#power play tw

[heirbane]

Citizens of Garlemald reached adulthood when they first showed signs of puberty, or upon their acceptance into the military, whichever came sooner. They believed that if one was able to serve their country, they deserved the rights and responsibilities of adults.

If a child could choose to wield a weapon, they were old enough to dictate their own fates.

Gaius was barely thirteen when he enrolled into the military. His voice had yet to crack and he had nary a hair on his face to speak for his newfound "adulthood". He, like many and more to come, looked up to those who were well and truly adults, being whisked under their wings to be mentored into being a man and a soldier.

In a society where men and women spent more time in barracks and not in a cot in their family's home, it was common - and nearly required - for children in the military to be fostered and cared for by an older soldier. They would be raised and cared for, taught how to be a man and a machine, and then they would retire. The military relied on its recruits upholding the status quo in this manner.

Gaius was taught how to shave. He was taught how to tie a tie, and how to behave around girls his own age. And he was taught one very important thing by his mentor, a man who was born decades before the empire had even begun:

One did not sleep with their charge.

It was not a factor of age or experience, but of status. A Legatus shouldn't sleep with the boy he trained as a son. A Tribanus shouldn't keep a bed with the same woman they had taught how to kill. Garlemald and it's military held status among men in high regard. Men were to teach the boys of today, so that they could teach the boys of tomorrow, a fine and delicate act of commanding and listening.

But there was a line in the snow. Not all listened, nor heeded the advice, but it was one Gaius held true all the same. The boys he taught respect to were not ones he would share a bedroll with. His recruits were not his bedfellows, and he treated them much the same as he would his own children in due time.

Gaius, no matter how pressed, never slept with Livia. The girl was a daughter and not one he shared sheets with. Children oft had crushes and obsessions with adults they held in high regard, and Livia was no different... except that she struggled to outgrow her fixation. His love for her, as a brother to a baby sister, as a mentor to a mentee, was not enough for her.

He shared no bed with those in his Legion. He shared no bed with those he raised from childhood. And he shared no bed with those too young to choose their own fates... an age that is summers beyond what his fatherland decrees.

Men and women of different station and legions were more than welcome. They had not been his to care for or command: he had not seen them rise from prepubescent boys and girls into soldiers. Their status mattered not, nor their race.

Gaius rarely spent time in his own home in Garlemald, and he was not one to have the bed to himself and his thoughts. A good meal and a better fuck served to rid him of his night terrors and contemplations, if only for one evening... and if the Legati or Tribanus of the soldiers he bedded took offense to his acts, few had it in them to speak it into existence.

(He was a child killer, after all, the bane of those who dared seek the throne. If he could slaughter babes and women alike, who would dare speak against him?)

[liorlenn]

(KCD2 SPOILERS)

So. I’ve been laughing about this like all day and I need to talk about it. My gay ship just went canon in the most male power fantasy game of all time.

Kingdom Come Deliverance 2 recently released (I’ve been playing it, it’s good). It’s an RPG set in medieval Bohemia. You play as Henry, a blacksmith’s son. The first game, released back in 2018, starts with your village being burned to the ground and everyone either is killed or has to flee. The rest of that game is you trying to, among various things, deal with your trauma and get revenge. It’s a very well executed story in my opinion.

A notable character in the game is Lord Hans Capon, who was a real guy but the game version is a bit loosely based on him. Hans and Henry become rivals then friends. Their noble/peasant dynamic is reminiscent of Arthur and Merlin in BBC Merlin (though I would argue the class dynamics are far better executed and more nuanced). Like ten people including me decided to ship them.

The first game was a bit rough but overall good. It garnered a decent audience, including a notably large audience of straight white men who really like medieval history but not enough to know much about it beyond swords are cool. You get the picture.

The second game is announced. Those guys I mentioned are super excited!

Well. As it turns out there’s going to be a homosexual relationship in the game, according to an announcement made by the director at the end of January. Uh oh. W-well as long as it’s not the main character-

Cue release day, February 4th. IT IS!!!

HANS AND HENRY. It’s THEM! They have sex ON SCREEN. No nuance about it (though it’s important to note this is an option you have to CHOOSE).

The guys go crazy. KCD has gone woke they cry. And to make it worse there’s *gasp* a black man in a Bohemian court! DEI!

I can’t believe Warhorse Studios did it. I’m genuinely amazed. I have never been so vindicated in my life.

Everyone play this game for the love of god. The combat is tough but there’s plenty of guides online. It’s worth it I promise. (However, caution that the co-owner of the studio is a bit of a shithead. I just try to ignore him, but I get it if that’s a dealbreaker.)

[roxirinart]

"Yes! Show me the power of the Red Crown! I have missed it so..."

[rubbish78]

Dougie Poynter is an English musician and the bassist of the pop rock band McFly

[threepandas]

Bad End: Games Played

As children, we learn to play the Quite Game.

It's rather simple. You scrunch down real small, ball yourself real tight, and find the bestest most hard to reach hiding spot you can! Then? Oh THEN, children, we all get really, REALLY quite. Until mummy or daddy find you. And no matter what, no matter WHO, you Do Not Move, until THEY come and find you.

Not for treats. Not for hugs. Not for threats or scary noises.

No. Matter. What.

To the others, it was a game. But to me? Born just a bit... different? I looked my parents in the eyes, saw the fear that lived there. That hunted them and haunted their dreams. I watched the way they acted. Guarding me. Never letting me wander. Keeping me between them as they slept. Holding me, shielding me. Both whispering their lessons, their love, each moment they could.

And I knew it was no game.

I was an obedient child. Perhaps that is why I lived, where others did not.

Or perhaps? It was my vague, half remembered, knowledge of this world. To be more exact, the chronological series of Otome games, set in this world. Endless streams of political and social clusterfucks, that cast the map into conflict after conflict, all for the selfish romances of a few. Pseudo-historical straight to pseudo-modern magical realism.

Clans of mages. Elves, werewolves, the whole shebang. All trapped in an endless cycle of conflict. Sometimes silent, sometimes open. Always, soaked in blood.

But hey... at least the Protagonist is happy! Right?

We should be furious. We should HATE them.

Our Clan? Did shadow magic. Unfortunately. Because unsurprisingly, Otome troupes ran true, and we? Have a complete Edgy Little Fuckboi as our Clan Heir. Worse still, I RECOGNIZE that Edgy Little Fuckboi! The fucking chuunibyou is a romance target!

