#i'd write but what are words

[lizzybeeee]

DATV explaining the 'Regret Prison'

A REGRET PRISON IS STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING THAT ITS NOT

TL;DR: a prison can serve as a metaphor but it shouldn't be entirely comprised of a metaphor.

From what I understood from what the game gave us: Solas has made a new prison to move the God's too - since bringing down the veil would free them from the Black City. This new prison is separate(?) from the fade or so far removed/contained that bringing down the veil would not compromise it...apparently. We interrupt his ritual, Solas gets sucked into the new prison he made, and the elven gods are free.

When Rook gets kicked into the fade they're physically there - which means it's a physical place in the fade, like how it was a mixture of physical/thought when we entered it in DAI. Which makes sense - the gods are real and living beings, they need to be in a place, there must be some aspect of physicality to it.

Alright, cool, it's a Black City 2.0 - I assume it's better defended to prevent people breaking in/out again?

NOPE.

We get there and it's a 'regret prison'?? It's tied to the regrets of those within it? Composed of regrets??? Solas had to wait for the right moment for Rook to be sufficiently 'full of regret' that they could switch places?

So is the prison tied to Solas's regrets? If so, how can Rook escape? The prison seems to work around the idea that it relies on the regrets of the person it's holding to work - which is how/why Rook was able to be trapped and later free themselves (along with whatever remains of the team apparently being able to do something on their end, not that we hear about it).

WHICH IS STUPID!

Are you telling me the prison intended to hold to megalomaniac elven gods was going to imprison them based on their own regrets? Is Solas assuming that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are as self-pitying as he is? They'd break out quicker than Rook did! He made a time out corner for the elven gods to sit in and gave them an out if they reflected on their emotions/regrets or decided that they don't regret what they did. Elgar'nan, a spirit of tyranny, is not going to 'regret' his actions - he is going to justify them by telling himself and others that he knows what's best.

We can come across some of Solas's regrets in the prison if you run around a bit and explore:

Remnant of Failure - talking about the orb from Inquisition.

Remnant of Parting - talking about Mythal

Remnant of Reflection - more vague, talking about the Titans I believe.

So maybe he altered it - maybe he intended the prison to be 'locked' with his own regrets because after a millennia of having a pity party he still can't bring himself to self-reflect and look to the future. But what if Solas died? Or if his guilt lessened - would it diminish the strength of the regret prison?

We already have pre-established lore (though DATV has shown they don't really give a crap tbh) that once the being that has claimed/altered an area of the fade is slain, it's influence diminishes both in and outside of the fade. So if the prison was tied to his regrets then it would require Solas to basically live forever to keep it stable - especially if he brought down the veil and removed the one barrier that kept the world and the fade apart.

Rook and Solas needed some assistance to exit - but it doesn't seem like it was much! Solas used his dagger and Rook just...got out through a fade tear? This is Solas's 'more secure' second prison? It has a worse track record than the Black City! If Rook - who is not an elven god - managed to escape the regret prison what is to stop anyone else from breaking in and out of the prison?

And what did Solas intend to do with the blight - the bulk of which is apparently in the black city?? If bringing down the Veil would free the gods in the black city doesn't that mean that the blight would also be released?! Did he have a plan? Why does he go fully ahead with bringing down the veil at the end if the black city is still there and filled with blight?!

I get it: the 'regret prison' is a metaphor for how Solas holds onto the past and how Rook can move past their regrets and grow. He's trapped by the past - it's a prison. Cool. But this prison is supposed to by a physical place to contain the gods - not just to solely contain Solas. The mission is literally called 'A Cage for Gods'.

The Black City is an actual place that's so far out of reach of anywhere else in the fade that no mage can ever reach it while in dreams - let alone physically, which was only done once and took tremendous effort/blood sacrifices. It made sense - it was cool to see floating in the sky in DAO!

Though it's not said specifically, it's strongly implied that Arlathan is the Black City. You can see in the concept art that floating elven city is exactly the same as the black city in DAO! It's this foreboding thing just lurking in the sky - a constant reminder of the sin that led to the horrors of the blights and darkspawn. A real place with lore and history that also serves as a metaphor for the hubris and destruction of those who call themselves gods and act as tyrants -> for both the evanuris and the magisters.

I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS BIOWARE!

WHAT IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS NONSENSE???!!

[itshype]

As a fandom Vet please, please back up your fanfiction. I see so many fics posted exclusively to tumblr and it scares me.

I've seen so many tumblr purges, I've seen staff delete blogs irreparably by accident, I've seen cyberbullying involving reporting a blog so many times it's taken down and all the posts are lost.

All these new baby fandom accounts who are writing tens of thousands of words of fic (in a readmore so not even reblogs work to save it if your blog is lost) and not backing it up are causing me anxiety. Please, I'm so worried for you all.

[leashybebes]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

tommy must live in a perpetual state of confusion over buck

do you think the longer buck allies the more tommy realises that "oh, he really is like this but he's definitely some flavor of queer"? because i see tommy maybe gently testing buck's jealousy to see what it'll take to make him break

oooookay once again this is not a snippet (sorryyyyy) but is more me attempting to understand wtf is going on in tommy's head throughout all this that he keeps "sure, okay"-ing himself into ridiculous situations with buck, so apologies for just unloading the contents of my brain on you

there are a few things i've been chewing on in terms of figuring out how tommy reacts to the buck of it all, which i hope will make it make sense that i actually don't think tommy pushing or testing for jealousy is on the cards in this fic (although i do love the idea!)

so first of all, this is a younger tommy than we've seen interact with buck in canon (of course), so whatever happened to make him Like That in the breakup hasn't happened yet (and won't, because i am a slut for a HEA). he's newly out and in my experience, a lot of newly out people, particularly people who are a bit older have something of a second adolescence. so yeah while this means he's incredibly horny (horny enough to let a self-proclaimed straight guy give him the absolute best sex of his life) it also means he just wants to have fun!! and buck is SO. MUCH. FUN. he's spent so long so tightly controlled that he's trying really hard to just go with the flow.

second, when i say newly out tommy, i mean newly out. like, it's one thing to "stop lying about who i am" - to me, there's a non-zero chance that just means "stop making up girlfriends" rather than "actually grapple with the life-long process of coming out (again and again and again)". so in my head (and it might come up in the fic, idk yet) the scene early on where he tells buck he doesn't want the cute girl's number because he's gay is probably one of the first times he actually said the words out loud. which ties into...

third, we know tommy was work friends with sal (at least and again, don't know that it'll come up in the fic but for the record, he 100% had a monstrous crush on him, like it made him ILL how much he wanted sal, i will hear no arguments), and that he developed good - again, work-based - friendships with hen and chim, but i feel like for a deeply closeted guy under dadt with a shitty childhood buck might be his first actual friend who knows all of him and likes him. spends time with him. doesn't care that he's gay. actively supports his gayness. doesn't recoil and in fact actively encourages tommy to talk about it. so i think tommy is just...deeply, deeply grateful for this confusing train wreck of a man

fourth, while i think there are definitely times that tommy thinks "he...he's flirting with me, right? is something gonna happen here?" this is a guy who has spent his entire adult life not looking at that kinda thing. not letting himself wonder if a guy (particularly a friend) is into him. or really, even if he's into them. he's really, really good at compartmentalising, and buck's pretty insistent that he's straight, so tommy's taking that at face value. hey, buck makes compelling arguments ("tommy, straight men have prostates too!")

aaaaand there we have the contents of my brain as it relates to one tommy kinard. even in my own incredibly stupid AUs, i am frankly obsessed. i want to gnaw on him. i'll settle for having buck do it instead.

[gossippool]

just reread my first poolverine fic that i wrote before even creating this tumblr or knowing jackshit about logan and let's just say. it is not great. but it did spawn one of the funniest metaphors i've ever written

[narcissarina]

𝔊𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔞𝔤𝔢, 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔰

જ⁀➴Previous chapter

Pairings: bodyguard!Leon × college billionaire!reader

Word count: 2,260

Tw: This chapter is just all smut🧍‍♂️ (hardcore, daddy kink, safe word but never used, call while fucking, crying, dom!leon, crying reader, pulling out method, creampie on the stomach—not inside, cry about it/j. imagine writing 2.2k words with only smut lmfao)

Summary: After the training, Leon made his moves and manhandles you in bed while in a call with your father. Be sure not to make any noises. 🧍‍♂️

𝚅.

You squirm to his touch, his weight on you as you whine for him to get off. “Leon…” his name left from your pretty little lips, “I’m here…” he spoke softly, his breath tickling against your skin. He place soft kisses from your neck, nibbling then biting hard.

You jolt, like the electricity went through your body. Soft choked moans got out, he growls—sucking your skin, his hands travel down to the curve of your waist, holding your hips down and drawing circle. He sharply inhales and switch to the right side of your neck, placing gentle kisses then to your jaw.

