#objectively the perfect specimen

[bogleech]

Scanning electron microscopy is awesome and I personally think the images it produces are gorgeous but objectively speaking I feel like it doesn't do any favors at all for the "scary" cultural image of insects, because I mean, here's a closeup of a carpet beetle in its true colors:

And here's an SEM image that comes up for carpet beetles on google:

And the thing about SEM images is that they aren't "photographs;" they are computer scans. They're 3-d digital models generated by scanning an object at the molecular level. Color is not preserved by this process, and if it were all the specimens would look like metal anyway (I'll explain this is in a moment), so images like this had to be colored artificially. This isn't done to recreate the true colors, but to make different body parts more visible as study material, resulting in scientific images of wacky blueberry fleas:

The subtly varying transparency levels of living tissues are completely lost as well, which is why the fine hairs of insects stand out more like cactus thorns in SEM imagery, and tardigrades look like opaque leathery things with no eyes:

...Even though a tardigrade actually has eyes, they're just under the surface of a crystal clear exoskeleton:

Another thing that probably contributes to the uncanniness of SEM images is also the fact that they can only show us embalmed corpses encased in liquid metal.

It's not possible to do this fine level of scanning "instantaneously" enough for it to work on anything that's still moving, so even when you see scanning electron images of animals in various lifelike poses, it's because they're preserved specimens that were carefully positioned, or they were live specimens basically "flash frozen" by a sudden dehydration process, mummified so fast they never knew it. Many specimens are then "sputter coated," meaning they're sprayed with a thin (like microns thin) layer of liquid gold, platinum or other fine metal in order for the electrons to perfectly bounce off of every subatomic detail and produce that perfect scan. So this is a live fruit fly:

And this is a fruit fly mummy with probably some sort of chrome plating:

[max1461]

another linguistics question, do you guys make distinctions between the accents of non-native speakers and accent from within the native speaker group? if so, how do you tell yhem apart, and what are some distinctions between them? I assume there's some kind of structural difference between the two

Yeah, so the first thing I should clarify here is that there is no technical difference between a "language" and a "dialect". Linguists often use the term "language variety" to be maximally clear on this point. French is a language variety, Bavarian (traditionally called a dialect of German) is a language variety, California English is a language variety. One language variety can be part of another: California English is a variety of English, "English" itself being a broader variety with many sub-varieties. We might further split California English, perhaps into Southern California English, Northern California English, and California Central Valley English, or some such. In the extreme, we can look only at the speech of an individual person; this is called an idiolect. Every human being who speaks a language speaks in their own unique idiolect, which differs from the speech of other humans in various ways. An idiolect is also a language variety.

Now, linguists do make a distinction, a very important distinction, between native and non-native speech. Roughly, a native speaker is someone who acquired a language by exposure during childhood. They were not explicitly taught the language, but picked it up by virtue of being surrounded by people who speak it. Human children seem to have various sorts of special cognitive mechanisms for acquiring language in this way, many of which we lose as we get older. This early period of life in which humans are primed for language acquisition is called the "critical period". There is a lot of debate about what exactly defines the critical period and when it ends (it's more of a gradual taper than a sharp cutoff), but there is basically no debate over the idea that children and adults have at least some fundamental differences when it comes to language learning. A non-native speaker, then, is someone who learned a given language in adulthood, after the critical period of language acquisition.

When linguists speak of a language variety, by fiat they take that variety to be defined by the speech of its native speakers. That is to say: the grammar of English is defined to be that set of rules which describes the speech of native English speakers. Where different varieties of English disagree, a thorough descriptive grammar will make note of that variation, and researchers will zoom in and study on its own terms the grammar of each relevant sub-variety. Every human is, by definition, a perfectly fluent speaker of their own idiolect in any language they acquired during childhood.

So, you asked about the difference between native and non-native "accents". In light of all the above, there are two differences:

First, there is the difference between native and non-native speech in general. Non-native speech is characterized by certain artifacts of the adult language learning process, including carry-over from one's native language(s), which broadly do not affect native speech. Thus, a non-native "accent" is different from a native "accent" in various empirical ways which are pinned down and studied in the field of second language acquisition.

By virtue of the way we have set our definitions up, above, native "accents" differ from non-native ones in that a native "accent" is in fact synonymous with a language variety; rather than being an imperfect specimen of some predefined standard language, it is a definitionally perfect exemplar of a particular linguistic system in its own right.

You could, of course, take up the linguistic system represented by the speech of some adult learner as an object of study in its own right, and some people do. But by and large, the standard which is taken up in linguistics is "language varieties are defined by the speech of their native speakers". I think this is a quite reasonable place to draw a line, especially in light of the empirical differences, as mentioned, between native and non-native speech.

[shakingparadigm]

Thinking about. Till as an artist and Ivan as his model. Till has to practice sketching figures and Ivan, ever the perfect specimen, offers to pose for reference. In reality he's jumping at the opportunity to be under Till's focused eyes. Ivan eagerly awaits the Friday afternoons where he gets to be object of Till's attention, finally resuscitated by his gaze. Till quietly sketches and awkwardly ignores the fact that although he's the one who's supposed to be doing a study, Ivan's intense stare always makes it feel like the other way around.

[melrosing]

got bored made some Lannister ocs

besides Stafford we don’t have names or deaths or anything for Joanna’s other two brothers and her two sisters so since everyone else has ocs I decided I wanted some and it was free real estate ✨ names/ages/personalities under the cut

joanna lannister (247AC - 273AC) guess what i didn't actually make her up but not like we have much detail on her anyway so w/e. eldest child of Jason Lannister & Marla Prester, and just a frustratingly perfect girl (at least as far as Cerella is concerned) who always seems to get her way. has always enjoyed gossip and that becomes an interest in court and politics once she moves to KL at 10 to become one of Queen Rhaella's companions. as a child at the Rock she was best friends with Genna, but it was a complex relationship where Joanna was slightly resentful of Genna's power over her (as Tytos' daughter) and Genna was resentful of Joanna's apparent perfection, and the way she seems to wring an affection out of Tywin where he has none for his siblings. Joanna isn't exactly a mean girl but is well aware of the effect her charisma has on others, and can make you feel like shit by looking straight through you (albeit w a smile on her face) if she doesn't feel you're much worth her time.

stafford lannister (248AC - 299AC) i didn't make him up either but canon says he's a blundering idiot so we'll go w that. Stafford just had the luck to be the firstborn son of a Lannister knight, so he gets wealth and riches with little responsibility to show for it. he's thought of as a bit of a Tytos 2.0 but without his humour or heart of gold. thinks he has a fascinating life but is just rich. tells dreadfully boring stories but never seems to notice the snores. constantly landing himself in shit and waiting to be rescued. that's all there is to say about Stafford.

gerold lannister (249AC - 280AC) yay my first oc. well he's just a bit of a creep really. twin to Cerella, born first of the two. Gerold thinks he's the perfect Lannister specimen (he's more like.... weedy handsome squidward) and figures he ought to have been born in Tywin's place. but somehow he ended up the second son of a fourth son and nothing much is expected of him. he's not much good at anything and noone likes spending any time around him because he's perpetually consumed by bitterness. he's not close to his sister Cerella either, bc he seems to treat her worse than anyone, constantly talking down to her etc and mocking her crush on their cousin Tywin. in his final years, as his other siblings are growing up and moving on w their lives, Gerold remains bitter & stagnant, and no-one cares to see what's up except youngest sibling Loren, who has never been close to his brother but takes pity on him, believes maybe Gerold just likes men (specifically he suspects he likes TYWIN) and Loren is a theatre kid all his friends are gay it's fine. he decides to reach out. except Gerold isn't gay and in a confrontation between the two, Loren discovers that the true object of Gerold's affections is: their sister Cerella!!! who has already been married off to Sumner Crakehall. his secret out, Gerold kills himself shortly after, and Loren never tells anyone what he learnt but is consumed by guilt and disgust for the rest of his days.

