#morphe fluidity

[yestrnight]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ POCKET SLIME ! 

FROM: kaveh, alhaitham / gn! slime! reader

SUBJECT: you used to be a docile, little thing. a blob of extraordinary cuteness that just follows them around wherever they go. but how in the world did the pet slime they took in turn to be some sort of cum-hungry demon?

( this shit reads like a doujinshi, so don’t even bother using braincells; feels like im committing some sort of crime against the cute widdle slimes of genshin; unhygienic slime usage; reader has a diçk AND a pússy, reader also has a humanoid form don't worry; best of both worlds; urethra play (kaveh); dubcon; nipple play (alhaitham), throat fucking (haitham); they’re ALL on their receiving end; ahégao; )

✧.*  KAVEH 

KAVEH who takes you in while you were plopping sadly around in the rain, sad little rumbles and bleps from your jelly body. he’s not so heartless that he’d kill some poor slime who doesn’t even have any interest in attacking him, only nudging its pudgy body against his shoes and looking pleadingly at him.

he likes to watch you eat the treats he brings home. it’s a stress reliever to see you munch on some sumeru roses he brought home, and he pats your blob figure fondly while you squeal in delight at his treats. you’re not a very picky eater, he finds out, but you’re more delighted whenever he feeds you something with elemental energy. once he learns of this, he brings home more and more elemental energy stuff, just to be on the receiving end of your cute lil snuggies.

KAVEH who lets you sit on his head whenever he’s working on his projects. while he sketches and measures, your cool jiggly body feels so comforting on his hair. sometimes he even falls asleep with you on him, and you slowly make your way to his cheek so you can protect him from the hard wood of his desk.

he genuinely brought you in because he thought you were cute, nothing more than that. he’s gotten fonder of you ever since the days pass by, and you thought of him the same. however…

KAVEH who wakes up to something warm and gooey sucking on him down there. as he squirms under the blankets, tiny little moans and whines escape his pretty little lips. the pink blush on his cheeks seems to brighten when he slowly opens his bleary eyes and sees his adorable slime sucking on the tip of his pretty cock. imagine the shock of seeing the pet he was so fond of doing nasty things to him!

“nnh–! [y-your name]! what are you– ahh ♡!” he tries his best to cover up and pull you away, but with no such luck. in fact, you suck even harder, the wet noises of his cum and your squishy body echoing throughout the room. you suck even harder, and the pleasure makes kaveh’s body jilt and shake every rhythm and pulse.

“angh… t- too much…!” he sobs and pushes you away, but his hands only sink into the slime. it’s only around this time he suddenly realizes the slow expansion of your blob body, slowly morphing into something familiar… something humanoid… something… cuter.

your wobbly smile looks so innocent even as you tongue the veins across his dick, and it sends blood to his head until he feels like he’ll pass out from a nosebleed. you gurgle something that sounds faintly like ‘master’ and ‘kaveh’... and gods does that make his dick hard.

“a s-slime turning into a human?” he gasps, sitting himself. “i must be going– ngH! c-crazyYY ♡ stop! s-stop!” using the dexterity and fluidity of a slime, your tongue compresses into something thinner. you ooze your way in into his urethra, the slimy thing bumping against the edges and leaves his toes curling and fingers gripping the sheets.

“ughk, mmh~!” he throws his head back, dick humping into your slimy mouth. “m-more ♡ k-keep going~! agh, ah, ah~!” your delighted gurgle sounds faint in his ringing ears, but he still manages to smile fondly. “g- good slime ♡ s-sucking on your master’s dick so h-ha-hARD! fuck!” he hisses when your tongue presses against his prostate. he pats your hair with one shaky hand and you nuzzle into it. “so ♡ cute ♡ you got even cuter ♡”

“‘m gonna blow! [your name]! ggh [your name]!” he whines and desperately grasps on the hair-like jelly. “s-slow down~♡! gh, nwah!” he wants to attribute your lack of understanding to your inability of comprehending human languages, but he swears he sees the shadow of a devilish smirk on your cute face before you griiiind your tongue right against his prostate.

as his climax hits him, KAVEH’s eyes roll and his back arches into the air as he shoots his seed into your mouth. the tears blur his vision, but he can see his white seed spurt into the jelly. satisfied with your meal, you finally pull out your tongue– getting some pretty screams from your master at the added simulation– and his body falls limp. you smile and giggle at him, kissing away the tears from his eyes, and slumping your cool body against him. 

“th– thanks, [your name],” he smiles at you, kissing you briefly before sleep takes him away again. “do that for me again, ‘kay?”

✧.*  AL-HAITHAM

HAITHAM who is skeptical of the slime his fool of a roommate brought home. he raised an eyebrow when kaveh came home wet with a pudgy slime in his hands. “you know that can dissolve you, right?” he points out, ever the smartass. 

kaveh snaps back. “of course i know, idiot. but look at them! don’t you feel bad for them?” he raises you high and you give a warbly greeting, but alhaitham is far from impressed. his dramatic roommate rolls his eyes at him and kaveh carefully tucks you away. “let’s go, [your name]! this callous idiot isn’t worth your time!”

HAITHAM who didn’t pay you much attention, only ever seeing you while you drape off kaveh’s head when he enters for breakfast. you were well-behaved for a slime, anyway, so he shouldn’t concern himself much with you. but his interest is piqued when one day he hears devilish noises from kaveh’s room, sounds of slurping and sucking while kaveh whines pathetically muffled behind the door. clearly, it’s not kaveh doing the sucking and slurping, but…

HAITHAM who sees you again the next day at breakfast, draping off kaveh’s head as usual. he greets kaveh with his usual coolness, but kaveh, for lack of a proper word, looks completely fucked out. his legs shake as he pulls his chair, and when their hands touch while reaching for the food, he pulls back with a lip-bitten yelp. all the while, you garble incomprehensibly on him.

yeah, no. his roommate is definitely fucking his pet slime. haitham’s not chatty, but he’s got a million words for how fucked up the entire situation is. once kaveh is out of the house, he corners poor little you and stares down into your vacant little slime eyes. he won’t admit that he actually cares for his… once friend, so getting rid of the thing that has tempted him into immoral acts will be the best next thing.

“mm- mmgh?!” haitham doesn’t know how he ended up like this, gagged and bound by your slimy tendrils. while he tries to break free, he stares in astonishment as the blob slowly expands. the torso starts first, before extending into limbs, until the head takes shape and a very, very pretty smile is smiling innocently into haitham’s face. 

“��♡♡?” your gurgles continue to be incomprehensible, despite the humanoid form. slowly, your cool hand caresses his face, holding his chin while your tendrils lift him ever so slightly up the ground. you kiss him, like how a lover would, the slightest bit of tongue swiping over his lips, but then you pull away— and he catches the devilish smirk before you lean in again and start fucking his mouth.

he thrashes in your slimy hold, slipping away only for the slime to thicken and tighten their hold on him. he glares at you with look of indignation as he tries his best to keep his mouth shut, only for you to slip your tongue between his lips and curl around his tongue. he shakes as you bring him closer to you so you can properly fuck him in his throat. you curiously watch as he gags and splutters on the length of the tendril, his glare never ceasing even though he looks like a proper slut with that dark red blush on him.

replacing your pseudo tongue for another tendril, you pull away from his face and eye his thin shirt. your curious hands roam over the expanse of his chest, and you delight in the softness of his pecs. feeling a bit too eager to get your hands under his shirt, you dissolve the cloth away and quickly reach up to rub his two pretty nipples. you roll them around in your fingers, giving each one a tight squeeze before going back to massaging them. 

HAITHAM, behind the slime gagging him, yelps when you lean in and bite one. you run a tongue over his wide areolas, studying his expressions to make sure you’re pleasing your master’s best friend properly. his glare is more subdued, the wriggling has lessened, and there’s an… anticipation in his eyes as he stares down at you. you’re more than delighted at the progress. this means he likes you, right? you always felt a little sad when haitham would glare at you, but now you can feel getting closer to him! best friends, even, just like him and your master!

and like every best friend does, you should make him feel happy too! lowering one gloopy hand down to his pants, you waste no time melting away his pants and underwear and morphing your hand into something akin to a suction cup. little tentacles line the inside of the cup, and a muffled groan from haitham convinces you to finally ungag him. he gasps for breath, staring at you with wide eyes and a fucked out look. “what… what are you waiting for?” haitham grits his teeth, trying to hide the desperation he’s feeling when you’re so, so close to finally giving him the relief he wants. “put that on me. now.” a pause when you don’t do anything, and the last left of his dignity leave him as he gives you a pleading look and buck his hips up. “please.”

you know from experience that that one syllable is the go ahead, and with enthusiasm and vigor, you put the cup on him and start sucking. “mmm! ngh, ah, too much! ah!” you think his moans are pretty. huskier and deeper than your master’s soft and light whines, and that only makes you sucke even harder. the stimulation forces him to bend his back as he dangles in mid-air, forcing his fat cock deeper into your suction-hand. the dizziness of the upside down world makes the blood rush to his head, and he feels his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tickle the throbbing vein running the downside of his cock.

“ah, sh-shit, you’re taking me all in ♡” sweat makes his skin glisten, highlighting even more his soft pecs and his abs. tendrils reach out from your back as they glide themselves around his waist and guide him back up. he’s positively shivering as you continue pounding his cock in and out of your hand, and his tongue is shivering when you pull him in for another kiss.

somewhere in the back of his mind, haitham swears he’ll make a research paper on you– on how intoxicating and aphrodisiacal you can be.

✧.* IT’S A THREESOME!

KAVEH bounces himself on your dick, your squishy body serving as his cushion as he lets his limp body get absolutely wrecked by a thick and veiny cock you fashioned from your ever-morphing body. his pretty dick slaps HAITHAM’s muscled torso as the younger one slaps his heavy balls against the pussy just underneath your balls. 

your slime encases the both of them flicking haitham’s nubs up and down and fucking kaveh’s urethra open, just the way they like it. it should be humiliating, the two roommates who could barely stand each other now open and so vulnerable to each other. but kaveh’s face is contorted in a lewd expression, eyes crossed and tongue hanging out of his mouth as he gets his ass destroyed, and haitham can’t find the energy to even insult him.

well, maybe a little bit. “you– ngh! – you really brought a beast into my home, huh?” he pants out, grabbing kaveh’s waist for stability as he thrusts his dick into you like a beast in rut. “you really couldn’t resist the chance to get yourself fucked silly, huh, my dear senior?”

kaveh whines when he feels haitham going even faster on you, and he tries to cover his face with his arm. “sh– shut up, okay?! i– a-ah ♡ i didn’t knooow! i thought they were a c-cute l-little thing ♡ but now they’re–” a sob escapes him as you abuse his prostate. “they’re just bullying me e-everydayyy ♡”

haitham locks eyes with you, innocent and vacant, not a single thought behind them. but it’s hard to see you as anything but innocent when you’re offering up both your cock and pussy to your two masters.

