#i'd give you my firstborn

[wastingawayinmyroom]

once again dropping these here like a cat leaving a dead bird at your doorstep

-evan, pandora and reg being friends before they even went to hogwarts (their families being pureblood slytherins and whatnot)

-sirius likes his head scratched like a dog (animagus forms also impacting their personalities a bit, like james bumping into random things/people and rubbing himself against them like a deer against a tree)

-lily having a crush on regulus, which was SO confusing to james, who’d only heard bad things about him from sirius

-remus and regulus are the BIGGEST clothes thieves

-neither sirius nor regulus are morning people, but while sirius will whine and groan about being woken up early, regulus is just completely silent and has a constant death glare until he has his coffee

-evan being the one that did all of barty’s tattooes, and started bugging regulus about letting him do one on him as soon as he ran out of space on barty

-pandora making the Skittles have a muggle movie night every week (reg’s favorite is Tangled, but he’d never say that aloud)

-thick thigh james. i don’t think i need to elaborate.

-pandora doodling all over evan’s/reg’s forearms in sharpie, in a vain attempt to have the skin covered so they can’t get marked (even though she’d already seen visions of their futures and knew they would anyways)

-dorcas/emmeline/reg/barty all being major gossips (now im not SAYING they’d sit around in the ravenclaw common room and gossip, but im not NOT saying it)

-regulus who refuses to be like his family and is the BIGGEST feminist (aka. he’s always kind to all of the gryffindor girls, so they all think sirius is absolutely insane everytime he says regulus is mean)

ahhh sorry for the late response!!! i've been staring at this ask a lot lately lol

the rosier twins met reg at some random pureblood function thing. this was reg's first time at some sort of party like this, and since sirius was the heir, walburga and orion had swept him away to be introduced to everybody, and regulus was alone.

the twin were mad because regulus was sitting in the corner they usually sit it (they'd been to this specific place before and had a chosen corner)

anw, they become besties!!!!! yes anon yes!!!!!

ooohohohohoh. ohohohohohOH. the second one is gold

it's kind of like shapeshifters (not talking abt a specific fandom here) carry traits from all the things they've turned into, and that's bootiful

BAHAHAHAHA regulily yay!!! james being all confused and shit until he sees regulus and goes "oh....." 🤭

if you ship moonwater then the next one is especially funny lmao sirius and james have lost TONS of clothes to both of them

the next one just sums up the black brothers dynamic

everyone always assumes it's regulus whining and complaining but nooooooo

okay but i am a sucker for tattoo artists evan rosier x literally covered in tattoos barty crouch junior

they's so cutesy

YESYESYESYES SHE SO WOULD MAKE THEM WATCH MOVIES OMG

lol regulus would be a Pureblood Dick about it, but he secretly likes it

"thick thigh james. i don't think i need to elaborate." honestly neither do i anon

pandora would do this, and especially right in the face on their arms where they's get marked

there's a price for knowing the future.

the ravenclaw common room is notorious for all the tea and namedropping that goes on in there

honestly the last one is half the reason lily has a crush on him lol

giggling i loved these

[askinkiskarma]

YOU SAW IT 6 TIMES?! I SAW IT ONCE!

NO CAUSE LISTEN OK

i remember watching avatar in 2009 in the cinema like it was yesterday. it was such an impactful experience for me and it genuinely changed the way i view movies. it was something so new and so phenomenal at the time, and it was so special to see it in the cinema in 3d, and it really was the movie of a generation (no matter what the naysayers say)

now, to me, twow is the same. it's a movie that was 13 years in the making and a movie unlike anything that's been done before. and i know i'm gonna remember it in 13 years, and the feelings it evoked in me, just like i do the original avatar. and you HAVE to see this movie in the cinemas idc, it's absolutely not the same experience (and i hate goin to the cinema).

so YEAH I SAW IT SIX TIMES OKKK???!!! don't judge me

also seeing it in imax at the bfi in london was PHENOMENAL

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

time to toss another WIP into the wind! this time, a set of headshot doodles for (most of) the main salads of Flourish AU in their various roles, featuring:

Tactician Ceara the Defiant, Commander Pirkko the Blade, General Saoirse the Dauntless, Marshal Trahearne, Demolition Specialist Canach, and Elite Knight Gavin.

[tradsaltwife]

what do i have to do to get more aeron greyjoy-centric fanfiction? i'm not a writer, if i was, i'd do it myself.

a fic about his younger days, when he was still the funny uncle theon remembers.

one in which somehow maybe he goes with theon when he takes winterfell, and ends up travelling with bran for a while? don't know how it would work out, as i said, i'm not a writer.

something post-canon in which he has a chance at living normally, as a counselor to his favorite niece, maybe. some quality time with his nephew, too. i know there are already a few of those out there, i've read them, but i need more.

don't pay attention to me i'm just suffering the consequences of my actions (liking minor characters in big fandoms)

[goldenpinof]

what did you think of the musical number in the beginning 👀

my favourite part, i need it on Spotify 😭

[clenastia]

self confidence is a skill that can be learned and you have to let yourself and your art exist distinct from how others perceive it. you will never exist or create in a way that nobody criticizes and that is NOT a bad thing. you obviously care a lot about your work or you wouldn't fret over it this much, but fixating so heavily on the potential opinions of people you made up to criticize you isn't healthy and isn't doing you any good. you're allowed to set that weight down and I truly believe you can do it.