Arousal pool in your underwear, you try to squeeze your legs together but it’s his hips that’s been keeping them apart. His cock screaming from the confinement of his pants, his shirt and jeans felt a little too tight as he use one hand to unbutton two more of his polo and remove the belt from his jeans.

You could feel him as hard as a metal, you grind against his hardness to get some friction. “Please…” you choke, “hm, please what?” he teases, leaning back and pulling your legs to him, “come on, your daddy taught you words, no? Use them, baby.” He coos, leaning down again as his hands found its way to the hem of your sweater and lifts it slowly, finding consent if you wanted this. He easily took it off, you’re wearing lace blue bra, it matches the color of his eyes.

He chuckle at the color and grab your right left tits, “cute.” He mutter, you mewl and support yourself up by your elbow but quickly got pushed down by Leon. “Stay down, princess.” He warns.

He massage and circle around to your perked up nipple, “you like this?” he asked, his tone low and seducing as you desperately nod in response, he grins as he remove the strap and toss the fabric of your chests confinement somewhere in the room as he leans and kisses it first then suck on it.

You jolt and arch your back, softly moaning as you lift your hand and caress the back of his hair. He grins against your chest and gently nibble on your sensitive nipple, making you gasp and choke on your moan, “you still haven’t answer my question, sweetheart.” He hums against your chest, he looks up to see your lewd and pleasing expression.

You nodded but too embarrassed to say the exact words, “come on, baby. Use your fucking words.” He said and gave your ass a slap, then squeezing it. You yelp, “y-yes!” you stammer, he hums as he retreat his mouth from your chest—bruise and red.

He made his way, kissing down from your chest, stomach to your abdomen and your clothed cunt. He brought down your pants that’s been restricting your poor numb, he saw glints of your underwear.

You look down to see what is he eyeing and you feel more arouse when he’s admiring your soaked cunt, “Leon… Stop staring.” He chuckle at your remark, he hums and wrap his finger around the waistband and pulled it down, “hope you don’t mind.” You feel a cold air hit your naked cunt, your legs closing as Leon held it and keep them open.

“Don’t close,” he said, burying his face to your cunt without warning, you groan and let out a pornographic moan as he started to lick your sensitive bud and finger your hole. “oh, god, Leon!” you scream, his nose breathing against your clit, shaking his head lightly so he could give it some friction. Letting your arousal pool down as he tongue fuck and finger fuck you, he could feel you pulse around his tongue.

You grind against his face, chasing your high as you feel a warm and hot feeling from your abdomen—his strong hands keeping your legs apart as much as you want to close it as you come undone, he pulls his face and kept his fingers inside you—working his magic.

You spoke nonsense, a mix of curses and please, “you like that, hm? Naughty princess.” He chuckle and plunge his fingers knuckle deep inside, “fuck!” you curse as you grab a hold of his wrist, trying to push it away but you couldn’t. His hold is too strong and you felt too weak and aroused to even fight it.

“You close, sweetheart?” he asked, you nodded, desperately wanting to come to his fingers coated with your white stickiness. “Such a fucking good girl, you wouldn’t want your father to think that you’re such a whore hm? Panting on my fingers, fucking your bodyguard…” he teased, you feel so hot and bothered, tears starts flowing and coming down your cheeks.

Even if it’s just his fingers, it felt too much and how much you desperately want to finish on his fingers—the sound it makes is so loud as you finally felt near, “yes!” you yelp, but felt the sudden emptiness when Leon pulled his fingers out. “Fuck!” you choke and whined.

You sob at the lost of your release as you watch Leon unzip his pants, pulled it down just to his hip and release the built up frustration of his dick, painfully throbbing as if it was showing its gratitude to be freed from it’s tight confinement.

Your guess was fucking right, he is well-endowed. Fuck, you don’t think it’ll fit.

Leon pumps himself, his head back and softly moaning—gripping to his cock tightly and his hand moving with urgency, he place the tip to your slit. Teasing as he move his hips up and down, bumping to your clit—making you shudder and mewl. He fist his cock again, slap his dick and prepare to force it in, but you quickly grab a hold of his wrist. Swallowing your saliva and your breathing became heavy, you could almost hear your heart pounding.

“Scared?” he asked, you nodded, “I don’t think it’ll fi—” you shudder and screamed when Leon got his tip in and plunged deep into your cunt. Tears flow and drag down to your cheeks, your legs trembling and your insides pulsing and gripping to his cock.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” He tease, you spout random gibberish words—trying to take his cock in. Your cunt adjusting to his size, like it’s molding to his shape. “Fuck, so tight. Tight as a fucking virgin.” He hiss, “this your first time?” he raised a brow which you obviously nodded quickly in response.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you got the best cock of your life.” He remarks and slowly retreat, leaving his tip only inside. Then plunging it right in, you hiss with pain and pleasure as his tip is fucking kissing your cervix.

“Fuck, Leon!”

“That’s right, baby. Scream my name, you don’t know how long I wanted to do this so I could fuck the bratness out of you from a few days ago.” He grunts, snapping his hips against yours—knowing completely that it’s your first time and he’s being rough, “I forgot,” grin is spreading from his lips, “what’s your safe word, baby? Tell me…” he asked, you just moaned—too full of his cock hammering your insides.

You asked yourself where the fuck did he get a third leg, “r-r-r…!” you stammer your words, his dick obviously hitting you so good, “speak up!” he plunges deep, making you scream. Grabbing both of your legs and placing them of his shoulders—his hands pulling your wrist, he manhandles you like your pussy is some fleshlight.

Your eyes widens, back arch and toe curling—your gummy walls gripping to his length as you made out a word, “red!” you finally said, Leon hums and pulls to thrust back in gently. “Wasn’t so bad, hm?” he coos, he leans with your legs over his shoulder—your position in a mating press which got you choke and moan loudly, making his length reach deep inside you that you never knew.

“T-Too much…” you sob, “I know, but you can take it.” He encourage—his lips kissing your jaw, softly letting a groan slip from his lips as he thrust inside you, you think he’s giving you a breather after getting fucked like there’s no tomorrow. You close your eyes and mewl at each of his thrust.

His hips angle to certain direction to make you have a reaction, you feel that familiar release again. But he’s moving too slow that it pains you.

“L-Leon…”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“M-Move… please.” He grins to your words, “good girl.” He pulls, his hands at the back of your thigh. Your knees reach at each side of your cheeks as Leon starts to snap his hips against you, his balls hitting your anal hole and he’s deep inside. Making you mewl and cry, choking on your moans and sobbing to the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Been such a good girl for me…” he praises, “don’t be a brat again, hm?” he leans and kisses your lashes, you nod, “oh, god yes… Oh, daddy.” Your words made Leon stop, you just pant with sweat rolling down your forehead and how you whine at the sudden stop, “daddy?” he repeat.

“I never knew you’re into that, but I’ll play along.” He chuckles and flop down one of your leg while the other is still almost reaching your ear, “scream for daddy, doll.” He said and resume his brutal pace.

“you”—thrust— “hear”—thrust— “ that?”—thrust—

He asked while thrusting hard each and every word, you feel so sore and a white ring starts to draw from Leon’s length. You cry at the overstimulation that you’re starting to feel, “come on, baby. Come on my fucking dick.” He grit between his teeth, he feel your walls clamp into him tight, he let out a shudder and a soft curse, “oh, fuck…”

You came undone, but Leon is nowhere but finish.

Vrooo—

The sound of Leon’s phone vibrating, a call incoming. Leon took his phone and look at the number, you thought he’ll drop the call but he didn’t. He picked it up and put it beside his ear and resume drilling his length inside of you, making you gasp and choke back a moan. Refraining one word to come out from your lips.

The voice from the other side of the line was familiar since Leon put it on speaker, your heart drop when you learn that the voice is from your father.

“Yes, sir.” Leon hisses, groaning. “It’s nothing, I just bruised myself.” He made up an excuse, but he really is just drilling another hole inside your hole. You covered your mouth with both of your hands, muffling moans every hard thrust Leon makes.

“Your daughter?” Leon turn to you, “yeah, she’s with me.” He grins, you shake your head and begged him to not make you say something to your father, “oh, no. She’s sounds asleep, can’t wake her up or else she’ll kick me out.” He joke with your father, his pace slowing down as his free hand capture two of your wrist. Pulling you close and fucking you to oblivion with nothing to cover your mouth with.

You bit your lower lip, threw your head back and hope for the best that you wouldn’t moan a single thing—just tiny little grunts and sobs, Leon could hear it but it wasn’t loud enough to hear.

Leon put himself to mute and lean down to capture your lips, pulling you in a fiercely kiss. Desperation and lust as he devours your lips whole, you could hear your father venting.

“B-But what about…” Leon hushes you before you could continue, “don’t worry, I made sure to put myself in mute.” He assured and got back to making you come your orgasm the second time, you heard what your father is saying.