I'm sorry, I was under the impression the Clan Heir's job was to KEEP US ALL ALIVE! Not get your DICK WET! But, my bad! My fucking MISTAKE! How COULD I have BEEN so foolish! You go on, then! Just piss RIGHT off, and leave the rest of us to suffer, while you chase SOMEONE ELSE'S GIRLFRIEND!

Fuckwit!

Ha ha.... oh god. We're all gonna die. Aren't we?

We should trust Alphard. No one else understands us.

Everyone? Absolutely fucking EVERYONE? Waves it off. 'Just a phase' and 'he's young, he'll get it out of his system'. As though the problems doesn't run deeper. As though the Clan Head isn't an old man, barely holding us together. As though he isn't planning to hand it all over to a chuunibyou who refuses to sit still and LEARN ANYTHING. Who picks fights he expects US to win for him. Expects US to die for him.

So he can look 'cool'.

Alphard is basicly running this place. But does the Clan Head care? No. Because Alphard is a 'half-breed'. Because ALPHARD has the audacity to be, what? Fire Mage?! Oh dear god! Not ANOTHER GROUP OF HUMANS!? Gasp! Shock! Someone call the fantasy church! Fuckers.

Ooooh but their TEMPER! Everyone knows how UNSTABLE they are!

We should show them 'Unstable'. Make them regret what they've done.

'Bout to see up close and in person MY 'temper' and 'unstable' fuckin BOOT, old man!

No, I don't care if that made sense! Shut up! Fuck you! I get to be upset, okay!? This is nepotism and it's dangerous! And... and NO ONE LISTENS TO ME! It's like they're merrily marching towards a cliff and calling ME paranoid for pointing it out! Telling me to calm down. To stop exaggerating. It's a CLIFF!

The only one who listens? Is Alphard.

Alphard is our friend. Alphard listens to us. We should Trust Alphard.

Storming towards his office, shadows writhing in my wake, I seriously wonder. Would I have gone completely apeshit by now with out him? Left the clan? I don't know how he can bear it. The weight of their stubbornness. Their wilful blindness, which IS going to get people hurt. Killed. Probably already fuckin has.

How many more clansmen do we have to LOSE?

They'd tucked him away in some side wing, like some dirty little family secret. I'd always hated it. Big whoop! He gets two powers instead of one! Jealous ass little shits. It was fear and politics. I KNEW it was! He refused to say so, but I KNEW. And no amount of pained smiles and changing the subject would make me drop it!

It wasn't RIGHT.

God, the more time went on? The angrier I felt about it. The more it burned me. Ate me up inside. It's like my temper just...? Gah! Fuck this and fuck THEM! We don't need them! We should leave! Just the two of us. Go and never com-!

.....wait a second... that's not... right....

My head pounds with the worst sort of migraine. Shadows hissing like angry cats, as they crawled viciously around my head. Chasing whisps of something they can't seem to catch. I stopped between hallways. In one of our Clan's many, MANY shady areas. Leaning more into the darkness... helped. Made my head hurt less.

God, I've got to talk to talk to Alphard about this. It's starting to really worry me. The anger, the snarling flare ups, the dark moods. Not to mention the obsessive thoughts. It wasn't like me. Might be a curse? Maybe. Could be fire magic or related, so he would know. And if not? Well, nothing beats Fire for burning curses away.

....actually, Light, might. But we are A PROUDLY BIASED household here, thank you. So like? Not gonna SAY Shadow magic is BEST magic... BUT it absolutely, totally IS. And Alphard? OBVIOUSLY the greatest Fire Mage alive! No I will not be taking questions, thank you and goodnight.

We should see Alphard, we miss him.

Yeah... yeah I do really miss him, dont I? Where is he?

My head throbs viciously. Ow. It's been getting worse. My control too. My shadows fighting me at every turn. Which? Scares me more. Because YEAH, others? Have been big on the 'beat them into submission' tract of Shadow Mastery. But ME? No, no. I know for a FACT. You can not rule through fear. Not for long.

Bribery and alliances work wonders. Friendships and love. My shadows get FED. They get CUDDLES. I take my shadows for enrichment walkies and give them interesting puzzle boxes to play with. They fuckin LOVE me. Would meat thresher through CITIES if I asked.

So to suddenly Stop Listening?

It means they think I'm... I'm not myself. They are making the executive decision to act on my behalf, to protect me, even if they have to do so FROM me. And... and I don't know what's causing it. Don't know what's wrong or how to fix it. I'm getting scared.

Because something is very wrong.

Everything is fine.

Another wave of vicious hissing, of throbbing pain in my head. This time though... THIS time? I think I felt that. The discordant thoughts. The contradiction. That isn't me. There's something in me head that DEFINITELY isn't me! No there isn't. No WONDER my Shadows are so pissed! Fuck!

I stick to the darker hallways. It helps with concentration, the pain. Whatever is in my head? Is like sticky, burning, spiderwebs. Like trying to grab at thin lines of super heated metal, covered in tar. How... how LONG has it all BEEN there?

You should leave it. You don't know what you're doing. You could get hurt.

Oh fuuuuck YOU. Get out of my HEAD! Where is Alphard?

I stumble down the final hallway to his so called 'office'. It was a guest room once. As a kid, I helped him convert it. Back when the old fuck refused to step down, despite his son and heir, the next clan head, being DEAD. And? AND!? That Heir's fuckin chuunibyou kid being a tiny, insufferable, brat.

We get it! You're hurting! EVERYBODY'S hurting! Your fuckwit parents got HALF THE WARRIORS KILLED! We STILL haven't recovered from that. And Edgy pants goes on and ON about the 'glory of his ancestors' as though? He's not talking about his PARENTS. One generation fucking BACK!

That family ORPHANED me. But do you see ME starting shit? No!

Yet? God forbid the Old Bastard do what's RIGHT for the Clan! No, no! Between a literal infant, a FUCKING ZYGOTE, and a fully grown adult? Better pick the baby! Who CARES that Alphard was the better choice!? Chuunibyou brat is BLOOD! And we CAN'T have the 'half-breed' nephew in charge!

Better connections? More accomplishments? Fully trained and, once again, AN ADULT? All irrelevant. He's too fucking well liked! Too TRUSTED! Too much a THREAT to your precious little legacy and hold on power. So hey, fuck the rest of the Clan! Right? Why would WE need competent leadership!? You can just shove all the work you can no longer DO, on to Alphard.