I do try! when i catch myself spiralling i generally try to forcfully redirect my thoughts, even if it means completely ignoring whatever triggered it, but unfortunately sometimes i feel like im stuck in a loop because thinking of getting published triggers spirals of anxiety so i cant think too much about it which means i never get around to DOING it which makes me upset because i've always WANTED to get published, but when i try to seriously consider it i get all tangled up in the anxieties and ugh.

in all honesty i fell into the trap of thinking therapy would be a quicker fix than it is, where the therapist could give me a list of steps to do and my anxiety/issues would go away once i did them. so i put a bunch of unrealistic expectations on therapy but unfortunately there IS no magical list of steps to making your brain work right. you just. gotta wake up every day and push your way through the spirals and face the things you're afraid of. meds help, for sure, i don't get panic attacks anymore and the anxiety doesn't stress me out so much i end up crying or shutting down most of the time. but like. everything else, the solution is just: ignore it. keep trying. and there's no. fucking. steps to just. "do these three things and your brain will work like a neurotypical one!" and it fucking sucks and i hate it and i still gotta keep trying if i wanna get anywhere.

I haven't been on meds for a full year yet, and therapy less than that, so im sure with time I'll get to a place where i CAN push through those specific fears and get to where i want to be, and that in a lot of ways i'm still just rushing things and wishing i could be better NOW instead of having to put in months and years of work.

a lifetime of self-worth issues don't get resolved with pills and six months of therapy, but sometimes its just so GODDAMN unfair and i just want a magic cheat sheet to getting better :(

or maybe someone who can do like. literally everything for me so i don't have to face it myself lol.

can there be a business for that? like. be your own ghost writer. someone else gets all the credit and hate mail and deals with all the publishers. but you get to write your silly little stories and still make profit.

that'd be nice xD

totally ripe for abuse and probably actually a terrible idea but like. in an idealistic way. it'd be nice. y'know?

[kidovna]

can I pretty please ask for prom lesbyler? I'd give you my firstborn and everything

i will give it to you for free if no one ever threatens me with a child in this economy again

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

This is probably small in the grand scheme of things, but how did Emilie being noble play any impact in the story at all?

I mean, I'd get it if it was just a small detail to help deepen Emilie's character, but why nobility of all things? I don't know, from what I'm seeing so far, the whole "Emilie renounced her noble title" shtick just feels worthless if it's not going to impact the story or add depth to Emilie's character (like maybe upbringing or personal values?).

I don't know. Like everything else, the noble part just feels shallow and means nothing to the story, especially for a character like Emilie, who is the plot device for the whole show. Any detail about her, like her personality and life story, is supposed to influence the story and characters one way or another, namely Hawkmoth since she's his driving force.

So what was the point?

For context, this ask is about Félix's play which says that Emilie gave up her title to be with Gabriel. I'm gonna give a slightly larger section of the transcript of the play for full context, but the relevant but is at the end of the last paragraph:

Félix: The king and queen's twins grew up, each day as different in heart as they were similar in body. The firstborn, curious and brazen, despised life at court and escaped at every opportunity. The younger daughter, well-behaved and respectful, did everything she could to please her parents, and stayed quietly in the castle. Félix: (as Mr. Graham de Vanily) Oh, my queen. Did we entrust our legacy to the right princess? Kagami: (as Mrs. Graham de Vanily) She will fall in line, eventually. Félix: Confident that she would settle down as she matured, the king and queen allowed the curious princess to leave to study beyond the sea in another kingdom. There, she immediately found true love in a humble tailor. Félix: The tailor was making clothes so magnificent that they revealed the beauty of the soul of anyone who wore them. Although it made her parents furious, the curious princess gave up her rank, her wealth and her kingdom to live a bohemian life with the tailor.

Story wise, I have no idea why any of this was added since it adds nothing to canon. It's not like this finally explains why Gabriel and Emilie are poor while Amelie is wealthy. Along similar lines, it's not like Amelie's title has ever mattered. Prior to this play, I don't think that we even knew that she had a title or that she was the younger sister. The play is all about explaining things that we never had reasons to question in the first place.

My best guess as to why the writers wrote this pointless backstory is that they wanted to make Emilie seem even more pure and perfect so they went with the tired old trope of a rich girl giving up material things for the sake of love and art because good pure women don't care about material things! Only nasty, shallow women care about money. (Way to play into sexist tropes, guys.)

There may also be cultural elements at play here given that France doesn't have the greatest history with nobility, so giving up a noble title may be seen as good and pure to a French writer, but I don't know enough about French culture to say that with any certainty. If anyone who reads this blog is French and would like to chime in, then feel free!

While we're on the topic of the play, I wanted to point out that the above quoted passage is why I say that the Graham de Vanily parents can be as kind or as abusive as you'd like to make them. It's incredibly vague and you can read into it whatever you want to read into it. Were they good loving parents who were just upset about their daughter living in poverty or were they miserable controlling classist who Emilie fled England to get away from? It's up to you because you can get both reads from this. The play commits to almost nothing of value. Politicians could take lessons from this impressive level of noncommittal writing.

A better version of the play would have focused on things that actually matter to canon like the details of finding the miraculous and/or Emilie learning she's sick, but you could only have those details if they were coming from Nathalie or Gabriel. Félix is a terrible choice for a character to tell us the show's backstory because he knows so little of it, thus the play focusing on his largely pointless backstory.

[blehrbie-blog]

Neteyam x Reader story

Sooo, I haven't written anything in genuine years. But after watching Avatar:TWOW I've become hyperfixated and have been scrolling and refreshing the Neteyam x Reader tag basically since the movie came out. As a consequence I've had this idea in the back of my mind that I thought was very sweet and cute (something we all need after that movie) so I decided to sit down and give it a go and see what comes out of my brain. So here it is. I haven't properly edited it and it's pretty much a 1000 words of word vomit and a bunch of time skips but it made me happy to write so I'm sharing it.

Oh, BTW SPOILERS!! but also I don't stick to the event's of the movie so idk I'm just putting it out there in case someone hasn't watched the trailer.

So the idea is our girl meets Neteyam informally for the first time when they're 9. She gets cornered in the jungle by a Palulukan and Neteyam helps her run away from it. She had always known who he is being the firstborn son of the Toruk Makto. She remembers her mom telling her about the big ceremony the Tribe had when he was first born. Everyone knew him.