“She’s my only child, you know? I am so glad that she’s warming up to you, Leon.”

You moaned loudly when Leon flip you over and plunge deep.

“I know I did something that I shouldn’t have done that made her resent me, I know. I’m a bad husband, but I’m trying to be a better father.”

Your eyes rolling up, too much pleasure that Leon is giving you—you sob and whine at him to slow down and be gentle but he didn’t, he was addicted to what sound your cunt is making when getting fucked by his dick.

“I’m trying to be better… for her.”

There was a long pause, Leon listen to his words but very much focus on pushing you to your limit. “fuck, baby. Daddy’s near.” He hiss, he buried himself to the crook of your neck, making small but fast thrust, making your legs give out and numb. Your tears dry and your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

“Thank you for listening to me talk, Leon. Please, look after my little girl.”

The call ended.

Leon pulled out from your puffy red cunt and fist himself and release himself to your stomach, both covered in sweat and panting for air.

Your eyelids were heavy and you become sleepy, your whole body trembling from the pleasure and your hole clenching to over nothing—but you sure did heard what your father just confessed in a call.

“Sleep well, princess. I’ll take care of you.” Leon assured and kissed your temple.

You close your eyes and nod at Leon’s words, but you do know one thing before diving into your slumber.

That your father is a bad husband, but tries to be a good father.

Next Chapter>>>

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I wouldn't really agree that boys are just arm candy in magical girl shows and only there to look cute. Yeah, sure the girls' friendships are the focus, but the boys are usually very much involved in the plot and most shows do explore their feelings about the odd things that happen due to magical shenanigans even if they aren't in the know (It's why ML baffles me even more with how they screwed up Adren's arc when he's the deuteragonist, when all these boys are supporting cast and get well rounded arcs)

I'm not much of a winx fan, but the specialists were very much not arm candy. Did the girls talk about them being cute? Yes, it's what teenage girls do. Did the narrative suggest they were good looking? Yes, but that's standard for most love interests in any genre. But we still got scenes with them talking amongst themselves about how they themselves feel and they got a fair share of badass fight scenes even if they wield no magic. A large amount of episodes actually included the boys and girls working as a team solving a mystery or fighting a villain. The girls might deal the finishing blow but the boys were still integral to the plot.

I hope this doesn't come across as hate, it definitely wasn't my intention. I'm just a bit too passionate about the magical girl genre.

I do think you have a good point with ML having a problem choosing a genre or blending two genres successfully.

For the CCS fans, I will add though that Cardcaptor Sakura had both Tomoyo and Syaoran serve as sources of motivation for Sakura. And both Sakura and Syaoran collecting cards even if Sakura is the only one who could seal them and yet never made you question whether Syaoran was even necessary for the job the way ml does with Chat.

I wasn't trying to say that boys have no part to play in magical girl team shows or that they're always treated as having no lives beyond the girls, that's why I mentioned that the Winx Club boys - aka, the Specialists - have their own (mostly off screen) lives and occasionally show up help the girls:

the boys are usually off doing their own thing and only occasionally show up for a date or to give the girls a ride on their cool bikes or magical spaceship

Even then, this is certainly a simplification of the roles that they play in the story, but I kind of had to simplify their roles down to their base components for the original post's discussion as I was talking in broad strokes of how these stories are written.

In terms of those broad strokes, the Specialists are absolutely only there for shipping fodder. That's why each one is assigned to a girl from the start and why their main role in the narrative is supporting their assigned love interest or causing relationship-based drama for their assigned love interest. If it weren't for shipping, then the Specialists would not exist.

While the Specialists do have fleshed out characters and may even effect the plot, the execution of those elements is designed around the girls. A really obvious example of this is the character Timmy, who has character development as the boy's tech guy. Why is he into technology? Because he's the designated love interest for the fairy of Technology and we have to show why they're a good match. Along similar lines, the boys don't really get plots that are removed from the girls because this is the girl's show. Every episode features one or more of the Winx, but the boys are optional and often don't appear.

This is because, narratively speaking, the boys are just love interests and that brings us back to Miraculous' big problem. You can't have a show where Adrien is written like a Specialist while also being part of the Winx Club and where Alya is written like she's part of the Winx Club while technically being more of a Specialist in terms of power set and actual narrative role.

I'm was thinking back to my memories of various Winx Club plots to find one that really highlighted what I mean here and I remembered that one of the big dramas in season one was the reveal that Bloom's love interest - Sky - was in an arranged marriage and had just never told her. As it turns out, that's a great example of what I'm talking about re Adrien!

Is that plot line technically based around Sky and letting his life effect the plot? Sure, but the fallout of that reveal revolves around Bloom, not Sky. The story doesn't really care how Sky's feeling as the conflict progresses. Instead, it focuses on how it affects Bloom and her friends because of course it does! She's the main character. It would be really weird if that plot suddenly focused on her side character love interest and his friends during one of her darkest hours/biggest moments.

Think of that and then consider how the ending of season five is written. Notice any similarities? Sure, this is Adrien's family drama, but because he's just a Specialist, the focus isn't on him. It's on Winx Club member Marinette and Adrien only shows up at the end for a kiss. That is the problem. That is what I'm talking about when I say that Miraculous will randomly write him as if we're watching a magical girl team show where Adrien is just the love interest.

In fact, let's really dig into this example because it's a good one.

You can have a look at the transcript for the finale episode of Miraculous season five here and see for yourself that Adrien doesn't even show up on screen until the final scenes when the big drama is over. The Winx Club wiki also has episode transcripts, so I took a look to see what happened in Winx land during the arranged marriage reveal plot (I love that this is a thing. It's so useful for fact checking myself!) This is the script for the episode after Bloom learns the truth. Sky does not appear even though his lies and family drama are the fuel for this episode's events, which are a major part of the season's arc. Note how perfectly that matches Adrien's writing?

Similarly, Sky's dialogue in the reveal episode is all about Bloom. He's worried about her learning the truth and thinking less of him. To match that, here's Adrien's only real dialogue in the penultimate episode of season five (full transcript):

Adrien:(Covers his ears.) I cannot transform... (Looks at his ring and tries taking it off.) Plagg: What are you doing?! Adrien: I'm not in my right mind. I'm too angry — at myself for falling short of Marinette's love, at my father for sending me here in London, at this stupid app and these rings that use my image... it makes me sick! This nightmare is giving me the horrible feeling that, if I transform, I'll get akumatized and destroy everything with my Cataclysm — Marinette, Ladybug... (Takes off the ring and hands it to Plagg.)

Switching back to Winx. After Bloom learns the truth about Sky, bad things happen because she's depressed. This results in her and the Winx going off on a journey to learn the truth of who Bloom is. After the girls share this big plot moment and Bloom gets her mojo back, the boys show up to be their ride home and to give Bloom her romance moment where Sky wins her back by declaring that he broke off the arranged married because he loves her.

Sky notably doesn't get an arc about choosing between his arranged marriage and his true love. We don't even know that the marriage is broken off until he tells Bloom because that was never really a conflict as far as the narrative was concerned. Of course he's going to pick Bloom! He's her designated side character love interest! He only exists to be with her. We don't need to treat this as a serious thing for him. The arranged marriage plot was never about him anyway. It was about giving Bloom a reason to have a darkest hour moment that moves the plot forward. Similarly, Sky calling off the marriage is nowhere near as important as him telling Bloom that he's called off the marriage to be with her in a grand romantic gesture.

This perfectly mirrors Miraculous' season five ending where Adrien doesn't appear until after Marinette is done fighting her big girl power fight against his father. As far as the writing is concerned, that fight isn't about him. His connection to the villain only really matters in terms of how it affects Marinette's actions during the final battle. Then, when the battle is over, Adrien shows up to give Marinette her big romance moment because, while the plot may be driven by Adrien's family, he is not a Winx club member. He's just a Specialist. Or, in the words of the head writer:

[image text: She's Barbie, he's Ken. You don't like it. I get it. It won't change. Anything else?] (The full, even more damning context of this tweet can be found here.)

What else can I say other than, "I rest my case."

Oh, and also that I didn't take this as an attack. I just thought it was a good opportunity to really dig into the nuances of this and what I was talking about in that original post as I never know how obvious this stuff is if you don't closely study story telling. As this case study hopefully shows, if a show is about a group of girl friends using the power of friendship, then their love interests may have important roles, but the boys are never going to be more important than the girls and most of the boy's screen time will be focused on romance and how their existence effects the girls because it's ultimately the girls' world. Without them, the show wouldn't exist. Without the boys? Well, then we just wouldn't have a romance plot.

[twisting-in-wonderland]

if there was an autobiography based on any of the twst characters lives, which one would you be the most interested in hearing?