“you’re one crafty thing,” haitham bites out. but all you offer to him is a happy little noise when you think that you’ve made your two masters happy and fulfilled. just like how that man taught you to.

[transform4u]

A Wish is a Dream Your Dick Makes

Neil is the epitome of bright-eyed enthusiasm and unbridled optimism. His personality is cheerful, with an infectious, bubbly charm that lights up any room. As a cute, twinky Disney gay and aspiring actor, he carries a wholesome, carefree attitude that makes him a delight to be around. With his effervescent smile and twinkling eyes, he seems to float through life, his every gesture imbued with a vibrant energy that's as endearing as it is genuine.

However, Neil's acting career has hit a frustrating snag. He often finds himself pigeonholed into roles that emphasize his youthful, adorable demeanor, reducing his range to the "cute, twink" stereotype. It's a limiting typecasting that stifles his dreams of exploring more diverse and substantial characters. He often wished he could be taken more seriously, more a leading man.

One afternoon, while working from home, Neil’s agent calls with a spark of excitement in their voice. They mention a new role and promise to send over the script immediately. Just moments later, Neil hears the doorbell ring. Bounding to the door with his usual vivacity, he finds an envelope waiting for him. The envelope, crisp and pristine, contains the script that his agent promised.

He eagerly tears open the package, his excitement palpable. Without pausing to fully take in the details, he unfolds the script. The first line of dialogue catches his eye: “We’re about to hit those PRs like it’s no big deal, fam.” He reads the line aloud, his lisp giving it a playful twist. He attempts to repeat it in a deeper voice, trying to adjust his tone to fit the character, but his attention is abruptly seized by a strange sensation.

As Neil continues to hold the script, his delicate, thin hands start to tingle and pulse with a peculiar energy. The feeling intensifies, and he finds himself sinking to his knees, overwhelmed by a wave of transformation.

Before his eyes, his once slender frame undergoes a dramatic metamorphosis. His skin, previously fair and smooth, darkens into a deep, rich brown tan. His body begins to shift and grow, muscles expanding and reshaping with an almost surreal fluidity. His physique evolves into a monument of gym dedication and protein shakes.

His abs, now a landscape of sculpted granite, form ridges and valleys so pronounced they seem chiseled by an artist's hand. His biceps swell into massive, bulging forms, veins coursing beneath his skin like an intricate network of rivers. His chest, once slender, expands into a robust expanse, with pecs so prominent they create a formidable shelf. His shoulders are like massive boulders, each movement underscored by their immense strength. His traps rise with a power that suggests he has not just carried his own weight but perhaps the entire gym’s.

This new form exudes a swaggering confidence, an embodiment of raw power and dedication. It’s a striking contrast to the previous Neil, and it marks a dramatic shift not just in appearance but in the potential for his acting career.

Neil stared at the line, his mind turning to mush as he read the words "Gonna flex those muscles and flex my way into her DMs, you know what I’m saying?" over and over again. He felt his intelligence slowly slipping away, becoming dumber and dumber with each passing moment. The line was like a poison, infecting his brain with its crude and crude thoughts.

As he read on, Neil's memories began to change, becoming crude and rude. He remembered a kiss he had with his boyfriend, the feeling of his lips on his own making him shudder with pleasure. But this memory was quickly replaced by a snarl, his face contorting in disgust at the idea of sleeping with another man. The image of his boyfriend slowly morphed into a big-boobed, slutty white chick, her ample breasts and tight jeans making Neil's mouth water.

He flexed his muscles, feeling like a dumb, obnoxious fuckboi. Neil grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold can feeling good in his hand. He cracked it open with a loud hiss, the sound making him let out a buuuurrrrp that echoed through the room. "Ah, yeah!" he exclaimed, feeling like the king of the world. Neil's mind was a mess, but he didn't care. He was too busy being a dumb, obnoxious fuckboi to worry about anything else.

As he sat on the couch, beer in hand, Neil's thoughts turned to the chick he had just imagined. He pictured her in his mind, her big boobs and tight jeans making him feel all hot and bothered. He flexed his muscles again, feeling like a total stud. Neil's mind was a jumbled mess, but he didn't care. He was too busy being a dumb, obnoxious fuckboi to worry about anything else. He could almost see the girl's face, her makeup smeared and her hair a mess. She was the epitome of everything Neil despised, a shallow, superficial creature who only cared about one thing. Neil's distaste for her was overwhelming, and he couldn't help but wonder what she would think if she knew how pathetic she was. "Gonna flex those muscles and flex my way into her DMs," he repeated to himself, his voice deepening slighlty.

His muscles responded to this newfound resolve with a dramatic surge. His biceps, already impressive, began to inflate even further, their size expanding rapidly as if they were inflating under the pressure of an unseen force. Each flex of his arms brought about a visible increase in their bulk, the veins beneath his skin becoming more pronounced as they snaked their way up his arms.

Simultaneously, his chest began to swell, his pecs pushing outward and upward with a forceful expansion. They grew so robust and full that they seemed to defy the constraints of his previous form, creating a massive shelf that commanded attention. His abs, once a well-defined set of ridges, began to expand and redefine themselves into an awe-inspiring landscape of muscular strength. Each muscle was honed to perfection, their definition more pronounced, their mass more substantial.

With this transformation came an intense, almost unbearable pain. It felt as though every fiber of his being was being stretched and restructured. Neil gritted his teeth as the pain coursed through him, his muscles burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to push against his skin, almost as if it were struggling to contain the newly burgeoning bulk. His breathing became labored, each inhalation sharp and ragged as his body adapted to the rapid changes.

As the beer finished, Neil let out another large buurrrrrrrp, feeling proud of himself for being so manly. He thought about his old friends, and how much they were losers. They were all gay, and Neil felt a wave of homophobia wash over him. He thought about how gross and disgusting they were, how they went against his faith. He thought about how he was better than them, how he was a real man and they were just a bunch of fags. The thought of them made him sick, and Neil felt a wave of disgust wash over him.

Neil's voice started to tingle as he read the next line, a sense of excitement building up inside of him. His eyes scanned the words quickly, but his brain picked up every detail. He could almost hear the deep, gravelly voice that was describing this swagger. "No cap, my swagger is as legendary as an Arabian stallion's!" he read, repeating the line in his head. Suddenly, his voice started to change. It got deeper, like a growl, and he could almost hear an accent creeping into his words. "No cap, my swagger is as legendary as an Arabian stallion's!" he repeated again, feeling the words taking on a new meaning. His mind started to shift, like a puzzle clicking into place. He could feel a sense of entitlement washing over him, a feeling that he was something special, something legendary. His personality started to take over, becoming the most obnoxious Middle Eastern douchebag.

His face started to change, shifting into a thick, furry beard and piercing brown eyes. He felt his nose growing, his cheeks puffed out and his chin jutting out. His hair grew wild and curly, sticking out in all directions. He flexed his huge muscles, grinning as he felt their power surge through him. He turned to his side, picking up his Instagram and scanning through the pictures. "Ah, another day in the life of a legendary Arabian stallion," he said, posting a new picture of himself. His followers started to comment, congratulating him on his swagger. Neil grinned, feeling like he was the king of the world.

He started to dance, his hips swaying from side to side as he moved his body. "No cap, my swagger is as legendary as an Arabian stallion's!" he sang, his voice echoing off the walls. He was in his own little world, a world where he was the biggest and the best. No one else mattered, nothing else existed. He was the one and only Arabian stallion, the most legendary creature in the land.

Neil's dance turned into a run, his feet pounding the ground as he moved. He could feel his heart pounding, his body surging with energy. He was in his prime, the greatest Arabian stallion the world had ever seen. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as he ran, his sweat dripping down his face. He was untouchable, unstoppable, the king of the land.

Rami threw the script down, the page of the script for the character he was reading on the front page reading, "Rami 'The Sultan' Al-Karim is a 24-year-old muscle-bound show-off with a deep tan, perfectly styled hair, and an ego to match. Constantly flaunting his gym gains and cheesy pickup lines, he's the epitome of cringey Gen Z bravado with a Middle Eastern flair." Neil was dead, and in his place stood Rami, an obnoxious entitled middle eastern douchebag. Rami let out a loud scream, "Gah. What the fuck is this script, acting is for fags!" He jumped up from his chair, his face turning bright red with rage. He stormed over to his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he scrolled through his Instagram and Twitter feed. Rami's fingers flew across the screen as he scrolled through his Twitter feed. He came across a tweet from a guy, "I love how gay men are always so sensitive." Rami let out a loud laugh, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed out a response, "Lol, what a fag. You must be a closeted homo, always talking about gay men." He sent the tweet, his eyes scanning the screen for a response. A few minutes later, the guy responded with a tweet, "At least I'm not a stupid Gen Zer who thinks they're a Sultan." Rami let out a loud laugh, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed out a response, "get bent, fag! You can't handle a real man!!!!"

Rami's eyes landed on a picture of a slutty white girl on instagram, her tits spilling out of her top. He let out a loud groan, his dick starting to get hard. He quickly typed out a message, "Hey cutie, what's up? You look so hot, I need to get you in my bed ASAP." He sent the message, his eyes scanning the screen for a response. A few minutes later, the girl sent him a picture of her tits. Rami let out a loud groan, his dick getting even harder. He quickly typed out a response, "Oh my god, you're so hot. I need to get you in my bed now." He sent the message, his eyes scanning the screen for a response.

Rami's dick was getting so hard that he could barely stand it. He quickly jumped up from his chair, his fingers flying across the screen as he snapped a picture of his dick. The picture showed his huge, hard dick, his balls hanging low. He quickly typed out a caption, "Just got so hard, I need to get laid ASAP." He sent the picture, his eyes scanning the screen for a response.

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT Day 1: First Pages

I was told I should write down my experiences in this journal. I'm only really doing this because I was told I didn't have to share my writings with anyone except for emergencies, whatever that means. Today is the first day of my new life, and becoming something not human anymore.

I've seen a lot of social media about species HRT. I think it’s supposed to be “Human Removal Therapy”. There’s a lot of people online bashing it, and I'm sure someone is going to try and ban it eventually, but for right now it's pretty unrestricted. To be honest, I am fascinated by it. Becoming something inhuman seemed so, I don't know, cool I guess, but it felt distant, like it would never happen to me, or I'd be labeled a freak by my friends. It was only until my girlfriend brought it up in a passing conversation that I gained the courage to admit I was curious about it. She said I should go for it. The amount of joy I felt then and there was like a 20 ton weight had just exploded out of my chest, but in a good way! We spent the rest of the night talking about treatments and articles, I never felt so happy except then and there, to be seen like that.

