#sorry this took so long to get out!

[mscribblz]

100 Followers Unlocked! Woo Hoo!

As a thank you, I’m doing a small art raffle to celebrate. 1 winner will receive a half body/full color commission of a character of their choice.

PLEASE SEE RULES UNDER CUT:

1) Reblog this post for entry (1 entry per person)

2) Must be following this blog to be eligible (New followers welcome)

3) The commission prize will follow the same guidelines as my standard commissions (except no payment). Please see my commission info page for what I will and wont draw.

4) Entry will remain open until AUGUST 31st 11:59PM CDT. I will announce the winner next day and reach out to them privately.

5) To the winner: You will be responsible for providing reference image(s)/descriptions of the character you want drawn (Especially OCs!)

6) If the winner does not respond within 48 hours, someone else will be selected.

Thank you again everyone and good luck~

[findingtarshish]

Pwease may I have some more? 🥺 This time for Melody... and also her relationship with Mouse? How'd they meet (without destroying each other first)? I wanna know all the deets ;) TY TY

:D

SO. Surprisingly they were never really at risk of destroying each other. They met when Mel bummed a cigarette off him, flirted a lot, and ended up fucking on the hood of him van. She is a snack. and Mouse proceeds to have the weirdest trip of his life on Mage blood full of alcohol, ecstasy, and tabacco. Romance goes from there. But first, let's rewind!

Melody was originally created as a touchstone for my Tremere Harmony. The two are half-sisters and very close, though neither told the other about becoming supernaturals. As you can imagine, this caused a bit of a rift between them, and it took a little bit for them to figure things out. Melody Awakened during a protest turned riot, at her college in London when she and her college friends were being beaten to a pulp by a riot cop. This caused an epiphany in her, allowing her to see political distance as physical distance, and vice versa; she didn't realize until later that the reason that cop didn't manage to hurt her was because she was warping around him punching from every angle all at once.

For a while thereafter, melody tried to go it alone and figure out magick without tutelage, having discovered that drugs, sex, and other strong sensations heightened her power. After an overdose, coupled with Paradox-induced internal bleeding landed her in the hospital, she met Lakshmi Dhama, a mage of the Cultus Ecstasis who brought her into the fold and taught her the ways of her Paradigm. Through the bond of the Diksham, the two quickly became lovers in addition to teacher and student, and the Cult of Ecstasy tends to encourage. While in the midst of this torrid romance, Melody also joined the Dissonance Society.

Then came Spring Break 2023. Melody returned home to America along with a posse of other young Ecstatics, who had organized a wild opportunity- they'd made contact with a conclave of like minded werewolves and vampires, who were gathering in the forests near Port Clinton in a bacchanal of magic, revelry, and ecoterroristic planning. A real dance-around-the-fire-in-the-woods-while-naked sort of thing. A Devil's Sacrament, if you will. Melody was incredibly excited- her thesis was on Dracula, for god's sake! To get to meet a real vampire? Awesome!

(Melody didn't know these specifics, but the conclave was a yearly event organized by a Bahari sect called the Childer of Ceridwen, and their Hart Warden and Shadow Lord allies. The sect is based in Cardiff, in the Caern of the Eternal Garden, but has scattered adherents across Europe and the US. These Bahari believe that Lilith is an agent of the Wyld, and that she will return to slay Jehovah (the Weaver) and Caine (the Wyrm) and claim her rightful place as queen of the heavens. Their werewolf allies think this ideology is useful and encourage it so they can continue to use the sect's power to further their agenda)

So! Imagine her surprise when she arrives to the Conclave and sees her sister, naked (As was the dress code for the Bahari attendants), tattooed with a Bahari sigil, and latched onto someone's neck, drinking their blood.

An argument ensued.

After a deluge of events too long to narrate, Melody got involved with Harmony's grandsire, Ceridwen Coslett, Childe of Carna, co-founder of her sire's House, Prince of Cardiff, international financier, sustainability advocate, and werewolf ally. Melody is currently her ghoul (though she is shared between her and Ceridwen's close ally, Elizabeth Hargrove, who effectively rules Albany and is similarly a environmentalist leader) and acts as a chauffeur, using Correspondence to teleport her mistress wherever she needs to go without the SI having a clue.

Lakshmi, however, does not approve. She'd lost people to vampires before, and saw Melody consorting with them as a death sentence. Rather than protect her, Lakshmi cut ties, claiming she didn't want to care about her when she was inevitably murdered by the monster wearing her sister's face. Melody was devastated at being forced to choose between her family and her lover, especially since Lakshmi was the first person she truly loved. To make matters worse, Lakshmi began to spread rumors about her through the cult's networks, effectively ostracizing her overnight.

Melody was now truly alone. After becoming Ceridwen's ghoul, she threw herself into her arcane studies, desperate to prove to Lakshmi that she could be both a great Mage and stay true to her family.

Which brings us to the present day. Melody is the living embodiment of "live fast, die young" and lives out her days is hedonistic desperation, trying to capture that spark of sensation that will lead to Ananda and beyond that, a glimpse of the Lakashim. Mouse and the greater polycule are still trying to pull her out of that freefall, because that complete reckless disregard for her own life is going to get her killed sooner or later.

[bayofwolves]

I’ve been obsessed, obsessed, obsessed with Raisha for a while now. I know you’ve said little things about her in the past and i want to know what’s up with her/Gerathon if you’d be willing to talk about it.

I really like Raisha as a character, too! We know so little about her, but in my opinion, she's one of the most fascinating characters in the series. Unfortunately, she meets a sad end in A Revised History of Erdas.

All we know about Raisha post-infection is that she was present at the final battle in The Burning Tide, still under Zerif's control and in pretty bad shape. She vanishes off the grid after that, never mentioned again, not even in the concluding montage of Great Beast summoners reuniting with their fallen spirit animals. My retelling offers some closure, but not the good kind.