I'm torn between two--

but in the end. DEFINITELY Rook's--

He'd write so much irrelevant detail, and in the end you'd know so much, yet so little about his life,,

plus- hear me out-

there's 70 parts in total

(second place was Lilia, since that guy's been through a LOT ( i mainly want to hear about the places he's been to and the food he's had tbh--- (if lilia did try and release his autobiography, it'd probably be a multi-part too- most people would think it was a fantasy story instead of an actual autobiography though lol--))

tied third was crowley and Grim as a joke, because 99% of it would be exaggerated and full of lies, i would read either one's to make fun of it-)

transcript under read more-- (since my hand writing is rough sry--)

image 1 :

Rook - 'Roi du poison! I have finished my Autobiography!'

image 2:

Vil - 'It's very well written, Rook.'

Rook - 'Oh! Bon! I am over-joyed to hear that! So you like it, Roi du poison?'

Vil - 'Of course.'

Rook - 'Bien! I shall fetch part two for you both!'

(on the side-

Epel - 'Why are there two pages describing us...?'

Image 3:

Vil and Epel - '...Part two?'

[roomba-mangga]

thoughts on thistle and yaad's dynamic that i vomited in the tags of another post but will now try to articulate here: they're not actually family, or at least they shouldn't be. not in a conventional sense anyway. framing them as uncle and nephew (even in a non-literal, silly fantasy world way) rides more on technicality than anything concrete.

what i mean by this is yaad calls thistle by name and says he and delgal were raised "like" brothers. he talks about thistle like he's an outsider imposing himself into the melinis' space, and it's clear that thistle was never legitimized as a member of the family. for thistle's part, though we don't know how he would treat yaad pre-demon brainrot, it's safe to assume based on the way he punishes him—turning him into a doll—and how little is shown in the way of any sort of relationship between them that thistle only cares* about yaad as an extension of delgal (otherwise i'd expect something like kabru and milsiril, because it's not like another complicated interspecies family dynamic would be out of place, yet there's next to nothing on them even in bonus content, just their scant interactions in the main story).

in essence, they're strangers to one another. thistle's desperation to preserve the illusion of a family, a model where he doesn't even fit, was the snare they were caught in for the past thousand years of stasis. yaad-as-nephew is a prop to uphold that illusion, and thistle is playing a role he's unfit to play. in the context of post-canon interactions, attempting to reconstruct that facade would only be a reenactment of trauma for them both (in a deeply compelling way i'd love to watch unfold, tbh), as that "uncle and nephew" framing places thistle in an implicit position of power over someone he's already traumatized through misuse of authority in the past, a role which also perpetuates his adultification and yaad's infantilization in turn. it'd mostly be an obstacle to any real connection.

best to burn the melini family bridge, i think, and if there's still anything salvageable left in the rubble, let something different supplant it.

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[cum-a-calla]

you ever buy weed from a hot, deranged, psychopathic cult leader? no? well, sugar, do ya want to?

under the cut: Kappa/“reader”. coercion/dubcon/noncon. drugs. drugged fuck. knifeplay and blood kink. religious/cultlike ideologies. possessive Kappa. a general air of manipulation and abuse. wet, absolutely unhinged, hard fucking.

“Well, well - what brings you here?”

Kappa hangs in the doorway, resting his head on the frame as he peeks out from behind the door. He’s in the same thing he wore the last time you saw him, some flowy, open-necked bohemian top, so threadbare and worn that there are patches you can see through. He smiles his lopsided little smile and opens the door further, eyes dark and bloodshot. Trying to guess what Kappa might be fucked up on at this very moment is just as fruitless as buying a lottery ticket - the chance of getting it right is comically low.

“I need to… you know, pick up. And my usual guy is out of town, so… I know sometimes you have stuff,” she says, glancing around as if they aren’t on his wide, dusty property. Somewhere off in the yard, one of his strange friends plays fetch with a very filthy, very enthusiastic dog, tongue lolling from its grinning muzzle as it chases a frisbee and proceeds to shake it from side to side.

“Gunna have to be more specific than that, my dear. Kappa has it all.”

God, right - she’d forgotten about the third-person bullshit. She smiles flatly at him and mimes smoking a bowl, to which he laughs a little and moves to the side.

“Well, who doesn’t have that, right? Nature’s medicine. Come on in, don’t wanna let all the cool air out.”

She follows him into the dim, ramshackle home. Random furniture and cluttered countertops, sinks full of dishes with a couple flies buzzing lazily around them, hoping for lunch. The house is dark; most of the light comes in through the crooked slats of the blinds, drawn shut but damaged enough that the sunlight filters through in blazing shafts, illuminating all the dust in the air. Two woman doze off on each other, half naked and intertwined on the couch. One opens her eyes, takes in their guest, and allows them to flutter back shut in her lack of any real interest.

“This is Theta, Sigma… I think you remember them? We’ve met a few times. Girls, why don’t you go lie in the back room so that my… new friend, here… can have a seat.”

Theta and Sigma stir, but mumble and whine about Kappa’s request. He raises his eyebrows and purses his lips for a moment, hands on his hips.

“… are you going to make Kappa ask again?”

He looks like a parent preparing to lay down a punishment. His voice is even and low, something about its quality shifting the air in the room. Their eyes pop open and it’s like neither of them had been sleeping at all. Alert and obedient, they rise up while holding each others’ hands and scurry past him, squeaking apologies. Kappa watches until they’re out of sight, the sound of a door shutting breaking him of his sternness. He smiles again and everything feels even more disturbing, somehow. The switch. He holds a hand out to her and takes it gingerly into his own. He brushes his lips against her knuckles in a chaste kiss, watching her with his deep-set eyes.

“Sorry about that. They got a little fucked up and forgot their manners, it seems.”

“It’s… fine, it’s fine. No big deal.”

“Go on. Sit with me.”

Lowering to the couch feels like a death sentence in some unexplainable way. It’s not unlike any other experience buying weed from the various small-time dealers in the area - dirty house, wasted buddies sleeping off a hangover, weird dudes that just want to have a chat while they sell their goods. Despite this, there’s a vibe here she can’t place. Something that makes the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, something off. She’s already anxious to leave, watching Kappa lift the top to the coffee table to reveal a hidden compartment inside. It reminds her of a much nicer version her grandparents have. She guesses confidently that their isn’t stuffed with different sized bags of weed and little jars full of dried mushrooms, of various pressed pills and powders.

Beside these goodies is a handgun and a hunting knife.

“So - what will do ya? A dub, a quarter? An ounce? We’ve got some serious couch-lock shit all the way from the U-Dub, uh… we’ve got a great Californian purp. Sort of a mid strain from Maine; yeah, real gentle stuff, in case you have a hard time handling yourself.” He smiles and leans back, reaching an arm behind her shoulders as he settles in. He offers her a little wink. “I’ll take care’a ya.”

“I mean… I’m don’t need a ton, it’s just for me. Maybe the Cali stuff, just, like… an eighth is fine.”

“You wanna try before you buy?”

Textbook pickup manners dictate the sharing of the weed, so share she does. His ensuing grin shows his teeth, eagerly packing a scratched-up metal pipe with a frosty, dark bowl. He’s not kidding about quality; his home may not be kept neat, but she has zero doubts about his ability to afford the property. He must make bank. She wonders idly about his roommates and friends as she allows him to push the pipe to her lips, lighting the bowl for her. A true gentleman.

“They say weed’s a doorway; that may be true, but not in the way I see it. Smoking weed didn’t lead me to, say, coke - I tried coke before ever smoking, actually. Smoking, and surrendering to something that’s been around as long as man has walked the earth, I mean… it’s meant for us to consume. You know?”

She nods as he takes his pause, hitting the pipe himself until his chest is puffed out and he’s snorting back the urge to cough.

“Yeah, man. I agree.” Placid, easy. “Weed’s rad.”

Kappa exhales through his nostrils, thick streams of it curling to frame his face, tendrils of it sneaking from between his lips as he smiles in agreement.

“It is rad,” he amends with amusement.

It’s hard to look away from his mouth. His mannerisms and friends are off-putting, and she hasn’t made any significant effort to be around any of them in any given social situation outside of attending the same parties, once or twice on this very property. A polite greeting, a loose comment here or there. All of this to say that she had never noticed just how shapely his lips are, how the way he smirks ignites a curious little spark in her guts.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” she says quickly, and she has no choice but to suffer that knowing smirk as he once again lights her up. It’s already taking effect and doing its intended job - she feels that she could relax back into the couch and let Kappa gaze at her for longer than she’d ever wanted him to, suddenly open to this experience. His hair hangs around his face, tangled and wild and wavy. His knuckles are chapped, fingers slim as they bring the little pipe back to his own lips. He is unblinking as he watches her over the flame, over the burning little leaves.

“You seem a little more relaxed. Seemed a little off just a few minutes ago. Nerves? Are you… you wouldn’t be scared of your buddy Kappa, would you, sweetheart?”