cerella crakehall née lannister (249AC - 295AC) younger twin to gerold. Cerella has a cold demeanour but the heart of a romantic. when she was a small child she was in awe of Joanna and followed her everywhere, and Joanna likewise enjoyed Cerella's hero worship and treated her as a mini-me. however, as Joanna blossomed, Cerella felt ugly and awkward by comparison. Joanna only seemed to verify this by gradually ignoring Cerella in favour of Genna, and later in favour of her friends at court it KL. Joanna seems to get everything she wants before she can think to ask for it, whereas people seem to forget Cerella is in the room. and the one thing Cerella has always wanted is Tywin: she thinks they're entirely alike, and she's even modelled herself on him in hope that one day they would make a perfect match. except Joanna gets Tywin too: she has his attention without even seeming to ask for it, and takes him because she can. Cerella thinks she might have got her comeuppance when Jo is sent home from court, after Aerys affections for her become a little too heated. Tywin won't want her now. except he does, and they're betrothed not long after. Cerella, despondent, doesn't argue when she's married off to Lannister bannerman Sumner Crakehall (his second wife), and never returns to the Rock thereafter. she notices Joanna's son training in the yard at Crakehall but wants nothing to do with him; Jaime Lannister will wonder why in all those years his mother's sister never deigns to speak to him.

rowena cary née lannister (255AC - present) her father's favourite (though he dies before she turns six), Rowena looks the spit of her grandmother Rohanne Webber. Jason never knew his mother, and so has highly idealised notions of her (whilst the rest of the Lannisters loathe her for leaving without a trace). he likes the idea that Rowena is Rohanne born again, but wouldn't get away with naming her Rohanne - so names her an approximation. and she's just a fuckin disney princess lol. extremely amiable, not a girl of any great talents but does her best to please everyone. she never sees much of her eldest siblings, who are at court or squiring by the time she's old enough to engage with them, and the twins pay her no particular attention, but the adults around her love indulging her, and she's close to her younger brother Loren. there are no great expectations of Rowena, so despite many great westermen begging her hand, she marries for love to a wealthy merchant of Lannisport. sadly, they're unable to have the children they long for, but enjoy entertaining at their Lannisport manse, and enjoy welcoming nieces and nephews into their home (Tyrion is a regular visitor uwu). w her red hair, people tend to forget she's a Lannister at all, and so does she tbh.

loren lannister (257AC - 297AC) born in what many thought were finally past Marla's childbearing years, Loren is the youngest of Jason's brood. there are no great expectations of Loren, and Loren has none of himself - but in some ways he ends up being the most successful of the bunch, besides Joanna. he likes writing plays, acting in his own plays, and generally getting merry with the folk of Lannisport. the Lannisters of the Rock tend to forget Loren exists because he's seldom there, always in the city instead - till he moves out of the Rock entirely with little fanfare, and uses his inheritance to build a theatre in the middle of town. his plays do well and he's popular with the people, but very much a rich kid cosplaying poor lol. he never marries but has affairs w men and women, and when he hears of a bastard that might be his he throws a load of money their way without checking to see if it's true. Loren enjoys attention and pays close attention to others in turn, but is largely estranged from the Lannisters besides Rowena. after trying and failing to help his estranged brother Gerold, Loren falls into something of a depression for a time, doubting himself and all his instincts - his estrangement from the rest of his family becomes much more definitive as a result. anyway after a fairly prolific career Loren falls from some theatre scaffolding to his death at 40 years old, to the misery of Lannisport and the faint bemusement of the Rock

[essentiallyleaf]

day 13. blindfold kink. with. irene.

446 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, blindfold kink(/fetish/is this even a thing?), sex toys(?), ass play (reader receiving), you are basically just the guy from the peek-a-boo mv, but in a fantasy setting, horror undertones, happy (or, spoopy?) friday the 13th, tags are hard.

notes.

just winging it at this point. improvisedly, leaf.

The last thing you see, before she positions herself behind the wooden chair you’re sitting on and tied to and removes her red top to knot it around your head as a blindfold, are Irene’s swamp green witch eyes. Green like the rage she has stored up for the people who banished her, or maybe green like the hope that tonight will be the start of a new life for her, and only because of you.

“There is one last ingredient that I need to gather from you, boy, and then my brew will be complete.” Not many ingredients she would need to strip you naked to get, you figure. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You shiver as you feel a razor’s blade slide down your cheekbone to your jaw, then as her sharp canines repeatedly bite around the side of your waist, and again as her warm, grease-covered digits wrap around your already erect length, all the sensations accentuated by your lack of vision.

“Not so fast, boy. We’ll need the purest specimen of your seed. And to get that,” you hear sounds of metallic objects dropping onto the thick walnut table, “we’ll follow a special procedure”

The witch opens your legs wider and drags your butt closer to the edge of the chair, then you feel a cold, wet sphere press against your puckered hole. You groan in pain, but no sound leaves your throat.

“Sorry, boy, I’d love to hear everything you want to say later, but right now, I just need my sample. So be nice and quick, and give me what I ask for”

You can only try your best to endure the pain in silence, as the orb is forced (your vision is impaired, so it doesn’t require a lot of focus for you to visualize it) deeper and deeper in your hole, seemingly not needing to be pushed by her fingers. When it reaches your prostate, you feel a surge of electricity propagate through your body. As the sphere starts massaging all around your sensitive spot, Irene’s hand envelops your erection once again, and with a couple swipes of her long, soft, oily digits along your shaft, you give her what she’s looking for. Buckets on buckets of white nectar are squeezed out of you only to be collected in a long, thin glass jar as you scream in silence from the still ongoing stimulation on your p-spot.

“Perfect, boy, now bear with me as I make the brew complete and initiate the ritual. You don’t mind attending to it from there, right? Worry not, for I’ll be back soon; so many more nights of ceremonies are awaiting us”

-

footnotes.

i might be going insane. slowly, leaf.

[wolfofcelestia]

I need help here to explain to a friend 😭

So did Zayne have a childhood crush on MC or did he fell in love with her in his adulthood ?

It’s hard to say since we have limited information on when he was a kid. We mostly know his actions and where he was physically, not really his mindset at the time

In their first meeting, he tried to freeze her popscicle for her, and when she cheered up even though his attempt wasn't that great, I think it made him feel good to be able to make someone happy. It might not have been a crush but it gave him a feeling that was so positive that it stayed with him all through adulthood. This could've possibly been the start of him thinking that he wants to take care of people, or at least, take care of her

We know from a recent event that their families were comfortable enough to visit each other regularly and let each other stay the night

But it doesn't seem like they were very close. At the very least, MC didn't seem to treat him as anything special since even though they had guests, she prioritized her sleep

Maybe she thought Zayne would be more interested in playing with another boy (Caleb) than playing with her, so she didn't bother with him. (Or, considering Zayne's parents may be involved with Grandma, they may have given her something to make her go to sleep 🫠)

In his birthday card or event, I can't remember, MC even thought Zayne hated her at one point, but this could simply be him being a kid and not knowing how to express his feelings

Then there's him making those misshapen snow seals for her. This gift caused MC to think that he was just making fun of her, but it was a heartfelt gift from him, something he still remembered when they met up again as adults

I don't know if it takes any effort for him to keep his ice from melting, but if it does take some effort for him, he may have kept them frozen for his entire time growing up

Neither of them knew he was going to move away at that point, so him making her those never-melting seals and "meticulously" arranging them in a box for her was a conscious choice for him, with no outside influence

Was it out of friendly love? Of course. Out of romantic love? That's a little less realistic in my eyes. At the very least, neither MC or Zayne knew what he was feeling

But I think this gift was just another attempt to cheer her up. Just like when they first met and he tried to freeze her popscicle. It wasn't a perfect attempt, but it was an attempt nonetheless. He wanted to help her to see her smile

He's seen the way his parents made their patients happy. And he's seen the way his parents treated MC. He knew what her issues were. And maybe when he heard his parents and Josephine talk about her like she was a specimen instead of his friend, he wanted to be the one to help her

He wanted to be the doctor that his parents weren't to her

Does all of that equal to a childhood crush? Maybe. But I think it's simpler than that

