#people are so cruel and awful and scary

[bunnihearted]

where are you even supposed to go when everyone in the world are unsafe and not to be trusted?

[limirror]

Started hallucinating more recently i think it's cuz im starting to feel worse emotionally hope my mind can calm down i'd rather not see weird things and my vision get all weird

[justplainlovely]

No, Christine Daaé is not 15-19 years old. No voice that young can sing the works of Gounod or Wagner. Heck, even some 20 somethings damage their voices by singing Wagner too soon. And Faust is a very intense opera for a singer, let alone the role of Marguerite. Much stamina is needed to perform it. She is likely 20-23, given Raoul’s age and the fact that they’re said to be around the same.

In my opinion, I think people put her in the 15-19 age bracket because they don’t want to believe that a young woman can be just as naive as a teenage girl (in the novel it says “she has the heart of a 15-year-old”, not that she’s actually 15). Hate to break it to ya, but some of us adults are also gullible/naive. It makes her a well-rounded, believable character and it’s not her fault that Erik played into the lie. After all, if a voice like his, described as angelic or otherworldly, started speaking to you in your dressing room (I would likely faint cuz wtf, but if I didn’t, I would ask what’s going on) you would likely err on the side of the supernatural too.

Edit: I got the Wagner mixed up with other rep - that’s my bad. In case it wasn’t obvious to the tags (did not expect to get so much attention on this post, but ey, shiz happens) I hate the 2004 movie. They had to make Erik that kind of a creep to get across that he’s scary? My guy is a psychologically damaged, living corpse, but they had to make him a pedo instead? It just shows what I’ve always assumed about Phantom is true: we lean away from his deformity and into his character (cuz yes he’s still awful, I’ve never denied that) because we are too uncomfortable with his ugliness. He is who he is because the world has been unimaginably cruel to him over his features (an explanation, not an excuse - Erik is bad for the 100,000 time). What makes Christine who she is is her choice to forgive him - it’s what I love most about her, her compassion. I have been in abusive relationships myself, in case I haven’t made that clear, and yes, oddly enough, I’ve forgiven them. That’s my interaction with this story. That’s why I’m here: to explore the dynamics in a safe way. But some of y’all truly don’t understand how people can enjoy bad things when they’re in fiction. It’s fiction.

Sorry for my ramble and thank you for reading.

[kinq-sleazee]

ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 thinkin’ about S. Gojo being ⟡ scary ⟡

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

18+ | piss , bullying, violence, reader is a teacher,

❤︎₊ ⊹ ⋆˙⟡♡

Satoru Gojo is your worst nightmare. Yeah, he might be the “honored one”– powerful, revered, respected and loved by most but apparently you’re not one for his charms. Where others fawn , you flee. You never offer praise or expected idolatry from one such as yourself. You rush past him in the hallways. Brush off his attempts at communication. Barely reacting to anything that had to do with Satoru Gojo. Who do you think you are ? He’s the strongest after all. What he didn’t know is that you were to shy and in awe to do anything but run away! After all his presence seemed limitless and suffocating. There was no way that someone like you could keep up. But Satoru didn’t know this. You see , he isn’t the strongest because he’s Satoru Gojo. He’s Satoru Gojo because he’s the strongest. And why should the strong protect the whims of the weak ?

So he was mean.

“Innocently” undermining you in front of your students, interrupting your classes , over talking you , bumping into you, pinching your thighs, and cornering you in dark hallways to whisper vicious insults and veiled threats.

“You cryin’? God, you’re weak” lips brushing against your jaw as he squeezes your neck. “What if I pulled you into my domain ? What do you think would happen?”

You tried to tell someone, anyone , but who’d believe you ? You should’ve known better, and you also should’ve known that word would get back to your tormenter. You probably would’ve kept your mouth shut if you’d known that he’d have you backed against the lockers, head locked between two meaty fists. Thumb resting against your temples and lips pressed against your ear whispering cruelly. “Did you really think they’d believe you, weakling?”. “Even if they did, what did you think would happen? No one can stop me. They’re too weak”. Honestly , you should be grateful that I even waste my time on someone as pathetic as you.” “People have literally killed for my attention” And you know he wasn’t lying. Everyone loved him. Everyone except you.

He couldn’t understand why you didn’t immediately succumb to his charms. Why you didn’t fall to your knees the moment he spoke to you. Most women did. He took personal offense to your shy and introverted nature. Getting meaner and meaner everyday. But this was the worst it had ever gotten. His knee was pressed between your legs, right against your cunt. You were shaking so bad. So scared and he was holding you in place. It didn’t help that he’d caught you on the way to restroom. “P-please Gojo … gotta go” Your pathetic pleas fell on deaf ears. “P-please Gojo” he mocked, adding pressure against your temple. “Where do you have to go , huh ? What’s more important than me ?” Fat tears welled in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill with each twitch of his leg. “I have to go to the ladies room, Gojo” you whined, praying that he’d spare you the tiniest sliver of mercy. Prayers went unanswered because Gojo’s handsome face twisted into a cruel smile. Cerulean visionaries burning into your skin and tracing a path down to where his knee met your clothed cunt. “Oh?” he mocked, voice dripping with faux concern. “Does little Y/N need to go potty?” You didn’t answer, just whimpered and averted your eyes which did not bode well with the sorcerer . *BAM! His fists crashed into the locker, leaving a gaping hole right next to your head. “When I talk you- Gojo’s voice trailed off and his gaze fell to the darkening splotch on his uniform pants. Pale yellow liquid surged from the place between your thighs. Pretty white stockings ruined with streaks of hot piss. "G-gojo , i-” Words caught in your throat and you whimpered in humiliation. Utterly defeated by the fact that you’d pissed yourself in front of the most powerful man of your era. He was going to be furious. At least that’s what you assumed before you dared glance at his oceanic orbs. His eyes glazed over, completely clouded with lust. The wet tip of his tongue darted across his plush lips and your eyes followed the movement. Slightly parted and moistened by saliva. What you wouldn’t give to have those lips on your body. As if he were clairvoyant, Gojo pulled you into a bruising kiss. Bullying into your mouth with such skilled aggression that your brain felt fuzzy. A heady mixture of adrenaline and arousal permeated the air and the damp warmth of your cunt pulsed against his leg in rhythm with the frantic beating of your heart. Gojo pulled away hair messy and tie disheveled. Thick fingers carded through his white locs before he stepped forward to fix your hair. A hand lingered against your cheek, almost gentle. Almost. His thumb and index finger squeezed as he pulled your face close to his. “My place at 11 PM, weakling. Don’t be late.”

[love-toxin]

Cattle -> Harley Kunuk

plot: a world in which the realm of monsters & yanderes has merged--that's the au you find yourself in as a low-producing cow hybrid. you've never impressed any master as working cattle, always cast aside in favour of prettier, more talented cows. that might change once you get dropped off at the wrong farmer's ranch.

(cws: fem!cow hybrid!reader, chubby+naive reader, yandere themes, explicit smut, lactation, fondling, dry-humping, chest worship, dirty talk/soft degradation, clothed sex/cumming in pants, kinda monsterfucking, power dynamics, reader refers to him as 'Mr. Harley')

a/n: welcome to the long-awaited 'harley x cow hybrid reader' saga LOL

wc: 4.7k (art by milove @the-zipper !! <3)

If not for the grace of the gods, you'd surely be thrown into the ditch or to the wolves by now.

The transition between seedy motels has never been easy, sure, but you've reached new lows since your last rancher kicked you to the curb. Besides, nor has having to deal with the treatment from your superiors been easy when most of them see you as nothing but what your brand reads out.

Cattle.

If farm hybrids have anything, it isn't rights–at least not for undesirables like you. There's probably places out there like Runerhéa where you could live in peace, but this new world is even tougher than the last. When the realms merged as one, everyone on the lower side like you thought it would turn out to be a blessing. Maybe you'd finally get a break and wouldn't have to live like a piece of meat. But so far, it's only been a curse.

Ever since you were passed into the hands of these “livestock traders” your life has been absolute hell. Your last master had at least left you be most of the time, preferring to pay attention to his other, better-producing and prettier cattle rather than get on your case for this or that. These guys that have been toting you around since then have been complete nightmares to deal with–they're callous and cruel and they never let you rest properly, they keep you up all hours of the night with their hollering and drinking and gambling on those awful card games.

Yet, even when you were told that your time with them would be coming to an end, you weren't excited about it. Not one bit. How could you be, when you've been surrounded by horrible people saying such horrible things about your abilities? They've called you “moon-face” and mocked your pitiful history as working cattle, to the point that they've joked about re-branding you and making you a sex toy or something instead, because that's probably all you're good for. You can't even moo right, much less make any milk that doesn't taste sour or curdle within minutes. You're totally useless, and whoever your new owner is, he's quickly going to come to that realization too. Your handlers have been quick to remind you of that, just in case you happen to pick up some worth in yourself on the way there.