“Not scared,” she says carefully. She shifts a little in her seat and bites the inside of her cheek. “How would you know what I’m like, anyway?”

“Human interaction is a wonderful, complex thing. The energy we give off, the smells, the sounds, the animal magnetism. Animals - that is to say, living, natural beings, blood in veins and flesh on our bones - they can sense these things naturally. I’m very intuitive. Very sensitive. It’s my gift. It’s why I feel so strongly about experiencing new things, about… sometimes teaching other people the beauty of life, of living, of taking back what’s ours. Owning what’s ours.”

“You’re losing me, Kappa,” she teases. “I might need to smoke a little more before I’m on your level.”

“You understand my basic point. I know you’re a smart girl. Open-hearted. You know, you’d really get along with us - Sigma, Theta, Epsilon. That’s who you saw outside, with the pup - Epsilon.”

“What’s with the names?”

“Mmm.” He takes another hit and finally gives her a reprieve from his intensive gaze, eyes practically burning through her flesh. Deep-set eyes. Bedroom eyes. Smoke streaming from his lungs, he nods at himself. “Well. There’s a power in identity. I, as a living being, have the inherent right to choose my path. I give and take and protect the sanctity of natural life and the furthering of that natural life. Part of my process is choosing my own name. I was given my birth-name, and eventually took a new name for myself. Nature is fickle, breakable. Give. Take. Like life. Life is given, life is taken.”

“Getting pretty deep in here.”

“That’s my pleasure as well as my duty as a man,” he muses, licking his lips. “Getting really deep. Planting seeds.”

The urge to scoff, to laugh and look away, to haul her way into a distraction, another conversation, something, knocks her on her proverbial ass. It’s all she can do to pretend she isn’t turning red. It would be easy to blame the heat, to blame the smoke… but he’d see right through that. For all of Kappa’s philosophical ranting, he’s right about his perception of others. She can feel him reading her, studying her like she’s a specimen in some laboratory.

He follows her movement as she ducks her head down, leaning forward to force her eye contact. His lips purse a little and he licks them again, his fingers crawling over her thigh to squeeze. Again, the urge to brush or even slap his hand away is at the forefront, but she doesn’t. She sheepishly meets his eye, ashamed of her own discomfort, her own utter excitement.

“Darlin’ - there is nothing wrong or immoral about these… urges, our collective responsibility as a species. Animals are meant to breed. It’s all in the blood. We’re not - we’re not machines, we’re not meant to be cold, lifeless. Purposeless. The whole fucking thing - the entire idea of these replicants, of playing God and mocking mother nature, it’s… it’s disgusting. But this - us? This is the most natural thing there is.”

In his impassioned speech, Kappa leans closer and closer, hand creeping higher on her thigh. The graceful, long line of his nose is so close she could lick the tip of it. He tilts his head and only then does he break eye contact, watching her lips. His eyes flicker between them and her eyes, pupils wide. It’s hypnotizing, the low purr of his voice floating over the warm afternoon air to caress her ears.

“Kappa…” she can barely breathe. “I - I should… this is -”

“Hey.” Kappa is murmuring, voice soft, but the underlying authority shuts her up. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches with dread as he casually takes the hunting knife into his hand. “Listen, sugar. You have a choice to make. In a second, I could get Epsilon in here and he would be more than happy to hold you down while I show you the meaning of life firsthand. I can make it very, very unforgettable for you… and you have to choose whether that’s gunna be a good thing or a bad thing. If I have to interrupt Epsilon’s time with this task, I’m afraid that’s going to make everyone upset, and that would be very bad for you. Are you hearing me, sweetheart?”

“Yes…yeah, I hear you.”

“What I really think is that you’re tethered by the morals of society. You’re stuck in a prison of the mind, you’ve been poisoned. ‘Sex is evil, trust in technology, evolve, evolve, evolve’. There’s nothing wrong with the way things have been for thousands upon thousands of years; villages of people looking out for each other and keeping the natural balance and order. It’s up to us to restore that order.”

He slowly moves in, attention flickering between her lips and her eyes. Her heart beats so hard she can feel each thump in her ears, in the tip of her nose… between her thighs. It throbs secret and hot there, his hand inching closer by the second. He’s captivating - batshit crazy, but charming in a strange way that keeps her rooted to the spot despite the alarm going off in her brain. She should leave. She should just back away and get to the door - her car’s right outside.

… but she doesn’t. She drinks in his mean little self-satisfied smirk just before he kisses her. His lips are surprisingly soft, his kiss gentle and slow. It almost makes her forget about the knife in his hand. He snakes his hand around the back of her neck and holds her firmly there, knotting those slim fingers into her hair. It hurts as he curls them into a fist. He swallows the surprised little whimper she makes, moaning in return as he becomes more aggressive, her lip between his teeth.

“Now - I’m not in the business of indecency with non-human entities. I’m sure you’re a natural being, but… my convictions are strong, and I need to be a hundred percent sure. Okay?”

“Wait, Kappa… wait. What do you mean?”

“Gotta make sure you’re not one of them. I need you to be real good for me and take off your pants.”

Kappa runs the tip of his knife lightly up her thigh, tickling her with it. He traces it up the seam, breath picking up the closer he gets to her cunt. His lips are plush, kiss-bruised and parted as he stares down at the knife. His excitement permeates everything around them, the air thick with it, his eyes wide and bright and his chest practically heaving. She should have run. She should have run before he had his hand in her hair, a knife tracing her inner thighs. He looks absolutely hungry. He looks up from under those lashes and searches her expression, taking in every detail as though memorizing her terror, tattooing it permanently into his mind for later use.

“I don’t wanna hurt you more than I already have to. And I can’t have you running,” he murmurs. His voice so low, wavering a little as adrenaline rushes through his veins. They cord his forearms, his strong hands. She can see his rapid butterfly pulse in his throat. “Make this easy on yourself, darlin’. Faster you listen, the faster I can make you feel good.”

He uncurls his fingers, allowing her space to do as he asks. Still he hovers, knife ever present and threatening. His eyes are manic, sliding over each new inch of exposed flesh as she unbuttons and pushes her pants, her panties down her hips, off her legs in a few clumsy kicks. With the knife, he motions at her shirt - up, up.

“Kappa…”

“I could do it for you, if you like. But what I’m not gunna do is ask twice… this is your last warning.”

In contrast to his soft, smooth voice is the undercurrent of malice. Self-assured. Not a hint of doubt in his mind, focused on his intentions and making zero room for failure or disobedience. There’s a sense of authority, of somebody well accustomed to being followed without question. He reaches into the table to fish a small glass vial out, flicking the cork loose with his thumb before he sprinkles a generous line on the dull edge of his knife. He snorts it off and gasps a little, shaking his head, wiping the white off his nostril. He hums with pleasure and does another, much smaller line, before offering her one of her own.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” she says quietly.

“I look forward to the pleasure of opening you up to all kinds of new things.”

He nods encouragingly, as if to say, bottoms up. Like feeding a child medicine, like convincing somebody to drink poison. She pleads with him for a moment with her eyes and he pets her thigh, squeezes softly. He sets his jaw and waits, unwavering. She does as asked - what choice does she have with a knife in her face? - and snorts the baby line, wincing at the way it burns fire up into her sinuses. She paws at her nose like an animal, rubbing it, wiping it to relieve the discomfort.

“It fucking burns, fuck.”

“Yeah, that will happen. You get used to it with time. Now - come on, let’s… get this…”

Trailing off, he guides her to straighten up so he can peel the shirt off her body. Defeated, she raises her arms and allows him to pull it over her head, immediately crossing them over her body once liberated of her top. He clucks his tongue and pries her arms open, taking all of her in. Every curve, every dimple, every freckle, every detail. He wastes no time in pulling her bra off the same way, and her face burns with shame as she squeezes her eyes shut.

He angles her chin with his fingers, cooing down at her to look at him, open her eyes. She does as requested and he smiles tenderly down at her.

“I promise this will only hurt a little bit. But I have to do it. It’s my will and duty to do it,” he says, and there’s a feeling in the back of her mind that he’s convincing the both of them. The thing she can’t deny about his manic, lidded eyes, the way his mouth is set in a triumphant smirk, is that it’s utterly intoxicating. He’s beautiful in some strange way. The tension in the air is thick and palpable. Suffocating.

He turns his attentions to her thighs and draws in a shaky little breath. Without ceremony, without warning or preparation, he turns the knife and draws it efficiently in a line on her inner thigh. Blood beads up almost immediately and the skin splits open as though blooming, a red, dripping little mouth. The pain is immediate and she cries out, afraid to move but unable to recoil from it. He holds her thigh down, making a sound that could have been him clearing his throat or a grunt of pleasure.

“Oh, there you are. There you are. Natural as ever.” His voice goes low, hoarse, and he presses the heel of his palm against his hardening cock. “A real woman, flesh and blood and sinew. A real woman for a real man.”

