#just seeing some of my old writing!

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[catscidr]

i. note — i have so many thoughts about akademiya era dottore. most of them are silly and fun and cute i promise but some of them are..... Nothing like that. help me i need to Ruin Him. ong when i get my hands on him……… ii. includes — akademiya!dottore (zandik), gn reader iii. cw — i'm literally just rambling so have fun. he's kindof a brat, reader is implied to have more experience. making out, dry humping, outercourse. smut so mdni. no penetration

akademiya!zandik whose social circle is practically nonexistent; if he’s not tinkering with machine parts he found in some abandoned ruin then he’s nose deep into an old book, trying to absorb knowledge directly through the pages. so, of course it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t know how to act normal around people

akademiya!zandik who would be so pent up and so so so sooooo sensitive! he wouldn’t even get himself off ever, choosing to soothe his curiosity about khaenrian machines over his own carnal, lustful needs. even something as simple as a hug gets his blood rushing straight down (much to his frustration!! he's supposed to be a scholar, not some hormonal beast..........)

it would be so easy to rile him up.. be a little too touchy and “oblivious” to how your “platonic” affection gets to him and BAM now he can’t focus on what he’s doing because his heartbeat is just throbbing in his crotch. he’ll read the same line five times before he realizes that nothing is getting through his head (and instead something else is getting in his other head…….)

akademiya!zandik who would most definitely be a whiner. when you finally get him to pay attention to you he’s all mad n whatever, weakly scolding you for even daring to interrupt his studies. but as he swivels his chair around to face you, he sees you standing over him, looking down at his cute scowl, n he feels his cock jump at the sight. you looked almost angelic, the overhead lighting creating a makeshift halo around your head…

zandik who interrupts his own rambling just to look at you. or, uh, to gawk at you. while you peer down at the….. effect you have on him

you step forward and raise your leg to place your knee between his thighs on his chair, and bend down to get closer to his face. his breath hitches and he swallows thickly all while holding your gaze— at this point he might as well have hearts in his eyes. but he’s still scowling n his brows are all furrowed…. wonder when and how he’ll finally lose that tension in his face. hmmmm……..

even just a kiss on the cheek would fluster him, because of course it would! but what about a kiss on the lips? what about a messy french kiss, filled with tongue and teeth clashing clumsily as you absolutely devour him while all he can do is moan into your mouth and shut his eyes to prevent them from rolling back into his skull?

poor baby would be struggling to breathe, fingers tangling themselves into your uniform in a poor attempt to let you know he wants to tap out. you get what he’s trying to do, of course, but why not push him to his limits? tease him a little? his muffled moans feel like music to your ears and you want to hear the entire symphony

but when you finally pull away, a lewd string of saliva connecting your tongues, poor zandik can’t help the moan that leaves his bruised lips. he pulls you in again, chest heaving up and down to catch his breath, n tries to go for another kiss. you let him pull you in but you don’t return the kiss, instead choosing to keep your lips shut tightly as he whines and huffs out elaborate curses to try to make you indulge him

and indulge him you will when he learns how to beg for what he wants. to your surprise he learns fairly quickly— even if he’s a little bad at it. but it’s charming!! “just fucking kiss me again goddamnit”, “i wanna kiss you again. let me kiss you”, and your favourite, “p… please?”

it's right then that you make it your life’s mission, your purpose to make him stutter like that every single day.

and it’s almost cathartic when you touch him, even if your clothes are still in the way. still balancing yourself on the chair (and also pinning him to it in turn, hehe) you bump your knee against his erection, a breathy moan blessing your ears from zandik himself. his grip on your top is so tight you think he might even rip it, god knows the last time he trimmed his nails

zandik who would grind himself on your knee without even realizing what he’s doing, all the while you coo in his ears about what a good job he’s doing, what a good boy he is.

zandik who would yearn for more, who would weakly cuss you out when you refuse to let him fuck you.

zandik who, even with his enormous ego, would still follow you around like a lost puppy, begging you to teach him everything you know