He saw an orphan crying after the disaster and he felt good being able to make her smile. He wanted to make her happy because she and Caleb were probably the only kids he had a chance to socialize with

I feel like he was more protective over her. He wanted to protect her happiness and protect her from the people who treated her like an object. He wanted to protect one of his only friends, so much so that it became the driving force in his life to help her

And I think somewhere along the way while he was studying the heart and thinking about the way his parents talked about her heart, when he felt isolated among his peers, his thoughts would go back to how they were as kids. He wanted to go back to her because he was happiest when he was with her

And I think that all of these feelings came crashing through at once when he met her again, and he realized that his feelings for her had changed

She wasn't the little girl who needed his protection anymore, she was a full grown woman kicking ass

So even if his feelings for her when they were younger did cumulate into a crush, it wasn't love. He didn't have the emotional intelligence to understand that as a child, and she barely even knew he liked her

It was only as adults that he could understand his feelings for her and let them grow. He's spent so many years by himself, yearning to go back to when they were happy kids again, and when they were able to meet again, he was able to do just that— return to the person who made him the happiest

So did he have a crush on her when they were kids? Maybe, maybe not. At the very least, she was a respite for him, one of the only kids he could interact with on a regular basis

Did he fall in love with her as adults? Absolutely.

That's my take on it from the information we have right now at least

[tiramissyoucake]

Not super descriptive, im afraid, but I enjoyed your last Gdorf fic and was hoping to request another :3 with gender neutral pronouns and terms if that's alright🙏

Something along the lines of him making you ride him/grind against his knee while he sits on the throne, with some good old-fashioned degradation, along with throwing in some praise here and there. Most ideally, OOT or TP Ganondorf in mind! But that's all up to you, I'm not picky.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI, reader is his loyal attendant here- pre-marriage even? GN so very vague genitalia description. 1k words semi proof read.

CW: NSFW, thigh-riding, use of 'slut', 'whore' Ganondorf being mean but he still loves reader, reader doesnt get to nut yet.

notes: finally.. an excuse to write more for him, thanks for ur request !! he has muscular thighs in all versions so technically all versions work. this is called thigh-riding, right? for some reason it doesn't do it for me but anything Ganondorf related is good. NEW DIVIDER DEBUT tell me how ya'll like it.

Your job was simple, answer when called and obey commands. Ganondorf was a no-nonsense man, so you ensured everything was perfect, your appearance, your work, your posture and speech.

Today was quiet, Ganondorf called for you from the throne room. Your steps were consistently quick- urgently responding to his call while keeping a dignified image. You automatically lowered your head reaching him, he stood near the throne, approaching you, a smile stretching across his strong features; your obedience was always a welcome sight.

“Raise your head, my loyal attendant.” His voice was carried across the room, you followed his order, looking at your king as your hands subtly smoothed down your uniform, the one he insisted you wear.

“I apologize for making you wait, my king. I was tending to the archives.” You explained as smoothly as you could, his eyes followed your every movement, it always made a shiver shoot up your spine. (one you learned to suppress)

“Do you tire of these journeys?” He started, velvet voice coaxing you to drop the formalities for a moment, you always had to look up when talking to him; though you assumed anyone would if they weren’t a tall specimen of the Goron or Zora.

Your confused glance made him continue. “You have many tasks to complete in my palace, you’re only close to me when it’s my chambers or this very throne room.” He settled down onto his rightful throne, one hand clutching the armrest while the other propped his head up to look at you properly. “We should assign you a seat here, shouldn’t we?”

Your first answer was no, where would it go? Next to the throne? That was a position for someone like the king’s spouse; you were just an attendant. He did not wait for an answer and simply patted his thigh. “Come here.”

He anticipated your hesitance, you stood in front of him, and he maneuvered you easily in his hands to sit on his muscular thigh, the sudden movement almost caused you to fall completely on him. Your hand firmly rested on his shoulder and bicep. it was… shockingly comfortable. Most of his armor was focused on his chest so his legs were mostly just clothed.

“Relax, when have I ever harmed you?” Ganondorf carefully tugged you closer, feeling how snug you were against him he couldn’t help a chuckle from emanating, the closeness made you blush. “Do I strike fear into your heart, my little attendant?”

He didn’t mind your secure grasp on him as he tugged you closer, the movement and pressure making you gasp before you could answer, his height, his size, everything overwhelmed you as he gently moved you back and forth. His voice lowered as he leaned closer to you. “Isn’t this what you deserve? The perfect seat for my one and only obedient attendant...” his tone was oddly sweet, the low volume making his voice carry more vibration and gruffness than it already did.

Your lips were parted, you knew you’d be a fool to object to your king’s affections, but should you be seen like this? In such a debauched way in front of the man you devoted your existence to? “But... someone might see us- sir...!”

Ganondorf laughed, deep and rich as he held your hips firmly, he could feel you begin to struggle against his planted hands holding you in place, he knew you wouldn’t disappoint him. “No one would step foot in here unless I command it.”

That assured you a bit, but he pressed on. “Do you think me cruel enough to let you be seen in such a manner? By anyone except me? flushed and panting on my thigh like a shameless slut…” you knew he was possessive, but never over you. you could barely focus over the building pleasure between your legs, you mentally curse the underlayer of your uniform, the cloth clung to your skin and yet you could feel everything and it was hard to keep your composure in your king's hands like this.

You glanced at him pleadingly, he cooed at you almost mockingly as his hands loosened, allowing you to set your own pace. “… should I let you be seen like this?” You had to look away, the idea was shameful, but you felt even more guilt at the arousal pooling within.

“Perhaps I should place you on my thigh like this when I work? I’d enjoy looking at a writhing little slut like you as I finish my tasks…” he chuckled darkly as you moved your hips less subtly now, hands clinging to whatever fabric peeked out from beneath his armor.

“P-please, my king…” you whimpered, it was pathetically amusing yet arousing, Ganondorf held your jaw in his hand and forced you to look up at him, your hip movements slowed but hadn’t stopped, you couldn’t stop, not when the pressure of his thigh was against all the right places, pressing your buttons and getting you so close but it wasn’t enough; you needed him to touch you.

“Please what? You have the gall to make demands to your king? When you’re humping my thigh like a needy whore?” his hand clutched your hip tightly as he sat up, the pressure forcing a choked moan out of you as your grip fastened onto him for stability. “What’s the matter? Is this too much for you?”

He moved you harshly once more, the friction shooting at your senses so quickly you couldn’t reply unless it was a lewd request for him to ruin you. he laughed, kissing your neck, it would have been a sweet gesture had it not been for his hands guiding your frantic riding back and forth.

You were always so obedient, always sacrificing anything for his pleasure and approval, seeing you chase your release so greedily. It was a sight to behold; you were always the quiet little attendant, seeing this side of you only made his desire for you triple, he could barely hold himself back.

He stopped you by grounding you down onto him, enough to stop you but not enough to hurt you. He sat up properly once more, leaning down to speak into your ear. “Enough. you’ve shown me just how much of a good attendant you can be…”

Disappointment and guilt racked your being, was this some sort of test that you failed? Had you disappointed him? Your questions were stopped as he manhandled you once more, carefully he picked you up and stood, his bulking strength made you feel like your weight was nothing as you were fitted snugly in his arms. “I was serious, you know; I won’t let you be seen like this by anyone but me... Now, be quiet until we reach my chambers.”

[whalesforhands]

What would happened if reader got possessed by Kenjaku?

ahahah this was so requested back when i started dyf

suguru’s reaction to this would be the same as pt.9 lol

“Isn’t this such an unexpected, sweet reunion, Satoru?” You’re making your appearance from the station, causing him to freeze at the sound of your slow, upbeat voice.

You approach with confident, steady steps, wide grin across your face as you force your walk forth, as if fighting against your own will to meet him.

(So different from the light, peppy sound of your approaching self.)

“Did you miss me?” You end with a salacious smirk, grabbing the cursed object out of your pockets as you close the distance.