- You shouldn't go into Palulukan territory without being careful - he says, looking a bit unsure about her now that there's no imminent danger.

- I didn't know I was in its territory

 - Don't wander off too far on your own then.

___________________________

After this meeting, you get closer and become friends, which means as a consequence you occasionally hang out with the rest of Neteyam's family. However, as he gets older and his Dad starts preparing him to be a warrior and later on Lo'ak as well you don't have as much time to spend as you once did laughing and roaming around in the jungle exploring thick forests and shallow pools of water. It's not like you have nothing to do with your life, you do! You've been thinking of taking up lessons from the Tsahik, to see how you can use the spirit of Eywa and nature to help people who are hurting. It just so happens that the Tsahik is Neteyam's grandmother so you sometimes end up seeing him come back from a mission with his father and you share sweet smiles from across the camp.

When the tribe moves to the floating rocks, you are required by the Tsahik to help those injured from the journey and the ones getting used to the new terrain. So you're even more often in the same circles. As you're working one day about to go over to help Ninat with her sprained ankle, someone taps you on the shoulder

-You seem busy with work. - says Neteyam smiling sweetly at you

-Oh! Yes, I was just about to start. How's your training going?

You hadn't spoken in a while, just a quick wave or nod when crossing paths throughout the day. You hadn't noticed but he towers over you by a couple inches now. He nods towards his dad who's speaking with Neytiri at the edge of their tent.

-You know, just the usual responsibilities of carrying on the legacy. - His eyes gaze into you softly, like he's memorizing your face after not seeing it for long. He shakes it off and looks down - Have you got many tasks today?

-Not too much actually, just need to check up on Ninat and prepare some medicinal salves.

- I want to see you later – He looks back up into your eyes and smiles – Maybe we can go on one of our expeditions like before.

You chuckle – Sure, I'd love that.

With a final nod of approval, he stalks away to his parent's side.

When you meet later towards sunset he's waiting patiently with his Ikran by the vines connecting the Hallelujah Mountains to the Jungle below.

-We won't go too far out into the jungle so we have time to come back before sunrise. - He says as he connects his Queue with the Ikran and gazes at you expectantly – Hop on.

Can I trust that I'll come back alive from this flight? - you raise a skeptical eyebrow. He only went through his Iknimaya ritual not too long ago.

He reaches out a hand to help you up onto the animal – I don't think Eywa would forgive me if I wasted you on a simple flight.

You smile warmly into his shoulder as you hold tight onto him feeling the powerful animal shift under you as you fly out.

Roughly 10 years later

____________________________

When he comes back from the Mitkayina islands. He's taller and broader and his hair is much longer pulled into a loose braid around his Queue. You have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you first see him. He's magnificent and commanding in his presence. The tribe has gathered all around to accept him and Jake back with a warm welcome. And even though you're hidden by your fellow Na'vi, his eyes immediately find you in the crowd and issue an eager and warm smile on his face.

As soon as he has settled the greetings with the current Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik, he finds you – walking to your sleeping pod. You would have gone to say hello and see him up close but, honestly, you were a bit intimidated. What you now knew was a childhood infatuation with him all those years ago still couldn't handle seeing him all of a sudden in all his... perfect glory. You were a little intimidated. But that doesn't stop him from reaching out for you. You see him jog over with a grin. He grabs you by the shoulders about to pull you into a hug but stops himself at the last moment. His eyes roam you over from head to toe and he looks up with glistening eyes -You've grown! - His tone sounds almost unbelieving

-That tends to happen as time passes, yes – you chuckle, hands coming up to hold onto his arms. His strong arms.

-I'm not too sure what I expected you to look like but you're... way beyond any expectation – He sounds so awe-struck as he's still taking you in, that you start to feel a little embarrassed.

-I can say the exact same thing – You say as you meet his gaze again. As you do his face softens and he brings you into his arms finally.

-I missed you, my friend.

Your hand caresses his hair gently – I missed you too.

You break apart and you decide to go for some late food with him abandoning your plans of sleep.

_______________________

Months later, when they have their first kiss. It's a slow thing. He will say something dry-humoured in his soft voice and she'll forget to laugh too busy staring at him, realizing how in love she is. And has been all these years. And when he notices that she hasn't replied he'll look at her and know immediately. That she's realized, at last. And he'll come to hold her like she's the most precious thing in his world. He'll thread his fingers through her hair bringing her face close to his. Forehead pressed to hers, patiently waiting for her to join him in the reality he has been living. Where they have loved each other for a while, longed and missed unbelievably because of it, and are finally able to bask in it. The warm smiles and looks, the casual closeness that not being apart allows. The things he has been dreaming of. He looks at her lips and back at her eyes, pulling back slightly to give her some space. Maybe she's not entirely understanding his feelings, maybe she's too caught up in her own to recognize his signs, he thinks, ready to give her all the time- When she grabs his neck and drags him back to her. - Neteyam... – her eyes are glossy like she's about to cry. So he caresses her cheeks gently and finally presses their lips sweetly together. And he can not compare it to any other feeling he has ever experienced. It's not like loving her, that's easy and at the same time overwhelming. It has brought him to the point that he is ready to lay down his life and all of his family's expectations to travel back to the tribe just to see her. To be reunited. But this feeling, this kiss is like knowing, that he won't be alone in his love and he can give her his all, his soul. They stay there, lost in the sweetness of being together like never before until the sun has long set and the moon has long risen.

_______________________

That is it! I do realise I keep skipping between tenses, I apologise if anyone finds it annoying and hope you enjoyed!

Edit: I thought it might be useful to put a link to part 2 down here so: Next

[nocandnc]

I have a small curiosity regarding the Hoshina family, and Soshiro's place in it.