Force him to rule in all but name. All but honor and title. Spit in his face then tell him to thank you.

Bastard!

He isn't there, in his over crowded office. Piles of paperwork. Empty tea cups, long cold. Mismatched pillows I'd stolen from around the compound, to make it feel less depressing. His classy art pieces mixing with my cheap, shitty ones. The souvenirs I'd brought back, again and again, because I do not forget my friends.

My head hurts so bad. How long has it been building?

Another wave of pain, as my Shadows hissing and growl in outrage, writhing like electric snakes around me. Safe and stronger, here in the unlit office of a friend. They want 'it' out. Hunt and hunt, but can not catch hold. How strong must the caster be? Older then me, probably. Far more experienced. I've been pretty diligent.

They'll stand no chance, though, against Alphard.

He's the best curse breaker I know. Honestly? He's the best at a lot of things. It's been great to learn from him. And he's? Gonna lose his SHIT. He already worries when I go out without him. But to find out somebody slipped a curse on me? Ooooh, shit. I'd almost laugh, if my head didn't feel like it was in a VICE.

Man's gonna feed them their KNEES.

As a PASTE.

.......I wonder, now that I think about it? Looking around the crowded office space? If Alphard has any pain meds? He SHOULD. There's no way in hell, he deals with chronic stupid all day without headaches. He should? Definitely have something for this. Probably. Might not actually FIX it, since it's magic based, but it can't HURT.

Decided, I get up. Slowly. Spread my shadows out. They love doing simple, achievable, tasks. Like 'find the box!' Or 'open this puzzle!', usually for treat rewards. (Cup time, usually. Or bits of my food. But honestly? They LOVE cup time. They like to hide under it and push it around the floor. Each group of them have favorite cups.)

Nothing but paper, cups, snacks, a couple piles of pillows, and a coat I had forgotten. Huh. Maybe his desk? Would make the most sense I suppose. It'd be on hand. Head and neck, one big regret, I stiffly shambled over. Organized chaos. More nonsense and damages caused by chuunibyou and his sycophants, in the name of luuuuuv~. God damn it.

At least no one died... this time.

I tear my eyes away from the top page. The one next to it? Shouting reports. Elves: pissed, werewolves: pissed, everybody: pissed. Guess who's fault? Oh fantastic! So THAT'S why he's not in his office. Probably trying to keep us all from dying. Another report after that. Protagonist-chan.... wow that's unflattering. Word it a little harsher, why don't you?

My eyes absent-mindedly keep scanning, as I look for a med box. Some sort of pill bottle. Something that might hold headache medication. Nothing on top of the desk. Drawer? Should be top right one, right? Since he's right handed? Easiest to reach. Let's see... pens, pens, spellwork paper, brushes, mints, bottle! AaaHAH! I hold it up to what little light there is and squint.

Wow. That's pretty strong. And not just for headaches.

.....should I have a talk with Alphard? Probably. Maybe? Definitely keep an eye on this. Don't wanna be jumping to conclusions, here. Still! Helpful. Down the hatch!

I pop back one of his pills, stealing one of his fancy tea in a can. He may complain, but we both know he won't stop me. Nor does he even mean it when he does. I'm like this sorta needy, demanding, housecat. I wander in, eat his food, tell him to pay attention to me, then wander off. Should have known better then to feed me, that first time~! He got stuck with me ever since.

Briefly a burning wire escape my grip. We should-Stop THAT! I beat it back down. Violently. It's taking a lot more concentration, more pain, then I'd like to admit, to fight it. Damn near wack a mole in my brain. There's no-CEASE! Desist! You are NOT welcome! Get! GET!

The pain meds are definitely helping. A LOT.

In fact...? Huh. Looking around? Without the pain to distract me? Those... aren't my shitty art works. Not the meme-y ones I bought, that I thought he'd like, nor the pieces I made in various art classes. They're just...? Random cheap art.

What the fuck?

Was Alphard ROBBED? Also? Where are HIS pieces? That one with the lady and the clearing? The couple dancing near the lake? That little statue? It's all random snobby fake art. Like someone wanted to give the IMPRESSION that nothing had changed, but had cleared out everything personal...

Alarmed. I looked down at the can I grabbed. It was the kind he offered to guests. Kept for me. Because... because he couldn't STAND it. Too sweet. Tearing the mini fridge back open? Nothing but cheap tea cans and teas he hated remained.

I slammed it closed. Urgently reached for the tea cubbies. Fancy LOOKING teas. The kind Alphard always makes fun of. Quality is in the tea, not the pretty pictures on the box, he says. His tea is GONE. Worse? MY drinks are gone! Why are MY drink-? The coat!

My hand snaps out. The coat flung into it by my shadows. The instant it touchs my palm, I know it is wrong. Too rough and too new. Some modified mimicry that my shadows could tell apart from the original. It's not their fault. They don't have senses like mine. I stare at it, feeling a building sense of panic, before look back up at the room around me.

Is... is ANYTHING where it should be?

Gaze snapping from place to place, shaking as the panic starts to swallow me whole, I realize... No. Not a single thing. It's all staged. Made to LOOK like nothing's wrong. When... when everything IS. Oh god. Where is Alphard? What the FUCK have they DONE to him?!

I drop the coat. The drink. Adrenaline slamming into me like a truck. Slamming the door open, I flood the hallway beyond with writhing, furious night. I AM Shadow and it IS Me. We run. Hunting, hurting, FURIOUS. If they have hurt our friend? If they DARE have-!

A howling whistle splits the night, closer, Closer, BANG. The compound rocks with the force of the explosion. The wards hiss to life like great titans of black sand. Ink dark, they nerely block out all light. Casting eerie spell light over the buildings below, as lights flip on. More whistling. Booms.

We are under attack.

For an instant, I am torn in two. Half of me? Demands I find my friend. They other half? Knows that I must protect the Clan. We stand together or we DIE together. Loyalty wins out. My parents, Alphard, the people I care about, they would never forgive me, if I abandoned my post now.

I turn from my hunt. Race towards the ward stones out front. I'll have to help the others reinforce them. Lend the Clan my strength. As long as they can't get in? We should be-

The wards SHUT OFF.

Even as I run, fast as I can, I watch with horrified eyes... as they slide back away. No. No no NO! They should do that! That CAN'T DO THAT! That's IMPOSSIBLE! Those are SEIGE Wards! Built over generations! Hundreds of mages poured power into them! Went over them with pin prick combs! They don't 'malfunction'!