“You… Are not her.” Gojo’s eye covers are gone, regarding your very presence with Six Eyes unveiled, his body freezing where he stood as millions of thoughts and questions flowed through his brain, not noticing the way cursed item had unravelled, curling their tendrils around him and ensnaring his body.

The crowds of the people continue to surround the both of you, the surroundings a blur to the strongest sorcerer as the world seemed to slow, to dim as cold, dreadful anger coalesced and clouded his mind.

“You’re not her! Who the hell do you think you are to be in that body?!”

“Oh?” A mock hand of thought is pressed softly against your cheek as you pout your cute lips up at him. “That’s quite rude, don’t you think? We’ve just met again after so long afterall.”

You contemplate, watching the confines of the box unravel and tighten themselves around the revered Limitless user. Your fingers gingerly place themselves around your lips, legs firmly planting themselves into the ground, as if a force was disallowing you to move forth, keeping this distance away from him.

“My, oh my. Still not over her even after all this time?” You begin to undo the stitches on your head, unveiling the parasite that had stolen you away. Your top of your head separates from your body, slime and bodily fluids dripping as you take it off as if it were an accessory, a sick party trick.

“Tadaaaa!” Your voice is starting to distort as the mouth on your brain speaks in tandem with you, a chorus of your voices begetting the disgust and revulsion of Gojo Satoru.

“Why don’t we make this long awaited moment sweeter with a kiss, hmm?”

He keeps it together, letting his face press into a thin line of annoyance, brain quickly processing the situation before he rolls his eyes.

“Hah.” Gojo’s laughing as he lets a crazed smirk creep onto his face. “Return what you’ve stolen, and I might just let you watch us make out.” He spits at ‘you’ as you continue to smile.

“So cold.” Your lips pout up as you shoot puppy eyes at the disgusted sorcerer. “Was she all you wanted? Can’t even spare an afterthought for the others that would come after?”

You’re forcing your foot forward, viciously fighting against an invisible force as you rip and tear for control, to prevent her from getting any closer to Satoru.

There’s silence as the smirk on Gojo’s face grows wider.

“I know you can’t move.” Your eyes narrow in amused annoyance as the Six Eyes user sees through you.

“Haha. You noticed, huh?” You’re still smiling as you feel your foot dig into the ground, the concrete starting to crumble under the force and pressure you were administering. “I’m quite surprised, actually. I haven’t had this much reaction from a body before. Didn’t think it would get as strong as it did when I tried to approach that devious husband of yours.”

Gojo’s scoffing, before he makes a confident declaration. “I’ll get her back soon enough.”

“And how would you do that?” A cruel smirk is upon your face as you see the box start to surround itself around him. “I’m just saying. I’m not ready to give up this perfect specimen anytime soon, Satoru.” You end with a tone of mockery and heartless jeering.

“You’ll see soon enough for yourself.”

Gojo Satoru has been sealed.

[altocat]

Ifalna and Aeris escape from the Shinra lab, but Ifalna dies and Aeris is brought back to the lab. Hojo for some reason decides to have Sephiroth and Aeris spend time together, studying, practising Materia and taking some tests.

Sephiroth grows increasingly bonded to Aerith, becoming highly protective of her. He relates to her losing her mother, as well as being a captive test subject just like him. Over time, he comes to love her dearly as a surrogate sister, willing to do anything just to keep her safe. And to keep her with him.

Which unknowingly plays right into Hojo's hands. Hojo knows he can use Aerith to manipulate and motivate Sephiroth into full compliance. All he has to do is threaten her ever so slightly and Sephiroth is willing to fight and kill whoever Hojo requests. Furthermore, Hojo is glad that he introduced them early. His hopes of one day breeding them become all the more secured. He doesn't care if both parties OBJECT to such a joining, of course. He can just as easily threaten Sephiroth there as well.

Aerith does not join Sephiroth on the battlefield, remaining inside the lab for observation. But she is treated moderately better so long as Sephiroth remains compliant. She's more like a caged bird than anything else. Hojo longs for the day he can make her sing. Sephiroth visits her whenever he can, bringing presents and promising to get her out as soon as he has the power to. He refuses to move his housing quarters out of the lab just so he can continue to be with her, shielding her from the worst of Shinra's horrors.

Hojo is eventually successful in breeding them, though neither was a willing party and only jointly agreed in order to protect the other. When the baby--or rather BABIES, it's twins!--are born, Hojo is all but salivating at the prospect of conducting a new line of experiments. The perfect union between Cetra and Jenova. An ideal specimen. Pure. Miraculous. PERFECT.

Little did he know that Aerith and Sephiroth would enact their greatest revenge. They escape the facility, their children in tow, leaving behind a wake of destruction and fleeing for Midgar's outskirts before anyone has time to process what's going on. Sephiroth tears all obstacles to shreds, eviscerating everything in his path for the sake of protecting his new family. Even Aerith unleashes herself, fighting with all the ferocity of a wild animal, willing to bleed and kill for the sake of her babies.

They settle far in the mountains, living a relatively peaceful life together with their family. Sephiroth patrols the area every day, keeping an eye out for the faintest sign of Shinra or Hojo's cronies. Aerith does some additional scouting, keeping an eye out, always listening just in case there's any talk of strangers prowling about the area. They move every so often, finding safer regions to hide away when things get too dangerous. Their children will grow up safe and protected, oblivious to the supernatural blood that flows through their veins. And while their mother and father are not together in a married or romantic sense, there is still a great deal of love and devotion shared between them, keeping them close, unified by a single shared promise: they won't go back. Not ever, EVER again.

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR - #6: Under Hammer

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: Violence, Dehumanisation, Slavery, Drugging, Family rejection, Non-con Handling

Samuel’s pulse raced as the curtains parted, revealing a dimly lit room filled with rows of seats. The audience sat in shadows, their faces hidden, yet he could feel their eyes on him—cold, calculating, eager. The auctioneer, a tall man with a slick appearance, stood at the front of the stage, his voice booming as he introduced the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s auction!! We have a special treat for you—a handsome young man, in excellent condition! Perfect for your collection or personal use.”

Samuel’s heart pounded in his chest. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck His mind screamed in protest, but his body was paralyzed with fear. What the fuck, what the fuck, Somebody please get me out The room felt like a nightmare, the air thick with anticipation and depravity. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck Every step he took felt like a march toward doom, his chains clinking softly against the polished floor. What the fu-

“Present the item,” the auctioneer commanded.

A handler pushed Samuel forward, and he stumbled, the chains around his ankles preventing him from catching his balance. He fell to his knees, the rough wood biting into his skin. The audience murmured among themselves excitedly, some even squealing and giggling. Samuel’s face burned with humiliation, but he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling.

“Please... let me go,” he whispered, barely audible. The handler yanked him upright, ignoring his plea. Not like he expected the man to listen to him anyways.

“Head up,” the auctioneer snapped. “Show them what they’re bidding on.”

Samuel lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the audience. The best he could do right now was listen. He wanted to scream and shout as much as he could though that didn't seem like such a good idea in a place filled with strangers, and guards with guns across their chests. Especially if he wanted to avoid pain. The faces he saw were devoid of empathy, their eyes glinting with greed and curiosity. They saw him as a product, an object to be bought and sold. It made his stomach churn with revulsion.

“Look at his build, his complexion,” the auctioneer continued, walking around Samuel, gesturing at him like he was a piece of meat. “Healthy, strong, and obedient. Perfect for any household. We don't get such men much. I'd consider this a special one then.” The auctioneer winked and laughed, though Samuel felt like puking.

Obedient. The word echoed in Samuel’s mind. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break free, but he knew it was futile. The system was designed to crush any semblance of rebellion, to strip away every ounce of humanity.

The bidding started, voices rising from the darkness. Samuel’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and despair. How had it come to this? How had he gone from being a person with dreams and aspirations to a mere item on a stage?

“Do I hear one million? One million, thank you. One point five? Two million, excellent!!,” the auctioneer’s voice droned on, each number driving a nail deeper into Samuel’s soul.

He remembered his family, the way they looked at him when the classification results came in. The disbelief, the horror, and ultimately, the cold rejection. They couldn’t accept that their son was now livestock, a being stripped of rights and dignity. They didn't care. The memory was a knife to his heart, the pain as fresh as the day it happened.