The Hoshina family, as we know, is a prominent family with a bloodline dating back to the Muromachi period (roughly 1300 - 1500). They seem to be highly traditional, continuing to practice their Hoshina-style swordplay and martial arts even in this modern age where guns and other weaponry have become far more practical.

The two Hoshina family members we've been introduced to properly - Hoshina Soichiro and Hoshina Soshiro - are also very aptly named for such a traditional family.

First, let's look at Soichiro - Captain of the Sixth Division and firstborn son of the current Hoshina family. In kanji, that would be [ 宗一郎 / sou ichi rou ] - the 'so' kanji that he shares with his younger brother has a lot of different readings (religion, sect, origin, essence etc.) but that's not the part I'm interested in today. Instead, let's look at the second and third kanji.

[ 一郎 / ichi rou ] - Ichiro is a very common, borderline stereotypical name for the first son in a Japanese family because it means exactly that - First Son.

And what about the Third Division Vice Captain we all know and love, Soshiro? [ 宗四郎 / sou shi rou ] - and of course, we're just looking at those last two kanji - [ 四郎 / shi rou ]. Shiro is also pretty basic sounding, as it means Fourth Son.

Wait - Fourth Son??

This is what caught my interest, as the traditional naming convention of these two brothers seems to imply that not only is Soshiro the younger brother, but that he's also the fourth of at least four siblings?? The strong implication would be there are two middle brothers in the family we haven't met yet. They could be sisters of course... but then we're getting into technicalities with the naming conventions, and - well, let's just say that Soshiro should have a minimum of two older siblings we haven't met yet.

I assume not all of them went into kaiju slaying of course - maybe numbers 2 and 3 were similarly inept with guns, and lacked the supreme sword skills to make up for it like Soshiro does. Maybe they just had other passions. I'd be interested in seeing if Soshiro is on better speaking terms with them than with his older brother!

I'm interested in Soichiro too of course - we know very little about divisions outside the Eastern sector in Kaiju No. 8, and I feel like that's something we could explore once the current manga events wrap up.

I also have a teensy tiny theory that Soichiro just might end up dying, prompting Soshiro to take up his role as Sixth Division Captain(?) Barring Soshiro himself dying, I feel like this would be a pretty good way to progress his character arc if things must change. Kafka has reached Mina's side (even if it's not the way he intended), and Soshiro is in a much better mind to give up that spot now that he's reconnected with his true drive and motivations beyond his role as Vice Captain. So time for a promotion...?

And, well... no better way to introduce those other siblings than at a Hoshina family funeral!

We even had Soshiro and Kafka visiting the shrine where warriors who've died slaying kaiju are enshrined - including those from the Hoshina line. It sure felt like some kind of flag... I just hope it's not for Soshiro himself though I do have an OkoNo10 AU idea if that does happen!!!

Anyways, WOW!! That was a lot of rambling. I'm a pretty new fan so I feel like someone's probably brought this stuff up already, but I wanted to talk about it so here you go ^^;;;

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Subbing (ha!) via ask so I can be anon

I would give my firstborn for you to write just about any M/F especially if it was another CE/Reader like "You Heard the Rumour about these Legs."

Honestly I will read and adore anything you write but that is one of my absolute all time fics and I'd go absolutely feral for more like it

"You Heard The Rumors 'Bout These Legs, Well I'm The One Who Spread 'Em"

Lmao, good to know 👀 Though I promise I don't need your firstborn 💀💀 and thank you, I'm so glad you enjoy my writing! 😘

So, of course, taking inspiration from your ask and the man, the myth, the legend himself--

Chris Evans × female!reader with tonguing, fingering, fucking, and jerking off. All that fun shit 😏

Chris is many things to many people. To you, though, Chris has always been a gentleman in and out of the proverbial bedroom (or the very literal bedroom, kitchen, living room, or car, or... y'know it doesn't matter where, just that you're alone and willing. And how could you not be willing when he looks and acts like that, anything he wants with you, he can have. You shiver just thinking about it). Chris always starts as a gentleman, at least.

As foreplay melts into something hotter and thicker, totally irrestable as the lust between you burned and crackled, Chris is still polite and kind and even serving toward you, yet...

Once he's spent some good time lavishing attention on you, pulling an orgasm or a few from you as if you're a marionette on strings that he's mastered and he can make fold and sing however he pleases, some of that polite nature melts away. It's not that he's rude. It's simply primal--and it's so goddamn sexy. You can hardly take it, your thighs pressing together, flexing, trying to make sense of the sticky, hot wash of arousal that always comes crashing over you. Because, damn, as much as you ache when he takes care to make sure your filled with lust and sparks, walking you closer and closer and closer to the edge with each touch, making you cum and then making you cum again, it's worse, better, when his patience is worn down, thinned, and he gets swept up in the pulsing, persuasive current of his arousal. The sensation buzzes underneath his skin like a live wire that demands his attention. He loses himself to it. So, suddenly, there's no room to think about giving you, and you alone, more and more. He has to take something for himself.

You want him to take it all.

Take you.

Have you.

Fuck you.

You've had enough. You don't need more when he gets like that; you could subsist off of the second-hand pleasure from him.

Christ.

It makes you feel sinful and powerful, the way he takes his pleasure from you. How he reacts to you. How he can't have enough of you. You're just too damn much for him to stand in the most erotic way.

Yeah, yeah, he can have you.

This time, when he reaches that point--his flesh and muscle melted down, leaving no strength, no defense to resist the bone-deep need he feels--he's already done so much. Given you so much.

Jesus Christ.

He's already gone down on you, his mouth putting in work between your legs, shameless and unrestrained with his tongue and lips and just that daring, dangerous hint of teeth with the sharp, heated edges of his beard.