Oh god. Please, God, NO!

Did someone SHUT THEM DOWN?!

Ahead, the sounds of violence and chaos draw near. Above, I can finally see what's raining down on us. It's war magic. FIRE war magic. Thrown from air ships, who's spotlights bathe the compound in a terrible, all consuming light. All the better, to prevent our Shadows from reaching even a single one of them.

Someone told. They didn't know about that limitation to our powers before. Our front gate! Open! Traitor, traitor, TRAITOR! WHO!?

Across the chaos, the bloodshed and death, familiar color catches my eye. Explosions and spotlights light him from above. The airships blades, kicking up leaves and dust. That familiar, familiar color. From his Father.... the fire mage.

Alphard stands so calmly, one hand still resting on the command stone for the wards. As chaos reigns around him. The pleased little smile on his face, the one he wears, when all his plans come together, ever so nicely. No. Please. No.

His eyes are so cold. So flat.

He feels nothing as they die. Doesn't even glance, at the kinsmen desperately calling his name. Dying at his feet. He... he doesn't look away. Just raises one hand, one finger, and...

"Shhhhhh~ Be. Good." He says, utterly silent in his betrayal.

My world shatters.

I run.

Slamming my palm against the evacuation alarm, sirens begin to blare. It's over. It's all... all fucking over. How could he? H-How COULD-? Grief wants to choke me, blind me, but I don't have the TIME. I have to get out. Survive. I.. I can cry later. Mourn for the friend I THOUGHT I had, later. I trusted him. FUCK, I TRUSTED him!

I skid around the corner, heading towards the closest exit. Gotta grab my bug out b-!

Shadows in the darkened hallway surge, up and over, like a heavy hand slamming down. I barely drag myself out of the way. Lose my footing as I do. Go crashing to the floor. Scrambling, I turn as my shadows hiss, only to be met with deeper rumbling thunder. Shit. No!

I try to get up. Fling my self up into a run. Only to meet a shadow formed backhand. Smashed, thrown. Finding myself slammed back, onto the floor, wheezing. The air knocked out of me. Lightly, dark shapes takes form. Alphard stepping through blank and barren wall, using the Shadows under his control as a medium.

Not a hair out of place.

Just the two of us.

Alone.

"Why the rush, mischief?" He teased lightly, as though my world was not collapsing, all around us. As though my best friend had not betrayed me, betrayed US, to our doom. Up and down the hall, sirens blared. "You look upset."

I snarled. Grief and betrayal twisting into something ugly in my chest. Hand whipping out, I aimed for his fucking throat.

"Ah~, you're mad. Is this because I didn't consult with you first? Mischief, there was so much to do! You know you hate all those boring political meetings. Alliance work and archival research. Sweetie, there were stake outs! You hate those."

Effortlessly, he leaned out of the way of my attacks, looking amused and unbothered as he continued to speak. I RAGED. Screamed. Taking chunks of the wall behind me, to use as projectiles. Anything. Anything, anything, ANYTHING! Just HURT, damn you! TRAITOR! How COULD YOU!?

In the distance... the haunting, damning, final cries of my kin, as the died.

I Trusted You!

"I know~" he laughed, as though nothing had changed. As though this were a fucking GAME! "It was so easy, too."

His voice became two toned in a way that could only be magic. One that was heard, one that was felt. One that... that I had...! Realization did not crash. It seeped, like the cold and fatal poison it was. His betrayal was not NEW... was it? Not SUDDEN.

I... I had been betrayed long, long ago.

No you weren't. Alphard loves you~

How long had he been in my head? He was my magical instructor. I had hated the Clan's main teachers. Right? DID I? Could I even know? H..How much? For HOW LONG?! I was a CHILD! Had no defenses against the manipulations of my mind! Would you really stoop so LOW?! Was ANYTHING real!? ANY part of out friendship-!?

I choked, on the sob I refused to let him have. He... he didn't have the RIGHT.

"Oh, Mischief." He said, sounding mournful as he strolled easily through the ruins I had created around us. "Don't cry. Shhh, shhhh. It's okay, dear. You're upset. This is upsetting, I understand that. But we will preserver, overcome, and together? We will get through this."

We? There was no 'WE'. N-Not anymore. Not after THIS.

"Oh but that's where you're wrong, Mischief." He breathes out, like the confession of the truely insane, his voice soft. Yet, somehow? Bonechilling in how loud it seemed.

"I get you."

"That's the first thing I demanded, after all! No more idiots. No more dead weight. No insults, fools, or brats I can't break! Ha ha! Just me and my Mischief! Free at last! And all it cost me? Was my chains. Best of all? All the idiot Fire brat wanted for it all? Was his 'competition' out of the way! Ha ha ha! Gods bless, usefull fools!"

He stood before me now. Head thrown back, hand over his eyes in disbelief, as he laughed and laughed. Unhinged with his euphoria. With the machinations, that had lead to his victory. And... and I could not recognize him. This... this monster wearing the face of my best friend. I felt numb. Cold and far away. I... I just... I wanted to go away... please, God. Far, far away.

Stop it. Please, Alphard... Stop it...

P-please...

My shadows curled around me. Battered, torn, but ever loyal. They would not leave me. Not even now. Not even to save themselves. Weakly hissing. Thrashing, trying, in their own small ways, to appear bigger and stronger threats then they were. In... in the vain hope that... that the thing that was hurting us? Might believe them.

Might leave me alone.

I had never felt so unsafe, surrounded by the shadows sworn to my once friend. How many times? How many times? Had I fed and played with these very Magics? Snuck them charcoal? Interesting toys to burn? Creatures of fire and shadow. Massive and rumbling, the very Shadows that once played with my own... now tore them apart.

It burned. Hurt. Who...? WHO was this man? This monster? That wore my best friends face? I couldn't... I can't... please! God, please! Don't make me do this anymore...

My mind, somewhere between delirious and screaming, for some god forsaken reason? Reminded me of the Quite Game. I... I wondered, terrified and full of grief, if the children would know to run. Not to wait, for parents that... that would not be coming. Not this time. Not ever again. All because of this man.

The smoke on the breeze terrified me. Everything terrified me. How? How could I possibly hold so much fear? How could there possibly be MORE? Just as I think I can not feel it anymore deeply. Once again, Alphard teaches me I am wrong. This... this is not how he, is... is supposed to be... how WE are...!