In my version of events, Raisha is flanking Zerif when he emerges from the ship with his Great Beasts. Zerif, in an act of cruel irony, saw fit to keep Raisha by his side even in her mindless, infected state. Shane, up in the archers' keep with Abeke, hardly recognizes the girl who helped steal Halawir months earlier. Later, she reappears to restrain Abeke when Zerif brings the defeated Redcloak forces to the Wyrm. When the Wyrm is killed and the parasites lose their power, though, Raisha collapses to the ground and doesn't get back up. The Wyrm had pushed her finite body to an extent that it couldn't recover from. Many people and animals in Zerif's army are the same; their possession eventually killed them. The Wyrm was a child playing with toys, the mechanics of which it couldn't possibly understand. Thankfully for it, its parasites could go on controlling a body in the event of an untimely death. Indeed, Stead raises the possibility that Raisha had been dead for some time, and the parasite was only animating a corpse.

Like I've said before, I didn't do this out of dislike for Raisha or anything like that. She was ultimately another victim of Zerif -- a young, lonely, impressionable girl he took advantage of -- and didn't deserve anything that happened to her. I'll always support AUs where she is alive and well. In my eyes, though, her story was always meant to end in tragedy. By the time she realized her mistake and reached for the light, it was too late.

Gerathon, after reemerging in southern Zhong and feeling the loss of her human partner, disappeared into the brush and is currently at large. She is only an adolescent cobra at the moment, hardly a threat... but the Great Beasts are growing, and Gerathon's time will inevitably come again. (I like the idea of her becoming a maneater as she slowly regains her former size and power, terrorizing the locals and gaining a place in their legends.) Who knows how she feels about losing Raisha. I expect, under the excruciating pain that may one day drive her to madness, there is a sweet sense of relief.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Discover

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Some pieces fall into place.

Alternatively: Altair finally gets some good fucking food.