You came with his beard scratching against your sensitive skin, hot, wet, hot, wet, so hot and wet, sofuckingwet, making you feel so wet. Shivering with the friction of his bearded jaw as it fucking started a fire but the fire is molten liquid that feels as if it's almost gushing from inside you. Flames consuming your body from the inside out. Fuck, Chris knows just how to stoke the flames, too. He strokes and rubs and presses with his tongue and lips and bearded jaw, even his nose, bumping your clit at the fucking perfect moment, keeping you purring. Roaring. If he's not fucking careful you'll burn the house down.

Ah!

He's already fingered you, too, working you to the brink and making you crash over it with his thick fingers curling inside you.

His fingers urge c'mere, c'mere, c'mere from within you, beckoning against that spot that makes your eyes roll back, a gasping moan overflowing from your lips, humid and all rasping breath. You'll go anywhere he tells you to, and you won't think twice, your back arching into a curve so deep you know you'll feel it in your muscles later. You don't care. You just want him to do it again.

A-again, oh, God, please, again, Chris!

And he's already fucked you, too. His rhythm filthy and fluid, unstopping, just building gloriously, with his thrusts carving deep enough to make you pant, at just the right angle to leave your nails digging into his shoulders, and then, God, then, sliding his hand sensually, heavily down your stomach to press the heel of his palm against your clit as he works, leaving you unable to shut your mouth, nearly drooling. Every time he thrusts inside you, your body arches and shudders as if possessed by animal lust and your clit rubs against his palm like a firework exploding.

Arousal curled so tightly inside you that it hurt. The pressure against your clit, the thickness of him inside you, the sounds of your bodies together adding to it divinely. Deliciously. God. God, it was all just biting and rough enough that you came clenching desperately around his cock, split open yet tangled into a tight, tight, tight knot.

Now, exhausted and just on the knifes edge of raw, pain mixing into your pleasure like venom that burns so sweetly yet leaves you limp and helpless, you're somehow still heated. You blame him. Jesus Christ. He's a fucking dog under all that pretty and polite. Bastard. How he keeps fucking fuck-just fucking going is beyond you sometimes. You're never going to tell him that, though. Then he might stop.

Nothing could be worse than him stopping.

You're hot everywhere and you can feel yourself dripping when he pulls his cock out of you with a lewd squelch that just fucking ties back into your fever. Bastard. He's the worst. How could he do this to you!? Oh, God, that fucking soaked sound echos through your head--his dick pulling out of your clenching pussy, clenching trying to fucking keep him where he belongs, deep and heavy inside you--and turns your vision to static. More and more, the longer you have to deal with that on loop in your head without anything other sensory input to drown it out and leave you thoughtless, you turn into static.

Squelch.

You hear it. You feel it. You're soaked.

Yet, he doesn't fuck back in, splitting you again, and finish like you expect. Like you want. You ache without him, you're so open, shivering and almost cold without the heat of him draped across you--shoved inside you.

Instead of fucking you until he cums, thrusts sloppier and messier now that he's focused on the pleasure tearing through him on a rampage, his hands glide over your goosebump-ed, slick skin. You're sweating so badly. You're leaking, too. More. Dripping. You need him. You don't need more, you might not be able to cum again, too much too soon, too good, but you want him to do whatever he wants to you. Desperately, you want it. It's all you can think about. All-consuming and ravenous.

As you shiver, weak and strung out, he turns your spread, melted body over, letting you soak into the sheets like butter on hot toast, and pulls you onto your knees.

Just onto your knees, getting them underneath you. He doesn't bother to untangle your fists from the messy sheets when you grab them, needing something to hold onto as anticipation wracks you. Despite how weak you feel, over-satiated and shaking, he knows he won't be able to rip you off of them. Fisting the sheets, you're too overwhelmed and wound too tight despite having cum multiple times already. He just needs you on your knees. He just--

He just needs you.

He can have you for his own desires. Anything. Everything.

Your blushing face and tits are pressed wantonly into the mused bed as your chest heaves. You're moaning wetly, breathily, into the mattress, hardly muffled at all with the lust he stirs in you as his big, heavy hands run up your back. His blunt fingernails stretch just a touch, that delicious bit of recklessness surging through. It feels so good. It must look good, too, because he groans deeply as you instinctively arch for him. And, oh, fuck--

Oh.

Oh, yesss.

You urgently fight your shaking, well-used muscles to arch just a little deeper, spread your thighs just a bit wider, and grasp the sheets just a little bit more in response to the dizzying slick sounds of his fist flying tightly over his cock. He's wet, too. Dripping with you. Using your wetness to slick himself. So shameless about it. And, shit, his voice chases the desperate sounds of he grips himself, a noise of agonized arousal, almost too turned on by you. A kick to the chest. Painful with how he's held off, devastated by the way it feels to let go.

It feels so good. It rolls off of him in waves as he grits out a few swears from behind you, jerking himself off frantically, that Boston accent coming out full force, cutting his filthy mouthed swears off at the end.

Fuckin', Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby.

Oh, the way that fills you with hot, clenching need all over again...

Want isn't a strong enough word. Need isn't strong enough, either. The way it makes you feel is insane; the way he makes you feel is insane with his eyes heated as they stare at your body, dragging across your skin in the most sultry way, all but sizzling, gazing at you so intensely you feel it through your whole body. Ripples of pleasure, just from being so thoroughly enjoyed. Stared at like that.

Fuck, it's like being prey, but you want it. You want to be torn into. You gasp with anticipation every time his teeth loom nearer, poised to bite down and make a feast of you--the sticky, leaking head of his cock keeps brushing hotly against your ass, his breath humid as it fans out against your skin. He's gone from kneeling upright behind you, taking you in, to curling forward, so attracted to you it's like gravity. Crumbling. He just can't help it.

Again, again, and again, his hips jerk forward instinctively. Fucking forward. Bucking needily. And you just keep choking on the sensation of his cock against your ass, smearing his pre-cum and your own slick wetness into you. God. Your thighs slide apart wider without your conscious mind having anything to say about it. He's so painstakingly close.