"Oh sweetheart, mischief, darling..." He again attempted to sooth, hand slipping away from his face as he rolled his head down to peer at me. Kneeling with almost boneless fluidity. "None of that. No more tears. Alphy's here, okay? I know change is scary. And you're upset and confused. But Alphy loves you just like always, and nothings gonna happen to you, alright?"

"Remember how you wanted to travel before? See those festivals? Go abroad? We get to do that now! Alphy can take CARE of you, now. Properly. Get you all the things you deserve. It'll be great, Mischief. No more stress or tears. Cuddles for days. You'll love it, I promise."

From beneath his feet, spreading like a terrible rot, black fire spread. It didn't touch me. Couldn't, as it seemed to reach, with greedy hands, down the halls. Consuming the only home I'd ever known in this life. Consuming everyone it touched, if the distant sounds of panic, were any indication. He was killing them all. Friend, foe, what difference was there?

Everything burned.

Numb, I could only sit there, before the stranger I thought I'd known.

"Our love story's been a long time coming, sweetness. My perfect, beautiful, Mischief~♡. Once we're free? We'll never look back. Have the happily ever after we deserve. Let the rest of the burn."

"I'm so glad I found you, Mischief. So glad I made you mine. It's going to be beautiful, darling. I promise. You'll thank me."

"Now come here, to Alphy. We're gonna play a game~♡"

[gilverrwrites]

Yo it's the anon that sent the request for Death stroke and anal training, I just saw the reply you posted and go all out girl, write what you think suits him and you ofc!❤️❤️ I'm not picky, your writing just makes me DROOL over that dirty old man🤤🤤🤤 love-anon❤️

Do you feel dirty?

Slade Wilson/F!Reader, 2.7K words AN: I actually got two asks clarifying that message, one that was a lil more specific about the stamina angle. Not sure if you're one in the same but here it is: Slade in all of his seedy old man glory. And what an intoxicatingly seedy old man he is. ~dreamy sigh~ Warnings: extremely dubious consent | abuse of power & trust | (adult) student/master | dry anal/spit as lube | spit | degradation | mild puppy-play | a fleeting, non-sexual mention of piss | denial | DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

This wasn’t for the enjoyment of either of you, Slade had assured you of that much when he’d informed you of his plans, but the heavy, borderline hedonistic exhale that exited his lips as he’d rubbed his spit into the rim of your asshole had you doubting him. You can’t see him from your position; face down on the shitty motel bed, legs hanging off the edge, hands reaching back and pulling apart your cheeks to allow him easier access, but you can sense the tug on the corner of his lips. When he’d told you it would be a lesson in stamina, you’d been sceptical, now as you lay beside half-packed suitcases with your skirt hiked up and your panties long gone, you’re finding it harder and harder to mesh the concepts together.

“Wha-ahh-” Your voice strains as he breaches your seal, only slightly, just to his first knuckle, but enough to send a shockwave of dry pain through your body. It takes a second to adjust, and the pain doesn’t subside much, but you find your voice before he pushes any further inside of you. “What did you say this was for?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, instead, you hear a familiar hawking sound, followed by the impact of something warm and wet hitting your burning skin. Your legs shake at the debasing feel of his warm spit landing just a few inches above where it’s needed.

“Are you questioning me?” He asks, voice deadpan. Purposely keeping you in the lurch by giving nothing away. An all too familiar, and infuriating tact he likes to pull out of the bag in situations just like this.

“No. Well... maybe.” As you speak, Slade retracts from your hole to gather the stray spot of saliva that’s currently trickling between your crack and coats his thumb in it. The pressure of him pushing back in, slowly working deeper forces your brain into an unwanted stupor and makes it hard for you to gather the right words for what is already a sensitive subject. “It’s just… I knowww you said it’s to help build my en-durrrance, b-but I can’t help feeling…”

He cuts you off, the feeling of his thumb leaving and re-entering your hole, hard, causes your ass to sting (and your pussy to twitch- fucking traitor). A strangled, unwanted moan falls from your lips, muffled by the scratchy comforter as you purposely bury your face in it.

“Feeling what?” Slade encourages, but you’re too focused; zeroing in on every micromovement of his hand; slowly pulling out of you, being spat on once more, before he starts pushing into you again, this time with his middle finger. How your ass clenches on him as it probes past what little space he’d explored with his thumb. Focused on how it stings both your insides and your ego.

How your clit is throbbing.

How it turns you on to be violated by your Master.

When you don’t answer he leans over you, causing the mattress and your body with it to dip under his weight as he uses his forearm to balance just inches above you. The tenor of his voice is lower than his usual. Deeper and breathy as he goads you, asymptomatic of a man who is ‘not’ enjoying himself. “Dirty? Is that it?”

It takes a moment for you to steady your breathing before you peek up at his cold blue eye and answer. “Yes.”

“Come here.” He states his words like instructions when in fact you have little to do with the action. He stands up straight first before grabbing the back of your shirt, using it to hike you up until your back is pressed to him. The indisputable impression of his hard cock grazes your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it before he releases your top in favour of clutching your face, twisting your neck uncomfortably until you’re as close to face-to-face as your bodies will allow in this position. His silver hair is pinned back today, offering you an almost unobstructed view of his devastatingly sharp features, impeached only by the hint of wrinkles that have started to etch their way into his face over the past few years. Or so he’d told you when you’d asked about them.

“Kiss me.” He instructs and you eye him wearily. Never has he asked something so intimate of you before, and though the idea seems strangely comforting, you're dubious about the reality of the situation. He pays no heed to your hesitation, looking at you through a slitted lid as he closes in, the bristles of his facial hair scratching your soft lips.

“Kiss me.” He repeats, so gently it feels like mocking before he takes your mouth. There’s no soft pecking or sweet caresses of his lips, he kisses you hungrily, and wet. He pinches your cheeks with his thumb and forefinger until your lips open, and he whispers for you to “suck it.” before slipping his tongue inside.

Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, it’s like you can feel it in every crevice of your being, overwhelming you as you allow yourself to melt into him. All the while a long finger continues to pump in and out of your ass, and though your discomfort remains, it is forgotten for a moment. He must sense the shift because soon enough he breaks away, still holding your face firm as he begins to speak again. “I don’t care.”

His eye trail over your face, a flash of something sick sparking when he takes in your blown-out pupils and brows which knit in confusion before he explains. “I don’t care if you feel dirty or humiliated. I don’t care if you don’t want it. I know what’s best for you. I make the decisions. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

“Yes…”

“You came to me. You begged me to take you on as my apprentice. Didn’t you?”