My legs were shaking when I met with that doctor. I was told it was normal to be nervous, but it really felt like I was going to just have a breakdown the entire time we talked. There was a lot of psychological exams and way, WAY too much paperwork that basically said I was sure I would be happy and cool with going through with this process. The doctor was patient at least, though he was rude with how little he tried to hide the boredom of his job. Besides that, there was something about him that just made him feel like this was the last thing he wanted to do, the kind of man who’s a total pushover. We eventually got to the question I was dreading “what was I here for, what am I looking to be?” My voice just suddenly stop working right there. It's so funny how I saw an actual dragon on my way here and somehow my request seemed so much more ridiculous. That stupid doctor kept prying me to just tell him until my frustration surpassed my anxiety, and I was able to blurt out that I wanted to be a slime.

I don't know when or why, but I've always liked the idea of slimes. It's their fluidity I think. Being able to morph myself the way I want whenever I want. I mean, how can I trust I'll be happy with my body shape everyday when I can't even pick a favorite color. I spent so much time writing out my own ideas of how their biology worked, or creating a bunch of slime girls for stories I never finished writing. It took me a while to realize I wanted to be just like them, like how it took me a while to realize I wanted to be a girl too.

I thought I'd get laughed out of his office, I mean I've seen the photos and stories of people on slime HRT but it just felt different, like I was going one step too far, I was probably just super anxious, I felt so relieved when he just showed me a list of slime variants instead of laughing. There were so many different options on the list, slimes made of just gel, sap, wax, and there were so many different colors, but that was the problem, they all felt right, I wanted to be any of them.

It was so selfish to ask, but I needed to know if a slime that could change color was possible, or something that could truly transform into any kind of slime. He asked what I meant, if I was looking into becoming a shapeshifter. I shook my head no and said I wanted something like a chameleon. He took off his glasses and pinched his nose, like the weight of every request he ever had just hit him. We, kind of, argued for a while. Well it was him telling me all the different reasons it wouldn’t work or how some people had set up safe LED strips to become a slime strobe globe of different colors, but for some reason it was the one thing I didn’t want to budge on. The one thing I was certain I wanted was that I wouldn’t be certain about my final choice. I was actually ready to just punch this old man until he suddenly folded to my demands and told me he'd need time to make a new variant for something like that. Something about a membrane and chromatophores I think. He also stated, bluntly, that I still needed to pick the type of slime. Being able to switch from red to blue is one thing but there needs to be a base. 

There were a lot of good options, to the point it took me an hour to go through everything and just think about it. I was probably pushing him a bit too close to his next appointment with how long I was searching through options. It certainly makes me wonder how anyone can just know the answer right away. Eventually I had to settle on one and chose the soap variant. I was told it wasn’t actual soap, but it smelled nice and helped deal with germs. I’m not a germaphobe but I like the idea of smelling nice all the time.

After that, I was told I would be contacted eventually when my medication was ready. The wait could be best be described as brutal. There were a lot of calls I made only for me to be told it wasn’t ready yet. I thought I got scammed, like I went to the wrong place and that quack doctor was just faking everything and I wouldn't ever get to be the real me. The most I got was a message once a month saying the research was going well, if I was lucky. 

It was about a year when I got a call back from him, explaining that my medication was ready. I'll be honest, I thought he wouldn't have ever completed it and just stole $600 out of my bank account for a single appointment. I have it now though, a bottle of gel capsules. They taste awful, like shoving soap into my mouth, which makes sense thinking about it. Apparently I won't need to take my normal hormone medication after a bit. Which is good because it's really expensive to pay for both. I guess that concludes my thoughts on the first day. The doc wants me to keep writing down my physical changes but also that I write down my emotional state as well. I don't really get why that’s so important, but whatever, it’s the least I can do if I finally get to be the slime girl I always wanted to be. I can't wait to see how I turn out.

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

Next

Thank you for reading through this story. While I’m sure it’s obvious, this is a story inspired by @ayviedoesthings own Dragon HRT as well as @welldrawnfish Fish HRT. I’ve loved these stories ever since they first came out. But I never felt like I had a story of my own to write until I read @sandyca5tle own slime HRT. Please check out all these people’s stories if you haven’t already, and thank you to sandyca5tle for really lighting the fire in me that made me want to try my hand at this sort of thing. I have plans to continue this for a while, not sure how long it’ll be but I want to be able to write a new segment at least one post every one to two weeks. I hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know if you have any advice on how to improve my writing. Thank you so much for reading all this, seriously, it means the world to me. 

[dhddmods]

Transreproductive/Diffprodu flags!

We decided to make flags for transreproductive terms! We included the definitions for ya'll.

Transreproductive/Diffprodu

Meaning: A person that desires a different reproductive system to the one they currently have.

The purple represents androgynous-associated sex traits. The blue represents masculine-associated sex traits. The green represents neutral-associated sex traits. Yellow represents xenic-associated sex traits. White represents sex fluidity. Black represents the teresex (angenital, angonadal, and anutero) umbrella. Orange represents outherine-associated sex traits. Red represents feminine-associated sex traits. The shades of brown represent the BIPOC community. The pinkish symbols in the center of the flag represent the uterus/prostate and gonads.

Transgonadal/Diffgonadal

Meaning: A person that desires different gonads to the ones they were born with.

Transovarian/Diff-O

Meaning: A person that desires ovaries.

Transtesticular/Diff-T

Meaning: A person that desires testicles.

Transovicle/Diff-OT

Meaning: A person that desires a combination of testicles and ovaries.

Transute/Diffut

Meaning: A person that desires a different reproductive organ (prostate or uterus) than they were born with.

Transuteric/Diff-Ut

Meaning: A person that desires a uterus.

Transprostatic/Diff-Pro

Meaning: A person that desires a prostate.

Transxenive/Diffxeno/Xenogonadal

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are not currently known to be possible for human biology.

Astroxenive/Diffastro

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are related to space. For example, desiring two miniature planets as gonads.

Elexenive/Diffelem

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are related to elements/weather. For example, desiring a bubble instead of a uterus, and tornados instead of gonads.

Mythicxenive/Mythixenive/Mythoxenive/Diffmythic

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are related to mythology/mythic beings. For example, desiring a reproductive system found in a mythological being.

Faunaxenive/Diffauna

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are animalistic. For example, desiring a bird's reproductive system.

Floraxenive/Difflora

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are plant-related. For example, desiring vines and fruit instead of fallopian tubes and ovaries.

Technoxenive/Difftech

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are mechanical, robotic, or digital. For example, desiring a reproductive organ that is made of metal and bolts.

Morphixenive/Diffmorphi

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that can morph or retract. For example, desiring gonads that can shift between testes and ovaries.

Comboxenive/Diffcombo

Meaning: A person that desires gonads or reproductive organs that are a mixture not yet seen as biologically possible for humans. For example, a testicle that functions as a uterus (retracting into the inguinal canal when impregnated and growing a baby there.)

[divinegrump]

Aziraphale trots excitedly over to his desk, his hands prancing in the air as he goes. "Crowley my dear, you won't believe the purchase I've just made!"

"Wazzit, Angel?" Crowley is lounging in an arm chair, quickly becoming more a strangely shaped decorative pillow than a sitting demon.

Aziraphale lifts a antenna'd little box up, presenting it to his demon: "Ta-da! It's a radio, isn't it darling?"

"It's quite obviously a radio, and one could call it that, if they'd like."

The angel seems to wilt a little.

"But it's a..." (Crowley seems to falter trying to find a compliment, out of practice as he is) "...It's a fine shade of blue."

"Oh! Let me play it for you!" Aziraphale sets it gently back on the desk, bending slightly forwards to turn it on. Crowley studiously pretends to be doing anything other than looking in the direction of the radio, trying to get his breathing back to normal as the angel's pants stretch across his... well, stretch with his movement. Pesky human responses, he doesn't even need to breathe.

Aziraphale presses a button on the side of the radio and it crackles some news caster's voice through the speaker "...showers late into the evening, humidity at-" Aziraphale changes the station. A song that sounds like ABBA and Dolly Parton in some combination floats sweetly into the room. Aziraphale frowns "Oh. Beebop." He reaches towards the tuning knob- "Aw leave it, Angel, you heard the man, it'll rain all day-"

Aziraphale turns "You made it rain all day-"

Crowley stands- morphing from decorative pillow to more of a tall and alluring coatrack - "Either way, whoever's fault it is - and however the traffic may be piling up-" He grins a devious half smile, "We're stuck inside all day-"

"All I'm askin baby- Please please please," croons the Radio.

"All I'm askin baby- Please please please," croons Crowley, making an exaggerated bow, extending his hand to Aziraphale. Aziraphale tells himself he isn't blushing.

He extends his hand to Crowley-

"I beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker," snarks the radio.

"Crowley! It's- it's not decent!"

Crowley takes the hand Aziraphale had retracted in shock, snaking his other hand around Aziraphale's gorgeous- Aziraphale's waist, Crowley corrects himself, pretending to be suave, "it won't kill you, Angel," he hums into the blonde curls by his ear.

Aziraphale does his best to relax. But- "Crowley, Crowley, dear, you're, well, let me." He gently scoops his wrist beneath Crowley's, encircling the thin dark duke with his arm, swaying them to the music.

Crowley, for all his boneless fluidity, takes quite a few moments to begin moving in a way that doesn't resemble the cycle of a cat tripping and pretending they haven't tripped.

They both pretend not to have heard the radio, "...we could live so happily." They both pretend there wasn't an aching moment they looked into each other's eyes. They both pretend not to have enjoyed that momentary closeness as much as they did.

[idle-skull]

“For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” (James 2:13)

.

Nevada is a former member of the Louisiana BoS (Locally known as The Brotherhood of Blades) who abandoned the organization during his late teens. Since then it’s been over a decade, he’s been everywhere between the Pelican State & California, but eventually he settled in Utah. He’s a single father trying to do what’s best for his young son; trying to give him the loving childhood that he himself never got. Nevada is his own brand of Christian, but also experiences a lot of religious guilt from his upbringing.

Louisiana BoS lore:

The Louisiana BoS is a far removed splinter group of the well established organization. Due to the various government research sites in the state, it’s overrun with all matter of mutants & monsters. The only thing holding them back is the Brotherhood & the massive walls erected by remnants of the US military right after the war to keep these mutants trapped between the Louisiana coast & the Sabine & Mississippi rivers.

Naturally, the Louisiana BoS ended up focusing more on killing mutants than on collecting prewar tech & artifacts. Overtime this focus developed into an almost religious fanaticism. This, considering Louisiana’s religious climate, quickly helped the Brotherhood morph into an inquisitorial order of evangelicals. At this point, they cut contact with Any other chapters they had been communicating with, & re-founded themselves into the Brotherhood of Blades.