He does it again, draws the knife in a quick, shallow slash, and then again, again. Most of them aren’t as deep as the first - most of them don’t yawn open and reveal the layer of flesh underneath, but they all run blood down her inner thighs, soaking dark little spots into the cushion of his old couch. He pants until he’s practically hyperventilating, and brings the blade up to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he savors licking it clean, moaning, pulling at his shirt until he tosses the weapon back into the table’s compartment and yanks it off. The body underneath is long, milky pale.

“The taste of you - I need more of you.” He hooks his hands underneath her knees and yanks, pulling her down and spreading her legs open. He kisses her abused inner thighs, ignoring her fingers tugging into his hair as she pleads softly for him to stop, to be gentle. He runs his tongue over them, pushes inside of the deepest wound just a little, just enough for her to grit her teeth against a scream, to trap it back in her throat. “That’s it. There’s a good girl. You let Kappa take care of you, let me show you - fuck, I want all of you. Every single bit, mine.”

His flushed face is smeared with red, lips wet with it as he licks them. Her blood is on his teeth as he grins, wolfish, kissing up and up and up until he presses a soft kiss against the lips of her cunt. He drags his tongue between them, slow. Calculated.

“Kappa.”

“Tell me how much you want it. Tell me you want me to taste your blood, your cum. Tell me you’ll give me everything.”

He goes back to work, awaiting her response with all the patience of somebody used to a little insolence. It takes time to break a new one in, right? And she’s so very shiny and new, a challenge. A territory to conquer and claim, all this soft, generous flesh, all this clean mind to furrow into and spread like a disease.

“I… I want… you, I want you.”

Kappa moans and the vibrations against her send her into a new realm of pleasure. Something rhythmic, quick, powerful - whatever he gave her is slowly worming its way into her bloodstream, into her brain, making everything soft and hard all at once. Electric. Vibrant. Time both stops and speeds by, sweat beading at her hairline as she writhes under his mouth, under the sensation of his fingernails catching into a fresh wound. It all boils down to some horrible base sensation. All of it has her grimacing in pleasure - there are a hundred reasons she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, the bright red alarms in her body screaming for her to GET UP, LEAVE, RUN, STOP, STOP, ESCAPE ESCAPEESCAPEESCAPE—

And she lay anyway, the circle of her overstimulated thoughts coming back again to Kappa’s mouth, his tongue and lips and fingers and teeth, his body the color of moonlight even though she knows the sun is blazing hot and sticky outside. Girls trapped in a room. Her trapped on the couch. Kappa trained expertly on her clit, lapping, moaning, drooling. Something about all this must make sense, it all comes together, somehow - but exactly how eludes her. She’ll remember later, maybe. She’s responsible, dependable. Smart. Maybe this is why Kappa likes her so much. Maybe he has something to share, maybe what he’s saying makes a little sense. Maybe. Maybe, maybe. The only truth is the way he eats her alive, the way he clings to her thighs and moans into her cunt like he can’t live without tasting her another second.

“Kappa,” she gasps. “I’m gunna cum.”

Kappa lifts his face and wipes this chin on the back of his hand, pupils eating into the ocean of his bright irises. It’s like a perfect eclipse. There’s something there, something in the meaning of it all; she feels on the cusp on something important, life-changing. Kappa stares so deeply into her that she can feel him reaching down into her heart, into her fucking guts, into the core of her. Squeezing. Knowing. Exploring. Everything is heightened, everything feels like some kind of milestone; how could she have missed any of this before? How did she never notice the way his hair falls into his eyes? How did she miss the exact curve of his cupid’s bow, of the way his throat curves into the cradle of his collarbones?

“I know,” he says softly. He breaks his gaze to pull his trousers down - they’re so thin, the material. He unties the front and pulls them down his slim hips, cock bouncing out, and she has to hold her breath. He’s thicker than expected. He gives her a knowing look, again, constantly - he seems to pick up so much. Doesn’t he? Is this - is this her own mind? How did she not see how he sparkled before, how smooth his skin is? How good he feels even breathing against her?

What did he make her take? And how can she feel so much, and can she feel more, can she do this more often?

Kappa smiles, and it’s so kind. He strokes her cheek with his thumb like he hasn’t drugged her, cut her open, forced her into her current position. He smiles like he’s proud, like he’s glowing and the only thing in the world, and he is. He is the only thing in the world. She marvels up at him and waits for him to speak. He must be accustomed to this. He takes his cock into his own hand and strokes lazily, rubbing himself against her, up, down.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. He lines himself up to plunge into her, and she can’t help but match his breath - panting, desperate. Sweating. He licks whatever tears remain on her face - she’d forgotten they were there. Tears, sweat, blood, cum - what’s the difference? “Oh, little lamb. Don’t worry. Kappa will take care of you.”

He thrusts into her with all the softness of a battering ram. He’s balls-deep before she can even utter the first shriek, high-pitched and whining. He breathes it in, leans down to seal his lips against hers again before they’re both taking in each other’s moans, melting together with each vicious thrust. He pounds into her, hands unable to decide what to do - to grab her by the face, to dig his fingers into her plush, aching thighs, to run them up over her chest to fondle her there. He slows his pace only to lean down and pay attention to her nipples, his tongue and lips and the threat of his teeth.

“Touch yourself.”

There’s no argument - there are barely any coherent words left inside of her. Everything is pushed out and filled by Kappa, his cock, his words. His drugs.

She reaches between her thighs and he slows his pace, the roll of his hips delicious. His hair hangs down and tickles her face. She can do nothing but rub at her clit and stare up at him, and he beams down at her, smirking. The sharp angles of his face, the traces of her own blood still present on his lips. Sweat, pulse, flesh, blood.

“You gunna cum for me, sugar? Can feel it - can feel your tight little cunt squeezing against me. Is - oh, is that the spot?” He settles into a new rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over and over the same hyper-sensitive nerves inside of her. Her breath hitches and she’s practically sobbing, begging him, nodding when words fail. Her fingers are so wet. The sounds their bodies make together seems deafening - her fingers making hurried circles around her clit, his cock relentless in filling her slippery pussy. Her whining, his soothing voice as he builds her closer and closer. It’s painful, it’s passionate. She could die right here. He could plunge that knife into her throat and she’d still cum for him.

“Kappa. Kappa, I’m so close, I’m sooo close.” Pathetic. Mewling. She hyperventilates and her body shakes underneath him, like she might come apart. His eyes are so bright. He’s so focused.

“I know. I know,” he says. “Tell Kappa what you need.”

“I - I need - I need you, I need you. Please.”

“I’m right here. You’re doing so well, look at you - trembling. Gunna cry for me? Go on - cry for me. I want all of you.”

She hadn’t realized the tears building until he brought it to her attention. As if on cue, as though her body has decided that Kappa’s word is as good as truth, they spill over her lashes and track down her cheekbones, and she’s sniffling, soft little gasps and whines as he leans down to trace those tracks with his tongue. He moans, breath hot against her face. He kisses her wet eyelids before kissing her mouth, and the feeling of those shapely lips pushes her past the edge. Every muscle in her body tightens to its limit and she’s cumming for him, finding her voice after all that pitiful whining as she moans and sinks her nails into his back.

“There. There you go, good girl, good girl, fuck! You’re so good for me.”

His pace picks up and loses its poetic, slow grind, and he’s grunting and growling like a beast, like he aims to fuck her in half. Their bodies slap together and she’s seeing stars behind her eyes, crying out when he bites at her throat and sucks her flesh between his teeth. An animal playing with its dinner. In a matter of minutes, he’s stiffening up, pace stuttering to a few deep, mean thrusts as he empties into her. There’s a part of her that thinks she can feel it, his seed hitting the tender curve of her cervix and coating her from the inside.

There’s a shared pause in which they catch their breath. He idly fondles her tits as he comes down from the thrill, careful with her. The mischievous spark is still in his eyes, but they’re softer, too. Subdued.

They re-dress in silence. She catches him staring at the cuts on her thighs as she grabs her pants, her shirt.

“I should - I should probably get these fixed up,” she mumbles. In the comedown of their act, the fear returns in a cold trickle down her spine. Her heart never slowed down - where it was hammering in the cage of her chest for what he was doing to her moments before, it now beats for what he might still do to her if she remains. She feels like an alien, realizing for the first time that she’s done something she cannot undo in a territory that isn’t her own. Unsafe. Targeted. She’s a fucking idiot - how did this happen? Her mind races with trepidation, with the drugs still coursing through her heart in the thick, viscous blood there. There’s a thought, a mental picture of him with his hands buried elbow-deep beneath her ribs, naked body smeared with blood as he prizes his fingers around her heart to pull it out. The things he would do.

“Don’t,” he says simply. He pulls his trousers up and ties them. “I want to see them next time. Want ‘em to scar up nice. No ointment, no bandages.”