“Y-” Your answer is disrupted by a series of rapid breaths; your attempt to calm your body down, to stop it from fighting the second finger Slade is driving into your rear. If only it were your leaking pussy, he’d slip right in with ease. But then again, you’re not sure you want him to know just how turned on you are, not sure you could live it down, or trust him not to abuse it. “Y-Yes but it hurts...”

“No buts.”  To emphasise his distaste for your answer he pushes you back onto the bed face first, raising his voice if only to intimidate you, given that it doesn’t take much for his voice to travel through the cramped room. “You don’t get to decide if it hurts, or if it’s too much. You’ll do it anyway, and you’ll thank me for teaching you. Am I understood?”

“Yesss-fuck… yes, Master.”

With that, the intensity level of his voice drops back to that almost tender, definitely sardonic tone. “Good girl. Now turn your head, I want you to look at me.”

Once again, the mattress dips under his weight, this time under the heft of the sneaker from his disguise. The casual clothes do nothing to hide his stature nor his naturally daunting aura, at least not from your angle; bent over for him, two fingers up your ass, and resisting the urge to rub your clit on the corner of the bed.  

“Open your mouth.” You do as you’re told, dread coiling in your gut as you look up at the smug look on his face. “Wider, that’s it, say ah.”

“Ahhhhhhh.” You’re unsurprised, but no less humiliated when he hawks a glob of spit onto your tongue with impeccable aim.

“That’s it, you’re doing such a good job.” His voice is still thick with ridicule, but you feel heated and bashful and irritated, nonetheless. “Now swallow it and say thank you.”

You’re still not sure what you’re meant to be learning from having your ass dry finger fucked, and you’re even less sure about the tactical values of swallowing spit, but you obey regardless, gulping it down and praising him for the praising for the privilege. He rewards you with a cool laugh before he reaches down and pulls you further onto the bed.

"We’re almost done." He tells you as he directs you up and down, left and right, until you're lying on the bed, prone but for a pillow he places under your hips before straddling the backs of your legs. “And if you’ll stop wincing it won’t have to feel so bad.”

You’re not sure his logic is so sound, especially when he forces in a third finger, stretching the digits out against your tight walls. It hurts so much that your eyes begin to water. No level of arousal can suppress it. Like you’re being split open, the lack of lubrication causing every twitch to burn, yet you can feel your pussy throbbing with want.

But then he starts to curl his fingers, your whole body starts to tremble. Whatever he’s doing makes your chest feel tight and your toes curl. The stinging doesn’t let up, but he must be pressing down on your g-spot because the rest of your body thrums with ecstasy in time with every thrust and you easily let yourself go with it.

“Atta girl.” Slade’s teases when you start to roll your hips, trying to put more pressure on that sweet spot he’d been holding out on, you hadn’t even realised your unrestraint pending that point. You’d barely noticed how you’d begun to whimper or the moisture starting to drip from your lips. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you, dirty girl?”

Whether you try to hide your shame and save face, or if you commit to the undeniable, salacious pleasure building between your legs, it’s impossible to say how he’ll respond. He’s more than likely to pull the rug out from under you either way, so you take a few unsuccessfully steadying breaths and confess. “Y-yes. It hurts, but… I like it.”

“I know. I know you do. Such a good little pain whore.” Perhaps you’re too blissed out to decipher any of the typical malice from his tone, but the way he coos back at you feels so earnest that even when the insults drip from his lips it only drives you to rut onto him harder. “Say it all together. Say you like fucking your ass open on your Master's fingers.”

“I do. I like it.” Each word comes out faster and breather than the last until you’re murmuring with nothing but sentiment and a desperate need for just an ounce of pressure on your neglected pussy. “I like fucking my ass open on your fingers, Master.”

“Good. That’s a good girl.” Before you can respond, he slips three fingers from inside you in one quick motion. Were it not for the pressure of him sat on your legs your whole body would have jerked. Instead, you push up on your forearms, a stagged wail on your lips as you stare at with wide eyes over your shoulder.

His only acknowledgement of you is a sly smile, and then he clicks his fingers, drawing your attention to his hand which is pointed at his open case which sits beside you on the bed. “Open that bag and pass me what’s in it.”

With one last pout in his direction, you do as you're told, hands shaking as you reach into the suitcase and pull out the silky drawstring, fumbling as you dig inside of it for whatever Slade has in store next. You can’t deny the irritation that becomes your still needy body when you find a bottle of lube, but your annoyance is quickly swallowed up by a distinct shrinking feeling as you pull out the plug he’d mention having you wear.

Until now you’d been picturing something daintier. Something made of silicone, maybe with a jewel in the base, but this thing is hefty. Admittedly slimmer than you’d thought, but also longer. Long enough that you can already tell it will be pressing against your off-button for as long as you wear it. But the thing that gives you the most pause is its base. Instead, of a jewel, or a hook, it sports a good 7 or so inches of curved rubber meant to clearly emulate a dog’s tail. It won’t fit under your skirt, you know it, especially not without your underwear. You can already feel it wagging with every shift of your hips, and no doubt swaying inside of your asshole too. 

“Does it have to have a tail?” You ask cautiously as you hand the items over, unable to keep from hissing and twitching at the cold sensation as Slade squirts the lube onto your burning cheeks. It's a shock to your system but after a few seconds it starts to feels good, too soothes the aches. The sensation of having his fingers plunged inside you is ten times more pleasurable than it had done thus far.

“No.” He finally answers, but you’re already melting back into the mattress, pussy twitching as the cold tip of the plug sinks into your walls. You can feel the slow-building tension as you stretch around its growing thickness before your rim pinches closed around the notch. Simultaneously you feel intoxicatingly full and so unbearably empty.

You’re not expecting it when Slade grabs the scruff of your neck, pulling you up until your back hits his chest again. The unmistakable shape of his clothed cock poking into you just as prevalent now as it has been earlier. The feel of it, combined with the new position spurs your walls to clench harder around the solid, weighty plug, and it sends a wave of mind-numbing arousal through your whole body; making your clit ache and your eyes feel heavy and unfocused as he turns you to face him.

The look in his eye is almost affectionate, the way it roams your face below a half lid, the crow’s feet beside it drawing your own gaze back anytime it might wander. Almost. There’s something smug in the sparse smile he’s sporting. “The tail is just for me.”