[gamora-borealis]

incoming dangender thoughts: the more I read up/watch the stuff dan has said about gender after BIG + reflect on what he said in BIG I'm like. y'all she really has been explicitly trying to tell us his gender IS formless blob (without making it a huge deal in the mainstream public eye), but so many people haven't actually been taking him seriously! like. labels are made up, dan has pretty much said as much before. why do we have to have a specific approved™ term to consider them genderqueer/nonbinary/trans? those are descriptive labels and dan has been using a fun descriptive label they created that he defined for us in BIG, a definition that matches up with those other labels! and dan has said since 2019 that he is comfortable with any pronouns even though he still mainly uses he/him. like, lately dan has been using more she/her and they/them for herself and experimenting with being more femme and/or androgynous in various ways, and what is changing is not even necessarily gender (although maybe who knows), but probably that dan is finally feeling more comfortable with different kinds of gender presentation and pronouns than she typically uses. because low-key gender is kind of a performance and it's scary to switch it up sometimes but dan feels safe doing so especially with their audience and I think that's actually really special 🧡 but moral of the story, dangender has actually been out in the open since 2019 and I wish more people picked up on that!

[toxintouch]

Started out as an elaborate “draw me like one of your French girls” joke and spiraled outta control from there... @lu-dao-writes posted the same scenario in their Kinktober 2024 and they were kind enough to give me their blessing to post my take! Please check out their fics as well!  If this scenario in particular interests you, I rec you this post! :3

Further details below the cut so that the above the cut stays safe for anyone who is just scrolling through!

18+ Content MDNI || VERE x AIS x Reader

PROMPT/KINK(S): Dom!Vere, Dacryphilia (Tears)* + Cockwarming + Size Difference + Consensual Voyeurism. Power Play. (Some feral monsterfucking spice sprinkled v lightly on top.) [*original challenge prompt, randomizer used.]

OTHER INFO: “You” pronouns used for MC/Reader. Unspecified genitalia for both POV Character and Vere but Ais has a dick. Reader is the receiving partner in penetrative sex.

“Hmm, hold that pose,” Vere purrs.

Ais huffs a hot breath into your face as he freezes above you.  His brows furrow, mouth twisting into a determined grimace as he grits his teeth.  His forearms tense hard where they are resting on either side of you, fingers flexing against the silken sheets.

You can feel him pulsing inside of you.  A hot, insistent ache.

You try to relax, try to breathe through it but the lack of movement makes you hyper aware of every inch, the raw feeling of him stretching you open, the way your body twitches so sickly-sweet with the effort.  You inhale a slow, shaking breath, chest trembling, and shut your eyes in an attempt to block out some of the sensations—the clawing need gnawing at your core.

“Eyes open, darling,” Vere corrects you, tone somewhere firmly between scolding and teasing.  “And turn your face back towards Ais.  I’m trying to capture the moment .”  Your heart is pounding in your ears but you can hear Vere’s smooth, sly voice with perfect clarity.  Ais is an overwhelming force but Vere is a magnetic presence; no matter how caught up in each other you and Ais can get, Vere will always command attention without effort.

You turn your chin as requested, only to be caught in Ais’ gaze

(Caught and breathless–the same way you were when he was bullying his thick length into your hole, thrusting sharply and sighing in satisfaction, his fingers still at work massaging and pressing and stroking as he sunk into you inch by inch; he'd prepared you until your entrance was puffy and swollen, sopping with thick, medicinal smelling lube and he still had to take his time.  Fucking you slowly until you could take all of him.  And then, the moment you finally could...)

“Hmm, that's better.  Stay just like that.  Let me see those pretty expressions.”  You hear Vere adjusting his heavy vellum paper.  The glide of quick, clever lines being drawn.

You maintain eye contact with Ais, drunk off his breath, his body, the very essence of him, hovering so close above you, and are utterly unprepared to meet his intensity.  The way he looks at you like he’s seconds from devouring you, barely held in check by the challenge that Vere has laid before him.  Before both of you.

You bite into your lower lip as you shift involuntarily, oversensitive nerves still riding the throbbing of Ais’ dick.  He’s so fucking thick and girthy that he presses at the soft spot inside you without even trying. The angry pulse of him is a gratifying thrum, stoking your aching heat by way of mere burgeoning contact.

His cock gives another strong twitch and your insides clench around him.  He feels so fucking good–you almost think you might be able to come like this, if you can get your body to keep on clenching like that. 

—Almost.

Your next breath comes out as a sob.  There’s a high pitched whine building at the base of your throat and your lashes are wet when you blink.

A monstrous snarl escapes Ais’ lips, one that you can feel even more than you can hear, the vibration of it echoing through your body everywhere you're pressed against him.  The pinnacle between your thighs pulses with it, and your toes curl involuntarily as an errant tear runs down your cheek.  Ais is shaking, sweat dampening his face, his pupils expanding and contracting rapidly, his eyes locked on you as he barely holds himself back.  “Sparrow,” he says, gravel in his tone. 