“Three million, ladies and gentlemen. Three million for this fine specimen. Do I hear three point five?”

A wave of nausea washed over Samuel. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his helplessness. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him from all sides. He wanted to disappear, to escape this twisted reality-

“Three point five! Going once, going twice—”

“Four million.”

The voice was cold, authoritative. It sliced through the murmur of the crowd, drawing all attention. The auctioneer paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.

“Four million. Do I hear four point five?”

Silence. The room was thick with tension, the bidders hesitant. No one else dared to challenge the new bidder. The auctioneer smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Four million, going once, going twice—sold!”

The gavel came down with a resounding thud, sealing Samuel’s fate. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, the finality of it crashing over him like a wave. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his chains rattling in the oppressive silence.

“Congratulations to the winning bidder,” the auctioneer announced. “You’ve acquired a truly exceptional specimen.”

The handler hauled Samuel to his feet, dragging him off the stage. The curtains closed behind him, cutting off the view of the audience. Samuel’s mind was a whirlpool of emotions—fear, anger, despair—all mixing into a nauseating cocktail that threatened to overwhelm him.

He was led down a dim corridor, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on him. His thoughts raced, trying to grasp onto any shred of hope, but there was none. He was a prisoner in this twisted system, a pawn in a game he didn’t understand.

The handler shoved him into a small, windowless room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space. Samuel sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. He was alone, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

As the hours passed, Samuel’s mind wandered. He thought of his family, his friends, the life he had lost. He thought of the government that had condemned him, the society that had turned its back on him. He felt a burning rage, a deep-seated anger at the injustice of it all.

"Why?"

There was no answer, only the cold, unyielding silence. Samuel curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find comfort. "Why why why why why?!!" His thoughts drifted to the future, to the unknown fate that awaited him. "FUCK WHY?!" He tried to steel himself, to prepare for whatever horrors lay ahead, and to just not cry but it seemed impossible now. He was being sold. Like someone who had no life, no thoughts, no family.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Samuel looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying. The man was tall and impeccably dressed. He had expected some fat, old, pervert which this man was definitely not. He could still be a pervert but he wanted to cancel that situation out the most.

“Hello.” he said, his voice smooth and condescending slightly leaning down to see Samuel's face properly.

This fucker. He was talking to him like one would to a cat. Swears were burning up at his throat with tears that unfortunately only heavied when he saw the man. He wanted to punch, kick, swear, kill him but the only thing he managed out was- "G-Get away.."

The man’s gaze remained impassive, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in Samuel’s defiant posture. “Oh, come now,” he said, his tone patronizing yet unbothered by the hostility. “I’m here to finalize the details of your new life. You’ll find it’s quite different from the one you’ve left behind.”

Samuel’s heart raced faster, the blood pounding in his ears. The man’s words seemed to echo in the empty room, mingling with the remnants of Samuel’s fading hope. He could barely focus on the man’s features, his mind a tumult of panic and resignation.

The man continued, unperturbed by Samuel’s pleas. “You should be grateful. Not many get to experience such... exclusive treatment. Rather, you would've already been beaten down for not giving proper respect to your owner.” He gestured dismissively towards the door. “Now, we'll discuss the rules when we reach home.”

Grateful? How could he be grateful for being bought like an object, for having his humanity stripped away? How could anyone be grateful when being treated like this? His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Who... who are you?” Samuel managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

The man straightened, a smile playing on his lips. “My name is Marcus Caldwell. And you, Samuel, are now my property.”

Samuel’s stomach turned at the word. He wasn’t a person anymore, just a possession, a thing to be owned. His mind raced, desperately and he almost didn't even notice the needle now in the man's hand.

"No no no no no noo get away!" The man was on him in seconds with the needle stabbed into his arm. Samuel screeched, his back arching at the rough treatment.

"Shhh.. It's for your safety, love. Just until we reach home."

That wasn't his home. His home was- oh.. he didn't have a home.. Tears filled his eyes with black spots forming in front of them.

Just how many times was he going to be drugged in this life?

Next

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@vampiresprite/ @lucas--43

[homeofhousechickens]

SCP-■■■■■ Beeper

Object Class- Euclid

Special containment procedures-

Scp-■■■■■ is to be kept inside a normal indoor living area and fed a species appropriate diet daily along with daily water changes. Scp-■■■■■ is to be contained along with experienced caregivers who are self aware of the influence of Scp-■■■■■.

Description-

Scp-■■■■■ is what appears to be a normal specimen of the species gallus domesticus, specifically the bantam variety of the buff Brahma breed. Scp-■■■■■ is perceived to be notably cuter than other members of its breed and species.

Special authorization needed to continue reading. Only foundation personel who have completed the Memetics and Infohazards Orientation may proceed.

Scp-■■■■■ Beeper

Object Class- Keter

Description-

Scp-■■■■■ "Beeper" is a small chicken, a Cognitohazard, and a self perpetuating mematic virus with the potential to cause an EP-Class "Thought Tyrant" Scenario.

When a piece of visual media showing Scp-■■■■■ is viewed by a person, they begin to feel intense love and affection towards Scp-■■■■■. Victims of this affect will also feel a compulsion to share this media with others, specifically close friends and family who will then perpetuate cycle.

Viewers who do not have a resilience to cognitohazardious effects may also begin to incorporate strange rituals, language changes, and chants to their daily life while continuing to feel a strong compulsion to share media of Scp-■■■■■. People who are affected that have become informed and self-aware of Scp-■■■■■'s effects are able to think clearly but are still compelled to share media. The foundation believes this is a way for the Scp to always have adequate care that isn't completely befuddled by their anomalous properties.

Special containment procedures-

Scp-■■■■■ must be kept inside a normal indoor living area alongside its caretakers and other members of its species. Scp-■■■■■ must be given daily water changes and fed an adequate species appropriate diet. No steps should be taken to limit the spread of Scp-■■■■■ I mean why would you want to? She is so cute and fluffy. Don't you want to hold her and pet her? She is so cute and nice. I'm sure she would love a little treatie or kissy from you. Your mother loves cute animals. You are sure she would love this picture of Beeper where she looks so sweet. We don't know what she is. A little bird like her couldn't hurt anyone, really? I mean, just look at her, look at her, she is perfect, and she must be shared. I'm sure my friends also want to see her. Her little feathered feet are so adorable. Look at her. I love how she eats her chicken feed. Her beak is immaculate, and her feathers are so soft. She isn't a chicken.  I think I'm going to tell my grandparents about her. They love chickens, and they have their own coop. I'm sure they would love Beeper. I love Beeper.

[hiskillingjar]

rosemary's baby

Relationship(s): Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Extremely Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Brain Break, Breeding, Impregnation, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Length: 3000+ words

Summary: Fox always wanted a baby of his own. You should be so lucky to be the one to give it to him.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50675575

"Such...perfect...breeding material."

Your eyes shot wide open and terrified at the dark intention behind his words, pulling tightly at the thick bondage that was keeping you belted and spread out on his bed (was it even his? Had you been given the luxury of seeing his real self yet?), like a medical specimen pinned down and ready for examination, for dissection. 

Your heart hammered desperately fast underneath your rib cage as he paced around the bed, his tail wagging idly behind him, a dreadfully amused look in his golden eyes.

"Oh god," You murmured softly, looking back towards the ceiling and doing your best to steady your breathing, lest you hyperventilate and send yourself into a panic attack.

"I know, pet, I know." He chuckled, a little breathlessly, his voice dripping with a cruel kind of desire as he leaned down towards you, the soft wisps of his hair grazing your cheeks as he ran a claw down your trembling body, assessing you like breeding stock . "But I know what you crave. I know what your body wants, even more than you do. And I know what I crave as well..." He said, then kneeling on the bed and moving close to you, the claws replaced by the soft pads of his fingers. He hadn’t worked a day in his life, not properly. "Such gorgeous breeding stock…and you're so fertile right now. I can smell it."