Contains: Captivity, starvation (& distrust of food), referenced mind/thought control, fear of noncon, manhandling, broken bones, and a lot of sneaking/sleuthing

~~~

“Don’t do anything too reckless.”

He didn’t hear the door click shut behind Elze’ith. The lack of the distinctive noise almost didn’t register at first. Then Altair realized he was subconsciously listening for a noise that had never come, and stood up. When he approached and pushed on the door, sure enough, it yielded under his hand. He smiled to himself; Elze’ith wasn’t entirely lost to him yet, it seemed. Rather than leaving immediately, he forced himself to wait a few minutes, so his partner would have time to clear the area and have at least a modicum of plausible deniability in Altair’s escape. Then he slowly pushed the door open and slipped outside.

The dungeon was as dark, cold, and quiet as it ever was. It was hardly a place he wanted to linger, nor did he think there was anything of benefit for him down there, so after making sure the door to his cell was still open a crack he started making his way towards the upper parts of the castle. The hallway seemed to sprawl endlessly, but eventually he found a set of stairs that led up.

The silence was both comforting and eerie— comforting because it assured him no one was around, and eerie because it exposed the lifelessness of the old castle. He knew that Lord Denholm had servants, but there was no sign of them as he warily made his way through the halls. Maybe they were asleep, but without any windows, he had no way of knowing what time of day it was. 

How long had he been trapped here? Days? A week? Two? The realization that he genuinely didn’t know sent unease rippling through him. He had to figure out how to get himself and Elze’ith out of here, before they lost too much more time to this place.

After a few minutes he came upon a part of the castle that he vaguely recognized from his first visit many months ago. That set of double doors was probably the dining hall, which meant, if he doubled back a bit�� 

He carefully pushed open a small, nondescript door and smiled when he came into a dark, unattended kitchen. The smell of the day’s cooking still lingered faintly on the air, but the stove was nothing but embers and the tabletops were clean. Fine by him; he didn’t need or want anything that had been recently prepared in this place. 

(Elze’ith’s words, “I never know,” lingered in his mind. How often had Elze’ith been drugged? How often had food been wielded as a weapon? A part of him had just thought he had been being paranoid, but having his worries confirmed so harshly had been a blow he hadn’t been ready for.)

Another door off to the side led him into a well-stocked pantry that called to his aching empty stomach. He knew he couldn’t linger, though, and Elze’ith’s voice in the back of his head said something about the dangers of eating too much when he had been starving for so long. Instead he grabbed what he could carry— a handful of dried berries, a few rolls of bread, a pitcher of water— and slipped back into the kitchen proper.

He set the bread and water down on the table and began to rummage through the kitchen drawers with his now-free hand. As he did he forced himself to eat the berries one by one. The sudden burst of flavor he got from the first one was heavenly and made him want to shove the rest in his mouth all at once, but Elze’ith’s warning still echoed in his head, so he forced himself to go slowly as he searched the kitchen. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: a long, sharp blade. The weight of it in his hand made him instantly feel more at-ease. Finishing off the last of the berries, he carefully tucked the knife into the waistband of his pants and grabbed the bread and water so he could slip back out of the kitchen.

The thought occurred to him, as he closed the door to the kitchen behind him, that he was close to the castle’s entrance hall. If he wanted, he could slip right out the front door. But there was no way he was leaving Elze’ith behind.

Instead, he found another set of stairs and made his way up. Elze’ith’s room was on the second floor, and as much as he wanted to visit his partner, he couldn’t risk running into Lord Denholm as well. So he reluctantly continued up to the third floor; he had no idea what was up there, but if he was lucky, he would find something useful.

There didn’t seem to be anyone on this floor either, though he kept on high alert for any breach of the silent atmosphere. The first two doors he poked his head into he chose to ignore, no matter how much he wanted to lay waste to the alchemy lab and trophy room he found. Then, however, he came across a set of double doors, and found they opened into a large library, with sprawling shelves and all manner of couches and chairs for reading. He smiled; this he could work with.

A quick perusal of the shelves gave him a vague sense of the organizational system- fiction and poetry towards the front, then history towards the middle, and an extensive collection of alchemical and magical texts that made up the back half of the library. It would take him hours to find anything specific in here, months to sort through it all. And he didn’t have that kind of time. 

If he could figure out what Lord Denholm had been looking into lately, he might be able to get an idea of what he was planning. But there were no books left out on the library’s tables, so realistically he didn’t have much to go off of on that front. He did, however, know a thing or two about buildings made by and for powerful people. So chances were, in the library, if he looked hard enough…

Well. He took a bite of bread and headed for the back of the library. Time to start checking the furniture.

He was halfway through his second bread roll when one of the sconces he tugged on yielded under his hand. He grinned as one of the shelves began to creak. It slowly shifted to the side, revealing the hidden room he had been looking for. Silently hoping that the opening of the doorway hadn’t been too loud and alerted someone, he stepped through.

The hidden room was smaller than the library itself, and seemed to be more of a study. It had its own set of bookshelves and cabinets, a few chairs around a low table, and a large desk against one of the walls. Small magical gems on the ceiling gave the room a faint, warm glow. And unlike the library, in which everything was put away properly, this room had books and papers spread out across its various surfaces. Altair’s grin grew wider; there was bound to be something useful here.

He set the bread and water down on the table and sank into one of the adjacent chairs. Gods, it felt good to sit in something soft again after so long. Exhaustion washed over him in a wave, and he almost wanted to close his eyes and let sleep take him. He knew he couldn’t, though, especially not here.

There was a notebook close at hand to where he sat down, so he flipped it open and began looking through it. He immediately recognized the elegant, curved handwriting as Elze’ith’s, and he pressed his lips together. So Lord Denholm had allowed Elze’ith to do some research, then, judging by the mentions of leylines and wards he caught as he skimmed the text. Was this Elze’ith’s own research, or was this done at Lord Denholm’s behest? Did Elze’ith even know this room existed, or had Lord Denholm just taken his notebook away one day? So many questions, and so few opportunities to get answers

Another turn of the page had him frowning. There were sketches of glyphs that seemed strangely familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place. The next page had the same glyphs but slightly modified, accompanied by notes in a different handwriting.

“Connects cuff into matching pair”

“Modulates magic drain so wearer is never entirely bereft of magic”

“Requires magical spark to release; also allows cuffs to connect to each other or other surfaces as required”