You say his name in return, your head tipping involuntarily, bearing the softness of your throat, faded marks from both your lovers decorating your skin.  You hear the sheets rip below you, torn into shreds where Ais’ nails have dug into them.

Vere sighs pointedly.  You hear him stop his work, tap his charcoal against the paper as if he’s not entirely satisfied with the scene in front of him.  He pauses for a long time, leaving you both in limbo.

When he moves, it’s to stand.  To saunter over to you both.  You’re pinned beneath Ais, unable to look away, but you can feel Vere’s shadow fall over you just before his hand touches your face, forcing your eyes to his as he catches a crystalline tear with his index finger.

“Shame,” he says, dipping his fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up the taste of your tears, lavishing the digits with his tongue.  You whine out a desperate, quiet note just from watching his tongue at work and he basks knowingly in the attention.  “I really thought I could get you both crying.”  He smiles dangerously once his fingers have left his mouth. 

He uses them to drag a wet path down Ais' spine.  “Oh, but the night is still young.  Perhaps I may still think of something that will do the trick...”

18+ Master List | SFW Master List ✦"Kinktober Speedrun & Other Gratuitous (TOUCHSTARVED) Smut" on Ao3

[msmc-796-official]

I... have a confession to make, of sorts. There won't ever be a good time to admit this, unfortunately, so it's best I get this off my chest now, and ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

It has not been easy speaking with all of the flashclones who have made themselves known in the wake of Union's latest raids; both for myself, and the squadron at large. I must commend my squadmates for handling themselves with the utmost professionalism - while my own correspondences with these newest members of the Omninet have been what I would consider adequately polite, I've been biting my tongue the entire time, and I fear that my personal discomfort with the issue is starting to slip through the cracks.

To this end, I wish to share my thoughts publicly, that I might better express my own emotions towards this complicated, frustrating, and highly nuanced issue. I only ask that you hear me out in full before you render judgement, and pronounce your sentence carefully.

First: an observation.

MSMC policy requires that all pilots dictate an end-of-life plan at the time of their recruitment, that their final wishes may be carried out by the company in the event of their death under MSMC's employ. The options provided for this are effectively unlimited, allowing the pilot a great deal of choice and freedom in planning their postmortem arrangements. These plans may also be altered in the future should circumstances change, provided the pilot is of sound body and mind.

Under MSMC policy, in compliance with the policies set forth by Union, one of the available postmortem options is flashcloning.

In my fifteen-odd years serving under MSMC, I have only heard of three pilots who have willingly chosen to be flashcloned after death (thus prolonging not only their life, but their term of service under MSMC as well). Of these, I have only personally met one, affiliated with MSMC-808 "5Q8R3 L00P3RZ" - I believe their current iteration goes by callsign Lemniscate. While I do not know how many times they have been cloned during their term of service, their current iteration seems happy enough, and their squadmates reassure me that they've maintained a consistent identity (plus or minus the odd quirk, as is typical of flashclones) throughout their life (lives?).

Second: a digression.

I purchased my Dusk Wing, And The Voice of Apollo Spoke From On High (Apollo for short), from an SSC showroom on a planet whose name I no longer recall. The curated atmosphere called to mind the high marble pillars and lush green-blue waters of some distant Cradle mythology where gods roamed the earth and mortals strove to emulate them, punished and rewarded for their folly in equal measure with gifts and curses beyond name. Each frame was posed as the statues of old on Cradle, too-human limbs arrayed in too-human poses, each a machine of war turned living art piece.

Apollo, true to its future name, was arrayed in flight; hover-jets draped with sunlight-yellow gossamer, veil rifle aimed in its middle tier of manipulators with the same care and precision as an archer would take with their bow. To see it lowered to the floor after its purchase was to see Icarus fall; to climb inside its cockpit for the first time, to don wax-and-feather wings of my own and fly.

The old tales caution that divinity has a cost, and I too paid the price. A vial of blood, drawn with silver needle and spirited away into an unseen cooler before my pen ever touched paper. Apollo was mine, but SSC had received a far greater gift in its place: a sample of my DNA, unwillingly donated as the price for my divine armament.