He could just--

He could slide right in. You're so wet. Wetter now, probably, then he was when he was inside you. It's just building. Building. Soaking. You're dripping, you swear it, melting from the inside out. If only he'd just--

He would hardly have to shift and he could fuck right into you!

He could do no work at all and shove himself inside, go back to filling you up. Fucking you hard. Carving space for himself inside your hot, wet, tight body and make you heavy with cock.

You want it so bad that your pussy throbs with your pounding heart. Frantic. A raw moan comes careening out of your mouth. You didn't even realize your mouth was still wide open, panting, chest heaving, heart racing faster.

As you struggle to breathe around the rising immense arousal inside you despite your emptied exhaustion from orgasming before, all the oxygen you get just makes you ignite more. Feeding the fire. Combusting hotly. Brightly. You feel all swollen and tight. Wet. You can hardly take it.

You can't take it!

Next, something of a whine surges out of your lungs. With each heave of your chest, you can feel your hard nipples brush against the sheets. You just feel tighter and tighter. Each time his cock brushes you, just the tip, each wet squelch of his fist, speeding up now, chasing and urgent, each sound he let's out, each gruff word he let's slip, swearing and saying your name, admiring you, using you, desperate to claim you until--

Ah, ah, ah! Ohh, God!

He does.

He cums wet and filthy across your presented ass with the most delicious sound and all the muscles under your too tight, feverish skin ripple all at once. And you sigh roughly. Raw, sandpaper edges to the sound. You're still fucking throbbing but you could--you could live, you could die happily with the sensation of his release soaking into your skin. You would ache but it would be more than enough, enough now and enough later to dive between your own thighs and touch yourself when he's not home later, on set, working, dipping your fingers into your own mess, stifling your sounds into his pillow, dreaming of the way he makes you feel, cumming to what he does to you.

You don't ache for long, though. You hardly have the time to think, to breathe before he's there. Here. He has you.

All he has to do to get you off is drag his fingers through the mess he's made across your ass and use it, as if he needs it, you're so drenched, to rub tight, fast circles around your clit.

OH!

It shocks you.

Electric.

So fittingly, lightning fast, one of your hands darts down to hold his hand there, fingers around his wrist as you uncontrollably gasp and plead for him to do that, yes, please, more, oh, ohh, Chris, yes! Just! Mmmgh! Just like th-thaaat! Reaching forward between your legs and touching, rubbing, merciless where you're most swollen and sensitive is nearly crewl at this point. It's murder. You mewl, grinding into the pressure, riding and riding the waves. It lasts. It really fucking lasts.

By the time you're done, you're more than exhausted and drenched. You already were those things, so what are you now? Not that it matters. You can't think. Your brain has turned to liquid and dripped out of your ears.

Giving up, your thighs slide apart shakily, leaving your heated, swollen slit to be revealed to the sex-thick air of the bedroom as you run across the bed like spilled ink, spread open and exposed. Messy. With the last of the air in your tender chest, you gasp--the air feels so shockingly cold, caressing your flesh. But you can't even speak to say so. It's so much. Overwhelming in every way. How does he do this to you? How does he manage to get so much from you? How does he manage to be kind and servicing and selfish and a fucking bastard? It's not fair! He drives you out of your mind, out of your body.

I hope that suffices 😘

[yardsards]

This is why I refuse to watch/read delicious in dungeon. The entire thing gives me fatphobic vibes.

see the premise as a whole is actually very body positive (i myself had similar worries that a story about eating "healthy" would rely on fatphobic ideas of "healthy", but was pleasantly surprised). like, its approach to "healthy" is "make sure you're eating enough of everything so that your body has enough fuel. make sure you're resting enough and not overworking." rather than "you must not eat The Bad Junk Food." (like, there's one part early on where they're like "oh, we've eaten too much vegetables and lean meat, we need to eat more fat" so they search for fatty meat and eggs. and then later they eat deep fried food and no one is ever like "oh no, this is too fattening" they're just like "wow this is great it's so crispy and tasty")

and the core message of it all is just like "your body is a part of you, and is the part of you that allows you to do things and reach your goals. don't treat it like a burden or an afterthought." and the series has had a positive impact on the way i view and treat my body

and overall, it's better than a lot of other popular anime series in terms of representing realistic and diverse body types. our two human (or "tallman" as they're called in-universe) main characters, laios and falin, are not super skinny, with no wasp waist or shrink-wrapped abs. i would not consider either of them fat in canon, but they're still fatter than your average popular anime character. certain races like dwarves and orcs are just naturally stout, and are never treated as being unhealthy or unattractive because of their weight. fatness is said to be a respected trait among adventurers, as a sign that you're good at survival and can safely recover from injuries.

however. the show has a few small things that make me raise my eyebrows. one or two iffy offhand comments (glaring at you, That One Conversation about laios's hunger near the end) that in most media i'd just be like "sighhh, normalized societal fatphobia strikes again, as expected." but for this series it's like "god damn it, i expected better from you."

and some things about how body types between fantasy races are handled leaves something to be desired for me. like yeah dwarves are all stocky, but also elves are all slender. it makes sense for the different fantasy races to have different *average* body types, but i wish we got to see more variation from those averages between individuals.

