9/10) (one of the most perfect animated Disney classics)

Turning Red (8/10) (this movie remembered the tween era)

Tinkerbell (if you crave matriarchy, sisterhood, magic and female centric society and story, then you need to watch the Tinkerbell movies)

Wolfwalkers (7.5/10) (an anti-colonial, anti patriarchal, pro-pagan fantasy movie with beautiful animation and a very touching, female-centric story)

Arcane: League of Legends (10/10) (gorgeous animation, amazing writing, incredible performances, and don't get me started on the sisters that take centre stage--also, lesbianism and gender nonconformity!)

The Legend of Korra (8/10) (good writing, a badass protagonist, a fantastic cast of characters, beautiful scoring, beautiful animation, amazing action sequences)

PERSONAL NOTES

The Mitchells Vs The Machines is basically a drama between a lesbian girl and her dad who have to figure their relationship out while they're running from robots. It was full of heart and fun and had some good jokes in there. I'd definitely recommend it.

Raya & The Last Dragon is the first Disney movie with a gender non-conforming princess! It also has some of the best action sequences in any Disney animated movie, however it doesn't hold a candle to The Incredibles II, which stars Helen Parr as the main character of the film. It's one of my favourite films of all time because of how they depict Helen and the main villain of the story (a badass genius of a woman). Really pro-female films, even for all their flaws.

Abominable has some of the most gorgeous visuals I've seen outside of a Disney animation. The texturing and coloring is so vivid it makes my mouth water. It's far better than Over The Moon, but both have their own charm. Abominable and Home have very similar plots. Also, the girl in Home is voiced by Rihanna while Beyonce voices the queen of the faeries in Epic.

One movie that shares a similar theme (kindness to animals even if we don't understand them or they scare us) with Abominable is The Sea Beast. The Sea Beast is one of the best animations with a black female girl as a lead I've ever seen. There's also a badass black woman pirate. There are some scenes that could have been written (or colored) better, but I loved it either way. I think it was the first animated film to depict shrinkage for black hair! And it didn't lighten the skin or whiten the features of the black characters!

Many people view Frozen II and Brave as "almost" masterpieces whose writers ultimately failed them, and I can say that I agree to some extent. There are many things technically wrong with the movies. Minor details that set the pacing off or take away from the immersion. However, I still love both of them. I really love daughter vs mother and sister vs sister stories (that includes Tinkerbell: The Secret of The Wings) because there's so much to explore in such relationships. They also both have some killer soundtracks, some amazing visuals and well-executed action sequences. I've truly seen way worse than these two films, and the characters are mostly loveable.

The Breadwinner is an animated film about a girl dressing up like a boy under the rule of the Taliban so she can earn some money to help feed her family. It's scored very high by critics.

I'd also recommend The Owl House (even though there's some appeal to genderism in later seasons). It's the first time I've seen a bisexual animated character and the enemies to lovers arc with Luz and Amity is unmatched in cannon magic school stories. I also really love the depiction of The Owl Lady who is treated like a male character in that she is allowed to be non-maternal, single and old (and wrinkled), arrogant and boastful, all without the show trying to punish her for it. The Boiling Isles are also fascinating as a setting.

If you like The Owl House, there's a chance you'll love She-Ra. There were many things I found annoying about She-Ra, but my experience was mostly positive. I'm not the biggest fan of Catradora, but I do appreciate the drama. I loved the world-building and magic system mainly, so the character quirks didn't get to me as much as they have others. Also, amazing antagonists in this series. It could have been more mature, but it's still entertaining.

I also definitely recommend Home on The Range. It's a whole movie with talking animals, but there's no tomboy like the main female protagonist in a Disney movie. She is one of the most tomboy characters Disney ever made. Also, I love 2D animation and this film reminds me why. Also, the idea of a feminine, micromanaging old heifer, a bull-headed, roughhouse new girl cow, and a young airhead cow that can't sing going on an adventure across the wild west to save their human's (a sweet old lady with some bark and bite) farm? And they have to compete with a hotshot, asshole male horse who is young and fast? It's like the perfect western comedy but with cows!

Anyways, if you can't tell, I love animated stuff and a lot of these are my comfort movies.