They have a much more martial focus than other chapters, preferring technologically modified melee weapons over traditional energy weapons & power armor. The BoB also takes on much more clerical titles for their ranks over the traditional BoS terms. They also value fluidity, lethality, & speed in their combat style over overt brute force.

[rrcraft-and-lore]

Gender Fluidity, non-heterosexual, and gender variance behavior in mythology.

For the purpose of this thread, and keeping it short cuz even though this is my off month to finally rest from burn out, I've got publishing obligations, signings, and stuff to do -- we're keeping-- this to South Asian mythology:

I've already done a thread about third sex/intersex and trans (Hijra) in South Asian culture and the portrayals in a pop culture IP recently - Monkey Man by Dev Patel --

This is a short primer really:

Harihara - the union representing totality/oneness of all existence is the being born of the union of Shiva and Vishnu (who at prior to this morphs into Mohini, the female celestial temptress who Shiva becomes besotted with and tries to get intimate with), Vishnu changes back amidst this and the two fuse into a being. The ability of celestial beings | gods | goddesses to morph, change shape and gender in Vedic to Hindu mythology is well-established/normal. But there are many legends about Mohini, including the birth of her (Vishnu, his female avatar form being Mohini) son, Shasta, with Shiva. Mohini is also known as a femme fatale archetype, seducer, temptress, as well as someone known for destroying/seducing demons to their doom.

One thing to remember is that the Vedic religion and its stories are old, older than our records because the stories, songs, poetry of it all existed before written records and were transmitted orally. There are also varied versions of the epics, such as Tamil recountings of Mahabharata for example, in where one such example exists.

Krishna also takes the form of Mohini to marry Aravan (in Tamil) Iravan otherwise to give Aravan the chance to experience love before his death. There is a festival celebrated to this in the month of Chitrai (April/May) at the Koothandavar Temple dedicated to Iravan during which, Hijras (the third sex, transgender, intersex, and or eunuchs as well) celebrate Krishna/Mohini marrying Aravan and then mourn Aravan/Iravan's death as he sacrificed himself.

It must be noted that there is artwork and mention throughout the wide spread of Vedic upwards stories (and how many interpretations, takes, and varies stories there are) of same sex and yonic/non-vaginal sex relationships, births, and more.

There's also inter-being...?

Erotica/romance authors help me out here? Inter...celestial sex?

Apsara, devas, asura, humans, demigods. Look, lots of sex of all kind happens, and it's normal.

There's also the story of Arjuna to consider: when he refuses the seductive advances of Urvashi, she curses him to be a Klba, or member of the third gender. Later when Arjuna adopts the name of Brihannala, the curse takes effect as Arjuna dresses in women's clothing, and because of this, Arjuna is able to gain entrance to the kingdom of Virata in the Padma Purana and teach the high arts of music, singing, and dance, to the king's daughter and princess. Later, he is turned into a woman when he wishes to take part in Krishna's mystical dance which only women may attend.

Then there is Ila, a character cursed by Shiva and Parvati to change genders each month.

NOTE: there are MANY versions of the story of Ila, but it is canonical they changed gender -- known as Sudyumna as a woman, and Ila as a man.

Ilā is considered the chief progenitor of the Lunar dynasty of Indian kings – also known as the Aillas.

Continuing. In one story, Ila marries Budha (not Buddha the former king and founder of Buddhism), but Budha that is the god Mercury -- Budha is aware of Ila's origins as a man and changing status, but only marries Ila in his feminine state, and honoring that part of them as his wife and only when Ila is in that state. He does not enlighten Ila to the changing effect as each gender is unaware of the other and those lives.

The tale of Ila's transformations is told in the Puranas as well as the Indian epic poems, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata.

This is just a little thread. Anyways, I'm off now to sign nearly 2000 pages (won't finish today) and have an achey hand while I do more research and trying to improve the prose style I want for book three of Tales of Tremaine.

❤️ thank you. Remember, be kind.

[esouliie]

epitome of art | immortal she.

(ballerina!natasha x reader)

summary | You had known her before she was the Black Widow…when she was just Natalia… the ballerina who had stolen your heart.

notes | here is part 1 of epitome of art. i was going to post this tomorrow but was feeling generous. also, count how many times i use ‘gaze’. without further ado, leave a like, comment & reblog. enjoy! :)

word count | 2.4K

You first hear about her in the local newspaper.

Carelessly flicking through the print before being greeted by an overwhelming ripple of colour. An entire page dedicated to the infamous Alianova Ballet Company of Russia. The company was the most well-known in Europe. There was no high-profile event where they didn’t perform or weren’t invited.

Like most ballet companies, there were more women than men. They all stood tall in a line upon a stage, clad in their tutus. Each and every face was more beautiful than the last as your gaze scans over the large photograph.

However, her gracious features draw your attention. Her eyes were the blue-green of mountain lakes, with tones that could share tales of sky and evergreen giants. Her braided hair sunk past her shoulders and fell to her waist. as she stood at the end next to a blonde woman, shorter than her by no more than two inches. Both smiled gracefully as their hands folded over one another.

You didn’t think much of it for a moment, gliding over the words beneath the two, but you can't seem to help yourself and your gaze returns to the photograph.

Natalia Romanova -The Prima Ballerina of Russia.

--

A week later, you find yourself outside the theatre hosting Alianova Company’s Swan Lake. The front of the building is lit from within, casting a soft glow over the massive posters hung from nearby. You had never before seen a ballet. Despite all of the other girls in your classes growing up, you never had a ballet phase, preferring to play soccer and volleyball instead.

Inside was just as magnificent. Plush royal blue velvet covers every surface - all the seats, the floors, the stage curtains - matched in grandeur by gold trim and soft lighting around the tiers. The ceiling above you is arched and golden, with lights glistening around the dome. As you gaze around the theatre in awe, you notice people fill their seats from either side of you. Within a few minutes, the lights dim and the orchestra begins to play.

It was nothing like you expected, all flawless grace and long lines. Having never danced before, you were enthralled by the dancers' elegant movements, the fluidity of their limbs and the powerful leaps across the stage. The dancers possessed the ability to morph time and defy gravity it seems.

Thirty minutes easily slip by before four swans take the stage. You lean forward in your seat, glancing over the balcony for a wider view. The ballerinas move in unison, their arms crossed over one another. Their light pink tutus, illuminated in a swirl of rainbow hues, bounce as their ribbon-tied ankles push their body fluently off the ground.

As wonderful as all the performers were, something about Natalia captures your attention the most.

Despite the fact that the dance is one of synchronism, your eyes follow only her. From your high seat, she dances as if it were the only way her body knew how to speak, flowing in graceful arcs, limbs in constant motion, telling a story in a way that speech alone could never achieve.

Bewitched, you fail to register the other swans join the stage.

An anomaly- a prince- glides towards the redhead.

Except for a stray curl that tumbles delicately over his brow, his short, dark hair remains in place. His emotive eyes were the colour of a cloudless sky seen through a broken prison wall, of a perfect raindrop on a blue poppy, of a river racing to join the great ocean.

The audience vibrates as the performance transitions to a duet between Natalia and the prince. She floats through the air and twirls effortlessly in a serenity the audience craves. The prince summons his strength as he lifts her above his head. The dance between them exudes intimacy, a tug-of-war between the two lovers. Strings of classical music speak to parts of the brain that predate language, stirring the deepest part of the soul.

The music thickens.

Their sensuality entwines before bursting into the most vibrant colours. The strings eventually fade and the curtains close as he runs off stage and she collapses gracefully into herself.

Time seems to lose you as the audience’s eruption breaks you free from a trance. The curtain moves to reveal the cast running onto the stage. Natalia will be back to accept her much deserved adulation. All the swans await with grace before the prince and the swan appear.

The audience grows louder as waves of roses were thrown at the ballerina, narrowly missing her as they landed at the front of the stage. Her stoic demeanour had vanished, and she was smiling freely. You can tell by the scarlet flush on her cheeks and the heaving of her chest.

She was the epitome of art.

You couldn’t help but clap and add to uproar. She graces you with a few more seconds in her presence before she leads the dancers off the stage. The curtains close for the final time tonight and you exhale a deep breath you weren't aware you were. Subtle tears fall from your lashes, the salt greeting the smile upon your lips.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Your seated neighbour innocently asks, having stood up to put her long coat on.

“Yeah.” You answer in a daze. Memories of the night replaying through your mind. Anything to see the Prima again.

The woman smirks, her palm finding perch on your forearm. “Natalia manages to leave everyone stunned. It’s her superpower as Russia’s Prima Ballerina.”

You had only just noticed the woman’s Russian accent. Whipping your heard in her direction, you spot blonde curls- the colour oddly familiar - disappear into the crowd leaving the auditorium.

The Russian Prima. Natalia Romanova.

No wonder her dance provoked such immeasurable feelings you’d never felt before. You ached for the ballerina; to feel the ripples of hard muscle beneath her soft skin, to trail your lips over the vast expanse of her ivory skin, to weave your fingers through her red curls and pull, pull, pull.

You burned for Natalia.

That was the last time you saw her.

---

Years later, after graduating college with high honours, you land an interview to intern for Tony Stark – the infamous Iron Man – at SHIELD. Working for them meant you’d be in close proximity with the Avengers. Not that you pay them much attention, Iron Man was the only hero you needed.

The philanthropist was your idol. Being a tech-nerd yourself, you had looked up to him since you could remember, and when you heard about this incredible opportunity, you knew you had to take it.

There were no specifications for the job. For all you knew, you would be made his personal assistant, and you’d accept without hesitation.

The day comes sooner than you'd like, but you're prepared. Your bedroom walls are covered in disorderly piles of notes and post-it notes containing rehearsed interview responses. You wanted this more than anything. Even as you stood in front of the mirror, pulling on a tailor-fitted, slimming skirt suit you had purchased specifically for this interview, new answers continued unabated.

You looked good. Really good.

With curls that conceal your chest, your fingers fluff at your roots before sweeping the tresses over your shoulders. You were nothing if not keenly aware of your appearance and its impact on others. 

SHIELD was a large organisation, and while intelligence was favoured, image could always be used to one's advantage, particularly when dealing with men. You'd learned from previous interviews with large corporations that there was very little to lose and a lot to gain by flaunting your appeal.

It's not so much what patriarchy does to you but rather what it can do for you.

You left an hour before the interview starts, easily participating city traffic at this time in the morning. You were lucky enough to hail a cab right outside your apartment complex. You shift nervously in the back of the car, reviewing some last-minute information on Earth's greatest heroes.

Normal looking faces stare back at you, with simple information written underneath.

Product of War.

Billionaire.