“What? Wait - next time?”

Kappa flashes a grin as he straightens up, shirtless and flushed. There are red marks where she’d dug her fingers into him, on his chest, on his back.

“You don’t think you can stay away from Kappa, do you?” He narrows his eyes and shakes his head a little, wagging his finger at her like a bad pet. “You know better than that, my dear.”

The fabric of her pants scrapes against her wounds and she has to wince. The sharp, prickling pain of them is intense, throbbing. Kappa’s territory. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she fishes some bills from her purse, tucking the weed into a pocket and tossing the money to the table.

“Thanks for the… uh. Thanks. It was…” she struggles to find the words. He stalks slowly up to her, and she wants to both back away and kiss him all at once. “It was - enlightening.”

“Right. Very,” he agrees, clearly amused.

“Well, I - I’ll see you around, Kappa.”

He leads her to the door and winks at her, like sharing a secret. Across the yard, Epsilon has stopped playing with the dog. He sits in a patch of dry yellow grass and smokes a cigarette, eyeing them from a distance with interest. Kappa glances at him and back at her, taking all of her in as his eyes trace the line of her body, lewd, hungry again. He tongues the edge of a tooth and watches her fixate on his tongue, clearly pleased with himself.

“You certainly will.”

[thasorns]

The way Thame is healing Po is so beautiful to watch intentionally or not. Po got used, ignored, hurt and left alone in the end after all he's done for his ex which left scars on him... Po helped create the logo for his ex, he got ignored and betrayed by his ex and after he pushed his ex's career he got abandoned which made him really insecure and overthink a lot of things. the way he got called being useless. and my boy here thame which is not a green flag he's the whole green forest is healing him in a way and doing things what his ex made wrong. Thame asked Po to help him get his members back and yes he's doing it in every way he can. when thame made up with jun and didn’t contact po while po overthought and wanted to write him again and again only for thame to show up at his workplace to remember EVERY SINGLE DIGIT in order not to forget the phone number again. when thame asked for the sandwich and asked again if po could bring some because it was delicious while he brought lunch to his ex and the sandwitches got left on the table. the recent episode when po glued the paper with the lyrics together which costs him probably a lot of time to actually find it.

Jun's words made him insecure that he indeed would be abandoned again yet he still showed up at the rap bar only to see how good thame is with his members one by one. which played a lot to his more existing insecurity. that the whole trauma he went through would replay again... the overthinking at home why thame didn't called or responded. but then thame called to apologize because he knows how po overthinks everything and wants to clear all the doubts and misunderstanding as why he didn't respond or wasn't there for po. he made it specifically clear that po is not an outsider and that he cares about him. Thame makes it clear that he's indeed important and that he will be not ignored or used ever again especially not from him. and the way thame asked how to make it up for ignoring him only to have a 9 h conversation on the phone (including the sleeping hours) but the way thame played po's favorite song when he said he never actually figured out the chords to this song only to play it for him as soon as po wakes up.

[sorrinslays]

Would anyone be interested in a rewriting of the Shield Hero where Naofumi is an immortal guy who has lived for millennia (think a mix of Zhongli and Alhaitham from Genshin)?

I've been entertaining the idea for quite a while in my head but I'd like to know the thoughts of others on the matter as well, which is why I'm sharing the idea.

I've been thinking that it would be really interesting to do a re-write/fix-up of the anime/manga/light novel where there's:

No underlining pedophilia because that's just disgusting and creepy

Naofumi acts a lot like a miserable mentor figure who just wishes for the sweet embrace of death

The other heroes actually develop and their beliefs and morals are challenged

MOTOYASU IS NOT A CREEPY GUY LUSTING OVER A MONSTER CHILD

Myne and The King face actual consequences for their actions appropriate for the setting and time period

It's more of a dark fantasy/ subversion of the isekai trope (how it was supposed to be from the start in my opinion)

Explores such things as growing too fast and becoming a child soldier, immortality and how it affects someone, keeping promises to the dead, accepting your death as well as obsessing over the idea of death and similar topics

If anyone has any questions/suggestions feel free to ask me!

[gomzdrawfr]

right i rmb now why I abandoned royal au bcuz of armours

[one big ramble about royal au - angst - non-angsty alternate ending]

So I wrote instead, did one doodle though but its shiet HAHA

for extra sadness, please feel free to listen along with this song

They were back in the attic—the one place that had brought them together for the first time. They swore the previous visit would be the last, yet here they were again, a day before the wedding.

His wedding.

"Maybe in another life..." "I'll look for you in every single one of them." "Yeah...you'd do that for me, Birdie?" "Mhm." "Just remember...I love owls." "Pretty vague if you ask me." "You'll know when you see me." "...That, I can guarantee."

It had been a bittersweet departure. But tonight was different.

Price leaned heavily against a dusty crate, his knuckles white as they gripped the edge. Across from him stood Raven, adorned in her new uniform—the new Commander of his knights.

And the keeper of his heart.

The air between them was thick with tension, the night before Price would forever belong to someone else, their emotions barely contained.

“Say the word, Raven.” His voice was low, gravelly, tainted with desperation he couldn’t quite hide—not from her. “Say the word, and I’ll call it all off.”

Raven’s heart wrenched at the raw emotion in his voice. It wasn’t fair. She had carefully buried everything about him, about them, sealed it away and sworn never to look back. She had resolved to see the King as only His Majesty—not as John.

But here he was, undoing it all with a few words.

She had to be strong—for both of them.

“You know I can’t do that, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, you can,” he replied harshly. “Damn the court, damn the alliances, and damn the throne if I must. I’ll take you- us—over all of it.” His blue eyes blazed with a fire that both entranced and terrified her.

John Price was a man driven by what he cared for most. She had seen that drive on the battlefield, and it had almost cost him his life more times than she could count.

Now, she had no doubt it could cost him his crown—or worse.

Her jaw tightened as she forced her tears to stay put.

“And what happens after that, Jo—Your Majesty? Do you think they’ll let you marry a knight? A commander masquerading as a man, as your queen?”

“I’ll fight them.”

“You’ll die.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t deny it—he knew.

“You’re not just a man anymore,” she continued. “You’re their King. Your life isn’t yours to throw away—”

“I don’t care.”

And she knew he meant it. She knew that if she gave even the faintest hint that she would join him, he would burn down the court, the alliances, the crown—everything, for her.

That knowledge was her undoing.

“I cannot let you do this.” Her voice was firmer, even though her chest ached, even though she wanted to be selfish, she couldn’t.

She had always been the pragmatic one, the voice of reason to his passion.

Her curse.

“You’re a King, Your Majesty. Must I remind you that you have a duty—to your people, to your kingdom, to your bloodline. Would you let your people suffer, just because you couldn’t let me go? And I—” Her voice cracked as she swallowed hard.

“I am but your sword. That’s all I’ve ever been, and that’s all I ever will be.”

They both knew how it would end.

“That’s not true,” he growled, pushing off the table. The crate shaking as he closed the distance in two strides, capturing her hands in his. His touch burned like fire.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of. You’re my heart—you know that. Don’t tell me this is what you want.”

Her composure shattered. Tears spilled as her voice broke.

“It’s not about what I want.”

She whispered, voice uncharacteristically small and quiet.

“It’s about what’s right. And this—” She gestured between them. “This isn’t right. Not for them. Not for you.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing her tears away. “To hell with what’s right, Eira.”

She pulled away as she moved toward the door.

Price reached out, his voice thick and pleading. “Eira—don’t give up on us—”

“Do you think I don’t want to stay?” She paused, her back to him.

She had fought for them. Harder than she’d ever fought anything—even in battle. And she had lost.

“You think this doesn’t kill me too? That I don’t want to tear the crown from your head and run away with you? But I can’t, John. Because if I do—” Her voice faltered, and she inhaled sharply, wiping her face harshly, ignoring the searing burn at the corner of her eyes.

“Because if I do, it won’t just destroy the kingdom. It’ll destroy us.”

The door closed behind her. Price slumped against the wall, rubbing his face as the weight of her answers sank in.

This wasn’t how he had imagined the night before his wedding would be.

===================

The wedding was a spectacle. Rows of gold and silver lined the aisle, white lilies and roses decorating every corner. Raven had overheard the guards mention the princess had wanted sunflowers—but the King had opposed, despite the protest from the council.

Her heart twisted, and her grip tightened on her sword.

The princess from the neighbouring realm was the picture of perfection, her gown shimmering like spun silver. Her sweet smile was radiant and warm, the perfect candidate for the King, one that would bring stability and peace to the kingdom.

But none of that warmth reached him.

When the heavy cathedral doors creaked open slowly, King Price stood at the entrance. Dressed in ceremonial finery of deep navy and gold, his white royal gown adorned with intricately woven tigers and deer horns, he wore the pride of his kingdom—his bloodline—like a crown. he commanded attention like the King he was.