Even now, this price weighs heavy on my head like the sword which hung above Damocles, poised to drop without a moment's notice with each new Union raid on yet another forgotten cloning facility. Who can say on what distant planet the children I did not birth sleep in stasis - children with my eyes, my hair, my nose, my smile; sons and daughters who will never be called as such because, to their creators, they are slaves, weapons, property - anything but human.

Third: an explanation.

I believe that flashcloning, in its current state as of 5016u, as approved by Union's Third Committee (and exploited by the likes of SSC, HA, and several countless others across the stars) is an inherently unethical practice; both for those who donate their DNA (willingly or otherwise), as well as for those persons produced by it.

To see countless lives created, manipulated, slaughtered, and recycled in the name of so-called "progress"; to see inherently human beings stripped of every vestige of humanity but the body in which they reside and then forcibly brainwashed and molded into soldiers, medics, mechanics, weapons, machines, slaves, property - it is an abominable and inhumane practice that should have died a slow and painful death in the darkness from whence it was birthed.

This being said: I cannot stand idly by as the products of this inhumane practice continue to suffer. No matter whether it is beneath the apathetic gaze of Union, the dehumanizing bootheel of HA, or the eugenicist scalpel of SSC, I will not allow my fellow persons to endure another day of abuse at the hands of those who would abandon their own creations as little more than imperfect failures for daring to remind their creators of their sentience.

Alone, I can do nothing. I too am but a cog in this great uncaring machine humanity has built, one which prospers on suffering and bloodshed and the work of hands which have forgotten the body to which they are attached. Even if I were to risk life and limb and reputation to make my position known, it is a battle which lies dead in the water - it is impossible to halt the wheels of progress without irreparably damaging the future which relies on their turning.

And so I fight. I fight for those who have forgotten their humanity, both willingly and unwillingly, that they might find something of their own - identity, purpose, desires, connection, life - that reminds them of what they were and are and always have been: human.

-- Angel

[coolnonsenseworld]

A little promo with my little obsession on the side...........

Reminder all items are shipped from Poland - for details on shipping times check out FAQ or send me a private message!

 mmezzy.bigcartel.com

[mohntilyet]

let me be clear i like veilguard but it does suck that no one disapproves anymore outside of like. three choices. i want to be fighting for my life earning approval back again someone has GOT to hate my ass. i should be careful about party composition and companion reactions again. i miss tactically taking fenris out of the party before i'm nice to merrill like those were the days

[oneluckydragon]

Thinking about how these two met. Get adopted, idiot.

More human!Echo.

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Killjoy Day of the Dead where the ‘joys spray paint paths of their friends’ favorite colors to help lead them home. Where the Mailboxes are flooded with letters and gifts to loved ones. Where killjoys remember their loved ones and celebrate their lives. Where they give offerings to the dead and to the Witch in hopes that their friends will be able to visit them that night. Where the Witch guides the dead along the painted paths to the people they called home, so they’re not alone reading their letters and opening their gifts. Sometimes the Witch brings them all of the way back for that night, sometimes not. There is always next year, and the knowledge that your friends are there, even if you can’t see them.

Just. Killjoy Day of the Dead guys.

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[hella1975]

it's been pointed out on here before that a lot of terf arguments are actually rooted in sexist idealology that feminists fought and died to unnormalise decades ago and that's its own kettle of fish but one thing i also find very frustrating about this so called 'radical' feminism is that it's so... defeatist? like the moment you categorically label an entire section of society as Bad and Inherently Evil then there's also the implication that nothing can be done about it, and it completely takes all accountability away. saying all men are evil is just another way of saying boys will be boys. he raped her because he's a man. he hit her because he's a man. he didn't listen because he's a man - it's almost offensively oversimplified. there's no point trying to fix this issue in society because men are just Like That, okay! so now what? it's not like they're going anywhere, so you just accept that 50% of the population are evil and will forever treat you terribly and there's nothing to be done about it bc they're biologically predisposed to it? like is that fr the argument here? you're soooo radical for that

[non-un-topo]

More clothing studies, this time from my fic Axis. I was aiming for authenticity while also trying to have each of their personalities show a little bit in their clothing choices. Two for Nicky, to show his layers.

[gomzdrawfr]

me, staring at my shelf then at my google doc:

"would it be weird if Price owns like, a volkswagen type 2 truck and use that to bring em to fishing..."

[creativesplat]

Inspired by the soul crushingly sad au by @yujateaandpi , Dipper visiting Stan during the thirty years Mabel and Ford were missing.

I would recommend it if you want to have a cry.