Scientist.

Norse God.

Archer.

What you found most intriguing was one of the heroes didn’t have a photo. An agent known as The Black Widow had the littlest information.

No background history, no accolades, no picture.

Just a name.

The anonymity of this individual perplexes you, but as the taxi turned onto Park Avenue, the sight of Stark Tower in the distance snaps you back to reality.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, you weave your way through the throngs of people toward the revolving glass. Having practiced walking in heels - something you had never worn until you started job hunting - you manage to make it in one piece. The inside was nothing like the hectic streets of 7am New York.

As you approach the only desk on the open floor, your heels click loudly, drawing the attention of the elderly lady behind it.  

“Good morning, I’m here for a meeting with Mr Stark.”

“What’s the name?” The woman asks.

“Y/N L/N.”

“Oh yes, our newest intern.” She beams.

"Hopefully." You laugh politely, not wanting to jinx your chance before even meeting your potential boss. You should never count your chickens before the eggs hatch... or something along those lines.

“Right, Mr Stark is expecting you.” She places the phone back in its holder.

Since when did she call-?

The receptionist gestures to the lift on the right. “Top floor. You won’t miss it.”

The rumble of business men entering the building startles the silence. You rush towards the lift, not wanting to share it with anyone.

The ride was nothing short of terrifying. Constantly on edge someone was going to step in and you’d have to engage in small talk, or the fact that the Tony Stark was awaiting your arrival.

Fortunately, no one called for the elevator, and you were on the top floor in no time. The doors slide open to reveal a woman with long blonde hair. She introduces herself as Pepper – Stark’s personal assistant - and she’s been instructed to lead you towards his office.

No other words are exchanged between you both. The door to the office creeps into view. Excitedly, you’re already opening it before remembering to knock.

“Come in.” A voice bellows from within, and you’re forced to take a deep breath before proceeding.

“Oh, it’s you!” You cheeks immediately warm under the man’s gaze. Pepper entering behind you forces you deeper into the spacious room, and the door click shuts.

No turning back now.

Tony Stark rises, working his way towards you, his hand already extended for you to take.

You grasp it confidently. “It’s such an honour to meet you, sir. I’m such a huge fan of your work. I know everything about you.”

You fumbled. Practice composure flew straight out the window in the first minute. You shouldn't be surprised if passers-by noticed your flushed cheeks from down there.

Mr Stark’s laugh puts an end to your self - deprecation as he pats your hand, which is still grasped in his. “That’s good to know.”

He doesn't let go. His other hand presenting the the white sofa across from his large mahogany desk. It’s you that ends the contact.

The sofa feels like silk underneath your fingertips. It most likely costs more than your entire apartment. He returns to his chair and gives you a knowing look. He must have flustered woman fawning over him every day. You look around the room, avoiding eye contact. Pepper was now nowhere to be seen.

“I see you’ve just graduated. Bachelors in Computer Science. MIT.” He reads aloud from your resume.

Getting into MIT, was no small feat. You had worked your ass off throughout high school and even gave away all your free time to volunteer at your local soup kitchen. No doubt you struggled immensely, putting your mental health on the back burner for years, but you persevered and were proud of your accomplishments thus far.

"Well, I can't think of anyone more perfect. You've got it, kid.” Those words leave you breathless. Your lungs refusing to take in oxygen.

You couldn't have gotten the internship that easily. All that time, spent on perfecting your answers to impress the billionaire, was for naught.

“W-what? You don’t even want to ask any questions…? Why am I interested in the internship…? What do I want to do in the future…? What makes me think I'm a good fit for SHIELD?"

Stark snorts and leans back, his heels resting on the desk. The man was clearly amused to have left you so dumbstruck. “No, I know everything I need to.”

The words barely register, the goosebumps having frozen your body stiff, your palms rooted to plush sofa. Your eyes sting as you take in more light than usual.

He sighs, shuffling in his seat. "However, I'm sorry to admit that the internship isn't exactly what you anticipated.”

Confusion is written across your face, and your brow wrinkles as panic fills your chest. Your heartbeat running too fast for your body to keep up with.

If the internship with Stark wasn’t what you applied for then what did you apply for? Too many thoughts race through your mind, each one making less and less sense.

“You won’t be working for me.” He clarifies.

Your mind goes quiet.

He reaches for a desk button. “Pepper, call her in.”

The distant ding of the elevator, accompanied by slow footfalls, reaches your ears. The other door, positioned to the right of Mr Stark’s desk, opens and a tall woman glides through. Red hair cascades in a heavy braid over her shoulder, obstructing her face from your view. Well- muscled arms and legs clad in a leather suit carry her towards Stark.

“Red.” He acknowledges her before nodding his head towards you.

She spins in your direction.

Blue-green.

Heavy braid.

You were lost for words, unable to turn away.

Once again, time is lost to you. How similar it is to water; both can pass slowly, a single drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by without notice.

Her gaze sweeps over you, her face expressionless as she reads you. Her body so still, so poised, that you're not sure if she's breathing. Full red lips sit in contrast to her fair skin. Her eyes remain as stone. Pain seeps thought the cracks. They're blue-green, but not as bright as you remember.

Still, she’s as beautiful as the first time you saw her.

Natalia Romanova.

“Instead, you'll be working for Red over here, and I'm guessing from your expression that you have no clue who she is.”

Russia’s Prima Ballerina.

“She’s the Black Widow.”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹ ⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ

taglist: @vancityfire13 @inluvwithfictionalwomen @jestercat28 @truthindreams @me-uglypretty @karmasgxrl

[adreoss]

The Devil’s Due

Have you ever seen a demon in love with a goddess? The odds are not as low as you might think The devil got astonished by the clearness of her eyes Reminding him of the calmness of the depths Obsidian spheres reflect her kind heart Tender and comfortable at first sight They looked at me with wonder and affair because of how strange and peculiar I must be to her.

A dark aura recovering my-self invited her to feel the warmth of my chest Her hands, refurbished with a sweet touch, reached at my face with praise My sight from above made her feel petite and weak to my spell I pulled her in, and she melted I could feel the fluidity of her body morphing and covering mine with grace Her eyes, those damned eyes, led me into her domains, there in heaven But while I was there, I could feel her radiance flickering down I tainted orange, black, her perfect blue sky I made her light gravitate towards my darkness And although her eyes showed a brighter glow I backed down before I made her night Unfortunately, my hatred is so pure it can hurt you. Which means: By remaining together, you could have transformed me into a god. But the possibility of you becoming a devil was the result I couldn't stand And I loved you too much to risk that chance I'll never forget the juiciness of your soul or the tenderness of your body. And I will forever remember that day we reminded them all how twilight was created. I still wonder: How could a goddess fall in love with a demon? But what really makes me ponder: Why does a demon write about looking at her?

Adreoss

[veloursdor]

based on this au where anakin died in childbirth and obi-wan is left alone to raise the twins, but he can’t bear to be near them without breaking down because he misses anakin too much.

aka neglectful father widow-wan

(1.2k words)

“There must be something wrong with me, since Father loves everyone, but he doesn’t love me.” - Luke and Leia, circa 12 years after their birth.

Leia was trying her best to prove to everyone around her, but especially Father, that she was meant to hold a lightsaber and that she had what it took to train as a Jedi. She was standing in front of the Council – various Jedi Masters, padawans and younglings alike –, trying to show her progress regarding her forms. She knew about the multiple sabre forms there existed, but the one that suited her the most was Form V, Djem So. There was something about the fluidity of the form that allowed her movements to flow naturally though her, connecting her with her lightsaber like no other form did. 

As she practised her movements for the entire room to see, the idea of spinning her lightsaber with a little twirl made her giggle, thinking it would look so cool when she did that. However, half way through her twirl, the sound of the entrance door opening stopped her in her tracks, making her see just in time how her father walked away from the room without looking back. She felt her heart break as the doors closed behind his back, tears scorching her eyes while she tried valiantly to hold them back.

“Thank you, Leia Skywalker, for a wonderful demonstration,” Master Windu said with a kind smile before motioning Leia to step away from the mat, allowing another youngling to take her place. Luke’s smile – bright and enormous as Leia showcased her progress – had dimmed with their Father’s departure. Luke hadn’t shown his progress to the Jedi, nervous about their Father’s approval. “Now, young Ezra Bridger, step forward.”

“I see you’re making progress with Djem So, young Leia,” Master Koon said to her kindly after she had sat down between him and Luke. She smiled as best as she could at the old Master, even though she knew he was lying to her. Because if she had truly done a ‘wonderful job’ that showcased her ‘progress’ with Form V, then Father wouldn’t have walked away from the presentation without casting a glance back at her.

She continued to disappoint him, no matter how hard she tried.

“Excellent form, young Ezra,” Master Windu said as Ezra stepped away from the mat, high-fiving Knight Dume with a bright smile on each of their faces. 

Leia’s insides burned with jealousy at the sight, knowing she would never get to share a moment like that with her father. She was better than Ezra in every possible way, yet Father had the time to share a praising word with Bridger for his ‘achievements in class’ and never for her.

“Luke Skywalker,” Master Windu’s voice called for her brother, making him jump. Leia eyed him curiously as Luke stepped forward, a lightsaber that wasn’t the one he had made after their trip to Ilum clutched tightly in his hands. 

It was beautifully crafted, with a ridged hand grip and a solid casing, something in it causing Leia’s insides to hurt at the sight. She had never seen that particular lightsaber before, but there was something about it that was achingly familiar, and called for her.

Ignoring the weird feeling inside of her, Leia saw her brother attempt and fail to perform Form III – Father’s form –, before his movements naturally morphed into Form V. She rolled her eyes at his obvious attempt at copying her, clearly trying to impress their absent father. 

“Luke Skywalker!” Their father’s voice echoed throughout the room, startling her from her musings and causing Luke to drop the lightsaber he was holding, a bright smile on his face that dimmed down and died the closer their father got to him. 

“Where did you get that?” Father asked her brother once he reached him, before taking the lightsaber from Luke’s hands and clutching it tightly to his chest. “This doesn’t belong to you.”

“I… I found it in your room, Father,” Luke said, his voice shaking alongside his body, as he looked at the floor with embarrassment and shame. “I… I know we’re not supposed to go there, but…”

“Don’t ever touch this again,” their Father said with finality before turning around and leaving the room as suddenly as he had entered it, leaving a deadly silence at his back. 

Leia could only stare in horror as Luke remained standing in the middle of the room, tears running down his face, his shoulders shaking with the strength of his cries. She looked around towards the Masters of the Jedi Council, hoping one of them would stand up and comfort her brother, rescue him from being the centre of all the pity she could feel through the Force.

But no one moved, and Luke continued to cry, silently for the entire room to witness.