That's all you've thought for the past three days since you've been here, too scared to come out from the back of your stall for fear that the big, scary farmer with the loud voice is going to yell at you for not turning out to be what he hoped. You heard him arguing with the traders when you were delivered: ”What the hell is this?! I bought a cow, not some girl! Is this a joke? Did Elias put you up to this?” and since then you've cowered in the corner, refusing even to touch the water and food he brought and left at the door for fear he might just poison you to save the trouble of bringing you back. You've never been kept with real farm animals before, yet even now there's not much interaction you have with them. The big guy put you in a stall far away from his other animals, probably because he thinks you might infect them or something. It's always something with you.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You've been hearing those noises from outside for the last two days, the sounds of wood scraping and hammering pervading your fuzzy ears and filling your mind with all manner of horrors that might await you. Is he building some kind of horrible torture machine? A rack? A device to forcibly milk you? Oh, that thought sends a chill down your spine. Or is he simply building your coffin? It could be any one of those possibilities or many, many more horrible ones, and it leaves you to tug your floppy ears down and try to block out the noise as you cry softly. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die, even if I'm bad at being a cow. I just wanna live another day.

You pull the scratchy woolen blanket he left in here closer around your shoulders, hoping and praying with your head bowed that this won't be the end. With the clunk of the barn's door sliding open, with every step you hear thudding closer and closer towards your stall, you tremble harder and hurriedly wipe your tears dry while you pray to the Deity to shelter you from an early grave.

Kh-chunk. The clasp on your stall comes undone from the other side, and with bated breath, you watch as the door rolls open and lets in the streams of light you'd forgotten existed in this endless darkness.

“...Oh.” The farmer utters his surprise softly, his brow easing up as he looks you over. He's perched at the entrance to your stall still, not quite ready to cross the threshold yet. Maybe he's still trying to prepare himself as he sizes you up for the slaughterhouse. “You look…cold.”

You shake your head meekly and throw off the blanket. Straws of hay flutter about your knees as you do so, some of it already stuck in your hair and your meager clothes that don't cover enough for him not to blush and avert his gaze. “Uh…c'mon. We need to move you somewhere else.” He meekly produces a harness from his overalls, but it sits lightly in his hand like he's not really keen on using it. “It'll be safe. C'mon.”

If you weren't a lowly, domestic cow hybrid, one of the very lowest of the monster hybrid species, you'd be tempted to ask if he's always this awkward. He can't even look at you, he barely even breathes once you finally stand and skirt past him out of the stall. And he doesn't dare to touch you as he leads you out of the barn even though you're his property–it's like he doesn't even see you as cattle, but as…you don't even know what.

At the very least, despite the uncertainty around your new home, the first deep breath of fresh air as you step outside reminds you of the home you knew in childhood. Rolling grass in a sea of green, woods out across the field that are far from predators, safe fences and even a big, old farmhouse on the lawn that gives you a sense of homey nostalgia. As big and scary as he looks, maybe he's not so bad after all…maybe, as long as you do everything to appeal to him, he might treat you like nice cattle and not the nuisance you've long been defined as.

As you step out onto the grounds, the farmer introduces himself as Harley. He waits while you sniff around the fresh, clean air a bit before leading you around the side of the barn–that's where a small, shed-like attachment has been built on to the side of the structure, which opens into a surprisingly comfy and spacious area that he must have put together in a hurry. The floorboards have a nice rug over them and there's a soft, downy mattress in the corner on a little frame, and it's all built in and warm like it's an actual room. But when you turn to Harley with a quizzical look on your face and he tells you it's yours, you don't even know how to respond. So you just look at him blankly.

“It's…yours, y'know? It's, uh, like your…bedroom, I guess.” He looks around the space and rubs the back of his sweaty neck, seemingly sheepish about the simple construction even though you're standing there dumbfounded. “I didn't think you'd wanna live in the barn with the animals, but, uh, you wouldn't come in the house. So…yeah.” The silence between you is agony up until he just huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, this isn't ideal for me. I don't deal well with people, and you're��sort of one, I guess. To be honest, I hate the idea of sharing my farm with some stranger.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, incidentally messing up his long ponytail that's just barely keeping all that thick hair tied up. With his hands set on his hips, he looks you dead in the eyes in a way that makes you cower at his sternness. “But you're here now, so whatever. Just behave yourself–and if some guy in a cowboy hat comes around, make yourself scarce. I don't want him messing with my-” He catches himself, but in your bovine wisdom you finish his sentence for him.

“Cattle?”

Harley swallows dryly and nods. “...Cattle. Yeah.” In any case despite the awkwardness and the tense air between you, he shows you how to work the little water pump he built the shed around so you can wash up and drink, your bed and blankets, and where to use the bathroom–which he insists you do inside the house, for no reason that he elaborates on other than the fact that you're able to, so you should. With that he leaves you be, letting you sit and ponder this newfound haven that he so casually dropped in your lap.

By the third day in your little mock cabin, six days since you've arrived here, you're pretty sure you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley. He won't tolerate you calling him ‘Master’ because it makes him all red in the face when you say it, so despite him insisting on no formalities at all you've settled on referring to him as ‘Mr.’ Harley.

It's been an easy process to say the least. Mr. Harley is gruff and speaks bluntly, but he never lays a hand on you and has never called you any mean names. He feeds you more often than he does his other animals, and despite getting annoyed and scolding you if you don't eat like you didn't the first three days, he's always gentle and doesn't yell or kick things over when he's mad. Plus, he treats his other farm animals real nice–you've heard him cooing and calling them by their names when he pets them, and most of them come running or perk their ears up when they hear his voice from far away. One of the chickens even tried to peck you when Mr. Harley was showing you around, and had his hand on your arm as he showed you how to feed them. They love him so much they even get jealous, and it's easy to see why. Mr. Harley is so caring and kind-hearted. He's got pretty brown eyes and such a low, deep voice, and big muscles, and soft hair, he's more handsome than any other master or trader you've come across in your whole life. It's no wonder you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley.

Where it's becoming an issue, however, is with your milk.

The first little while you were here, Mr. Harley didn't even make a mention about your production. There wasn't any bucket around for you to show him anyways, so you've been sitting around letting the milk build up and up and up until you're sore and swollen. The only reason you're sat in your shed with a bucket in your lap now is because Mr. Harley noticed your discomfort (because he's such a nice and caring farmer…) but, with you being too worried about your quality and Mr. Harley being too red-faced to stick around and watch, you're coming up on the end of the day without a drop to show for it. If you don't give him anything, he'll think you're a disobedient cow! But if you squeeze out your milk and it tastes sour, or makes him sick…oh, you couldn't bear to think of making Mr. Harley hate you with the taste of your milk. It's quite the dilemma that you have no easy way of getting out of, so you do what's likely the better option: you milk out just enough to make the swelling go down, but not so much that the taste will be too strong if it's bad.

But even with your clever thinking, your knees shake as you perch on your bed and listen to the big, thudding footsteps of Mr. Harley coming towards the shed. The moment the door slides open you spring into action, and pick up the bucket a quarter full of milk to hand to him, hoping beyond hope that he won't be upset over how little there is.

“..Huh.” After he jolts slightly at your sudden movement toward him, Harley glances down at the bucket and back up at you as he takes it gingerly, peering down at the milk as if it's some sort of magic that you've managed to fill it even as little as you did. He raises his hand and your instincts force you to flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as you anticipate a hit or something equally awful. But the moment passes because Mr. Harley pats your head instead, stroking your hair and your fuzzy ears gently before hiking up the bucket to grab and hold it by the handle. “Good girl.”

Good girl? Are those words for real? Was that…praise? And so easily given, at that?

You're practically on your knees by the time he steps out of the shed, they're so wobbly and weak, but before he can make it outside he halts and turns back to you. “So…” He lingers at the doorway, the bucket hanging from his closed fist. “...Where does your milk come from, exactly?”

Oh. That's…hard to explain. You had a sense that Mr. Harley already knew, but then again he owns farm animals, not hybrids. So you meekly point at your own chest in answer, and Harley's reaction takes you by complete surprise.

“...You're shitting me.” He breathes out in what comes off as disgust, but is really shamefaced embarrassment as he tries to avert his eyes but can't tear his gaze off of your…well, udders. It was obvious that they were impressive, but he clearly wasn't expecting such a blunt and simple answer. Harley clears his throat and tries to get something out, but sooner than he's able to he gives up and just wishes you a good sleep as he shuts the sliding door behind him.