Altair’s eyes widened in realization. He looked down at his wrists, then back at the notebook. The glyphs that glowed faintly on the cuffs on his wrists matched those in the notebook nearly perfectly. His stomach twisted; Elze’ith had helped Lord Denholm make these wretched things. Had he known that Lord Denholm was going to use them to bind Altair? They were the only sorcerers in the Valley, so either Lord Denholm had intended them for Altair, or for Elze’ith. And Elze’ith was clearly perfectly well-subdued already.

When Elze’ith had told Altair that he couldn’t take the cuffs off, had he been lying? Could he genuinely not know? Or maybe he was forbidden from taking them off Altair… He didn’t want to doubt his partner. But staring at the designs that were keeping him helpless, sketched in Elze’ith’s hand, it was so hard not to.

He cautiously flipped the page. The rest of the notebook was blank. He threw it back onto the table, not caring about the way it skidded and fell off the other side. Instead, after taking a drink of water that did little to ease his churning stomach, he stood and made his way to the desk. Maybe whatever he found there would be less disquieting.

Many of the papers on the desk, upon a cursory glance, didn’t tell him much. They were mostly just ledgers and tax records and things of that sort. There was, however, an old tome with a piece of parchment sticking out of the front cover. Some of the ink was smudged, but the handwriting was still legible.

“Soul magic can be used to bind two individuals together. Basic form of this connection allows for rudimentary sharing of emotions. More powerful forms allow direct reading of thoughts and even control over thoughts and actions. 

“Connections are always two-way. However, one or both parties may be unaware of full nature of connection, depending on manner of creation. (This can be exploited.)

“Often needs a conduit to establish. Agreements (pacts) are a common conduit (see: fey bargains; devils’ pacts), as are moments of significant physical/emotional intimacy. Times/locations of great magical power can result in inadvertent establishment. A third party may also act as an intermediary. Forceful establishment of a soul bond may require a powerful ritual or artifact if another conduit is not in place.”

This… Altair tensed, crumpling the parchment in his hand slightly. This was how Lord Denholm was controlling Elze’ith. He had linked their souls. And based on these notes, he wasn’t just controlling Elze’ith’s actions, but his thoughts as well. That was beyond what Altair had even fathomed was happening. Lord Denholm probably wasn’t even letting Elze’ith think about resisting him. Altair felt sick even contemplating it. No wonder Elze’ith was so… different now.

He bit his lip, heart twisting slightly with guilt. His earlier suspicions about Elze’ith’s intentions felt misplaced now. Because it was all-too clear now how little actual choice Elze’ith had in anything that he did here.

Although… the connection supposedly worked both ways. Did Elze’ith know that? Did he have any idea he could potentially delve into Lord Denholm’s mind, maybe even reclaim some control? That might be difficult, though, if he couldn’t speak… Was that why? 

Putting the loose parchment aside, he started to flip rapidly through the tome it had been tucked away in. Maybe he could find a way to break that connection somewhere in here. But he quickly found that the book was written in a language he couldn’t understand, and he snapped it shut again in frustration. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple.

At least he knew not to make any agreements with Lord Denholm that could serve as a conduit for a soul connection between the two of them. At least the next time he saw Elze’ith, he could make sure he knew just how deep Lord Denholm’s control went, so that they could try to find a way to counteract it. Little victories.

He finished off the rest of the bread roll and took another sip of water before turning his attention to the other book on the desk. Judging from the cover, it appeared to be a genealogical history of prominent families on the continent. Dread prickled in the back of his mind as he found a page that was bookmarked and opened to read.

“The Buchannan Family have held dominion over the Aticester Expanse for generations. With great mastery over magic, they claim a celestial lineage as the source of their—”

“There you are.”

The room plunged into darkness. Altair suddenly became aware of Lord Denholm’s suffocatingly powerful aura. He immediately reached for the knife in his waistband, but a strong, unyielding hand seized his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back. Altair barely had time to react before Lord Denholm grabbed his shoulder and shoved him forward until he was bent over the desk, the force of the collision making him grunt.

“You,” Lord Denholm said, voice heavy with displeasure, “Are not supposed to be here, little ruin.”

Panic coursed through Altair’s body. How had he not noticed Lord Denholm’s approach? And the position he was in, bent over the desk with Lord Denholm right behind him, had his heart racing with fear of the implications.

Maybe this was still salvageable. He slowly started reaching for the knife with his free hand, hoping to grab it before Lord Denholm noticed.

“Ah.” With preternatural swiftness, Lord Denholm’s hand slid down Altair’s arm to grasp at the spot just below the cuff. He tightened his grip, and Altair saw white as he heard the sound of bone snapping in Lord Denholm’s hand. He couldn’t hold back a sharp cry of pain as Lord Denholm moved his now-broken arm behind his back next to his other arm. “None of that, now.”

There was a pressure on his back and arms as Lord Denholm leaned over. Altair hissed out a breath at the surge of pain in his broken arm. When Lord Denholm spoke, his voice was right next to Altair’s ear. “You really should have stayed put, little ruin. Things would have gone so much better for you if you had.” Lord Denholm wrenched Altair’s arm a little higher up his back, and he made a choked sound of pain. “I’m going to have to impose severe consequences for this. For you and my light.”

Altair’s blood ran cold. “Don’t you dare hurt Elze’ith. This isn’t his fault.”

“Oh, I do like to hear you beg.” For a moment the growl in Lord Denholm’s voice was replaced with satisfaction, and a different kind of white-hot fear jolted through Altair. “But begging won’t save you now.”

The pressure on his back eased as Lord Denholm withdrew and pulled him upright. Having his broken arm forcibly moved sent lightning bolts of pain through his nerves, forcing him to grit his teeth to keep from crying out again. He heard a faint click as his cuffs were locked together, then Lord Denholm roughly grabbed his biceps and pushed him forward.

“Come. We’ll discuss things more downstairs.”

[thatnununguy]

PLEASREE PLEASE SHOW MORE EQUIGAM ART PLEASE!!!!!!

When in doubt — post yaoi art. Or however the saying goes. Perchance.

[blushily]

Juniper doodle! ✧

[nocofamilyau]

hey remember when this was meant to be a halloween special. I don’t (8/11)

[blueberrybeomgyu]

leehan edging himself? FANTASTIC ill have 14 of them

1/14 coming right up!!! I actually had two ideas for this one, so I’m gonna write about one here and the second one i think i'll turn into a full fic, so look out for that, nonnie <33 i feel like self-edging is a bit hard to write a drabble on, but i did it anyway, sorry if it's lacking!! i'm also sorry if this doesn’t make sense, they’re just ideas!

bsf!leehan who…

can’t stop thinking about you when he jerks off, even if he tries to push thoughts of you away

you always manage to cross his mind anyway, and the second you do, he’s cumming quicker than he’d care to admit

eventually gives in and indulges in all of his perverted fantasies of you sucking him off, riding his face, fucking him until he can’t think anymore

wants to spend more time with the image of you in his head, so he denies his own orgasms

like riwoo, i’d say he’s pretty good at holding out, not losing his mind, he’s able to stave off the first two or three orgasms easily

sometimes he doesn’t even let himself cum at all, he knows about your sassy/bratty personality well, and likes to think you’d be kinda mean to him in that way