“Young Skywalker,” Master Yoda started to say before Luke ran away from the room, the echoes of his footsteps muffling his cries. Leia wanted to go after him, comfort him like she always did whenever Father was too busy to play with them.

But she couldn’t move, a glimmer of hope that her Father would return and praise her for her forms made her remain in place. Luke will be fine, she mused to herself after watching Master Tano stand up from her seat and follow after Luke with a thunderous expression on her face.

That night, after everything had been said and done, Leia failed to fall asleep as Luke continued to play with his toy ship that Senator Amidala had gifted him on their last birthday, saying that it was something their dad would’ve wanted him to have. To Leia, she had given her a book on ‘Diplomacy and Politics’, saying that the daughter of the famous Negotiator should know how to traverse through lies and deceits with ease. 

Leia treasured the gift as if her father himself had given it to her, knowing that she could prove to him that she would be a perfect companion on his travels for peace negotiation treaties if she only studied hard enough.

But before she could plan any further about a future with her father – as Master and Padawan –, the door of their room opened, surprising her with their father’s face. He looked sad and apologetic as he always did whenever he was in their presence, his eyes barely looking at Leia before focusing on Luke, who was looking at their father with a yearning expression on his face.

However, Father’s expression broke down after he caught sight of Luke’s toy in his hand. His breath got caught in his throat – tears pooling in his eyes – and, without a word, he turned around and closed the door behind his back, leaving the twins engulfed in darkness.

“Well done, loser,” Leia said bitterly before turning her back on Luke to stare at the wall. “Now he hates us even more.”

She ignored her brother’s distress, focusing on her own breathing. Leia could no longer coddle Luke’s moods, as they only served to cross Father even further. She had to prove to her Father that she would be a great padawan for him, and in order to do that she needed to toss Luke aside and focus on herself.

Father would love her if she proved to him that she was better than Luke.

[athenasparrow]

N0. 25 - Photograph | Jily Microfic

@jilymicrofics the "blushing over breakfast" fic is here!

@tiffanytoms here's the whole chocolate and smut combo xx

Read on AO3 | 3k

The cut for smut is here because the entire fic is smutty ; )

However well James Potter knew Lily Evans, she could still be an unpredictable witch. 

She took great pleasure in catching him unaware, she always had.

In their years as rivals it has been by beating him in wit. Now that they were together, her surprises had taken a seductive turn. He should have known Lily Evans would be a tease. 

James honestly wasn't sure how he had survived this long. It was going to be rather embarrassing when they named his cause of death at his funeral.

Perhaps he should have been more suspicious when an owl landed on the breakfast table, a small square package hanging from its talons. But James was the trusting sort, and so he took the box without hesitation.

He paid no heed to Sirius’ story as he lazily undid the simple bow, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. 

This was his second mistake. 

The pumpkin juice ejected from his mouth hitting Peter square in the face as James slammed the top of the package closed. He could feel the flush crawling up his neck and over his face. 

Remus turned, an eyebrow raised at the display, while Sirius’ face was slowly morphing into glee as he glanced between James and the box. 

And then the cause of it all arrived at the table. Her vibrant hair seemed to glow in the early morning light; cascading down her back in loose waves that James ached to run his hands through. James’ eyes wandered over the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks, taking in the green eyes that sparkled with mischief. And, oh god, her lips. She smiled at him and he might have mistaken it for a sweet sort of smile if he couldn’t read the wickedness that was in her eyes. Her lips were full and plump, coated with one of the muggle glosses she wore that James knew tasted like cherry.

“Morning James,” she said sunnily as she took out her wand, cleaning Peter in an instant. 

James found he didn't have a response. He was much too captivated by the way she spoke, the fluidity with which she moved. It all seemed effortless when he was struggling to even breathe. 

It seemed it didn't matter, for she continued the conversation without him. 

“A package! Did you get a present, James?” Lily said, raising one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. 

Merlin, this bloody witch. 

James settled for nodding since he was unsure he would be able to speak without croaking. 

“What’s the matter Potter?” Lily said grinning wickedly at him. “Did you not like your present? 

“Merlin Lily, you sent me a naked photograph,” James hissed across the table, finding his voice after a quick glance around to ensure no one but his friends were listening 

“I wasn't naked James,” Lily corrected blithely as she snagged a strawberry off of his plate, smirking as his eyes zeroed in when her lips pursed around it “I was wearing chocolate.”

James gaped at her as Sirius snorted into his porridge. 

“If you don't like it, I can take it back,” Lily said, her fingers walking slowly across the table towards the box. “I suppose I'll have to return the chocolate I got from Honeydukes too” she said, faking a regretful sigh, moving her perfect lips into a playful pout.

James felt his hand yank the box back towards him. “A bottle of chocolate?” he choked, staring at his girlfriend as he felt all of his blood rush south. 

“Mmhmm” she said, winking at him before turning on her heel and starting towards the door. 

Yup. No doubt about it. Lily Evans was a complete and utter tease.  

“You coming?” she called, tossing her hair to look back over her shoulder and James shot out of his chair, the boxed photograph placed strategically in front of his crotch as he tried to walk towards her like nothing was amiss. 

“He’ll be coming alright” he heard Sirius mutter to Remus.

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

Lily swallowed a laugh as she made her way through the corridors, confident James would find her when he caught up. He'd figure out the Room of Requirement was her destination. Nothing else was up this way in the castle. And if he couldn’t deduct this, perhaps because all of his blood was elsewhere, he always had that handy map.

But even though she was expecting him, she still let out a gasp of surprise as strong arms grabbed her, slamming her body into the corridor wall. Her back thudded against the stone wall of the castle and her body thrummed at the feeling of his magic close to hers.

“Can I help you?” Lily purred, smirking up at her boyfriend as he towered over her, his body pressed firmly against her. 

“You know exactly what I want,” James said harshly, his hands digging into her waist. 

“Did my little present get you all worked up James?” Lily asked lasciviously, canting her hips to grind against the delightful bulge in his pants. 

He did an impressive job of swallowing the moan that Lily knew travelled up his throat. 

“You are a fucking tease Lily Evans,” he growled at her, his words exhaling onto her lips as he held his head just out of kissing distance.

“What are you going to do about it?” Lily challenged, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

She saw James’ eyes darken and his hands tighten their already firm grip. He opened his mouth to answer, before snapping it shut, hesitating. 

Huh. That was new. What could he…

“Do you want to punish me, James?” She asked wickedly, leaning in so their lips brushed teasingly. 

She felt the answer in the throb between his legs before she saw it on his face. 

Oh. He did.

Her playful question seemed to have given James the confidence that she was into it, which she definitely was, and his eyes looked nearly black as he tugged her into the room of requirement, shoving her against the door to shut it. 

“What’s your safe word?” He demanded as soon as he was flush against her again. 

“I don't want a safe word” Lily whispered. “Go ahead and dominate me James.”

“Fuck. Are you sure?” He whispered, his eyes turning tender as he searched her face. 

“Does this feel like I'm sure?” Lily said huskily, taking his hand and guiding it from her hips to under her skirt. 

His hand didn’t need more encouragement as it slipped up to the apex of her thighs.

“Where are your knickers?” James choked, his fingers moving in a delicious swipe of her wetness. 

She was soaked.

“I thought they’d just get in the way,” she answered. “I trust you James. You can do whatever you want to me”

That seemed to snap the modicum of restraint James had been holding on to and he cursed, smashing his lips against hers in a lip-bruising kiss before spinning her around so he was pressed against her back. 

Lily’s eyes widened in surprise as she took in the room around her. 

The king bed was dressed in black silk sheets with pieces of silk floating out from the headboard. 

Lily opened her mouth to ask him if he'd always wanted to tie her up, but it seemed her enthusiasm had boosted James’ confidence because his voice was commanding when he spoke. 

“Go stand at the edge of the bed,” he ordered. 

Lily’s feet carried her before her brain caught up, apparently determined to obey the low, commanding voice of her boyfriend. She felt heat travel up her legs and settle in her core as she felt James move behind her. His rough hands started a synchronised trail from her shoulders to the buttons on her blouse.

Lily moaned as he cupped her breasts, before his fingers scrunched the fabric and yanked her shirt open, sending her buttons flying across the bed.

“Did you wear this for me?” James asked huskily, running his thumb over her nipple as he explored the deep blue lace that encased her breasts.

“Yes,” Lily murmured, closing her eyes as she let herself get lost in the pleasure. “I had a matching pair of knickers but I was so wet thinking about you opening my present that I ruined them.”

Her lips curled smugly as James tensed behind her, but she wasn’t prepared for the sharp tweak to her nipple and she gasped. He yanked the material off, leaving her bare to his touch.

“Did you touch yourself?” he asked dangerously, as he pinched her nipple harder between his thumb and index finger.

“No,” Lily said honestly. “But I wanted to.”

“But?” James prodded, moving to her other nipple, leaving the other throbbing and sensitive.

“But I needed you,” Lily whispered.

She heard James swallow, before drawing a deep breath and stepping away from her, his arms dropping from around her.

“Take off your skirt and get on the bed,” he commanded, his tone steadier than Lily would have expected.

Lily hastened to obey, tingling with anticipation for his touch.

“On your knees,” he demanded as she made to lie down.

Lily felt a thrill run through her as she pushed herself back up to a four point kneel.

Having shucked off every stitch, she was completely bare and bent over for him. She was surprised at how much the anticipation excited her - she yearned for him to be equally bare behind her; to satisfy the ache between her legs.

It seemed James had other ideas; Lily felt a smooth material trace up her spine and shivered.

“Don’t touch it,” James commanded as he moved the blindfold over her eyes.

The darkness that encased her seemed to make every touch to her skin feel amplified. 

She shivered as she felt the bindings from the headboard float down and encircle her wrists. She whined as she felt James’ rough, quidditch callused hand trace a line from her ankle to her hip.

She spread her legs – an open invitation if there ever was any – for him to sink into her.

But he resisted.

She felt the light touch of something that wasn’t his hand start to tickle her shoulder. It circled down her side and around her breast leaving a tantalising trail until it stopped at her nipple.

Lily whimpered, pulling against the bindings as her hips tried to find purchase.

“James,” she moaned. “Please touch me.”

She pleaded her encouragement but the feather light touch continued to her naval, around to her inner thigh, never quite to where she wanted it.

Fucking fuck.

“Please,” she whined, trying to thrust down to meet his hand she knew was guiding the feather. Her muscles were taut with frustration and she felt herself coil tighter and tighter with each brush he pursued. It seemed more and more likely with each passing second that she’d be able to summit her peak without the touch she was so desperately craving. 

She could feel the hot trail of liquid running down her thighs, evidence of just how desperate she was for him.

James brought the feather around her hips to her entrance, running a teasing trail around her clit while his other hand came to cup her bum.