The rest of that night is full of whimpers and soft cries throughout the shed as you weep out all your worries. Mr. Harley doesn't like me anymore! He thinks I'm gross! You sniffle into your tear-drenched pillow as the thoughts grow so loud in your head that they overwhelm you. In time, you cry yourself so dry that you can't help but drift off, your sleep peppered with bad memories and anxious nightmares of what Mr. Harley might do with you tomorrow, now that he's seen how worthless and disgusting you really are.

Though by now you're used to the rooster's screeching to wake you up, your morning is riddled with half-awake mumbles and drool caking your pillow as you try to remember what you were doing. It's not until you rub your eyes and look around that you notice the light filling the shed, and realize with a cold twist in your belly that it's almost midday and well past the time you should've been up and about. The sounds of Mr. Harley's boots in the barn next door rattle you out of your covers and up to your feet, your knees knocking and hands shaking as you try to figure out what to do.

Mr. Harley always comes by your shed to check on you after he's done with the animals, and by the whinnying of the horses as he sprays the hose you can tell he's just about finished up with filling their water trough. And if that's what he's up to now, that means you're next–and gods know what he's gonna do now that he doesn't think you're cute anymore! You're not sure now if he would kill you, or chop you up to sell your bits in some underground meat market, but he might give you back to the traders! You can't let that happen, you can't!

Little do you know that while you've bustled around your shed in a panic trying to figure out what to do, Harley has been pacing anxiously outside the barn doors before finally slamming them shut and heading towards you. Each step rings out like thunder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump-

The door to your shed slides open, eliciting a startled shriek from your lips as you drop the bucket. It clatters to the ground and rolls to a stop just by Mr. Harley's boot. The two of you lock eyes and he utters a string of words that totally throw you for a loop.

“You had trouble getting your milk out yesterday, so I'm gonna help you.”

The air that hangs between you is heavy once he says that, pierced only by the gentle clinking of the bucket's thin wire handle as he reaches down and plucks it up off the hay-scattered ground. Harley rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his steps taken slow and quietly as he slides the door shut behind him and approaches your skittish self.

“You want me to help you?” His voice remains stoic and strong, but when you nod so meekly that your ears twitch his face burns a bright red all the way down to his collar. He coughs into his hand and asks you to move into a comfortable position while he stands awkwardly and prepares himself for what's about to come. You can barely make eyes with him in the meanwhile, every bit of you is trembling as you sink down to your knees.

Mr. Harley sets the bucket down beneath you. The soft, almost imperceptible thunk rings in your ears like a dinner bell. A thought flashes over your head and you wonder if you should get on your hands and knees–but the shame of such a position quickly overcomes whatever else would compel you to do so, and you sit quietly and patiently with your ears flicking nervously in rhythm with your tail. He gets down on one knee and mutters something in your ear to soothe you, but you can barely hear anything over your own breathing as you try to will your heart into slowing down from its fervent pace. When he asks you to pull down your top, however, you certainly hear that command loud and clear.

The moment the fabric swishes down your chest in one clean motion, Harley has a look of utter redness and embarrassment all over his face. He's a bit more composed than yesterday, but he can barely tear his eyes away from them; your udders. They're so soft and weigh so heavy on your torso, it's a surprise you can even lift them up yourself. That's what he thinks, anyways–you can't even comprehend his awe when you're so self-conscious over your nipples pebbling in the drafty air. Your fingernails scrape against each other in a nervous tic while you wait. He has to get prepared, and he warms his hands by rubbing them together; the very action of which sends heat straight to your nethers and a twitch to your soft, fuzzy ears.

“M-My milk doesn't taste good…” You whimper to distracted ears, but still, Mr. Harley holds his hands back from reaching out and he meets your eyes in contemplation. Your worries explode out of you before you can halt yourself. “B-But I'll–I'll try really hard to make it sweet, Mr. Harley!”

To your shock, he just shakes his head. He scoffs, but then–then it's a chuckle. It's laughter, low and gravelly, but it's laughter all the same.

“You taste good.” Mr. Harley murmurs, and his eyes don't look at all daunted. He doesn't correct himself, either. He leans closer, reaches out, and then the callused pads of his hardworking fingers are brushing under the tender skin of your breasts.

The moment is…saccharine. It's divine. It's godlike! You can't see, can't hear, can barely breathe, and you've never felt more exuberance bubbling up in the back of your throat–you want to scream and cry and beg but the emotions jumble themselves all together and leave you stunned silent. You can hardly let out the gentlest exhale of disbelieving breath as Mr. Harley's hands fold over your chest, and you feel a warmth you thought was only reserved for cows of a much better pedigree than you. The man that's bigger and stronger and sweeter than you shuffles in closer, he wants his lips right against your skin; he wants to taste you and touch you while he gives you a squeeze, and when his tongue flicks out to dab the sweat off your neck you could just cry, it feels so exhilarating.

“M-Mr. Harley-” You gulp, your tone betraying your enjoyment in how it trembles with desperate need. Harley's hands start pressing and pulling on each teat, and in no time at all he's coaxing the milk from you as easily as he would his own dairy cows. No mess, no fuss, and no tears–not ones devoid of joy, anyways. You can't help your own instincts in this moment of pure, primal hybrid heat. “I-I love you, Mr. Harley.”

His head raises and tilts down to look at you. He doesn't even have to look to make sure he's getting it all in the bucket, he's so experienced. Something seems to brew behind those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes…and his words stir up the heat within you like a potent, bubbling love potion.

“I'm so fuckin’ glad they got you mixed up.”

With that admission of very Harley-like affection, he buries his tongue in your mouth and presses your lips firmly together in a wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss! From Mr. Harley! Your tail flicks to and fro with happiness while you're melting into it, into the softness and the strength of his tongue and the sticky wetness of your spit mixing with his. You've never been kissed like this, and when he pulls back you just have to lean in for more. He can barely stifle his lustful chuckles when you keep pecking his lips like a touch-starved harpy, hoping for more tongue and spit and warmth. He squeezes your left teat especially firm and a thick jet of milk spurts out, leaving you to hunch forward suddenly as a wet spot starts forming in the seat of your poor panties. Harley's slanted nose is the only thing keeping you up; he nuzzles it under your chin when your body threatens to pitch forward into the hard ground.

“So close.” He murmurs into your mouth as he seals his lips over yours again. His hair is mussed and he's blushing…a lot. “Almost there. Such a good product today. Nearly filled the whole pail. Good girl.” He whispers against your cheek as you try not to feel the delicate rumbles of his voice in your cunt. With a swish of movement, Mr. Harley maneuvers around your trembling body to slot himself up behind you, and lets his hands reach around you just so his thick, muscly biceps will keep you upright through to the end.

“M-Mr. Harley…I think I'm…I-I dunno, I feel-ah! Ah, weird. G-Good weird..” What feels like a brick presses up against your rear in that moment–you have a feeling you know exactly what it is.

“Yeah?” He scoffs with a thrilled smirk against your neck. “Dirty fuckin’ dairy cow. That's what you are, huh?”

“Y-Yes-!” You squeal, but whether that's an answer to his question or simply the reaction he's caused by bucking against you with a groan, it remains to be seen. Either way Mr. Harley is enjoying himself, and it floods your bovine head with vindicated glee that your master enjoys you. You're doing a good job. You're a good cow.

“Good fuckin’ cow,” Harley growls, completely lost in the softness between your thighs and the sweet warmth of your tits weighing heavy and milk-swollen in his hands. Your legs shake against his thick thighs as he pulls you back to practically sit on his lap, held up by the monster straining at his pants, begging to be let out. You've already left a soiled, sticky spot there through your clothes but Harley won't take any apologies–not right now, at least, when your milk is flowing at its peak and he's just about to lose his self-control completely…if he even had any left from the moment he held your soft, chubby body in his hands. A splash of milk jets from your swollen tits and splatters against the side of the pail rather than inside it, and with that you don't need to see Mr. Harley's face to know that he's reaching his end; in fact, he's already there.

A string of “fuck, fuck, fuck!”s erupts from his mouth that he buries in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, his teeth not only grazing now but biting down hard into your sweat-soaked skin. The spot you'd left on his jeans is nothing compared to the damp mess he makes as his thighs shake beneath yours, his hips ruthless and powerful as he slams them up into you with the desire of chasing that invaluable heat between your legs. You've barely held back from spasming in pleasure this whole time, but once Mr. Harley has his needs sated is when you finally allow yourself to give in to yours. Groans, panting, and soft mooing resonate within the homey little room that you've incidentally turned into a den of pleasure. Mr. Harley finally slumps back with his arms tucked tightly around your middle, and a wobbly, satisfied smile makes its way across your face as you look down and see a pail full of warm, creamy-looking milk. A few spots and tiny puddles litter the hay-covered ground around it from where you spilled, and some still soaks Harley's massive hands, but you still managed to fill it–a whole bucket!