"Mmph..." You whimpered helplessly, your expression tight and your face hot as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to squirm underneath him a little more, trying to get away from all of this.

You were more scared of this than anything else he had done to you, more than the filming room, more than the threats of auction, anything. He had invaded you countlessly before this, of course, but never to such a degree that he would take away every ounce of bodily autonomy that you had, reduce you down to an object to be used for something so invasive. 

You could feel your sense of humanity dilapidating with every second as he tilted his head, still assessing you with a hungry look on his smiling face.

"Your body is perfect for the task. And yet, here I am," He didn’t even try to hold back a laugh as his touch trailed down your sternum and to your trembling belly, his expression lost in thought for a moment, like he was thinking, imagining what he could do to you. "Without a litter to call my own." His voice was soft for a moment then, considered. "Maybe I'll fill you up and get the job done right now."

Your eyes shot wide again as he placed a hand on your thigh and pinned it still, forcing your body open for him, the cool air on your hot cunt making you flinch again.

"No, nononono, please, don't," You babbled, your words pleading and desperate as your eyes began to well with tears, your face flushed and hot. “Fox, sir, please, I don’t want it, please please please, don’t-”

"Mmph, are you thinking those thoughts, my pet?" He whispered with a salacious grin, his tongue darting out to lick his teeth in a lustful leer as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in your tears, your desperation. It seemed that your pleading was just getting him all the more excited. "Are you already thinking about a litter of my puppies growing inside of you?"

You wanted to sob, you were so wound up and frightened of the idea, but you couldn’t deny that you were thinking about it quite intently, now that he was saying all of these awful things. Your face was flushed and your body invited him closer, however involuntarily you would have claimed it to be, as his touch trailed down to your inner thighs, feeling the smear of pre-cum against your skin.

"Isn't that what you want, my pet? Your body certainly wants it," He breathed out a sigh, his voice dripping with perverse lust, the grip on your other thigh tightening just a little further, his claws digging into the soft skin, marking you with bleeding red. "You're craving it, aren't you? Even if you protest otherwise." He whispered, bringing his face close to yours again, his nostrils flaring, scenting you. 

You whimpered again, jerking your head upwards, away from his invasive gaze, and biting your lip as he took a long inhale of your scent, sweat, tears, pre-cum pooling down your thighs at the sound of his threats, how fertile you already were. 

Could he even smell that? 

"A puppy of my very own. You could give that to me, pet. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Aren’t you proud?" He breathed out an unsteady exhale, looking down at you with an expression of relentless hunger despite how frightened you were, despite how much you were trying to avoid his gaze. "Or perhaps two or three, filling your womb with my litter." He whispered, his mouth practically watering at the thought. "So many pretty, little puppies..."

“God,” You moaned helplessly, whimpering as your body squirmed and twisted even more. Your fluttering eyes went to the ceiling again as you pulled at the belts around your wrists, praying for a God who wouldn’t listen, your lips trembling and babbling prayers for somebody, anybody. “This isn’t a dream. This is happening, this is really happening…”

"Mmmph,” He ignored your pleas and moaned softly, pressing his face into your middle and straddling one of your spread legs, pressing his hips down against it, letting you feel just how excited this idea was already making him. "Such soft flesh, and those breasts…” He mumbled hotly into your skin, nipping and biting as he stared down at you like a man starved, trying to meet your eyes and show you just how much he wanted this. “So swollen and red and ready to feed my children."

You gasped, high and keening and desperate, as he dipped his head and tongued your nipple to emphasise his point further, as his hands went up and caressed your tummy, groping the soft flesh (imagining how it would look when you were carrying his young). 

You would have to get used to sharp teeth on your breasts though, if you were to carry his young, as they would surely have teeth and fangs like his...god, he even had you thinking about it. Little babies with fur and ears and sharp teeth, suckling at your breasts…it was the thing of horror stories, and yet, you felt your clit twinge at the idea.

"Your body was made for this," He breathed out raggedly against your breast, his voice dripping with lust and desire as one hand went down to your other thigh and pushed it upwards, spreading your legs, getting you ready for him to take as he pleased. "A body made for breeding, pet..." His other hand then went up to your breast and groped hard, threading a claw through the ring through your nipple as he nipped and sucked at the other, making you shriek. "All those lovely curves. Those full hips, those legs...those breasts made to be nursed by hungry, hungry pups." He whispered hotly, breathing against your ear as his hips continued to rut down erratically. "Imagine it. My puppies filling you, and…hah, and sating themselves by your flesh."

"Mph..." You moaned softly, your eyes fluttering as he pressed himself against you, his whispered words hot and breathy in your ear as he groped your thigh, your chest, rutting himself down against you so that you could feel just how hard he was.  

Would he let you play mother, you wondered? 

Would he let you leave the role of a pet, a barely living and breathing sex toy that he didn’t even have a name for, and actually be a person again? 

Maybe it would be worth the invasion, if he promised you that small mercy.

"Look at me. In my eyes.” He snarled then, the hand on your thigh reaching up and gripping your chin, pressing your head back against the pillows of the bed and staring down into your eyes, his own almost feral with desire. “You could be a perfect little breeding doll, for me and me alone. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to serve me?"

You tried to pull back as his grip on your chin tightened a little more, his claws digging into your soft cheeks and piercing your skin, making you look up into the mad glint of his eyes, his tongue licking his jaws again indulgently. 

He really meant every word of this. 

He was serious.

If there was a God, they weren’t going to save you. Not from this. 

Maybe a part of you was relieved by that, that you had no chance of being saved from this life that Fox had been so generous to give you. 

A small part that was growing with every day.

"And I'll never sell you either," He then shook his head with a little smile, an expression you hadn’t seen on his face before, that gave away a boyish innocence that you didn’t expect to ever see from Fox. "You'll belong to me, forever, I can promise you that mercy, pet. You’ll give me as many puppies as I want, and I’ll keep you, forever and ever, and make you mine…”

You whimpered helplessly, your wide eyes watering as you took in an unsteady breath, before you were jerked out of the quasi-trance that he had put you under, as he shifted to kneel between your spread thighs, and reached down to unzip his suit trousers.

"NGH!" 

You grunted loudly as you were suddenly, without warning, stuffed full with his hard cock, sliding inside of you with barely any effort you were that wet, your eyes squeezing shut out of impulse as your body grew tight and tense, your muscles straining against the belts that bolted you to the bed. 

You could already feel the base of his knot swelling as he rutted his hips down against yours, your body moving in time with him. The sensation by itself wasn't wholly overwhelming, you had taken him plenty of times and in much worse scenarios, but...that combined with the ideas he'd put in your head throughout all of this was making you cry out and whimper.

"Imagine how lovely you’ll be, nursing our babies. Those little sweet little puppies that came from you," His voice was a ragged whisper in your ear, looking you over as he thrust his cock deep inside you, in and out, a relentless machine working hard for what he wanted. "Feeding them from your body, taking care of them, loving them...do you...do you think you could do it?" He then purred, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he brought a hand down to cup your breast again, toying with the swelled nipple as a means to tease, not to torture. “Would you do it for me, baby?”

You bit your lip as he groped you, as he toyed with all your most sensitive spots and got your mind hazy and delirious with pleasure, so you couldn’t possibly say no to his offer, but you couldn't deny that even without the pleasing sensations, it was...a pleasant thought. 

Taking care of your children with your body, tending to little beast-kin pups that looked like him and you combined, conjoined, a mixture of the very best of your features and the very best of his. 

You had nightmares about the prospect in your real life, but that was a lifetime ago now. That was an entirely different person. The person you were now understood what a privilege it would be to do this for him, to carry and birth his young. 

He was always so generous with you. 

"Do you want that?" He whispered, his voice almost sounding sincere as he continued to thrust into you, as the hand on your chin went upwards and cupped your cheek gently, a sign of affection usually reserved for lovers. “Do you want my children?”

"Yes...yes, sir," You panted, your mind half-mad (all mad, certainly) as you took desperate lungfuls of air, just trying to keep present and conscious when you were so close to losing yourself.