His lips are too close for you to really register the derision, to be wounded by the way he’s taking advantage of your trust and willingness. You can almost taste him on your tongue again and that’s all your fuzzy brain is able to focus on. Unable to recall how you’d recoiled at the idea of kissing him only moments ago. But it never comes.

Instead, he lowers your head back down; you barely even register the sodden patch of moisture on the pillow that your hips had been rested on until he forces your nose into it like a puppy being punished for pissing on the floor. “But something tells me you like it more than you’re willing to let on just yet. Now, what do you say?”

There’s little fight left in you, but he holds you down until all of your body relaxes, the taste of your own slick seeping past your lips, until you answer, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” With a few ‘encouraging’ taps to your bare ass, he climbs off you, barely looking your way as he grabs the aviator sunglasses and cap for his disguise from the bedside table and puts them on.

“Is- is that it?” You ask unsure if you’re supposed to move.

“Yep.” He answers dryly as he approaches the door. Back to business. “Tidy up and finish packing while I bring the car around, I’ll meet you at the check-out desk.”

And then he's gone, leaving you a shaking, sullied, forsaken mess. Crumpled up on the bed like yesterdays paper. A spark in you considers rolling over and finishing yourself off right there, but it won't take him long to return and you're sure he'll returns to find you knuckle deep in your own pussy, having ignored his explicit instructions.

Maybe you can squeeze in a quick one, once you've sorted out the room.

It’s difficult, doing even basic tasks when every bend and step makes your eyes roll and your still bare cunt is begging to be touched. The quiet swishing sound of your new tail reminds you with every move that it’s there and moulded in such a way that no matter how you adjust yourself it’s always peeking out from the hem of your skirt.

Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to quickly rub one out.

Once you’ve finished tidying, once every bag is packed and waiting by the door, once you’ve stripped the bed and neatly folded the sheets in the hopes of saving the cleaning crew from having to deal with a mess they surely aren’t paid enough to deal with.

Then and only then do you lean against the wall, daring to flip your skirt up once more and glide your fingers between your folds. And of course, with all his seeming omniscience, just when you're you press the beds of your fingers to your desperate and swollen clit, Slade honks on the car horn to alert you that he's waiting.

[borgialucrezia]

—The Tigress of Forli: Renaissance Italy's Most Courageous and Notorious Countess (Lev Elizabeth)

[lunarian-anarchist]

Hamas dressing them up in uniform instead of the pajamas they were wearing and forcing them to smile. G-d I hate these men.

And giving the previous released hostages "gift bags" filled with photos of their time in captivity.

I keep thinking about how the bottom of her pants were covered in blood and wondering if she sat in the blood of one of her friends or she was SA'd. Maybe both.

I won't be reblogging any photos of the women when they were taken. Those photos are already on the internet if you want to confirm or whatever. I'm already so emotionally tired from this chess playing with human life and I don't care to spread photos of women who were assaulted and humiliated for the world to see.

I can only pray that Israel and Hamas will keep their word. Though I don't see how a path to a two state or one state solution is possible atm I still believe one day that peace will prevail and true peace can only happen when wrong doing is admitted by the powers in charge and the ones responsible are held accountable or denounced.

Given that so many Israelis hate Bibi and ben gvir resigning along with Gazans support for Hamas falling I do believe such a time is coming though I can't say I'm not nervous about the timing of this hostage deal as it feels very much like the Iranian hostage crisis 2.0.

[dykedvonte]

In the article, when Kasurinen mentions that irl people like Curly can and do cover up perpetrators- do you think that implies Curly would have kept Anya’s SA under wraps?

Curly is such a conflicting character AHHHHH. He’s my favorite but makes me very uncomfortable sometimes. He’s ignorant and mitigated at a very wrong time, but I hoped he at least had the decency to let the story slip out post-delivery. Jimmy doesn’t wanna face responsibility but does Curly not want him to either?

I think what people are missing about that line is the intentions part. What is specifically said is “good intentioned downplaying” and the belief he was taking the right steps. It’s phrasing is important: the discussion of escalation and the idea that it’s not intentionally malicious are idea you have to keep in mind when taking to the problems at play with Curly’s choices.

I do not think he was gonna cover up the assault but his actions during the events of the pre-crash sections were likely fueled by ignorance, disbelief and his own issues. His inability to outwardly address it lead to it being downplayed and covered to an extent but it’s not something he didn’t want to deal with more accurately he didn’t know how to approach and when he tried to came at it from the completely wrong angles.

When people see these they conflate them with him being willfully ignorant, refusing to believe Anya and self absorbed. It’s such a one note bad faith interpretation imo that it doesn’t acknowledge that in a lot of cases people genuinely think they are doing good in the mean time. Good intentions don’t mean he did good, or didn’t cause harm but the point is that he never intended to to Anya. The sad fact is he was trying to find a happy ending for both parties because he still thought he could. He thought he was doing something where everyone would win and in the end it was a total loss.

I say it again about Curly but so many people take the dead pixel conversation as a refusal to look closer when it’s more like a comment to on rose tinted glasses and Curly personally. Him moving on is not his saying “it doesn’t matter” but saying he still wants to try and apprixate the parts that aren’t bad. It’s a misguided and unintentionally dismissive comfort toward Anya. You can see she realizes that he doesn’t really understand but it’s not from a lack or trying. It’s a lack of being ready. Doesn’t excuse when she becomes more direct with him but it helps us with his insights.

The issue with Curly and Jimmy and responsibility is that Curly takes too much responsibility and blame for many things that aren’t his responsibility and/or fault. I think tow reflective scenes are right before the crash and in the cockpit when he blames himself for Anya not getting a psych evaluation and letting Jimmy blame him for his actions. It is not his responsibility to provide that eval to Anya, that is the companies negligence to allow one of their employees to go with out one. You can argue he could’ve fought for it, but you can also argue that P.E held that standard in the first place and you can’t patch cracks you don’t see. With Jimmy, none of what he did is Curly’s fault outside not punishing him for the act after. Even then punishment is vague but he should’ve taken more precautions. He did not force Jimmy to crash the ship, to rape Anya, to lash out and misconstrue his words. His responsibility is the crew not their individual actions and that’s a very hard point to discuss.

When Daisuke gets caught in the foam he is upset because that action got him hurt or could’ve damaged something vital to them. He is not responsible for the action but he is in ensuring Daisuke, under Swansea, doesn’t cause anymore damage to himself or the ship. That’s what I’m trying to get at despite the difficulty. Jimmy’s speech is gaslighting, conditioning to make Curly believe it’s all his fault: The firing, the assault, the tragedy of it all when those all link back to things that were over his head or actions/choices of others.