“I did…a good job, Mr. Harley?” You ask in such a sweet, timid voice that he can only manage a breathless scoff in response.

“You think you did a good job?” He asks, but not understanding his tone, you start to fuss and squirm in fear that you've disappointed him. It's only once he manages to wrangle you against his chest and pick you up off your feet with him that he manages to calm you down.

“Relax, little one. You did a good job.” Careful not to let you lose balance, he sets you down on your feet and holds you there, steadying you against his effortlessly strong body. The moment you look up at him with those sweet, wet cow eyes, he can't resist his affections and lovingly strokes your ears. “Very good. You're a good cow. Look at all the milk you made,” He reaches past you to pick up the pail and hold it out for you to see. The glistening milk swishes with the heft of the bucket, so he steps away and ensures he sets it aside amongst the empty ones to keep it from spilling over.

“So…c-can I stay, Mr. Harley?”

It seems your voice does more than earn you an answer from him–Harley whips around to look at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and his reaction is more than you ever could have thought you deserved.

“Stay? What d'ya mean, ‘stay’? You're part of the farm. You're my family now. You're not going anywhere.” He reaches out for you and in that moment it takes for him to get to you, the tears are already flowing and you're blubbering pathetically into his chest with gratitude, which he seems much less awkward in accepting now.

“Hey–quit sayin’ such stupid shit. Stay…are you crazy?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms so tight around you you're reminded of the soreness of your hollow chest as your tits press up against his firm body. What he whispers to you then, in the silence peppered only by your weepy cries of adoration and love for your ‘Mr. Harley’, is the one thing that will stay with you for a long, long time–perhaps for the rest of your life.

“Not just cattle anymore, little one. You're…mine.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

do you have advice on how to write genuine dialogue? i have a very severe case of when getting into the mindset of writing, and specifically writing dialogue, i only regurgitate whatever i have heard/seen from other media. it just seems unoriginal, ingenuine, and for aesthetic value only (i end up writing something out of a poem and not real people conversations). please help 😞

Writing Dialogue That Sounds Natural/Genuine

1 - Know Your Characters Well - One of the most important elements of writing natural/genuine-sounding dialogue is making sure you know your characters well. If you don't know who they are... their personalities, their experiences, what they care about, what they know and don't know... then you can't accurately envision what they'd have to say in a conversation. See: Making Personalities Unique and Keeping Them Straight

2 - Flesh Out Character Voice - "Character voice" is how your character's background, experiences, and personality affect what they say and how they speak. This isn't about quality of voice... it's about vocal personality. See: Giving Your Characters a Unique Voice

3 - Know What They're Going To Talk About - There's nothing that sounds more unnatural and inauthentic than characters having a conversation that has no relevance to anything. That said, it's super important to understand why you're writing this dialogue scene... what are you trying to accomplish with it? How does that move the story forward, move character development forward, or deliver important information to the reader? What needs to be said and why? Being clear on this can help you craft dialogue that sounds natural and genuine because it's relevant and serves a purpose.

4 - Balance Exposition, Action, and Dialogue - Overall, we want our stories to have a relative balance of exposition (explaining things), action (things happening), and dialogue. We want a relative balance of exposition, action, and dialogue in our scenes, too. What I mean by "relative" is you generally wouldn't want a scene that's all dialogue, very little action, and no exposition. (And I say "generally" because there can be exceptions... short scenes, scenes that serve a unique purpose, scenes with unique requirements, etc.) So, it's important to really think about the needs of your scene, what you're trying to accomplish, and make sure you've got a relative balance of dialogue, exposition, and action (as long as it works for the scene.) See: Exposition, Action, and Dialogue, and How to Pace Your Story

5 - Write Dialogue with Sensory and Emotional Depth - We never want our dialogue to be just words batted back and forth between two or more people. Dialogue needs to have depth, and we give it that depth in two ways.

-- Sensory Details in Dialogue -- Sight: what are the characters doing as they talk? What is their body language? Facial expressions? Hand gestures? How do they physically interact with their environment and others in the conversation? Sound: quality of voice (when characters voices get loud or soft, when a voice is gritty or raspy, when the speaker has an accent or speaks with a particular tone or cadence) as we as sounds like coughing, clearing the throat, or sighing... and sounds resulting from the character's interactions with the environment or others. Smell: bad breath or alcohol on the breath... or good breath... the smell of the speaker's perfume or body odor, the smell of a cigarette they're smoking, or a food they're eating.

Taste: there aren't many opportunities to include taste in dialogue, but possibilities would be tasting bile due to something awful someone said in the conversation, tasting food or drink sampled during conversation, or even "tasting" a smell associated with the environment during the conversation.

Feel: again, this will be more environmental... feeling a "chill" in the room when something cruel or scary is said. Noticing things felt due to the environment or interaction with the environment/others. Internal physical sensations felt during conversation.

*** And, it's important to note that I'm not suggesting that you include every sense or lots of sensory details. It's just adding a few that make sense can add depth and authenticity to the dialogue.

-- Emotional Details in Dialogue --

You also want to be sure to explore the emotional impact of the conversation as well as what characters are thinking as they participate in the conversation, and what they feel about what others are saying. As mentioned above in the "feel" portion of sensory details, you can explore the internal sensations caused by emotions felt as a result of the conversation. Stomach turning due to something unpleasant being said. Butterflies in stomach due to something exciting being said. Chill up the spine due to something scary being said. You can also explore emotions through visual emotional cues, which brings us back to things like body language, gestures, and facial expressions. Letting us know what characters are thinking and feeling (emotionally) during the conversation--or what they appear to be thinking and feeling if they don't say or we can't be inside their heads--adds depth and authenticity to the dialogue scene.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[lastoneout]

The thing that always gets me about the Cruella movie making it so that her mother was killed by dogs is like...while I've only seen 101 Dalmatians a handful of times, and I've never really cared for it all that much, even as a child I understood that the reason she was so evil wasn't because she specifically hated dogs themselves, but because she was SO dedicated to being fashionable that she was willing to do anything, including killing dogs, if it would elevate her style and make her even more rich and famous.

Making it so she has a reason to hate dalmatians isn't just dumb because it's dumb, it's dumb because it undermines her villainy. The true cruelty at her core is not a driven vendetta, it's in her indifference to the lives of the people and things that get in the way of her desires. She is driven, but not to do harm for harm's sake, to hurt something as revenge for it hurting her, she's driven towards her own goals, and that means causing harm to anything that might stop her. If you turn that indifference to anything that isn't in service of her true desires into targeted hatred it loses it's power, she becomes less evil, not more. The thing that makes her so scary is that she doesn't care about the dogs, if anything she loves the dogs...the way they look, anyway. Their lives, however, are just a bump in the road on the way to her getting whatever she wants. And she'd be exactly as cruel and ruthless if the thing in her way was cats, or a nature reserve, or a rival designer, or a patent. Everything in her way should be made to bend to her will, even if that means murder and destruction, simply for the crime of being in her way.

That's a good villain. She doesn't need a backstory or trauma to be awful, she can just be an awful person who doesn't give a shit who gets hurt if it means she gets what she wants. And tbh given how much the fashion industry hurts people and animals it makes sense that she'd be that way. You could make it a critique of the fast fashion industry or how luxury has always come at the expense of others or capitalism- or well, no, I guess you couldn't, because that might hit a little too close to home there, huh Disney?

[blackgirlsuperherorants]

IWTV rant incoming, spoilers for both seasons, be forewarned!

I've been seeing far too much Louis hate online recently, and while I'm of the opinion that none of these vamps are completely innocent by nature, I can't help but notice the disproportionate hate on my boy.

Honestly, it feels a little like fandom racism. And I think AMC IWTV fans have convinced themselves that they're beyond such things because of Jacob and Assad, but idk, everyone turning on the Black one at once seems... yucky?

First, I've seen a lot of "Louis is an abuser". Which... is a wild take on a show where most of the main characters hurt everyone around them?