"Good girl, gooood girl," He purred with his own delirious smile, his hands gripping your body, his caresses becoming more possessive, more lustful, and more demanding. "Say it again...say you want it with your words, baby. Come on now."

"I want to be your breeding doll," You moaned open-mouthed, your body arching and your head thrown back as you thrashed underneath him, like you were possessed, losing yourself in your own pleasure as he slowly eased and pressed even deeper, his knot spreading you wide open. "I want your puppies!"

His own face was a little flushed just hearing you, and his breaths became ragged and his expression feral and hungry. 

"You'll do it all and you’ll do it so perfectly, sweetheart,” He murmured, his breathing heavy and his hand squeezing your chest even harder, marring your skin, your soft flesh. “You'll be my pet, my little breeding doll, yes, yes, always. You'll raise my litter of beautiful little puppies...they'll be our family. Do you hear me, pet?" He growled then, a mad grin of sharp teeth growing wider as he looked down at you, his whole body shaking with lustful excitement. "Do you hear me? They’ll always have us, always…we’ll never abandon them or hurt them, will we?"

“No, sir,” You murmured, your voice slurring as your cunt swallowed his knot greedily, your muscles clenching so tight that Fox couldn’t resist a long moan, pressing his forehead against your collarbone as he pounded even deeper. 

“Good girl,” He growled, his golden eyes growing dark with desire as he glared back up towards you. “You’ll be such a good mother, such a good mommy…”

You whined softly, pressing your naked body up against his (the best that you could while you were still belted down), totally boneless despite how much you were struggling, as he pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth, claiming your lips in a rare display of possessive affection for you. His eyes were wide with excitement, his body pulsing with desire as he claimed you completely. 

His breathing came out short, heavy inhales against your neck once he pulled away from the kiss, as his mouth continued to work desperately for more of you, bites against your jaw, your neck.

“I caaan’t,” You whined desperately, squeezing your eyes shut and panting against his skin as he placed a hand on your throat, his lips against your cheek, almost a kiss. “Nghh, too much, please…”

His grip on your throat tightened slightly. It's not quite a choke hold, but it's getting there.

"Shhh..." He whispered softly, his mouth breathing hot and heavy against your cheek, giving you a little nip, adorning you with more bruises that tied you to him. "You can do this, mommy. You want this. Need it. "

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he gripped your throat even tighter, your breath stuttering and your body incredibly tense as you focused all of your attention on normalising your breathing, feeling the pulsing heat of his cock pounding into your cunt. His grip on your throat was slowly tightening just a little more, the pressure now bordering on actual choking. 

He wanted you to feel him completely, and for you to give him everything you had.

Your sanity, your mind, your body, your womb.

“Tell me you want it,” He demanded with a shocking amount of finality to his words, biting his own lip so hard that it was almost rupturing the skin, making himself bleed from his own desire. “One more time, so I know. So I know…”

"Breed me," You pleaded, your eyes fluttering as you looked up at him, like he was the God that you were praying to. "Give me your puppies, Fox, please..."

Fox’s fingers tightened around your neck as he heard your desperate words, his lips trembling just a touch against your cheek as he let out a low grunt from the very back of his throat. He pulled back from your cheek and ran his tongue over the patch of marred skin on your shoulder, his teeth slowly beginning to sink into you again, his mouth tasting with desperation to be even closer to you. 

You couldn’t hold back a pained moan as his mouth worked aggressively against your skin, as he devoured your body with lust, hunger, and pleasure, his sharp teeth puncturing the delicate skin of your shoulder and his hips somehow moving faster and more erratically, on the very precipice of pleasure himself. His breathing was heavy as he felt your body surrender completely to the pleasure, and all he could think about is giving you more and more of it.

"I've got you..." He whispered, a low growl against your neck, his words catching just a touch as he pressed a bloody kiss to your jaw. "I'm not letting you go until I'm done with you. "

"Never let me go," You slurred softly, your mouth staying open with desperate gasps as his grip on your neck tightened even more, your vision starting to go fuzzy. “Never let me go…”

With that, with a vicious snarl from the very back of his throat, a second aggressive bite pressed into your shoulder, and his claws digging deep into your chest, marring you with bloody injuries as he always did, he stilled with a spasm, and you felt him spill deep, deep inside of you.

Finally letting go of your neck, Fox drew back and pressed his body against yours, his grip on your chest slackening as he let out a deep and long sigh of satisfaction. He buried his head against your neck uncharacteristically, searching for the warm space between your shoulder and your jaw, and his mouth resting against your skin as he panted, doing his best to recouperiate as you lay slack underneath him

You were barely conscious as you took in your own heaving breaths, but you could feel him move your thighs to rest over the top of his knees, hitching your body up and…well, giving his puppies the best chance inside of you.

You didn’t stop a delirious smile coming to your face as you felt his seed inside of you.

You would lie here for days if you needed to. 

To give him what he wanted. And what you surely wanted now too.

[foursaints]

saw someone on twitter talk about evan rosier x alastor moody and i feel like u would have thoughts on that

thematically this is good but my evan rosier would NOT fuck that old man… he’s too preoccupied with his own ideals of physical beauty cause he has evil mental problems….

i think evan holds seriously ethically questionable & deeply pseudoscientific ideas about there being an “objective”, hypothetically-achievable “perfect” human form. his tastes are unconventional and there are traits that evan would find attractive in moody (i.e. his body modifications, though those come after evan’s death) but generally i think that evan would consider a successful but unremarkable middle-aged auror to be unbearably pedestrian and boring and not unlike cattle.

at least partially, this dynamic is crucial to understanding evan’s desire for barty… evan refuses to settle for anyone less than barty because barty is such a Perfect Specimen. on the surface barty is a handsome and strapping popular slytherin pureblood (™️) and i think known freak evan sees this and goes… Ah. Yes. Exactly. anything less bores him.

[justslowdown]

While I'm sharing "sorry to be a downer but I actually care a lot about this animal topic" posts

Crufts is a bummer and I'm surprised anyone is still surprised by that.

Younger dog people absolutely need to recognize that we have a chance to change how "responsible" dog breeding niches work.

Accepting it at face value that how a dog looks compared to The Perfect Breed Specimen, down to specific angles their tail is held at, shades of eye color, a half inch over or under height, is what defines their genetic worth....... extraordinarily outdated. Genuinely depressing, as someone who's been way deeper in these worlds than I'd care to go again.

The concept of a "quality dog" coming down to Correctness is manufactured wholesale, and still rooted today in the same Victorian animal breeding movements that produced eugenics. I don't feel it's saying that it is the same thing as something much more grave and serious, to say that the purebred dog fancy is still primarily rich white people parroting those exact same ideals about purity and Objective Quality according to appearance.

Look me in the eyes and tell me the indigenous and/or working version of any pure breed is inherently subpar because it's not a carbon copy of the most popular dog winning in the breed lately. "It's the standard" ok.... and? Even if that was a remotely valid point, interpretations change so dramatically that no one "In Their Breed" is out there sharing historical breed photographs as good examples.

Anyways.... I've learned not to talk about brachycephalic dogs anymore because of the hoops people jump through to defend poor quality of life. But this is a broader topic that people in the dog hobby have got to stop being polite about.

[derailedinsert]

I've been thinking about the mind control device that wesker uses on jill in re5, can you write about him (or another villain) using that or a similar device to almost completely control them? Being able to completely brain off sounds very appealing right now haha

. 𖦹 Mind Control 🧠

unintentionally dom ! gn reader

power bottom ! wesker

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈[☣]┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

:: 🧬 | Albert Wesker 𓈒

• You're his doll, his plaything and his favorite toy.

• Wesker is not one to sexualize unnecessarily, he has more important things to focus on than "basic human needs".

• But, you're so pretty under his touch. On your knees for him in a moments notice, he can't help but take a liking to you.

• He tilts your head, gloved hand gently cupping your jaw as he observes you, eyes narrowed behind his shades. Poor thing you were, absolutely lost to your sense of self. Anything that went through your mind was at his command. No other concerns in the world but what he wanted of you, it was all too perfect to put to waste.