There’s a lot of debates on what Curly as the individual was at fault for, should be blamed for and what where outside factors. I personally think in the end he wanted Jimmy to take responsibility but he himself can’t tell what’s his responsibility to take vs Jimmy’s. A key point of this is when Curly is about to run in and starting saying what he should’ve done, or could’ve before screaming at Jimmy and asking what did he do. He realizes all too late what is his responsibility and what isn’t in terms of their dynamics and the blame/guilt he takes on for Jimmy but as I said again it’s too late.

If he was gonna cover up the assault than Jimmy would’ve never felt the need to do something so drastic. He would’ve known Curly would’ve helped and I think his uncertainty of that was a driving force but also to give us that uncertainty in terms of what Curly would’ve actually done.

He makes us all uncomfortable and conflicted because we all want to say we’d do better, we’d know better but in the end we could all make the same mistakes thinking that our good intentions were enough. He’s fun to roll around in your head and this specific topic gets a lot of unsettling things rolling.

[heirbane]

grandpa's first sunday. you know what that means.

Gaius, having grown up in the military and being under the wing of many superiors, is no stranger to the status quo between man and boy - senior and junior. He went untouched until he was sixteen summers, curls creeping between his thighs and sprinkling his chest and underarms. His platoon was full of those going through puberty and the pains of becoming an adult by body, even if Garlemald had deemed them adults years ago, by virtue of their enlistment.

His first bedfellow was a man a handful of years his senior, still lanky and ill-proportioned, a Roegadyn in birthright but not wholly in statue yet. The man had been gifted a new title, no longer on par with Gaius but his superior in all ways that mattered, and he used his new name to bend the teen at the waist and find his own pleasure.

(Several weeks later, Gaius had tried his own hand - to use his status and title as male birds did their showy plumage. It was all the same, this show of dominance, of power: the most decorated bird was the one to find a partner, and the higher the title, the wider the pool he had to choose from. He went to bed with a girl a summer or two older than him but with a title beneath his, and was so uncertain of how to give instead of receive that he was unable to keep himself afloat, drowning in teenage uncertainty and embarrassment. She got herself off, got dressed, and left - and, to his benefit, he never saw her again, but he knew in his gut that she laughed at him amongst friends.)

By the age of twenty and two, on the cusp of another promotion, Gaius had spent time in plenty of bedrolls, in plenty of company: with another, with multiple others, with further Roe and conscripted Miqo'te, with other Garleans. As he grew into his confidence and became comfortable with what he wanted -and what he needed to find a release among others - the encounters that required him to be receptive became fewer.

By the time Gaius is a quarter of a century old, half his life already paid to the military, he has ceased being dug into bedrolls or led to his knees. Part of it is status: he had already been gifted his tol title, leaving only a handful of soldiers above his rank who could have him submit in such a way. Most of it was personal preference and his silver tongue.

Gaius had not been taught that sex could be for love, for intimacy, or for much else besides stress relief and procreation. (Unsurprisingly, such a mindset is being fed to recruits thirty years his junior - the last few classes of Garlemald's military academy before it's fall still struggle to relate the act to anything beyond that.) Knowing that, it isn't a surprise that he treats it just so: bedding peers and juniors to remove his mind from his duties and to prepare for the battlefield.

Thankfully, by the time he is twenty and five, the softness that came with inexperience was no more. He knew what he desired, and his recurring partners knew much the same: his bedfellows were to take command, to behave, and do as told, lest he discipline their insubordination. He is not a lover but a dictator; he does not appear kind, although their limits and expectations are fully understood and tapping out taken seriously.

For his partner to end up like he did at the beginning - face in the bedroll, his fist in their hair, a pace so ruthless it punched gasps from their lungs - was not uncommon. Gaius was not known to take his time.

His haphazard foreplay and brutal pace thereafter slowed with age, as did the amount of partners that graced his bedroll - or his mattress, once the man could afford an apartment and amenities. As he matured, so did his tastes.

Gaius, at twenty and five, was known to devour his meal as if a man starved - a youth still feeling out his appetite and how much he needed to feel sated. Gaius, at fifty and five, had learned how to play with his food.

(While he still quite enjoyed the view of his partner's arched back and the sounds they made when he bent them over, he enjoyed their anticipation even more, the languid chase that came before he devoured them. He was in no rush. Death had come for him more times than he could count, and sex was a luxury he scarcely afforded himself as a man: he would relish in it, even if it meant listening to his partner beg.)

[pushing500]

Drama in the colony! What in the world could be causing problems for the Jones "twins"?

I'm not sure how Mechi would feel about being called Kwahu's duplicate, but that's beside the point. It looks like there really are consequences for everything that happens on the rim!

Mechi only just met his new "twin", and now we have to choose one to die so one can live?

Haha, sike. Randy can try all he wants, but the joke's on him. We won't be saying goodbye to either of the Jones boys for as long as we can manage. Melissa, the creepjoiner from a while back, will finally get the chance to put her mystical healing powers to good use...

Hopefully, there are no consequences from that. I'm sure there won't be. The void giving us two events with consequences? That would be ridiculous.

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Also, for what it's worth, Mechi and Kwahu aren't sharing a bed. I just forgot to put a bedside table in between while I was drawing. Accidentally made it look like my misanthropic mechanitor was way too comfortable sleeping side-by-side with his equally misanthropic clone lmao.

Aren't Mechi's "cube" sculptures adorable? I feel like a proud parent watching a child make horrendous macaroni and fingerprint art.

[rubbish78]

McFly doing their 'Star Girl' kicks at Halifax Piece Hall 10/08/24 (x)

[xx-romantic-pup-xx]

Im not usually into this specific font of pain stuff but lately ive been really needing someone to hit me really hard and maybe punch me in the face. Havent been craving in a particularly horny way but i think it would work well in that sense and be a much healthier way to channel it than getting myself randomly beat up lol.

[sappho-favourite-pupil]

the same politicians that are afraid kids doing as much as hearing the word "gay" will become gay themselves just made the teaching of the bible in elementary schools mandatory. which could mean nothing.

[official-darkforest]

things are happening in my pages documents i tell you what

[harukakitous]

Kousei Amano as Grodie Leucochloridium

"I love the dead so much, but they just seem to hate me instead. Such a sad story, right?"