I think some of it is coming from those who saw the episode in season 2 in which it is revealed that the big fight that Louis and Lestat had in S1 was more even than just Lestat beating up Louis, but y'all... we're not supposed to take S1 as a complete fabrication. A lot of y'all keep saying "oh, we haven't met the real Lestat." Sure, not in person and not from his POV until that ending, but we're not supposed to take it as Louis just lying outright. In the series, different from the books, OUR Louis calls Daniel back in 2022 to give him a more accurate version of the story. In the 1970s, he was just trash-talking Lestat. In 2022, he is remembering Lestat fondly while also remembering all the pain Lestat caused him. He only learns at the end of the season that Armand manipulated some of his memories. And only SOME. We're not supposed to think Armand made Louis misremember everything he and Lestat ever did together. So, we can take S1 as a version of the truth, even if it has some holes or misremembered parts... and in S1, Lestat is a scary guy. When Louis fought him, he was fighting a scary monster. You can't talk about it like he was a human man fighting his human partner because he got a little angry. He was a vampire fighting an even stronger vampire who, as far as Louis knew, was capable of awful things. And Lestat stalked Louis when he was still a human, fed on him without consent, killed the priests Louis turned to in fear... none of that was healthy courtship of a lover. To then turn around and call LOUIS the abuser? That's nuts.

And then there's Armand.

Armand is capable of great physical violence without even lifting a finger. You cannot look at me in the face and tell me that Louis slamming him into a wall was *abuse* after finding out that Armand mindfucked him for 70 years. After y'all saw what Armand did to Daniel. After Armand plotted Louis' death while manipulating Louis into thinking he was loved.

"Louis is an abuser" is a wild take after watching both of those seasons. Louis isn't an innocent princess, either, but compared to the two older vampires, he is the main victim of the story. Both Lestat and Armand emotionally abused him, manipulated him, and physically hurt him, and after all of it, he just ends up alone.

Now, believe me, I love Armand and Lestat. I think they're wonderfully awful people, and so much fun to watch, so fun to love, so fun to hate. But I think so many people left season 2 on their sides completely, just because Louis stood up for himself AND admitted that he was wrong about a lot of what he thought he remembered. And in all honesty, I think a lot of y'all like Sam and Assad because they're hot and... Jacob, while hot, is still Black. With Assad, you can give yourselves the benefit of the doubt because he's still a person of color, but he's a non-black person of color...

And Black people are not afforded softness or innocence, the way non-black people are. So, Louis doing something that's not good makes him not good, even if it's in the context of being a vampire. But Lestat and Armand get "brat prince" and "baby girl" even when they're cruel.

And also, it's not great to put the "abuser" label on someone standing up to their abuser. I dunno. Feels kinda yucky, in that sense, too.

Personally, I try to keep these people's vampire incarnations out of human morality, because being a vampire is inherently immoral because you need to kill to stay alive. So, like, when they physically fight, I can excuse it because they know they can't actually do much harm for the most part, because vampires heal fast and can't be easily hurt. But when... idk, you drop your fledgling from an extreme height, or cut someone's ankles and have them buried in rocks and locked away in a mausoleum... that's actually trying to hurt them (as Lestat admitted.)

And Louis' attempt to kill Lestat was because he and Claudia feared him. None of them disagree with that fact.

Anyway, have the same grace for the Black man that you do for your brat prince. Idk why y'all are trying to make Louis the bad guy. He never even asked to be a vampire. Lestat just wanted to keep him.

[jessource]

prompts:　random quotes + excerpts.

“ you are so vulnerably haunting; your eeriness is terrifying irresistible. ” “ we’re not that different, you and i. ” “ you are a child of the cosmos, a ruler of the skies. ” “ you’re just becoming more of what you’ve always been. ” “ i’m not changing, none of us are changing. everything is fine. lets have a picnic. ” “ my father had the kind of anger all fathers do – loud and terrible. it lingers for your whole life. ” “ girlhood rots between my teeth, a sickness so sweet it aches. ” “ i wished so badly to have my own life, but you wouldn’t let me. ” “ parts of me died in the house i grew up in and i visit them in dreams. ” “ today i heard your name and my hands started shaking. please make it stop, make it stop. ” “ i wasn’t even allowed to cry over any of it, anyway! i wish the only thing that i spilled in my life was milk. ” “ this is not fun! it’s just scary! ” “ but if i hadn't fallen, i wouldn't have met you. ” “ have you let go of the ails that anchor you yet? ” “ have you let this marvelous spinning earth pull you into its arms and sweep you off your feet yet? ” “ i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. one word in my mouth crystallises like sugar: hope. ” “ the nights get heavy like they always do. ” “ heavy wind, cold rain, and yes the stars. ” “ drifting apart always seems to hurt more as it happens. ” “ i am trying to say: look at me. ‘i am weightless. you make my heart grow light.’ ” “ right now, everything without you is almost sticky-sweet. it tastes like nectar. ” “ can you accept help or are you the eldest daughter? ” “ i swallow a bee for each ill deed done. i am a hive walking. i strain to hear you over the regret. ” “ i knew that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but, in my solitude, i couldn't resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometime verging on prayer. ” “ grief is not a feeling, but a neighbourhood. this is where i come from. everyone i love still lives there. ” “ there is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get. ” “ i was once very close to getting out of here. ” “ there is no moving on. only running away. ” “ i don’t love anyone. well, maybe my sister. ” “ i am infatuated with the private life, and with anonymity; perhaps even invisibility. ” “ sometimes you just need someone to tell you you're not as terrible as you think you are. ” “ i opened my mouth, almost said something. almost. the rest of my life might have turned out differently if i had. but i didn't. ” “ she is still inside of me. i carry her with me wherever i go. ” “ being a confessional human being for me is like a defense mechanism. if i can tell you the flaw before you see the flaw, then maybe it's okay. ” “ being a person didn't come naturally to me the way it seemed to for others. people who were sure of themselves awed me. i studied them and tried to mimic their ease. ” “look back at the mess you've made. try your best to pick up the pieces. ” “ not only had my brother disappeared, but– and bear with me here–a part of my very being had gone with him. ” “ i kinda wish i was buried six feet under ground. but oh god i also wish i was buried in your arms. ” “ we tell our stories differently, don’t we, you and i? ” “ you poor thing. sweet, mourning lamb. there’s nothing you can do. ” “ a golden cage is still just a cage. ” “ although i may not be yours. i can never be another’s. ” “ my mother didn't foresee what was going to become of us as a result of witnessing her despair. ”

[manias-wordcount]

hi! I was wondering if I could get some soft sex with rin okumura from blue excorcist? Like it’s their first times but reader is nervous so rin talks her through it? Just because I watched the new season and my fixation is coming back lol

Broken Virtues (Rin Okumura x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗶 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗽 𝗥𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀. 𝗦𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝟭𝟯𝟵 -𝟭𝟰𝟭?? (𝗱𝗼𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝘀𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗶𝗺 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴)

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁!! 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆, 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝘅

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You’re not stupid. You know everything you need to know about the Demon King.

You know the power that they hold. You know how the carve destruction and the fall of humanity. You know how cruel and unfeeling they are. How ruthless and vicious they are. How their sharp claws can tear through almost anything. How their sharp teeth can bite through the human body like it’s nothing. How it’s in their nature to pillage and rob and destroy and destroy and destroy. You know everything you need to know about demons. You know everything you need to know about the Demon King. But…

“Spread your legs a little bit more for me, okay? And I’ll take care of the rest.”

This Demon King told you to call him Rin.

“O-okay,” Your voice is shaking as you respond to him. But it’s not the reason you would have expected. If you found yourself in this position with any other man- with any other demon, at that- you would have thought you’d be filled to the brim with anxiety. Wondering if one wrong move could cause your life to be over. But you’re not being laid on your back by just anyone right now. You’re being laid out by a boy with flames like a demon, yet looks exactly your age. A boy who seemed cold and scary on the outside, yet so soft and so sweet when he started kissing you all over.

A boy who promised you that it was all going to be okay as he began to undress you. Because it’s his first time too.

And now that you’re laying here, completely naked with a Demon King hovering just above you in the same state of undress, you still find your nervousness spiking. But Rin had only just finished giving you your second orgasm of the night with his tongue and his fingers. His tail was curled against your ankle and rubbing against your skin almost absently. Like it has a mind of its own. Like it’s trying to comfort you. Because truthfully, there are lots of things for you to worry about in this moment. There are lots of things for you to fear. But as you stare up and into the blue eyes of the guy before you, you find yourself easily spreading your legs a little wider for him. 

Because Rin is stronger than all your issues and all your fears. And because, despite everything you know and everything you’ve ever been taught, perhaps sharing your first time with a Demon King wouldn’t be so awful. Perhaps even falling for a Demon King wouldn’t be so bad either. Not that you would ever admit to doing something so horrible, of course. You know the punishment for people who commit acts such as this. You’re well aware of your sins. And yet…

You’re gasping, as Rin leans down and nuzzles against your neck while whispering softly into your ear. You’re gasping, not just because his insanely soft hair tickles against your skin. But because you could feel him as he leans closer to you. You could feel it poke at your thigh- hard and stiff and imposing. Maybe he was trying to purposely distract you from it. Maybe he was trying to hide what it looks like from you. But you know. You caught a glimpse of it.