he’s so desperate for your touch, always on edge, and when your eyes or hands linger on him a little too long, he’s using all of the energy in his body to no buck his hips up into the air

he’d be hanging over at your apartment one day, and it’s laundry day, and you're out of underwear!! you tell him with a pout :(

follows you around like a puppy on a normal day, and today isn’t any different, but when you bend over to switch your clothes over to the dryer, he can see the outline of your cunt pressing against your shorts, and he has to pinch himself so hard it bruises to prevent himself from cumming on the spot.

he swears you’re doing this on purpose, throwing him mischievous smiles when you catch him staring at you, but he can’t be sure, so he suffers in silence (definitely won’t admit that he enjoys the game you’re playing)

lingers by the laundry room even after you’ve left, and takes the opportunity to snag a pair of dirty underwear from the hamper of clothes you haven’t gotten to yet, stuffing them in his pocket and putting on his nonchalant act when he joins you on the couch again. 

spends the rest of the evening half-listening to what you’re saying bc his mind is so focused on your panties sitting in his pocket

immediately falls into bed when he gets home that night, stuffs your dirty underwear in his mouth and fucks up into his fist and he looks so stupid, bet you’d call him pathetic as you grind your clit against his nose

he spends hours like that, pulling his hand off of his cock whenever he’s close to the edge and imagining it’s you denying him

he’d whimper desperately around the cotton in his mouth when he finally gets the release he’s been chasing, and it hits him so hard he passes out

wakes up the next morning and is so embarrassed about the state he finds himself in that he doesn’t talk to you for the next four days

✧･ﾟ: *

[cottonconnielvr]

Okay so, we’re obviously Connie’s very spoiled girlfriend

Reader had eyes on this really expensive bag that she’s been dying to have. She asked Plug!Connie and he has the audacity to tell us no, just to see how we’d react. Reader starts having a really nasty bratty attitude for a week and now daddy gotta set us straight ����

WARNINGS ✩ — squirting, smoking, sloppy messy blowjob, reader calls con daddy, reader is sensitive emotionally,rough sex, crying, handjob,overstimulation + just nasty stuff (may b a couple mistakes bc i didnt feel like re-reading imma do it later tho😭)

JEAN passed the blunt over to Connie, slightly shaking from coughing. Connie, who was sitting on Eren’s couch, shook his head as he scrolled through your ig story. “Swear this lil girl want me to fuck her shit up,” Connie mumbled as he hit the blunt.

Eren laughed from the floor, sitting in a bean bag. “What she do now?”

“She got a lil attitude with me because I told her not to let her fucking demon dog in the room anymore. So now she posting shit she know will make me mad” Connie passed his phone to Eren, letting him look at your story.

“You spoil that girl wayyy too much anyway,” Jean added.

“What you mean?” Connie asked with an attitude.

“She never listen to your ass because you say yes to everything she says. She literally gets whatever she wants from you.” Connie fights the urge to defend his spoiled princess but, Jean was making a point.

“I mean he did kinda do it to himself, not her” Eren passed the blunt to Jean.

“Bro you’re her bitch” Jean says in disbelief. “Shut yo long headed ass up. I am not her bitch” Connie defends himself, although a part of him agreed with Jean. Connie never really did put you in check unless it ended with angry sex. He was never super stern with, just letting you get by with everything.

But that was the way it was supposed to be. You were his spoiled little princess who always got what she wanted because she deserves it more than anyone.

“Just tell her no to see how she reacts”

Connie doesn’t give an answer, just contemplating on it.

“Ight”

“Isn’t she gorgeous baby just look” You practically shove your phone in Connie’s face. Connie looks at the pink purse. “I’ve been obsessing so bad and I neeedd it, please” Your glossy lips pout as you beg.

Connie furrowed his eyebrows, “Mhmm no I think you’re good.” You jerk your head back, trying to process that word, No.

You don’t have a great history with the word no.

“No y/n you can’t have this”

“No y/n you can’t have that”

Why would anyone deny you anything?

“What? Why! What did I do? Why not!?” You whined feeling the need to cry.

“You don’t exactly deserve it. You haven’t been good”Connie fought the urge to smile at you, such a crybaby. “What!? Baby I have what are you talking about?” You sat up, sitting on Connie’s lap.

“Your instagram stories, you keep going to parties I tell you not to go to. You needa get your act together” You gasped, offended that he was acting so nonchalant. He was basically telling you that he didn’t love you anymore.

“So until you fix your attitude then maybe, you can get it” Connie practically brushed you off and reached for his blunt. You sat there frozen for a minute, feeling betrayed and heartbroken.

“Okay Connie.” You said in a monotone voice before getting off of Connie and walking out of the room.

The rest of the week has been hell for Connie.

You had one of the worst attitudes ever, giving Connie silent treatment, short answers, and no sex.Were you trying to kill him?

In your point of view, you weren’t gonna stop until he apologized ( with an apology gift to go with ).

Connie walked in the house, hearing you blast “Me, Myself, and I” by Beyonce. Connie shook his head, obviously understanding the message.

“Baby!” Connie yelled from downstairs.

Meanwhile you sat at your vanity, fixing your hair. Connie opened the door to your beauty room, “You ain hear me calling you?” He asked while squinting his eyes at you. “I guess not.” Connie watched as you rolled your eyes.

Connie leaned on the door, poking his tongue against his cheek. “What’s yo problem?” He finally asked.

You stayed silent.

“I’m talking to you, Y/N.” Connie said sternly.

“Nothing Connie” You stood up, fully showcasing your tight outfit.

“ where you goin” Connie looked you up and down, ignoring his boner and licking his lips.

You were wearing a tight denim mini skirt with baby tee, showing your boobs practically poking out the top. “Just going out” You grabbed your purse which Connie recognized it as a new one.

You had to buy it yourself since no charges came from Connie’s card and you’ve been avoiding him like crazy. Connie knew you were really mad if you start paying for your own stuff. You walked passed him, purposely hitting him with your purse and a small oops leaving your mouth.

Connie just smiled to himself, shaking his head. You were gonna sleep really good tonight.

“What I tell you about walking away from me mama?” Connie followed you to the living room. You didn’t answer, walking to the front door.

You stood a little shocked as Connie sat on the couch. He got pretty comfortable, reaching for his phone out of his pocket.

Just as you reached for the lock, “Y/N come sit down with me”

Your legs practically went numb as you heard the tone in Connie’s voice. He sounded very very stern which meant he was not in the mood to be fucked with.

Your boldness melted away. Your head immediately went down, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

You sat in the loveseat across from Connie, messing with your fishnets. “I said come sit with me Y/N” You didn’t hesitate to move the second he said your name.

Yeah he was pissed.

You walked over to Connie, his hand grabbing yours as he pulls you on his lap. You land on Connie’s muscular thigh, his hand immediately going to your inner thigh.

His touch felt good, your attention now focused on the feeling. His tatted fingers massaging your inner thigh.

“What’s yo problem? Didn’t even care to ask me how my day was,” Connie looked up at you as you stayed silent. A pinch was sent to your inner thigh, making you jump.