(also, i can fully understand praising laios and falin's canon body types! even medium body types are underrepresented in most media and it's good to see more of them! but calling them *fat* representation just feels inaccurate to me)

it's just like. dungeon meshi is GOOD in terms of body positivity and representation, but it's not PERFECT.

like, i love this show/manga (if you couldn't tell from the content of my blog)

mostly i voice my complaints bc like. i'm tired of tumblr getting it's hands on a piece of media that is good and generally progressive and acting like the media is *perfect*. and then proceeding to treat anyone who points out things the media could have done better as if they personally slayed your firstborn. (and then, months later, after the hype dies down, realize that some of that criticism was actually very valid, and then violently knock the piece of media down from its pedestal. and act like everyone involved in the media's creation are irredeemable scum and that anyone who still likes it should be ashamed)

so yeah, funny dungeon show good, and i strongly recommend it if you like fantasy stories and food and worldbuilding, just don't expect it to be a flawless paragon of representation and fat positivity

(also take everything i say here with a grain of salt bc i myself am thin, i just care a lot about representation in media and body acceptance and dismantling fatphobia)

[disinherited-dornishman]

An Impossible Choice Fanart - Alyssa, daughter of Rhaenyra I

Thanks from the very bottom of my heart to @helaenalyst for making this amazing sketch of a grown up Warrior-Princess Alyssa Velaryon (Alyssa Targaryen when she ascends), the firstborn daughter and only child of Rhaenyra I Targaryen (and Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard)! I never thought I'd get fanart of my fics outside of commissions, but here I am, being gifted one for my Crisnyrent fic, and I'm more grateful than I can put into words. Thank you so much, Carla!

Omahgaaa look at her 🥰🥰🥰 I based Alyssa's smile off Criston Cole's (Fabien Frankel's) while her face is largely based off a young Rhaenyra's (Milly Alcock).

The necklace you see around her neck is Anguy's (a OC mentioned in Criston's background in my fic), and the earring is a gift Alicent gives her on her fourteenth name-day. I based her eye-and-hair colour and resting expression on descriptions of Aemon, son of Jaehaerys I. (RIP, you would've been a great king)

[aveloka-draws]

Hello fellow lamb cult fanatic, hope you’re having a good day! Any cotl merch or fan merch you recommend/have been eyeing?

I'd give my firstborn for the long lamb pillow, its so cuteee

Hope your day/night is good too!

[thesiltverses]

Is there a reason why the Trawlerman seems to be most associated with the tides and saltwater creatures like crabs and barnacles even far upstream of the delta?

I think it's ultimately because we were interested mainly in the Trawler-man as a god of change (or at least a god who's meant to be a god of change), which lent itself more to the shifting aspects of a tidal river / the sedimental aspects of a river in its lower reaches, and we were interested in the environment of the delta more as an overall foundation for the series.

And also crabs and barnacles are fun, and they were on my mind as raw material in a body horror sense.

But if I was being held hostage in a small cabin by an angry hydrologist and they were waving a gun around and yelling, 'tell me why the Trawler-man is only representative of a small portion of the fluvial ecosystem and is associated with fauna that simply could not flourish in a freshwater environment, you unscientific son of a bitch' and I had to give an in-universe explanation to keep them shooting me in the face, I'd probably say,

"well, look, it's actually meant to be a commentary on religious conflict; we should understand that the Trawler-man as a regionally-specific avatar of the White Gull river has proven triumphant over other gods of the river at some point over the history of the setting.

This all-conquering monoculture has had a flattening cultural effect on the people of the river and their understanding of it. But in this world where reality is shaped by belief it's also had a tangible impact on the environment of the waters themselves - there's been a polluting effect on the entirety of the White Gull, transforming the river into effectively a saltwater environment.

The crab-angels and silt-things of the Parish are invasive and alien species, mistakenly heralded as the firstborn inhabitants of the river. This is meant to be an unnatural thing deemed natural by time, tradition, and by established power, which is key to our understanding of the overall setting."

Which, in fairness, might actually be true - it's been a long time since we started writing this stuff, so God knows I've probably forgotten.

And we have hinted, and will continue to hint, that there have been other gods of the river besides the Trawler-man.

But more importantly, it'd buy me time to loosen the ropes, and the hydrologist keeps stalking around the cabin taking swigs from that vodka bottle and peering out of the windows while muttering about how they'll create their own true god of the river and I'll be its first sacrifice.

So if I choose my moment well and I jump them when their back is turned, maybe I can get the gun off th

[bluecollarmcandtf]

The Family Business

The portrait of the Malik family still hangs over the fireplace. Even though they don't live in this mansion anymore, I like to look at it.

Their name used to have influence. The wealth Mr. Malik (center) had amassed in his lifetime was only eclipsed by his influence. His firstborn son, Omar (left) eagerly followed in his father's steps, greedily awaiting his chance to replace the old man. The youngest son, Amir (right) occasionally went to board meetings when he wasnt travelling the world, going from one lavish party to the next.

Despite being on top of the world, each of the three men fell far from their pedestals.

They shouldn't have tried to swindle my restaurant. My place might've been going down the toilet, but it was priceless to me. The Maliks tried raising the pricetag, but they quickly resorted to thinly veiled threats.

I couldn't take it anymore. I was tired of their smug faces and their pompous lifestyles. They didn't deserve that existence, and I was more than capable of taking it from them.

"You're gonna be my new fry cook, son," I explain to Amir, as he nervously shifts in his new uniform.

"Can I just wear something more dignified?"

"Heck, no!" I clap the youngest Malik on the head, "You are representing my business here, so you wear what I tell you to."

Amir's lip quivers, and he knows he's helpless to disobey. My mind controlling abilities have him and his family bending to my will. Their own wills have become irrelevant. It's been this way ever since I paid a visit to their mansion, walking away with the three men marching obediently behind me.

"Whatever," Amir relents disdainfully, grimacing at the humidity and oil in the air.

"I know it's not the fancy tailored suits you are used to, son, but there's a lot more pride in wearing the Grease Pit uniform.

"Really?" he scoffs sarcastically.

"Of course there is!" I remind him, "Don't you love it when you slide that yellow polo on, look in the mirror, and see a Grease Pit employee staring back at you?"

"No," Amir scoffs, but he doesn't sound convinced.

I can tell I'm finally winning over his thoughts.

"Are you sure?" I press, "Because that's not what you said to me."