And you’re not sure how it’s ever supposed to fit. 

You’re a late bloomer compared to all of your friends. While all of your best girl friends in high school would whisper and giggle about their boyfriends or the guys they would hook up with, you could only sit by awkwardly with a little experience with more than a few kisses from crushes here and there. But to you, that was alright. You told all your friends that you were saving it for someone special. Someone you felt deserved to share your first time with you.

What made you so eager and willing to lose your virginity with a demon, you’ll never know. But the downside of waiting until after high school and until this moment to share such a special moment with someone means that you’ll be a little uninformed about what you should be expected to see when a guy lowers his pants and aligns the tip of his cock with your awaiting entrance. 

At first, it’s about what you’d expect based on what you heard from your friends. You remember them sharing all their tips and tricks from a couple years ago. Remember to relax completely. Breathe in and out. Never tense up. Always speak up. All the works. But as Rin’s dick stops poking and prodding at your lower lips and instead starts to make its way inside and stretch you out for the very first time, you can’t let out another gasp at the feeling of your virginity slowly being stolen away.

“Rin…!” You whine softly in alarm, your face twisting up in a pained frown as you wriggle underneath him. Your hands tighten into fists and you reach out to grab at his bare shoulders so you could wrap your arms around his neck. Instantly, he stops for you and leans forward to press his lips against your cheeks in an effort to soothe you. As kind as the gesture is, his movement causes him to jolt forward inside you a little bit. And immediately, you’re sent gasping again as you toss your legs around his hips and tangle your hands into his hair. “It’s- It’s too much. I don’t know- I don’t think I can handle-”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I told you I’d take care of it, right?” Rin cuts you gently. When you look up into his eyes, you’re met with a kind look- one that you feel should be impossible for a Demon King to have. But he was so sweet to you this entire time. He spared no expense with the compliments, even though you were supposed to be just some girl to lay with him. He took the time to listen to what you wanted, how you wanted, and to make you feel more than just a body to sleep with- but rather a girl to be wanted and desired. Even every little love bite he left on your neck and thighs was done carefully so that he didn’t draw blood or cause pain. Though perhaps the soft kisses he littered on each spot eased any aching feeling that you would have had. “So how about we take it slow, okay?”

You thought about it for a second. Although the stretch is still a little uncomfortable, you have been able to settle in for the past couple of moments. And from what you could imagine, you have to have a few more inches left to take on. The very thought of how much you have left makes you want to clench up in anticipation and nervousness. But Rin is quick to hush you again and press a tiny kiss against your nose to ease you out of this state.

“It’ll feel better if you get used to everything all at once.” He promises to you, quietly. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond and communicate all your anxieties about proceeding. But then he licks at your lips and takes a deep breath in before leaning towards you ear once more and whispering softly to you. “I’ll go slow. I’ll make it feel good. Okay?” 

“I-”

At the sound of his husky voice taking a deeper and more heated edge to it, you find yourself swallowing down that same nervousness that was once threatening to overtake you. If not him, then who? For all you know, you could attract another boy. Or another Demon King. One that would that would have no qualms about scratching at your skin. One that wouldn’t care if he bit so hard he drew blood. One that wouldn’t be soft or gentle or sweet like Rin. One that wouldn’t be someone special or deserving. 

One that just wouldn’t be Rin.

So you nod your head and close your eyes. 

“Yeah, okay.” You agreed quietly, easing yourself into taking deep breaths. “Slow, please.”

At that, you could practically hear the smile in his voice. Not a smirk, but a smile. One that’s scarily kind in a way that you thought only humans could manage. But as he leans down to press one more deep and long kiss on your lips, you’ve come to find out that’s more than fine with that. After all, it was Rin who came to you, asking if he could share in your first times. It was Rin who initiated everything. It was Rin who walked and talked you through everything he knew. It was Rin who listened to what you wanted and what your body needed. It was Rin who made this- who made you feel so special. The most special girl in all of Assiah.

And now, the longer that he sits inside you with his cock dully pulsating inside you. Eager to move, eager to please, eager to fill you up and take you for himself. The more you realize…

…how much that you really, really, really want it too.

[five-one-two-station]

Everybody should have their own fun, and this isn't trying to harsh anybody's buzz, but I find the impulse to make your own cutesy/badass Replika oc doing funny or heroic or badass things a little odd. Like, that character you designed as a super badass soldier, or well-armed and armored steely eyed cop type... who would they have been built to fight or police exactly? Remember who all those guns and weapons were intended for use on?

I know we're all sick of discourse over who "gets" the game, and I'm by no means scolding anybody for something that harmless, but what's interesting to me is the sense that designing overtly "cool" Replika personas and OCs, complete with the propaganda poster style imagery, feels a little...

I mean, bluntly, it's like the in-world propaganda worked, unironically, on some level, for many people. Kolibris aren't scary, they're whimsical and fun! Storches aren't notably cruel enforcers and chain gang drivers, they're Protektors! Falke isn't a camp commandant, she's a beautiful angel!

The Replikas aren't cool and heroic figures in the reality of the game. They're the carefully crafted organs of a system of control so dreadful it could do what it did to Elster and Ariane. They're victims to that system themselves too, sure - and humanising them is a nuanced and valuable observation of how totalitarian regimes maintain themselves - but that doesn't negate the fact they're also the ones who operate, enforce and perpetuate it, a big part of what the game knows and communicates about such societies. It's notable that the game makes it clear few, if any, of the Replikas actually buy into the Nation as an ideal at all - they enforce it no less pitilessly anyway, incapable or unsafe to imagine anything else.

Their affectations, pasttimes, trinkets, and even affections for each other, all serve to draw a stark contrast to how callously they regard the gestalts they keep suppressed. Their disposability is something they're conscious and fearful of themselves, but fail to recognise as a commonality with the people they brutalise every day, their business as usual. The only grief, tragedy or suffering they acknowledge is their own - they have no regard for any such things in the humans they have... well, dehumanised.

But S-23 Sierpinski was such a hellhole for most of its denizens under "normal" conditions that the nightmare it becomes is arguably an improvement; if only because there are fewer people left now to suffer it. There's a dark poetry here - because the place's banal cruelty is "off camera" to us, it's very naturally less real to us than the grief of the crying Eule. It's only natural, too, to forget how grim the Replikas' purposes are when you don't have to see anyone endure the brunt of it.

And isn't that the very same effect a state like the Nation is seeking in the first place, by disappearing people away to such dark little corners to have it done? In our world, no less than that one.

That works like a kind of propaganda too, not being able to see it - a propaganda of hidden things, as powerful as any poster. A space that's been intentionally left blank.

Kolibris are literal thought police; they intrude on people's very minds, interrogating them to death as a matter of course, with hardly a care either way. The various Protektor classes are functionally concentration camp guards and slave drivers. Falke and Adler are overseeing what amounts to a gulag, one so unimaginably awful Ariane preferred to spend years of her life alone in space to the prospect of being sent there, and inevitably worked to death, far underground.

I think there's a reason we never see one of those posters for LSTRs in game. How could we be asked to forgive our own if we ever did?