But there was no joy in his eyes. His smile was polite—forced.

As he walked down the aisle, his eyes swept the crowd until they found her.

And in that moment, he said everything he couldn’t speak aloud.

It should have been you.

She turned away, staring at the stone floor.

===================

“Do you, King Price, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to honor and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

The silence stretched unbearably long. Raven’s heart pounded as she watched him hesitate. His lips parted—and for a moment, she thought he might refuse.

The thought terrified her.

And yet, a desperate spark of hope burned in her chest.

But then he spoke.

“I do.”

===================

Raven was a disciplined knight through and through, with perseverance and patiences that revelled the King himself. But at this moment, when the rings were slipped into the King and the soon-to-be Queen’s fingers—she had never wanted to run away this badly.

To tear off her helm, to scream and yell the room full of nobles and courtiers and advisor that none of this right.

But she didn’t.

It hurt more when John glanced at her again, the faintest flicker of hesitations. The look in his eyes was unbearable–pleading, desperate, a silent cry for her top stop him.

Give me a reason to break this vow, Eira.

But neither of them moved.

He was a King now, bound to his new responsibilities. And she was a Commander, sworn to the crown. No longer the girl who had once shared stolen kisses with the boy destined to become King.

===================

Outside the cathedral, far from the cheers and bells, Raven stumbled into the shadows. Her helmet clattered to the ground, the loud sound harsh against the stillness as she leaned against the cool stone wall, the air biting against her flushed skin.

Somewhere inside, King Price was a husband now. He belonged to another in name—even if she knew his heart would always be hers.

We were meant to be, she thought, her chest heaving as she fought to contain her composure. But her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, she knew she could never be herself anymore.

Meant to be, but not meant to last.

The tears came rolling, burning and harsh, and her broken sobs that broke free, buried against her trembling hands, trying to forget the last of their conversations.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly, not turning to face him. She didn’t need to. She knew he would follow her. He always did.

Everywhere and whenever.

“Neither should you,” he replied, his voice rough with restrain, barely able to keep his voice steady. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the stone.

“Why did you come, Eira? Why did you put yourself through that?” She finally turned, and the raw pain in her eyes took his breath away. “Because I had to,” she said, her voice trembling. “I had to see it, to know it was real. To remind myself of what we gave up.”

John clenched his fists, his jaw tight. Don’t blame this on us, we tried our damn hardest.

He stood still, staring at her with agony, his wrinkles and skin folds heavier than ever.

How did it come to this? And so quickly, too? Hadn’t they just been stealing apples from the market yesterday, when they were simply John and Eira—unbound by titles, untouched by the crushing weight of their duties and responsibilities?

His voice barely above a whisper,

“Do you regret it?”

Her silence was uncomfortably long, long enough that he thought she wouldn't answer. And yet–

“I regret that we couldn’t have more time. But I don’t regret us.”

The words struck like a spear to their chest, sharp, carving a permanent hole between them.

She reached out, her gloved hand brushing his, and for a moment, it was just the two of them again—

John and Eira.

Before the crown. Before the court. Before the world tore them apart.

“Farewell, my king,” she whispered, pulling her hand away, and John watched her walk away, leaving him behind. Leaving them behind. =================

Okay! Enough of this sadness! Time for some alternative ending, slightly suggestive! Just ramblings tho, heavily inspired by this post (and also rambles with @ghostmoon1 thank you for the brainworms LMFAO)

In an event if Price decides to fuck it and marry Raven anyways, the kingdom will fall, and Raven would be carrying Price away from the rumble and chaos, taking temporary refuge in an abandon hut.

Something something, in this new life, Price was no longer bound by his royal title. Technically, he was overthrown. And though the world was falling apart around him, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. A fresh start. Freedom.

All with his girl too *wink wink*

Meanwhile, Raven's having existental crisis KAJSHDKHAK Being a knight, serving the kingdom, had been everything she knew. It had defined her. Now, with the collapse of everything she understood, she had no fucking clue what to do with herself. But one thing was certain—she would serve Price, no matter the title whether he is king or not.

Something something they have to get warm, Price is naked under the blanket that was barely thick enough to give some warm, staring at Raven who pace back and forth near the bed, her mind racing, panicked at their new predicament. Every time Price pat the bed to ask her to come join him she just go "you are a King, it is imperative that remain as one, and I shan’t not engage in such behaviour with your majesty—“ and Price just yanks her in, smooshing her face into his hairy, warm chest.

“Eira,” he murmured, his tone teasing. “This ‘Your Majesty’ stuff is getting old. I’m not a king anymore. My crown’s back in the hall, in a broken castle that’s already fallen.”

Queue Raven internally screaming then melt to goo the more Price shush and coodle her.

[smile-files]

one of my favorite kinds of doodle: take the letters that spell out the name of a thing and use them to create the shape of that thing!!! (if you can't read any of these, they will be written out below <3)

going top down, left to right:

bone; butterfly; bee; joy; moth

kitty cat; snail; love; spongebob squarepants

eye; puppy dog; candy; wally darling; dolphin

hand; the element of kindness; lollypop; pencil

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 11

I had an absolute blast with this prompt and I've been looking forward to it for a while. I should've gone and bought some wine so I could write being IDed from experience though. Unrealistic writing 😮😮😮

Convenience Store

Each item was set neatly on the conveyor belt.

A roll of duct tape. Kleenex. Air freshener. Trash bags. Zipties. Rubbing alcohol. Superglue. A bottle of merlot. Disinfectant. Sponges. Latex gloves. A wrist brace. Ibuprofen. A hammer. And a bar of chocolate.

A bright beep sounded as the cashier scanned each one.

“Doing some home improvement?” They smiled, placing the superglue onto the other side of the conveyor where one of their customers, the shorter of the two, was busy bagging with their head down. The other stacked the empty shopping basket with the others and pulled out their wallet.

“Definitely an improvement project,” they nodded back with a knowing look. “The whole thing just needs to be demolished and rebuilt at this point.”

“Oh I hear you. A pipe burst in my basement just last month and my spouse had to stop me from tearing the whole thing down then and there.” The cashier scanned the wine and paused. “Your ID please, Mx.?”

They flashed it with a toothy grin. 

“I’m flattered!”

“Just doing my job. Thank you.” They typed something into the system and picked up the next item. A few items later, a snort broke their calm demeanor.

“Hm?”

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry Mx! Just had a funny thought.” The cashier scanned the hammer. 

“Do share! Lord knows we could use the humor.” They elbowed their partner who smiled meekly and nodded along, balancing with a crutch under their arm. 

“Well, sometimes home improvement supplies look a lot like premeditated murder supplies,” they giggled, and the taller one broke out into raucous laughter. The shorter just shook their head. “Sorry, I meant no offense.”

Realizing they were being addressed, they fixed the sullen expression across their face.

“Ah, none taken! I’ve just had a tough day, what with this shithead and all.” A playful poke to their partner who just laughed again.

“You’re in for it when we get home!” They stuck out their tongue.

The other went back to catch the items they’d missed in that time, slipping the chocolate bar in their pocket. 

“Alright, cash or card?”

“Card please.”

“Your receipt?” 

“Sure, why not.”

“Perfect. Have a good one!” 

“You too!”

The taller one took most of the bags, but the other still managed to carry one. They were almost out the door when a voice shouted out.

“Oh! Excuse me, I think you forgot one of your items!” The cashier held up the hammer, and the couple turned around. Neither came forward to claim it, but with a nudge and a whisper, the shorter allowed the cashier to drop it into their bag. “Can’t do any demolition without that, can you?” 

“Absolutely not, I’m glad we didn’t forget it!” The other didn’t say a word, struggling to lift the bag now, and then the two were gone. 

.

“Interesting what you choose to forget, darling.” A hissing whisper in their ear, so different from the friendly persona they put on in public.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re implying,” they averted their eyes as the trunk of the car opened. Fuck. 

Their captor’s foot landed on their broken ankle and they had to suppress a scream.

“I let you have one good leg for today. Don’t let me regret it.” The bag was taken right out of their hand. “In.”

They crutched up to the passenger door but a clearing of the throat stopped them.

“Childlock doesn’t work on that seat.”

Somehow, climbing into the back was more humiliating after that comment. The door was slammed shut before they could do so themself, and they felt the car shake with how hard the trunk was slammed. A horrible indicator of what was to come.

“I behaved around the store,” they grumbled when the doors locked and the engine turned on. 

“And then you fuckin’ ruined it.” 

“Black and white thinking much…” 

A fist flew against the passenger headrest and they were suddenly grateful to be flinching in the backseat.

“I’m buying a car with blacked out windows. That way, next time, I can throttle you in the backseat.”

[fightwing]

bruce immediately asking if he hurt dick after days spent infected yeah okay dc i see this and i raise you: 😭😭😭