“I don’t have a problem Connie. I was just trying to have fun”

“Why you lying to me Y/N” Connie grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“You just made me upset and I-I just really wanted the bag” Connie’s thumb wiped against your bottom lip, smearing your lip gloss.

“Instead of acting like a brat you should’ve told me that you were upset. I thought we agreed to talk like adults whenever we feel upset with eachother, not do this petty ass silent treatment shit.”

“I’m sorry Con” Your voice small and quiet out of guiltiness.

“I don’t believe you ma” Connie leaned back on the couch, removing his hands from your body.

You whined, missing his touch after you ignored him for days. “I really am daddy”

Connie almost folded at the pet name, fighting the urge to pound you into the couch until your makeup comes off but that could wait. He wanted to make you beg a little longer.

“I don’t believe you. Gonna show me how sorry you are hm?” You quickly nodded, taking place between his spread legs. Your hands immediately went for the band of his sweatpants, tugging them down with eagerness. Connie lifted up his hips, letting you pull down his boxers as well. His cock springing up against his stomach ( his name ain’t connie springer for no reasonnnn)

Your tongue ran up his balls, going all the way up to the tip. “Fuck” Connie mumbled to himself, it’s felt like forever since you’ve gave him a blowjob.

You hollowed your cheeks as you took him down to the base. You flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling him stuff your throat.

Your hands rested on the floor besides your knees, stabling yourself as you tried to breathe through your nose.

You gagged once you felt Connie buck his hips upwards. Connie’s hands went to your head, keeping you in place.

Your nose was flush against his lower stomach. Connie thrusted up into your mouth, groaning to himself. The more he looked down at you, the angrier he got.

How dare you ignore him and keep this pretty little mouth away from him. You could feel your scalp become sore from the deadly grip Connie had on it.

The sloppy sound of your gags and the wetness of your mouth filled the living room. The scene was so nasty and filthy, your saliva leaking all around Connie’s cock and your mouth.

Your hands tapped at Connie’s thighs. Connie lifted your head up, letting you breathe. Strings of spit connected from your mouth to Connie’s cock, making him groan.

You panted, feeling your sticky lip gloss all over your mouth.

“Stick your tongue out” Connie slowly stroked himself. You stuck your tongue out. Connie slapped his dick around your tongue, making your saliva drip down to your boobs. Connie rubbed his dick all over your lips before bringing it down to your chest.

“F-fuck” Connie moaned deeply. Your eyes watered, feeling so humiliated and used.

“You sorry baby?” Connie asked, slapping your wet cheek. A tear ran down your cheek, running black with your mascara. “Y-yes” You whimpered. Your hands twisted up and down his cock.

“ Gonna b-be g..good for me hm?” You stuck your tongue out, looking up at Connie. You watched as Connie pushed out a glob of spit, it landing on your tongue. You swallowed, Connie slapping your cheek once again. “Look at me ma” Your eyes locked with Connie’s before he pushed your head down on his dick again, moving your head up and down. You moaned lightly, causing a vibration to run through connie’s cock. “Make me c-c..ah..cum” Connie hissed, feeling your take him so deep. Connie could feel his stomach tightening , toes curling, and thighs clenching. “F-fuck baby” Connie pulled out of your mouth, ribbons of white cum squirting in your face. Connie winced as he rubbed his cum into your face with his tip, smearing it all over your lips (since you like lip gloss so much)

Your mascara ran down your face, making you look an absolute mess. a beautiful mess

“f-fuckfuckfuck m’sorry! i-im sorry daddy, i’m s-s..i’m so sorry” Your muffled cries fell on deaf ears, Connie continuing his brutal thrusts. He was fucking you so so so hard.

It hurt so bad but felt so good. Your legs went numb rounds ago and your body was a mess, covered in your own fluids mixed with Connie’s.

Your mouth was open, sending your screams into the silk white pillow. Connie hovered above you, holding onto the headboard as he slammed his hips into you. “F-fuck cum again” Connie ordered you, reaching between your legs to rub your swollen clit.

“I-i can’t-” You gasped out, on the verge of passing out. You gripped onto the cold pillows, trying to pull yourself up and away from his torture. Connie took notice of this and wrapped his hand around your throat, pulling you back.

“You are.” You heard Connie sternly mutter.

You whined, your hand reaching behind you to push Connie away only for Connie to grab both of your hands. He pinned them down on the deep arch in your back, absolutely churning your insides.

“I-i..i promise pa- m’not go..gonna act up anymore” You cried out, loosing all of your body strength.

You body physically went numb altogether, a rush of pleasure washes over you. Your legs shook violently. You let out a scream that you were not aware of, clenching hard on Connie’s cock.

“S-shit” Connie looked down, seeing you wet up his lower body

(“they told me to stay out that water park😔” - future baby daddy connie with his five kids tackling him)

The pressure pushed Connie’s cock out of you, causing him to paint your ass with white ribbons.

Connie took a moment to breathe before he moved from above you, your breathing was now steady and you laid flush into the bed.

Connie squinted his eyes, slowly turning your face. No way this girl is sleep right now I ain done

“Baby...Baby…..Baby” Connie shook your body, waking you up. You whined, going right back to that bratty attitude that Connie loved oh so much.

“Whattt” You were so exhausted, moving was not an option right now.

After a much needed bath, you fell right asleep with just a bra and panties on. You were knocked out, sleeping all the way until 12 pm.

You woke up to just you in the bed, your house ringing silence. (Marshmallow is at a doggy hotel getting groomed #materialgworl💅) Instead of waking up to Connie’s presence you woke up to a box with a note on top of it.

‘Had to leave early and handle some business with Ony, I’ll be back before you know it. Thank me later sexy’

You sat the note aside before taking the top off of the pink box, only to see the very purse the got you in this situation to begin with.

[tyquu]

Updated Juice Gonk page for @engagemythrusters !! Featuring even more flavours of Juice gonk! (which you can get as stickers here if you want)

[seo-changbinnies]

changbin - ultra mv

[louferrignojrofficial]

some funny and some cute moments from this extremely long podcast episode with lou. i watched this because i saw his post with this picture

and he said he’d talk about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend and i wanted to find out why. he didn’t actually do that, in fact, he basically said ‘i don’t need a girlfriend’. so that’s neat.

[asterkatt]

Moving Forward. (Spoilers for YTTD up through 3-1b)

[fatehbaz]

patience being tested. being forced by a bizarre unfortunate situation to adhere to university requirement technicality by taking this simple basic elementary "introduction to environmental history" class.