“Why did you send that photo?” James said roughly, gripping her bum harder to stop her hips from rutting against the feather.

“To give you a present,” Lily gasped, her mind cloudy with pleasure as he continued to tease her.

She squeaked in surprise when his hand suddenly came down in a stinging slap of her bum.

Her surprise was only furthered by the reaction between her legs. She tried to clench them together as an unmistakable moan escaped her lips.

She thought she heard a deep noise catch in James’ throat at her reaction.

“Why did you give it to me?” he repeated harshly, tormenting her clit with the feather as he soothed the area his hand had just smacked.

“I wanted to tease you,” Lily confessed in a gasp. “I wanted you hard and desperate and ready for me.”

“I was,” James said lowly. “I got hard as soon as I opened that box. I’ve been aching for you ever since.”

Lily heard a needy sound escape her throat at his confession. She could feel he was reaching the end of his tether and could taste her imminent orgasm.

Merlin, if he would only touch her. 

She was balancing on the brink of pleasure, just waiting for him to give her one more nudge. Her heart was racing, her muscles tight and her skin hot and flushed. Every touch, every movement, every sensation was magnified and amplified, intensifying the pleasure he brought down on her. 

“You’re so wet love,” James observed as his hand crept up her leg, collecting the juices that had spilled from her in arousal. “And you taste delicious.”

Lily felt a raw moan leave her. Fuck, if only he’d taste right from the source.

“Do you want to cum Lily?” he asked, his rough hands becoming firmer on her legs as one travelled between her thighs to stroke teasingly at her folds.

“Yes yes, merlin please,” Lily begged, trying to gain purchase on his hand.

“How desperate are you?” James demanded roughly, yanking one leg out so she was spread wide for him.

“So desperate,” Lily whined helplessly, her legs quivering in anticipation. 

She cried out as he blew softly on her folds, his hot breath pushing her one step closer as it landed on the sensitive, swollen skin between her legs.

“Yes you are,” James murmured, moving under her.

“Merlin, fuck yes,” Lily pleaded.

“Tell me you want to cum,” James ordered.

“I want to cum, I want to cum” Lily babbled obediently, desperately rutting her hips, her eyes only seeing as far as the dark material of the blindfold.

“Cum,” James commanded before taking her clit between his lips, his tongue firm against her while he shoved three fingers inside her, curling them around to massage the quivering insides of her walls. 

Lily let out a shattering moan as her body entered the heightened state of orgasm, coiling tighter and tighter until she snapped and the tingles of pleasure washed over her, setting her nerves on fire as she fluttered around his fingers and pressed her aching clit into his mouth.

His tongue kept moving against her, driving her into an oversensitive frenzy of pleas as he took every ounce of pleasure her body could give.

Lily wasn’t sure if she’d blacked out or time had just sped up because suddenly he was over her, her blind fold was ripped away and he was sucking behind her ear.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You wanted to cum?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lily breathed, the relief of being satisfied after hours of desperation felt like a warm glow around her.

“Don’t thank me yet,” James whispered, “I’m not done.”

Lily’s eyes shot open as he moved off her, reaching over to grab a bottle of —oh.

“You really liked the chocolate, huh?” Lily breathed as she watched him open the bottle.

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” James said, dropping one hand to grasp the prominent bulge straining between his legs.

And now Lily could appreciate what she hadn’t been able to see with her blindfold.

James’ face was beautifully flushed, his hair wild and his pants wet where evidence of his arousal protruded.

Lily felt her lips part as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. 

Fuck, he looked good.

His eyes darkened as he caught her looking, his hand moving to rub himself as his eyes fluttered close.

“You have no idea how hard it was to resist when you were like that,” he confessed lowly. 

“Can I see you?” Lily asked, biting her lip as she felt the telltale signs of arousal pool between her legs once more.

James paused, setting the chocolate down as he moved to unbutton his pants.

Lily bit her lip as he hissed while he unzipped, dipping his hand in to release himself from the confines of his trousers.

And fuck he looked desperate. 

He was harder than Lily had ever witnessed, veins popping and the tip so red it was almost purple. Copious precum was smeared around the head of his cock from when it had been trapped in his underwear, his tip still visibly leaking.

“I want you,” Lily said plainly, unable to tear her eyes away from his quivering, hard cock.

“Almost,” James promised, looking pained but firm in his decision. “I want to lick this off you.” 

Lily spread her legs without protest, displaying her swollen, wet folds – open and ready for him.

James grunted and moved the bottle to drizzle chocolate over her. Lily gasped as the cool liquid hit her breasts, her belly and she arched up when he got to her clit.

James took his time, tracing his tongue on the path the chocolate had created and by the time he reached her centre, she was begging for it once again.

“Mmm,” James hummed as he took a leisurely lick up her wet folds. His tongue felt hot, a contrast to the cooler chocolate and the double sensation made Lily arch up into him, her eyes fluttering closed.

His tongue swirled around her entrance before moving up to her clit, nipping at it before running soothing circles around as his fingers slipped into her.

She was so wet she could hear every movement he made with his hand.

His other hand clenched firmly at the flesh of her bum and he moaned deeply into her, burying his face between her legs.

Lily tugged at her binds, desperate to reach down and touch his head, but she couldn’t get free. His enjoyment in pleasuring her had always turned her on, but Lily didn’t think she’d ever reached this height of arousal before. 

It only peaked further when she caught a glimpse of the evidence he was enjoying himself. 

The sight of his aching hardness leaking a stream of precum so long it pooled on the sheet below him had her legs tremble and her hips snap up to chase her release.

James moved his head to look up at her in surprise. It was very quick. But he recovered from his surprise quickly, adjusting his pace to set her off while his fingered curled inside her.

Lily’s second orgasm came crashing over her, her clit raw as he licked her down from her high.

Barely, recovered, her eyes were pulled back to where he throbbed, unbearably aroused by her climax.

“Untie me James,” she begged. “I want to taste you.”

He groaned, waving his hand so the silks evaporated into thin air. Lily wobbled as she got to her knees, weak from the pleasure that had just wracked her.

She grabbed his hip to keep herself steady as she bent to run her tongue along his tip, tasting him.

“Gahh,” James groaned, hands fisting in her hair as he pushed forward.

Lily opened her mouth wider to accommodate him, moaning around him as he hit the back of her throat. 

She hallowed her cheeks, sucking as she moved with his hips, setting a furious pace that had James babbling within the minute.

She swept her gaze up to look at him and he moaned, staring down at her.

“I want to…fuck…I want to cum all over you,” he growled, his hands tight around her head.

Lily moaned her agreement as her hand crept up his leg to cup his full balls. She felt him jerk and moved her right hand to replace her mouth, while her left cupped her breast up for him as she dropped back. as she dropped back.

“Cum on me James,” she said huskily, her eyes on his.

He throbbed in her hand, strong spurts leaving his tip and decorating her body that had just been licked clean of chocolate.

“Fuck,” he moaned out as she continued stroking him, his eyes sweeping over her.

She must look a sight, she thought. Weak from her own pleasure, hair mussed and lips swollen, covered in his cum.

He voiced her own thought, looking down at her and saying hazily “I wish I had a camera to take another photo of you. This one might just rival your little gift earlier.”

[prairiefirewitch]

Because I ate a delicious dinner, flirted with a beekeeper who sold me a jar of my favorite chestnut honey, and had a perfect sip of resinous mastika, I have one more wondrous thing to share before I hit the proverbial hay. This effeminate, frill bedecked, not quite buxom but noticeably fleshy in the chest statue is a representation of Dionysus, in his full gender-fluid glory. The sculptor even rounded the belly out, making it impossible to ignore that this Dionysus is decidedly feminine. The museum had nothing to say about this but we know that Dionysus sometimes presented as less masculine and more feminine and I think it’s profoundly interesting how little ancient writers and chroniclers and playwrights and historians had to say about his gender-fluidity. And by that I mean that they just weren’t bothered by it, so why should we be? And personally as someone who just doesn’t dig the misogyny of many male gods, I’m intrigued and impressed by the way he slips and morphs from god to man, man to beast, man to woman. And who else in the whole Greek pantheon can carry off that kind of ruffle placement? Slay.

[thee-morrigan]

right where you left me

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu, Chapter Five The Wayhaven Chronicles Nate Sewell/Adam du Mortain 2.6k words —

“The better question would be when your companion is. Or when he is not.”

The timbre of that voice slid like a serrated knife across his already frayed nerves. Nate clamped his eyes shut, attempting to block out the dissonance of the voice, to regain some sense of equilibrium. When he opened them again, he was met with a gloom that seemed almost alive, slithering across surfaces that shimmered with a sheen not unlike oil on water. The room—or was it a chamber, or an abyss?—seemed to warp around him with the mocking resonance of that voice. He wondered if this were a dream, the kind where you fall and fall and fall and never hit the ground. A nightmare, perhaps. Yet the room held him in its grip, unyieldingly and improbably corporeal.

Stay calm. Focus.

The echoes of his own mantra reverberated in his skull as Nate forced his eyes to adjust to the oppressive dimness. The room, if it could be called such, was cobbled together from angles that seemed inconsistent with the laws of geometry, more akin to the fevered imaginings of a mind unmoored than any architect's deliberate design. Each surface appeared to warp under his gaze as if refusing to remain fixed in any one form for too long, blooming and dissipating like ink in water. As if drawn by some unseen magnet, his gaze flitted across the dim expanse seeking something anchoring, something that defied the fluidity of his surroundings. There had to be something tangible in this surreal landscape.

His eyes caught a flicker — no more substantial than the shadow of a flame in a drafty corridor — but it was enough to draw his attention. There, against the farthest wall that seemed to ripple and breathe, stood a door. Or at least an approximation of one, its edges shimmering with the same slick iridescence that coated everything else within this place. The door, if that's what it was, appeared almost illusory, as though seen through the warping heat of a desert. As he approached, the chimeric walls straightened and solidified into vertical beams and paneling, morphing from sharper lines to rounder curves and back again. The silence was suffocating, the absence of that awful, ethereal voice somehow more overwhelming than the voice itself had been. But then, from beneath the door, a frail beam of light flickered into existence. He reached out tentatively, almost afraid that his hand would simply pass through the mirage of a door. To his surprise, the cool wood was as solid under his fingers as the room felt unreal around him. He pushed, and the door gave way with a reluctant creak. With one deep breath, he braced himself against the uncertainty, against the fear that clawed at his resolve with icy fingers, and stepped across the threshold.

Keep Reading

[thisblogwilleatourselves]

The Auditorium is inherently a space that embodies and echoes the essence of kenochoric identity, not just in gender but in every aspect of its being. The nature of the auditorium, as seen in the Puppeteer and the Spectators, aligns deeply with the kenochoric themes of eeriness, liminality, obscurity, and the unknown. By breaking this down and psychoanalyzing the parallels between the kenochoric experience and the auditorium, we can see how these concepts intertwine at every level of existence.