"What'd I say?" he only looks confused now.

"You told me you couldn't wait to be a part of this: a down-to-earth, blue-collar life like this. That's why you applied. Remember?"

The former party boy paused, but a grin eventually stretched across his lips. It was the first time I'd ever seen his genuine smile. He was devilishly handsome when he smiled.

"You're right, sir," he sticks out his chest a little, "I'll wear the uniform with pride."

"Every day, right?"

"Yes, sir," he replies cheerily.

"Remember, the best Grease Pit employees always work with a smile!" I add.

Amir laughs respectfully at his boss's quip, turning the sticky stove on. Little does he know that it is no joke. His mind is under my control, and he's just been convinced that he's my little cook who's absolutely beaming with pride and joy in his work.

I give him a playful smack on his rear as I leave. His butt is basically mine to play, and he can only smile and shrug off my advances.

"How're the dishes, son?" I call to Omar, as he scrubs away in the back of the building.

"Screw you," the former executive mutters, "And I'm not your son."

"Oh I don't know if you want to take that tone with me, boy," I remind him, "Remember what happened last time you gave me lip?"

Omar's mouth seals tightly as he looks away.

"Go on," I command, "Remind me."

The oldest son growls, "You made me clean your boots," slamming a dirty dish beneath the steaming water with rage.

"More than that, I think," I continue, "Explain what else."

"You made me lick them!" he yells at me with bared teeth, "And when I wasn't doing that right, you made me slow down and drag my entire tongue across your goddamn shoe."

"That's right," I brush off his intimidation, "Isn't this work so much more enjoyable?"

"It's all terrible!" he growls, "Every second since you showed up has been terrible. This place is disgusting! There's mold in every corner, the place smells like rotten meat, and it's at least a hundred degrees back here!"

I chuckle at the sweat pouring down his shirt.

"Well, the AC hasn't worked for years, and the water always comes out piping hot," I explain, "But that's nothing to be upset about."

"Oh really?" he bellows in rage as he splashes more dirty dishes into the scalding water.

"Sure, don't you love some hard work?" I ask, knowing this man hasn't ever worked hard, "That's the only way you feel accomplished."

"What are you talking about?" he scoffs.

I already know he'll be easy to sway. Men as desperate for attention as he is usually are.

"I'm talking about how you love a good project. You are so hard-working. You need something to apply yourself to completely."

"Well, I do work hard," he reiterates.

"Exactly! That's why I hired you, son."

"I'm not your-"

"Right, your not my son. Im just proud of you, is all. You're my hardest worker here, and I hate seeing this place in such a sorry state."

Omar's eyes soften, and for the first time he doesn't look like he wants to murder me.

"Well, maybe I could see if I can't scrub off that mold later," he quietly suggests.

"You'd do that?" I feign gratitude, "Do you think you could fix the AC too, son?"

"I don't know how that works," he reasons.

"Oh," I give him a look of disappointment.

"But let me try," he calls, sounding slightly desperate, "I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"That's good, son," I say, patting him on the head. Omar can't help but relax as I do, happy he has earned my approval.

Both brothers are eating out of my hand. It's time to visit dad."

"Mr. Malik," I call, "How's the front?"

The mature executive doesn't even bother turning his head, stating, "No customers if that's what you mean. Can't imagine anyone coming into a piece of trash like this."

"You're in here," I remind him.

"Against my will," he reminds me steadily.

He is not going to be as easy to manipulate as his sons, but that's perfectly fine. I don't want to warp this man into the most respectful or dedicated employee. I just want him to watch as I do that to his charming boys.

"So who were you gonna give the company?"

He sighs, staring at the empty restaurant.

"Tell me!" I command.

"Amir," he frowns deeper as his voice betrays him, "Probably. If he ever grew up. Omar was too eager, but he was the backup."

"Which one wants it more, do you think?"

His lip curls warmly as he thinks about his sons, "They both want it more than anything. They just have different ways of showing it."

"Well, I doubt they care about it anymore."

His eyes finally dart to my own. I can tell the all-powerful Mr. Malik is finally scared. He has no idea what I've done to his boys.

"Hey, boys!" I yell, "Get your butts up front!"

I smirk at the petrified father as the stove simmers down and the sink turns off. Heavy feet race over as the duo reports to us. They don't mind their father. The brothers are waiting to hear what I have to say to them.

"Omar?"

"Yeah, boss?" the grown man can barely hide his desperation for my approval.

"I know you had a pretty good career before, son" I admit, winking at the stunned father, "I won't stop you if you want to go back."

"No," his voice cracks as he answers hastily. Casting a nervous glance to his dad, he continues, "I just like the work here. There's a lot to do, but I can help fix this place up."

"You can certainly try, son," I smile deviously.

"And Amir?" The boy straightens his back.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving the Grease Pit, sir," he beams. I reach around and give his rear a playful, squeeze as he smiles wider.

Mr. Malik's nostrils flair as he sees what I've turned them into, but the former tycoon can't do anything about it. I dismiss his sons to get back to work.

The man is helpless to stop his body from giving me everything I want. The mansion, the vacation homes, even ownership of their enterprises were all signed over to me.

"Keep up the good work!" I call cheerily as I leave the restaurant.

While I hop in a sports car and speed off, they stay open late into the night. A few people wander in during their graveyard shift.

When I finally arrive at the secluded mansion, they are finally closing up and cleaning for the night. Amir cleans the kitchen while his older brother mops the floors. Mr. Malik is stuck scrubbing the toilets.

When I finally sink into a massive sofa and enjoy the fire. They are turning out the lights in the back office. Mr. Malik and his youngest curl up on stuff cots while Omar stays up to take care of the mold problem. He is certainly willing to go the extra mile for me.

As I drift off, I chuckle at the portrait of the three men. It's a silly thing to have such a grand painting of three fast food workers.