this class is from facilitators/program which do, like, "history of the American frontier" or "history of fishing and hunting" and still basically subscribe to that old-school twentieth-century idealization and celebration of characters like Teddy Roosevelt and reverence for a mythical arc-of-history-bent-towards-justice narrative of the often-clumsy but ultimately-benevolent US federal government and its mission to "save nature" through the miracle of "sustained yield," while heroic federal land management agencies and "heritage" institutions lead to way, staffed by exceptional individuals (appeals to nostalgia for the frontier and an imagined landscape of the American West; ego-stroking appeals to flattering self-image that center the environmentalist or academic). where they invoke, y'know, ideas like "ecology is important because don't you enjoy cross-country skiing in The Woods with your niece and nephew? don't you like hunting and fishing?" which makes it feel like a time capsule of appeals and discourses from the 1970s. and it invokes concept of "untouched wilderness" (while eliding scale of historical Indigenous environmental relationships and current ongoing colonial violence/extractivism). but just ever-so-slightly updated with a little bit of chic twenty-first-century flair like a superficial land acknowledgement or a reference to "labor histories" or "history from below," which is extra aggravating when the old ideologies/institutions are still in power but they're muddying the water and diluting the language/frameworks (it's been strange, watching words like "multispecies" and "Anthropocene" over the years slowly but surely show-up on the posters, fliers, course descriptions, by now even appearing adjacent to the agri-business and resource extraction feeder programs, like a recuperation or appropriation.) even from a humanities angle, it's still, they're talking at me like "You probably didn't know this, but environmental history is actually pretty entangled with political and social events. In fact, we can synthesize sources and glean environmental info from wacky places like workers' rolls in factories, ship's logs, and poetry from the era." and i'm nodding like YEP.

the first homework assignment is respond to this: "Define and describe 'the Anthropocene'. Do you think 'the Anthropocene' is a useful concept? Why or why not?" Respond in 300 words.

so for fun, right now in class, going to see how fast i can pull up discussion of Anthropocene-as-concept solely from my old posts on this microblogging site.

---

ok, found some

---

I think that the danger in any universal narrative or epoch or principle is exactly that it can itself become a colonizing force. [...] I’m suspicious of the Anthropocene as concept for the very reason that it subsumes so many peoples, nations, histories, geographies, political orders. For that reason, I think ideas like the Anthropocene can be a useful short-hand for a cluster of tangible things going on with the Earth at the moment, but we have to be very careful about how fluid and dynamic ideas become concretized into hegemonic principles in the hands of researchers, policymakers, and politicians. There’s so much diversity in histories and experiences and environmental realities even between relatively linked geographies here in Canada [...]. Imagine what happens when we try to do that on a global scale - and a lot of euro-western Anthropocene, climate change and resilience research risks doing that - eliding local specificities and appropriating knowledge to serve a broader euro-western narrative without attending to the inherent colonial and imperial realities of science and policy processes, or even attending to the ways that colonial capitalist expansion has created these environmental crises to begin with. While we, as a collective humanity, are struggling with the realities of the Anthropocene, it is dangerous to erase the specific histories, power-relations, political orders that created the crisis to begin with. So, I’m glad that a robust critique of the Anthropocene as a concept is emerging.

Text by: Words of Zoe Todd, as interviewed and transcribed by Caroline Picard. “The Future is Elastic (But it Depends): An Interview with Zoe Todd.” 23 August 2016.

---

---

---

The Great Acceleration is the latest in a series of human-driven planetary changes that constitute what a rising chorus of scientists, social scientists, and humanists have labeled the Anthropocene - a new Age of Humans. [...] But what the Anthropocene label masks, and what the litany of graphs documenting the Great Acceleration hide, is a history of racial oppression and violence, along with wealth inequality, that has built and sustained engines of economic growth and consumption over the last four centuries. [...] The plantation, Sidney Mintz long ago observed, was a “synthesis of field and factory,” an agro-industrial system of enterprise [...]. Plantation legacies, along with accompanying strategies of survival and resistance, dwell in the racialized geographies of the United States’ and Brazil’s prison systems. They surface in the inequitable toxic burdens experienced by impoverished communities of color in places like Cancer Alley, an industrial corridor of petrochemical plants running along the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Baton Rouge, where cotton was once king. And they appear in patterns of foreign direct investment and debt servitude that structure many land deals in the Caribbean, Brazil, and sub-Saharan Africa [...]. [C]limatologists and global change scientists from the University of London, propose instead 1610 as a date for the golden spike of the Anthropocene. The date marked a detectable global dip in carbon dioxide concentrations, precipitated, they argue, by the death of nearly 50 million indigenous human inhabitants [...]. The degradation of soils in the tobacco and cotton-growing regions in the American South, or in the sugarcane growing fields of many Caribbean islands, for example, was a consequence of an economic and social system that inflicted violence upon the land and the people enslaved to work it. Such violent histories are not so readily evident in genealogies that date the Anthropocene’s emergence to the Neolithic Revolution 12,000 years ago, the onset of Europe’s industrial revolution circa 1800, or the Trinity nuclear test of 1945. Sugarcane plantations were already prevalent throughout the Mediterranean basin during the late middle ages. But it was during the early modern era, and specifically in the Caribbean, where the intersection of emerging proto-capitalist economic models based on migratory forced labor (first indentured servitude, and later slavery), intensive land usage, globalized commerce, and colonial regimes sustained on the basis of relentless racialized violence, gave rise to the transformative models of plantations that reshaped the lives and livelihoods of human and non-human beings on a planetary scale. [...] We might, following the lead of science studies scholar Donna Haraway and anthropologist Anna Tsing, more aptly designate this era the Plantationocene. [...] It is also an invitation to see, in the words of geographer Laura Pulido, “the Anthropocene as a racial process,” one that has and will continue to produce “racially uneven vulnerability and death." [...] And how have such material transformations sustained global flows of knowledge and capital that continue to reproduce the plantation in enduring ways?

Text by: Sophie Sapp Moore, Monique Allewaert, Pablo F. Gomez, and Gregg Mitman. "Plantation Legacies." Edge Effects. 22 January 2019. Updated 15 May 2021. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

---

---

Geologists and other scientists will fight over [the definition of the beginning start-date of the Anthropocene] in scientific language, seeking traces of carbon dioxide that index the worst offenses of European empire which rent and violated the flesh, bodies, and governance structures of Indigenous and other sovereign peoples in the name of gold, lumber, trade, land, and power. [...] The stories we tell about the origins of the Anthropocene implicate how we understand the relations we have with our surrounds. In other words, the naming of the Anthropocene epoch and its start date have implications not just for how we understand the world, but this understanding will have material consequences, consequences that affect body and land.

Text by: Heather Davis and Zoe Todd. On the Importance of a Date, or Decolonizing the Anthropocene. ACME An International Journal for Critical Geographies. December 2017. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

---

---