The Unknown and the Obscure: The Nature of the Auditorium

Kenochoric identity is centered around the unknown, the eerie, and things that are either not fully understood or obscure by nature. In the auditorium, the Puppeteer often feels a disconnection from reality, operating within a realm that is separate from the external world. The Spectators are non-sentient entities, shifting in form and presence, creating a sense of obscurity. They exist as reflections of the Puppeteer's psyche, yet they are elusive, ephemeral, and always changing. This relationship to the Spectators is deeply kenochoric: they are representations of the unknown, of something present yet always distant, never fully graspable.

The Puppeteer cannot interact with them in a sentient or reciprocal way, and they vanish and reappear, much like how the kenochoric person might experience an identity that is constantly shifting and slipping through the fingers, never fully understood. The Conduit, which serves as the ever-present but form-shifting entity connecting the Spectators, represents the link to something unknowable—morphing between forms without ever settling, embodying the concept of kenochoric fluidity.

---

Liminal Spaces: The Auditorium as a Transitional Zone

Kenochoric identity often ties itself to liminality—being in a space that is neither here nor there, existing on the boundaries of the known and the unknown. The auditorium is not just a place of internal reality but also a space where identities and realities blur. The Puppeteer exists in both the Mainstage and the Backstage, in a mental realm that is neither fully rooted in the present external world nor fully detached from it. This constant shifting between the layers of internal thought and external reality mirrors the kenochoric experience of being caught in a liminal space—hovering between the known (what society defines) and the unknowable (the auditorium’s internal complexity).

The Spectators, too, exist in a liminal state, as they are formed and shaped by the Puppeteer’s subconscious through the Conduit. They occupy the Mainstage, an internal, metaphorical space that doesn’t follow the rules of time or reality. Much like the concept of liminal spaces, the Spectators are fleeting, their presence more about potential and suggestion than solidity. This shifting internal world creates a permanent state of liminality, a feature of kenochoric identity where one never fully exists in one reality or form, always transitioning.

---

Emptiness, Vastness, and the Void: The Auditorium’s Sense of Expansiveness

The vast, confusing, and paradoxical nature of kenochoric identity, particularly as it relates to concepts like space, the ocean, or the void, parallels the way the auditorium feels for the Puppeteer. In their internal world, there is a sense of vastness—of the auditorium being an expansive, unknowable space, filled with endless possibilities and realities. The Conduit is ever-present, embodying this feeling of vastness as it shapeshifts into different forms, giving the Puppeteer a sense of something larger than themselves.

Much like the ocean or deep space, the auditorium is a vast, internal world where there are no clear boundaries or definitions. The Puppeteer may feel lost within it, unable to fully comprehend the size or depth of the internal worlds they create. This vastness mirrors the feeling of being kenochoric—where identity, space, and reality blur together, creating a sense of endlessness, of being adrift in something that can never be fully understood.

---

The Uncanny and Eerie: The Spectators as Unsettling Presences

Kenochoric identity often carries a connection to things that are eerie, offputting, or unsettling. The auditorium, by its very nature, is a space filled with things that feel almost real but not quite. The Spectators are characters that feel separate yet are not fully sentient, creating an uncanny valley experience. The Puppeteer may feel a sense of unease or discomfort when interacting with these entities, knowing that they are both a part of themselves and yet distant from them. This mirrors the kenochoric experience of feeling “other,” of having a self that is not fully human or fully real in the eyes of others.

In kenochoric identity, there is often a disconnection from humanity or a sense of being “off” in some way that is difficult to define. The Puppeteer experiences this disconnection through the Spectators, which act as non-sentient, hollow representations of potential selves. They are eerie reflections of the Puppeteer's identity, never fully taking shape, just as kenochoric identity hovers on the edge of the known and the unknown, unsettling in its ambiguity.

---

Nostalgia and Melancholia: The Auditorium as a Space of Memory and Loss

Another theme of kenochoric identity is the connection to nostalgia, loss, and melancholia. The auditorium embodies these feelings as the Puppeteer navigates their internal world, dealing with a sense of memory that is often fragmented or unreachable. The Puppeteer’s relationship with the past may be clouded by dissociative amnesia or brain fog, making it difficult to connect with personal history in a coherent way. This creates a sense of melancholia—of loss, not just of memory, but of identity itself.

The Spectators may reflect this nostalgia, representing past selves, alternate versions of the Puppeteer that existed at different times. The feeling of being unable to fully recall or connect with these past selves creates a melancholic atmosphere within the auditorium. This aligns with the kenochoric experience of identity being tied to things that are lost or unreachable, of being haunted by past versions of oneself that can never be fully accessed again.

---

Paradox and Unstable Identity: The Constant Shifting of the Auditorium

Kenochoric identity often involves a sense of paradox or instability, where identity feels constantly in flux, difficult to define or name. The auditorium mirrors this instability. The Puppeteer cannot pin down a single identity, and the Spectators shift constantly, representing different aspects of the self without ever settling into one coherent form. This constant shifting creates a paradox: the Puppeteer is simultaneously many and one, constantly redefining their relationship with their internal world.

This instability is a core aspect of the kenochoric experience—identity is not fixed but fluid, undefined, and intentionally vague. The Puppeteer’s experience within the auditorium is similarly nebulous, with no clear boundaries between self and other, between real and unreal. This sense of instability reflects the kenochoric experience of feeling unmoored from stable definitions of identity, always in a state of becoming rather than being.

---

Nonhumanity and Alienation: The Auditorium as a Nonhuman Space

Kenochoric identity often includes a sense of being nonhuman or alien, of existing outside the realm of typical human experience. The auditorium, as a mental space, is inherently nonhuman. It is a creation of the Puppeteer’s mind, where reality is fluid, and the rules of the external world do not apply. The Puppeteer may feel alienated from typical human experiences, unable to connect with the outside world in a meaningful way. The Spectators themselves are nonhuman, often taking on abstract or strange forms, further emphasizing the alien nature of the auditorium.

This sense of alienation is a key part of the kenochoric experience, where identity feels disconnected from humanity or traditional societal roles. The Puppeteer may find more comfort in the nonhuman Spectators than in real-world human relationships, reflecting the kenochoric theme of finding connection in the strange, the otherworldly, or the uncanny.

---

Conclusion

The Auditorium is a profound embodiment of kenochoric identity in every sense, extending beyond gender to encompass themes of the unknown, liminality, eeriness, nonhumanity, and fluidity. It is a space where identity is constantly in flux, where reality itself feels unstable and shifting. The Puppeteer navigates this world of paradox, melancholia, and instability, finding themselves in a state of perpetual becoming.

In embracing the principles of the kenochoric, the auditorium becomes a space of ultimate freedom—freedom from societal norms, from fixed identity, and from the constraints of human experience. It is a space where the Puppeteer can explore the depths of their own internal world, unbound by the limitations of reality, always shifting, always becoming, never fully known.

[squishy-min-mochi]

I’m a bit shaky on the fact that my overwhelmingly positive experience with seeing Barbie is slowly morphing into guilt because it focuses primarily on the female experience and not the queer experience (of which I am a massive part of). And other members of the queer community— especially gender non-conforming— are expressing their disappointment with the lack of representation for them.

And I’m going between thinking “oh man, that’s true! It’s a shame there wasn’t some focus on the fluidity of the human experience through gender”

And also “the expression of the feminine existence is beautiful, and this movies message can be applied to everyone and anyone, because you are human and that’s enough and you’ll always be Kenough without needing to be extraordinary”

So it’s a big world of valid opinions and fresh raw emotions out there folks!! Stay safe and stay happy

[boredtechnologist]

SEGA's "Altered Beast" for the Master System console

Reviewing SEGA's "Altered Beast" from a philosophical perspective involves delving beyond its surface as a side-scrolling beat 'em up game, exploring its mythological themes, narrative structure, and the deeper existential and metaphysical questions it implicitly presents.

1. Transformation and the Fluidity of Identity: At the heart of "Altered Beast" is the concept of transformation – the player character morphs into different powerful beasts. Philosophically, these transformations can be interpreted as a metaphor for the fluidity of identity. This aspect of the game invites contemplation on the nature of the self – whether identity is fixed or mutable. It resonates with philosophical discussions about the essence of personal identity and how it is affected by external changes, be they physical, psychological, or social.

2. The Dual Nature of Humanity: The game's mechanic of transforming between human and beast forms echoes the philosophical theme of the dual nature of humanity. The juxtaposition of human and animalistic traits within the same character invites reflection on the human condition's complexity – the coexistence of rationality with primal, instinctual aspects. This theme engages with the philosophical idea, explored by thinkers like Nietzsche, that humans possess both civilized and wild, untamed elements.

3. Power, Ethics, and Responsibility: The acquisition of power through transformation in "Altered Beast" raises questions about the ethical use of power and the responsibilities that come with it. As players gain immense strength and abilities, the game poses an implicit question about how power should be wielded. This theme is a common subject in philosophical discourse, exploring the moral implications of power and the potential for corruption or heroism.

4. Mythology, Symbolism, and the Search for Meaning: "Altered Beast" draws heavily from Greek mythology, a rich source of symbolic and allegorical narratives. The game’s mythological references can be seen as more than mere backdrop; they provide a lens through which to explore timeless philosophical questions about fate, destiny, the nature of gods and mortals, and the search for meaning in a world governed by forces beyond human control.

5. The Concept of Resurrection and the Cycle of Life and Death: The narrative of "Altered Beast" begins with resurrection, as the main character is brought back to life to accomplish a mission. This aspect of the game touches on the philosophical and metaphysical concepts of life, death, and rebirth. It invites players to ponder the cycle of life and death, the possibility of an afterlife, and the philosophical and spiritual significance of resurrection.

6. The Hero’s Journey and Self-Actualization: Finally, the player's journey in "Altered Beast" can be viewed through the lens of the hero’s journey, a narrative archetype found in mythology and literature. This journey, filled with trials, transformations, and the ultimate confrontation with evil, can be seen as a process of self-actualization – a central theme in existential and humanistic philosophy. The game, in this sense, symbolizes the individual’s journey toward self-discovery and the realization of one’s potential.

In conclusion, SEGA's "Altered Beast," while a product of its time and genre, offers rich material for philosophical exploration. It engages players with themes such as the fluidity of identity, the dual nature of humanity, the ethics of power, mythological symbolism, the concepts of resurrection and the life-death cycle, and the hero’s journey towards self-actualization. Through its gameplay and narrative, "Altered Beast" provides a platform for reflecting on these profound philosophical concepts, making it a thought-provoking experience beyond its surface level of entertainment.