[chaifootsteps]

depending how the next episodes play out it's honestly kinda wild that Stolas would be surprised at Via cutting him out of her life, tbh?

like if you look at things from her perspective, this is the order of events:

> Stolas probably gets exposed for breaking demon law. Gets stripped of titles and kicked out of the palace. Not only does this break his promise not to leave Via, Stolas knew from the moment he made the promise in ep2 that he wasn't doing everything he could to keep it since he was risking it all lending out his book and chose to prioritise still having sex with Blitzo after Loo Loo Land since it's not keeping his promise to Via that motivates him to break the deal - it's Blitzo not fulfilling his romantic fantasies. And he also knew about the Asmodean Crystals likely from the start, so he had options - he didn't do this to altruistically support Blitzo's business like the show is now trying to lie that he was

> Stolas doesn't call her. Going by the storyboards this is the one thing Stella is responsible for since she blocks his calls, but Via doesn't know that and with how neglectful Stolas has been throughout the show, she doesn't have much reason to figure out that's the case

> Stolas shows up to the palace, maybe to talk to her in person? But this causes more drama and likely a fight between Andre and Stella vs Stolas and the rest of IMP. Via didn't know things had gotten this bad because Stolas never told her Stella tried to kill him (but this won't be brought up since not telling people about assassination attempts is only wrong if Blitzo does it, not Stolas with his 17yr who he's actually responsible for the safety of) so all of this is a shock

> Speaking of IMP, they'll yet again stick their necks out to protect Stolas even though they have no motivation to like him or want to and Blitzo will be made - for the third time now - to play into Stolas' damsel in distress behavior. Either way, Via will likely realize during this awful family fight that Stol1tz is on for real now, since Stolas has successfully gutted enough of Blitzo's self-respect to get him to 'love' him the way he wants him to. This confirms more of Via's fears - not only did Stolas lose his titles over this affair, but he has still refused to let go of Blitzo, making it look like he chose him over Via

(speaking of, that line from Via 'you chose him!' will probably be framed to make her look like she's just thinking the worst, except that she's right? He made the full moon deal knowing it broke demon law to get sex and knowing the cost of discovering could separate him from Via in the middle of a very acrimonious divorce with Stella. he 100% chose his affair over his daughter and that's not even getting into him not teaching her magic properly because he loaned the book out to Blitzo for his working days for months on end til now)

> scary fight ensues where Via might have had to kill Stella/Andre herself to protect Stolas and discovers she has big time magic powers or something? anyway, that all happens at the same time.

all of this is super traumatic and a lot to deal with all at once, and all Stolas can find to say on the storyboards is to tell Via she's been brave and he's proud of her?? he can't muster up a single apology for breaking his promise when he broke demon law which lead to them getting separated, for not looping her in that his life might be in danger, for effectively forcing her to (potentially) have to fight or kill her own relatives for his sake???

all of this is a lot for an adult to go through, let alone a 17yr old who is being let down by basically all the guardians in her life

and then Stolas caps it off by telling her 'you're the best thing in my life'???? besides the sheer self-centredness of that, it's cruel to both Via and Blitzo. to Via it'd be hard to believe when he's consistently prioritized Blitzo over her. and to Blitzo it's another knife twist to have Stolas refuse to stick up for him and their relationship yet again when Blitzo has given literally everything and risked both his and his employee's lives (for the third time now) for Stolas' benefit and it's still not good enough

never mind just how badly Stolas has screwed up providing or protecting Via here, Stolas deserves to be left by everyone tbh. He doesn't deserve Blitzo's love, IMP's help or Via in his life. And he somehow has the gall to be surprised Via would be totally done with him after he not only lets her down but ends up forcing her to clean up his mess (lbr, with his drinking habits she's on a fast track to being a parentified child if she stayed with him. Stella sucks in a lot of ways but at least she seems functional and reliable from day to day)

These were all excellent points! Unfortunately, because HB is the kind of show it is, they'll all be treated as completely meaningless. In Viv's mind and the standom's mind, Stolas deserves everything he wants regardless of what he says or does or how he treats people, simply because he wants it and because he's "trying."

(He isn't.)

[riality-check]

crossposted from twitter because it was inspired by this tweet!

Eddie's first character is a halfling rogue: small, stealthy, built to get in and get out, maybe cause a little damage along the way. He isn't built for taking hits or maximum damage, and everyone knows that magic isn't real.

Eddie's first scar is the one on his lip, from when he took a punch from his father wrong and split it on his tooth. It probably wouldn't have scarred if Eddie left it alone, but he worried at it with his tongue until it healed shiny with scar tissue.

He learns, from the sting of eating and talking, that he shouldn't fight monsters he isn't strong enough to beat. So, he runs. Gains XP.

He's small and quiet enough to go unnoticed. He hides in the corners of libraries for hours, steals extra food from school lunch, and on the rare occasion someone decides to pick on him, that's when he swings back, scared and vicious.

He levels up, and, somewhere along the way, that character dies a quiet death in favor of one that better fits the campaign.

Somewhere between his father's arrest and starting school at Hawkins Middle, Eddie plays a new character. A tiefling sorcerer, one with bad blood on two fronts, for no one likes demons, and magic still isn't real.

Kids are cruel. They tease him for his secondhand clothes and his buzzcut (lice) and his loud hands and voice and his complete disregard for schoolwork, because if it isn't interesting, he won't do it.

Eddie takes it all, until a kid calls him a word he knows is right for him but isn't safe to be in Hawkins.

Then he puts his fist through his face.

Overnight, he goes from "weird and obnoxious" to "mean and scary," and he really, really hates how that makes him more isolated.

So, he switches gears in high school. Plays a half-elf bard, someone who's a little more than human, someone whose job it is to entertain, to make people laugh and feel right at home. He finds little lost sheep and makes them feel like they have a place to belong in his own little world.

He still has to fight sometimes, of course. Especially earlier on, he uses his fists, though he hates it. Later, when he levels up, he uses his words instead.

He doesn't know how those work. Magic isn't real.

Then Chrissy Cunningham dies in his living room, and magic is real, and it is awful and scary and cruel and fatal.

And Eddie Munson is just Eddie Munson. Not a hero, not a spellcaster, nothing special. But he can't be just Eddie Munson because that has never been enough.

In his rush, he picks his next character to be a human fighter. He has never played one before, and it feels odd and ill-fitting and wrong.

It's wrong. And Eddie forgets his first rule, the one that got him the scar on his lip, when the bats rush toward him.

He shouldn't fight monsters he isn't strong enough to beat.

He goes down, and he stays down, but the wonderful thing is that he has saving throws.

He just needs to succeed.

[meowcatsposts]

Perfect [Neteyam]

✎⁾⁾⁾ note: reader is an albino omatikaya & neteyam is probably OOC

@tiddieshakeshownu, I hope you enjoy :)

Overview

Being born different, things don't go so smoothly for you

("Outcast is all they see" frfr)

So you learned to stay in the shadows

But Neteyam always finds you

You were born different. 

Your skin–a pale baby blue, void of the rich pigment forest Na’vi usually had. It burned easily, too; you couldn’t stay beneath the blazing sun. “Useless,” the hunters would say. Useless. 

Your hair–white as snow, that shines smoothly beneath any light. Children would flock around to touch it–some in awe, most in mockery. A few were mean enough to pull it, calling you, “Skxawng! Skxawng!” over and over and over. 

Your eyes–an icy blue, from the lack of pigment. Like your skin the sun was their enemy, its bright rays nearly blinding you. And, unsurprisingly, they cursed you with clumsiness during your early years. Tripping over roots and gripping onto branches for dear life you were, often the source of other childrens’ amusement.

One day, you returned home shaking, biting tears at bay; you were a hair's breadth away from the snapping sharp maws of nantang, after all! That wasn’t even the worst part; the other children set you up. Their jeering, high-pitched laughter still rang in your ears, no matter how hard you tried to drown them out. How you would’ve loved to jump into mother’s arms, to tell her just how cruel your own people were. How you would’ve loved to tell father about those scary-looking wolves, cornering you between a dark rocky crevice. 

Sadly, that wasn’t so.

As you scaled the Hometree you heard hushed whispers; among them was your mother’s. 

“Will (Y/N) ever be able to ride an ikran?”

Then your father’s. “...fragile…don’t know…”

Fragile.

Something burned deep in the pit of your stomach and you wretched, but nothing came out. 

Night was your only option. No sun to blister your skin. No one to push you off the edge. Only at night could you forget everything else and focus on the beautiful world that was so cruel during the day. It was dangerous, sure, but you fared better. Limb by limb, meter by meter, you soared across winding branches and leaped across slippery slopes, paying no mind to the soft looming shadows of night. 

Eywa always lit a path for you. Always.

Long ago, a seed sprouted in your heart and it grew and grew and grew until its thick roots spread so much that your heart cracked and splintered and shattered. Those fragile broken pieces you stowed away in a box, somewhere no one could find–somewhere no light would shine. When no one was around, you glued those pieces back together, slowly and painstakingly, one by one, under the Pandoran night. No one should be able to find you deep in the forest, mending your broken heart–should.

“Neteyam?” you whispered. Your eyes blew wide; how did he know where you were at this ungodly hour? A moss patch, glowing blue-green, winded out and away from under his feet.

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hard cold ice encased your heart. You quickly shoved your broken pieces back into their shabby box and faced Neteyam with a cold, doubtful gaze. “Do you want something?” 

Now it was his turn to be surprised–baffled, even. 

“What…?” he spluttered. He was growing nervous, you could tell. His heart was thrumming. “I…was just wandering around and found you here…so I was wondering what you were doing.”

Not really convincing, was it? He was lying, probably. But it wasn’t so; Neteyam opened your eyes to so many things. 