• Wesker wasn't lonely, especially with Excella around. He never had a need for company before, and Excella was a subject to him. Her foolish perception that they may be partners got on his nerves like no other. He did not need her, and he did not want her. He allowed her to breathe, to have a chance in this new life. And she had one too many thoughts of her own about it.

• With you, there was no worry about it. You had no conscience to battle, no opinions to refute. You were the perfect subject for him to leash along. There was no responsibility of him to care for you or your feelings, and it felt immensely freeing. You were a prime example of exactly what he had hoped for in this new world. The perfect specimen, with no need for others. Self sustaining, self reliant and submissive if commanded.

• Unbothered by the risk of Excella seeing you two, he gently guided your head towards his lap as he takes a seat at his control panels. "Undress me," he demanded. And to his delight, your small hands are quick to work at his belt. They don't wander, and there's no need for him to reciprocate. You're so perfect. Oh, so fascinating.

• As if you were engineered for it, you unzipped his body suit and let it fall off his shoulders naturally. His hand rested in your hair, petting you absent-mindedly. You try to reach for his gloves, but he slaps your hand away immediately. "No," his tone was surprisingly soft. He knows you'll obey, and there's no need to threaten.

• Your attention redirected to his open zipper, stopping just at his crotch. You reached behind him, unintentionally cupping his ass and causing him to flinch. You continued your task, pulling the black fabric past his hips and letting it pool at his legs.

• That single touch to his rear had Wesker reconsidering this entire thing. He rarely changed his mind, but he realized his vague orders might steer you in unwanted directions. But, he supposed he could just put a stop to this whenever. So, despite his hesitation, he let you proceed in removing his underwear.

• He hissed out once his cock greeted the chilled air of his home, his spare hand reaching behind him to hold onto the control panels for support. "Pleasure me," he stared down at you expectantly.

• Your hands suddenly gripping at his cock made his stomach flip, sucking air through his teeth. Without a word to stop you, you used both your hands to please him, focusing mostly on the tip. Logically, it would bring him the most pleasure. After all, your opinions were absent.

• Turns out, Wesker was incredibly quiet. Other than a few shaky breaths, if you were any amount of conscious, you probably would've thought you weren't pleasuring him at all. But, your controlled self knew otherwise. After awhile, his length twitched intensely in your hand, making his chest heave. He was clearly going to come soon. From such little treatment too.

• Your objective was to pleasure him, so, you sped up your pace.

• It wasn't long before he orgasmed, biting his cheek to keep himself silent as he shot his load over your gorgeous face. He let out a sigh of relief, knowing he could finally keep quiet without a fight.

• But your hand didn't stop.

• Wesker let out a whine, cock jerking again in your grasp. He hadn't asked you to stop, and your objective was still to pleasure him. So, with a pained expression crossing his features, you released one hand off his cock and instead pressed it firmly against his taint. You used the lubrication from his first orgasm to quicken your fist, teasing his balls with the palm of your hand while your fingers massaged him.

• Wesker suddenly couldn't find his words. You needed to stop, it wasn't an option. But, his legs instinctively spread in his chair, exposing himself to you. This wasn't what he'd asked for.

• Even his advanced brain was becoming fuzzy, every receptor in his body telling him to let this happen. He hadn't been touched by anyone in so long, how could he be so foolish in thinking he could keep himself composed?

• "Stop this at once!" He finally manages to groan out, and your hands retract almost immediately. So obedient, you were. Wesker finally took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he eyed his weeping cock. He could easily come again.

• His gaze finally meets yours again, your expression a blank slate as you await your next command.

• With a defeated groan, Wesker tears his eyes away from you and raises a hand, "continue."

[nevesmose]

Coveting

Trazyn/Clone!Fulgrim requested by @chemos-factories (first time writing these two so drawing a lot of inspiration from your fics)

It's natural to play games with things you own.

Today's entertainment was an old favourite of theirs, and a way for Fulgrim to show off the knowledge he'd gained. Fulgrim loved nothing more than to show off.

"And here we see a typical cabinet of curiosities," he said, leading the way into the wide, marble-floored hall dotted with exhibit cases that formed a space so stereotypically like a museum as Fulgrim understood the term that, to an outsider, it would have verged on parody.

A strictly delimited playhouse, everything arranged just so and built to perfectly suit the superhuman build of the Primarch who was not a Primarch, in which Fulgrim had free rein to explore and learn as he wished.

Ancient scientists had done such things with rats in mazes once.

"They are also called wonder-cabinets," Fulgrim continued, eager to share his knowledge with his visitor. He was suitably attired in purple silks, and delicate gold bangles shifted on his wrists as he gestured to the object in front of them.

"Although the gathering of disparate objects and artefacts has no real scholarly intent or value, they represent an important step in the development of Old Earth's versions of museums as we would know them."

"How fascinating," Trazyn said, playing his role of distinguished guest to perfection.

"I think so too," Fulgrim answered. "And although the exhibit appears to be fully authentic to its ancient origins, further inspection reveals that the curator has included a number of deliberate anachronisms."

"Deliberate, you say?"

"Yes. To reward the attentive viewer for his study. For example, in the centre, beside a truly ancient specimen of monodon monoceros tusk, we can see a comparatively much more recent piece. A bust of an unknown subject by the remebrancer Delafour."

"Oh, how intriguing." Trazyn leaned closer, as though seeing the sculpture for the first time. "May I touch it?"

"My deepest apologies, honoured guest," Fulgrim replied, "but these objects are too fragile to touch. Lord Trazyn forbids it."

Trazyn stood back with a gesture of mock offence. "But I am, as you say, an honoured guest," he said. "Surely there's something here I can touch?"

The script being old didn't make the play any less entertaining.

Fulgrim hesitated for a moment. "The fragile objects are forbidden, but... I am not, honoured guest."

Sometimes he remembered that he had been something else, once. A being created for a very different purpose. But remembering brought pain and after so much time among Trazyn's other possessions it was infinitely easier to let go, to drift into the comfortable haze of being simply one more pliant, complaisant object to be arranged alongside many others. And so he did.

"A most agreeable solution," Trazyn said, radiating satisfaction as he moved closer to Fulgrim. "Shall we continue?"

The Archaeovist's hand settled comfortably in the small of Fulgrim's back and directed him onwards through an ornate archway with a subtle application of strength.

"Of course, honoured guest. We now enter the gallery of Terran dolls."

"Oh, how appropriate."

They halted in front of a tall, glass-fronted display case containing a multitude of dolls with painted ceramic faces and wigs of genuine human hair.

"In this exhibit," Fulgrim said, "we see every surviving product of the warrior and artisan Jean-Andoche Juneau, a toymaker from ancient Franc. The effort required to gather them here must have been vast."

"It was," Trazyn said. "Put your hands on the glass."

Fulgrim obeyed, bending gracefully at the waist to lean forward and place his palms flat on the cold surface. The dolls in their serried ranks smiled vacantly up at him.

"Good. Look only at yourself."

He locked his gaze onto his own face reflected in the glass, reducing Trazyn to a blurred outline as the Overlord of Solemnace moved behind him.

"Every object has a purpose, does it not?" Trazyn asked.

Fulgrim swallowed dryly as the Archaeovist's hand began to stroke languidly up and down his back. "I would agree, honoured guest."

"And, having acquired a truly beautiful, precious object, would it not be shameful for me to deprive it of its purpose?"

Necrodermis fingers glided up over the back of Fulgrim's neck and into his hair, stroking through it with intermixed possessiveness and reverence. He was intensely aware of how easy it would be for Trazyn to grab it if he wanted to.

"What is the purpose of a doll, Fulgrim?"

"To be looked at," he replied quietly. "To be dressed and posed as its owner pleases."

"And above all?"

"To be played with."

As all pretence fell away and Trazyn began to explore and claim his body in earnest, Fulgrim kept his focus on his own reflection as he had been ordered to and saw exactly what his owner wished him to see - himself in the glass as simply one more doll arranged among a thousand others. He matched their placid, vacant smiles with his own and felt nothing but happiness.