From Aime and Suzanne Cesaire, C. L. R. James, Claudia Jones, Eduoard Glissant, through Sylvia Wynter, Christina Sharpe, and so many others, critical anticolonial and race theory has been written from the specific histories that marked the Black Atlantic. [...] Glissant also reminds us, secondly, of how cunning the absorptive powers of [...] liberal capitalism are - how quickly specific relations are remade as relations-erasing universal abstractions. [...] This absorptive, relations-erasing universalism is especially apparent in some contemporary discourses of […] liberalism and climate collapse - what some call the Anthropocene - especially those that anchor the crisis in a general Human calamity which, as Sylvia Wynter has noted, is merely the name of an overdetermined and specific [White] European man. […] [T]he condition of creating this new common European world was the destruction of a multitude of existing black and brown worlds. The tsunami of colonialism was not seen as affecting humanity, but [...] these specific people. They were specific - what happened to them may have been necessary, regrettable, intentional, accidental - but it is always them. It is only when these ancestral histories became present for some, for those who had long benefitted from the dispossession [...], that suddenly the problem is all of us, as human catastrophe.

Text by: Elizabeth Povinelli. “The Ancestral Present of Oceanic Illusions: Connected and Differentiated in Late Toxic Liberalism.” e-flux Journal Issue #112. October 2020.

---

The narrative arc [of White "liberal humanism"] [...] is often told as a kind of European coming-of-age story. […] The Anthropocene discourse follows the same coming-of-age [...] script, searching for a material origin story that would explain the newly identified trajectory of the Anthropos […]. Sylvia Wynter, W.E.B. DuBois, and Achille Mbembe all showed how that genealogy of [White subjecthood] was [...] articulated through sixteenth- through nineteenth-century [historiographies and discourses] in the context of colonialism, [...] as well as forming the material praxis of their rearrangement (through mining, ecological rearrangements and extractions, and forms of geologic displacements such as plantations, dams, fertilizers, crops, and introduction of “alien” animals). […] As Wynter (2000) commented, “The degradation of concrete humans, that was/is the price of empire, of the kind of [Eurocentric epistemology] that underlies it” (154).

Text by: Kathryn Yusoff. “The Inhumanities.” Annals of the American Association of Geographers, Volume 11, Issue 3. November 2020.

---

---

---

As Yarimar Bonilla suggests in regard to post-Irma-and-Maria Puerto Rico, “vulnerability is not simply a product of natural conditions; it is a political state and a colonial condition.” Many in the Caribbean therefore speak about the coloniality of disaster, and the unnaturalness of these “natural” disasters [...]. Others describe this temporality by shifting [...] toward an idea of the Plantationocene [...]. As Moore and her colleagues write, “Plantation worlds, both past and present, offer a powerful reminder that environmental problems cannot be decoupled from histories of colonialism, capitalism, and racism that have made some human beings more vulnerable [...].” [W]e see that contemporary uneven socioecologies associated with the rise of the industrial world ["the Anthropocene"] are based [...] also on the racialized denial and foreshortening of life for the sacrificial majority of black, brown, and Indigenous people and their relegation to the “sacrifice zones” of extractive industry. [...] [A]ny appropriate response to the contemporary climate emergency must first appreciate its foundations in the past history of the violent, coercive, transatlantic system of plantation slavery; in the present global uneven development, antiblackness, and border regimes that shape human vulnerability [...] that continues to influence who has access to resources, safety, and preferable ecologies [...] and who will be relegated to the “plantation archipelagoes” (as Sylvia Wynter called them) [...].

Text by: Mimi Sheller. “Thinking Beyond Coloniality: Toward Radical Caribbean Futures.” Small Axe (2021), 25 (2 (65)), pages 169-170. Published 1 July 2021. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

---

---

Indigenous genocide and removal from land and enslavement are prerequisites for power becoming operationalized in premodernity [...]; it was/is a means to operationalize extraction (therefore race should be considered as foundational rather than as periphery to the production of those structures and of global space). [...] Wynter suggests that we […] consider 1452 as the beginning of the New World, as African slaves are put to work on the first plantations on the Portuguese island of Madeira, initiating the “sugar-slave” complex - a massive replantation of ecologies and forced relocation of people […]. Wynter argues that the invention of the figure of Man in 1492 as the Portuguese [and Spanish] travel to the Americas instigates at the same time “a refiguring of humanness” in the idea of race. [...] The natal moment of the 1800 Industrial Revolution, […] [apparently] locates Anthropocene origination in […] the "new" metabolisms of technology and matter enabled by the combination of fossil fuels, new engines, and the world as market. […] The racialization of epistemologies of life and nonlife is important to note here […]. While [this industrialization in the nineteenth century] […] undoubtedly transformed the atmosphere with […] coal, the creation of another kind of weather had already established its salient forms in the mine and on the plantation. Paying attention to the prehistory of capital and its bodily labor, both within coal cultures and on plantations that literally put “sugar in the bowl” (as Nina Simone sings) […]. The new modes of material accumulation and production in the Industrial Revolution are relational to and dependent on their preproductive forms in slavery […]. In 1833, Parliament finally abolished slavery in the British Caribbean, and the taxpayer payout of £20 million in “compensation” [paid by the government to slave owners for their lost "property"] built the material, geophysical (railways, mines, factories), and imperial infrastructures of Britain and its colonial enterprises and empire. [...] A significant proportion of funds were invested in the railway system connecting London and Birmingham (home of cotton production and […] manufacturing for plantations), Cambridge and Oxford, and Wales and the Midlands (for coal). Insurance companies flourished [...]. The slave-sugar-coal nexus both substantially enriched Britain and made it possible for it to transition into a colonial industrialized power […]. The slave trade […] fashioned the economic conditions (and institutions, such as the insurance and finance industries) for industrialization.

Text by: Kathryn Yusoff. "White Utopia/Black Inferno: Life on a Geologic Spike". e-flux Journal Issue #97. February 2019. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

[coldranger]

Inspired by @the3rddenialist stp/milgram au stpgram

I just really couldn't get Es Quiet out of my head and with t3. . . around the corner. It felt good of time as any. Jackalope Narrator is also here because why not

[askchuuyanakahara]

OH HI AKUGATAWA MA BOY where's gin?

Chuuya: "The Black Lizards, that is."

Akutagawa: "I have not seen her."

Chuuya: "If you want kissing so badly, watch a romance movie or something."

Chuuya: "I was just about to go grab a small bite to eat, actually."

Akutagawa: "Ah.. no thank you, I only came here to give you this file.."

Chuuya: "Let's go!"

Akutagawa: "Chuuya-san..!"

-----

Chuuya: "Aren't you glad I got you to come with?"

Akutagawa: "Ah yes.. thank you, Chuuya-san."

Chuuya: "But you don't like dogs, do you?"

Akutagawa: "Unfortunately, I do not."

Chuuya: "Don't worry! I'm not offended or anything."

Chuuya: "I only just got her so I don't want to overwhelm her.."

Chuuya: "Maybe I'll see if she'd like a nice hat."

@bioluminescentcat

Chuuya: "Seriously.. I'm getting exhausted by all these assumptions."

Akutagawa: "M.. my apologies, Chuuya-san."

Chuuya: "Ane-san asked me to."

Chuuya: ".. it doesn't matter, ignore me."