Pandora was beautiful at night. Everything glowed so prettily; even the animals came out to play. You giggled softly to yourself as you saw a bunch of kenten spin around and around, disk-wings unfurling like glowing umbrellas. A pack of nantang pups scampered along the ground, lighting up bright patches of moss in the wake of their paws and you smiled, hearing them yip around. Every night Neteyam chuckled beside you, his laughter spreading from his lips to your lips, and you didn’t feel so lonely anymore. 

“Go, leave. Now.”

Neteyam was always there, somehow, when you were in trouble. He’d bare his teeth at those mean kids and afterwards, he’d take you on fun little shady adventures under big ferns and tall trees to cheer you up, and before you knew it, you were smiling–smiling!–and Neteyam would be grinning, too.

You gushed to your parents about a handsome boy who was so kind and caring and wonderful, and Neteyam, too, quietly told his parents about a beautiful Na’vi who had shimmering silk for hair and pretty skin like the skies. 

He couldn’t understand why you called yourself a freak; it shattered his heart when you did.

“Sometimes I wish I was born different.”

One particular night the moon shone so beautifully, so radiantly. Everything seemed to glow just a little brighter, just a little more prettier. It was so serene tonight, but it wasn’t so, and you blamed yourself for this. Your soft sniffles carried through the wind and into Neteyam’s ears, and he bounded to you in an instant. His markings glowed a pearly white-blue under the night, and you smiled weakly, seeing the boy in all his beauty. He was skilled and handsome and kind and sweet; why was he rushing to comfort you? 

“Don’t cry.” He hushed you with such sweetness that your heart melted into something gooey and warm–it scared you. Then with his thumb he gently swiped the hot tears streaming down your cheeks, never minding how wet his hands got. You nearly flinched; why so kind? 

“Look,” he whispered, jabbing a finger to his chest, yellow eyes all wide and silly and desperate–oh how he hated to see you cry. “You might not see it, but I’m different, too–part demon, some assholes say.” He paused, biting his lip to suppress a hopeful grin. “We can be different together.”

A sliver of a smile creeped up your lips. Different. Together.

Then Neteyam murmured in that hushed-excited whisper, “Here, come closer,” and held out his arms to beckon you into a hug. Timidly and shamefully you scooted a little forward, wiping furiously at your eyes.

“Look at me. Please?” He wanted so badly to tell you how stunning your eyes were, how pretty your smile was. He wanted to give his eyes to you, just so you could see how radiant you truly were–but now wasn’t the time, he could tell.

So he gently bumped foreheads with you, closing his eyes. You closed yours, too. Then slowly, timidly, his hands oh so softly cupped your face as if he were telling you, “Stay, don’t go.” As more tears stung your eyes you rested your shaky hands atop his larger ones, feeling his warmth spreading to your fingers. It was just him and you now, glowing under the moonlight; you thought you could feel his breath on your lips. 

“I see you,” he murmured softly. “Perfect.”

blue dividers by: firefly-graphics

[abitchnamedtia]

Alastor Moody as a dad would include

Infos : fluff

Warnings : none

I know, it's been a while. I'll try to post more, but I won't promise anything!

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

- Him being scared that the baby would be scared as his scars.

Alastor is very insecure about it, because he knows how he looks. He can see people's stares. He knows that his scars can be repulsive and make him look scary.

But when he holds your child for the first time and see their smile, all his anxiety vanished

- Him being VERY protective towards you and your child. Even more protective than he is with you (you didn't even know that was possible).

Your house would be protected with every spells he knows.

And when your child will be older, he'll teach them self defense. Just to be a bit reassured when they go out without him.

- Him scared that his child could be bullied or targeted because of him.

Kids are cruel. Very cruel sometimes. He was so afraid that his reputation of a "mad man" will tarnish his child's reputation.

But when your child was in kindergarten, your child told his classmates that his dad was an auror and explaining that he was "fighting bad bad guys", all of them were in awe. At the end of that day, when Alastor came at the end of the day to take his child home, a herd of small child came to him to ask him questions about his work. He was surprised, but happy to answer it.

- Him loving them to death and spoiling them rotten. But still teaching them to be humble.

Almost every time that he goes to buy groceries, he'll buy a little something for them. And let's not talk about birthdays or Christmas... He blew up the budget every time. But he just wanted to make them happy, he couldn't help it !

-Him playing a lot with them. Tea time with the dolls ? Of course. Playing the villain for your kid to play the knight? Absolutely.

The sweetest thing you ever saw was him, sat on the ground at a small table with a tiny cup of tea in the hand with your child and a few dolls and stuffed toys. When you asked what was happening, he just answered "we are taking the tea, isn't it obvious?". ADORABLE.

And of course, he knows the dolls and stuffed toys' names by heart.

[t3a-tan]

Failed Meeting - The Talk

A heart to heart.

Continuation of this!

---

Oliver was pretty upset with James when the human told him what had just transpired. James apologised profusely, but he knew that didn't make it right. Oliver told him not to push it, and he did exactly that…all because he was being selfish.

Oliver left immediately after, presumably taking Sammy back to his home to calm down after James had messed up so badly.

People could be cruel, but it genuinely sickened James to think of who could do such horrible things to not just a child, but a child the size of a finger. All he did for the rest of the day was go over what he had seen and what he had heard, spiralling with thoughts of what might have happened to her.

He was starting to understand why borrowers were raised to be so scared of humans. It was a miracle that Oliver was so calm and patient with him.

Oliver didn't come back for a week, and when he did he made sure to scold James properly.

"I told you that you would meet when she was ready..! I understand that you are happy about her returning to me, and I understand you want to help, but all you've done is made her more scared..!" He began, hands on his hips. Oliver was upset at James, though he did understand the human didn't have bad intentions.

"She's been having nightmares again, nonstop, and not only is that terrifying for her to experience but it hurts me having to watch her go through that. You hurt me by deliberately ignoring my warnings. Do you understand that?" He questioned, letting the hurt seep into his tone to drive home how severe James's actions were.

James kept his head lowered in shame, averting his gaze. He felt awful about it. He knew that if Oliver had gone behind his back and tried to meet his daughter before James was ready he would've been upset too…

"Is…is she okay..?" He asked, unsure if that was pushing it or not. Oliver stopped his rant, hands lowering to his sides. It was hard to stay mad at him— Oliver wasn't someone who held grudges easily, and he really cared about their friendship.

As much as he wanted to continue to vent his frustrations, doing so wouldn't help. He could see by the way James was sitting and how his voice was so meek that the human understood he had made a mistake.

"Other than nightmares, yes. They've been calming down now, which is why I was able to come here and speak with you." He explained, returning to a calmer disposition since yelling wasn't very productive.

James nodded slowly.

"I don't want to be scary. I fucking hate it, Oliver— I-I don't think I'm a bad human, but you're the only borrower who can even tolerate me apparently, and it's just… I don't know. I'm letting you down…" James spoke with an air of sadness and frustration, bouncing his knee anxiously.

Oliver bristled a little at those words. He hadn't really thought about James's perspective in this situation. Oliver was used to being the voice of reason, and used to being trusted, not feared. He hadn't been addressing James's feelings over other borrowers, because he had been focused on trying to prevent another incident.

He supposed some blame should be shouldered by him thanks to that; his pressure to not make a mistake again may have pushed James to want to prove himself more.

"Lean closer." Oliver directed, gesturing for James to lean in. The human finally met his gaze again with confusion, but leaned in nonetheless. Oliver could tell that his eyes were slightly watery, but he didn't mention anything about it, instead walking closer. Oliver placed his hands on either side of James's face, looking into his eyes with a serious expression.

"You do not need to impress me, alright? I am your friend. I will always be your friend, because as much as other borrowers struggle to see it, I can see you are trying so very hard to do the right thing." His gaze softened. "You are a good human, and I am not friends with you because you're perfect— I'm friends with you because I enjoy your company."

Oliver tilted his head.

"You do not have to be some human ambassador for borrower-kind. You don't even have to be an example… I like being your friend because you are funny and intelligent and caring— even though I may struggle to pick up on your humour." He offered a reassuring smile. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be frightened."

James blinked, wondering how on Earth Oliver had picked up on all that from what he had said. He felt denial on the tip of his tongue— he wasn't scared, he was scary. Oliver had it wrong, clearly…

His eyes stung but he wouldn't allow himself to show any weakness.

"Okay." He responded, feeling embarrassed to have his feelings so expertly picked apart. He leaned a little closer, moving his hands to surround Oliver as he ducked his head down, closing his eyes, leaning into the borrower's touch. His words were slightly muffled thanks to his head being down. "Thank you, mate…"

Oliver gently patted James's forehead, thankful that his words had gotten through as intended.

He was determined to make this work.