The design for Dipper is Yujanteaandpi's, but Stan hasn't made an appearance yet, so I did the best I could! (ps. I have just realised that drawing wrinkles is a lot of fun)

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday - Chapter 6 of The Redemption and Subsequent Death of Bill Cipher

“Am I— Did I interrupt something?” Stan asks a little awkwardly.

“Nah,” Bill, who recovers much faster from gaping at Stan like a fish, leans back into the bench before punching Pine Tree’s shoulder. “Kid was just heading out to go break windows or something.”

“Better hope it’s not these windows or [you’re] cleaning it up,” Stan tells Bill before reaching out, shoving the bill of Pine Tree’s hat down over his eyes. Pine Tree grumbles and fixes it before turning a far brighter smile on Stan.

“Your sister’s looking for you. Something about trying to make a suit out of glitter.”

“Oh. Great.” Pine Tree rubs his face and gets to his feet. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan.”

He goes to the door and pauses to look at Bill for a second.

“Just… you know, I think you’re right. I think things will be okay again soon.”

Bill’s brow furrows as Pine Tree heads back inside before he starts chuckling as he shakes his head.

“Weird kid.”

“They’re receptive,” Stan says as he takes up Pine Tree’s seat and Bill tries not to groan. “Not that you’ve made it exactly hard to miss that things are weird between you and my brother. I think the temperature in the room drops by ten degrees every time one of you walks into it. And I thought things were bad with my ex-wife! Ha!”

Bill winces at that, pulling a face as he leans forward to bury his face in his hands.

“Yeah, well, we weren’t even dating—“

“No, you two were just sucking face anytime you were left unsupervised.”

“Please, Pine Tree already got onto me for this. I fucked up and—“

“Summoned a demon, yeah, I heard.”

Bill’s blood runs cold and he looks between his fingers at Stan. …he’s not swinging, he’s not snarling, and Bill can say he’s almost positive that this isn’t Stan then.

“…and you’re cool with that?”

“What? Oh, no, absolutely not. I almost strangled you in your sleep when my brother told me.”

Billy, admittedly, feels a little better with that admission.

“He also said that you came to him to get rid of said demon.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t know. Taking over the universe is so last year.”

Stan snorts at that.

“You’re, like, really cool with that?” Bill tries again. “Don’t want to, I don’t know, punch me in the eye?”

Now Stan shrugs.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I think watching you walk around on eggshells, convinced one of us is going to take a swing at you or tell the Axolotl—“

“Axo— Oh, wait, no, you said it right.”

“I listen. I’m just saying, you know, you with your tail between your legs ain’t a bad look. Certainly makes me feel better.”

“…but, like, the whole breaking your brother’s heart? Trying to take over the universe? You’re sure you’ve got no murder held in your very large, very family-oriented heart?”

“Don’t go tempting me, Cipher, but… Ford’s an adult, you’re… maybe an adult, I don’t know, how do demons age?”

“Depends,” Bill admits, pulling a face. “Interdimensional demons live to about a hundred millennia or so, sometimes longer if they take care of themselves.”

“You said you were a dream demon though,” Stan remembers.

“Yeah, well, that’s a little more… complicated.”

Stan cracks open his pitt cola and gestures to Bill. He debates for a second before taking in a deep breath and sighing.

“I was born an interdimensional demon, a very precocious, adorable thing. Even though they’re relatively harmless, mostly brokers for deals made between species, they’ve got their own power. It doesn’t help that I was born… different.”

Bill’s voice gets soft, thoughtful.

“They tried to understand me, probably. They couldn’t though. A world full of two-dimensional idiots, they never understood what I saw, understood how I felt. So it was, you know, a little…”

“Othering?” Stan offers and Bill nods.

“Othering. Everyone adored me. ‘Special Billy’, ‘unique Billy’, ‘Billy who sees things no one else can see’.” […crazy Billy.]

Bill grips the bench a little too tight, knuckles turning white as he looks down at the ground.

“I won’t bore you with the sob story of a universe lost to a monster,” and maybe because it’s bad enough to admit it to Ford, admitting it to Stan who he still doesn’t trust not to come swinging at him is another thing, “but I ended up alone. I was drifting through time and space for, easily, a couple millennia. I spent a lot of time floating amongst the stars I’d stared at so long. I saw galaxies born, galaxies die; I saw nebulae explode and reform; stars would go through entire lifecycles in front of my eyes. It was me and the cosmos, so I guess I didn’t feel alone.

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3