#the comparisons are generally fascinating

[superbeans89]

The Simpsons predicted Trump/Biden 2024

[aroaceleovaldez]

one of the things that I found particularly interesting in Demigods of Olympus is that it finally gives the best direct comparison we've seen so far between Percy and another character's experiences in terms of academics and particularly ableist discrimination.

The way Zane describes his experiences and what we see in his POV is that, while he is similarly discriminated against for his "atypical" behavior and blame is placed on him, the only sorts of punishments he receives for this are relatively benign, such as an increase in counseling. (It is also notable that Zane is somewhat autistic-coded, such as having the "incorrect" scripts when speaking with adults and Sam explicitly reminding him to remember to make proper eye contact.) Percy, on the other hand, similarly experiences discrimination for "atypical" behavior, but whereas Zane is treated as "too smart for his own good" and given slaps on the wrist, Percy is automatically labeled as aggressive, destructive, and a trouble-maker based on preconceived assumptions about him and is more severely punished, such as being frequently expelled.

We rarely get this level of direct comparison between Percy's experiences and that of another character, particularly such similar experiences, so looking at the differences is really interesting to gauge what their different experiences with ableist discrimination is like - and how it could potentially tie into intersectionality and other forms of discrimination at play for them.

For instance, Zane's parents are generally heavily implied to be middle-class and/or generally financially secure, versus Percy who grew up poor, so it could be classism in combination with ableist discrimination. Alternatively, it could be intersectionality with racial discrimination, as neurodivergent behavior in people of color is significantly more likely to be punished more severely and labeled as aggressive or disruptive behavior due to racist preconceptions - particularly since we know Percy's experiences with ableist discrimination are also somewhat based on assumptions people make regarding his appearance. Both Zane and Percy are racially ambiguous - Zane's appearance essentially being completely unspecified, but Percy at least having some notable details such as having a deep tan complexion. If not racism, it could also be colorism, which in this context often has similar intersectionality. There's a lot of potential options.

It's just very interesting to me! I love having such a direct point of comparison to examine the experiences of two characters within.

[bybdolan]

ttpd is sooo fascinating on an artistic level because on the one hand we have this somewhat stagnant production style that does not really elevate the songs or themes and rehashes the soundscapes of past album releases, and on the other hand the lyricism in part feels derivative of artists who might not exist without Taylor paving their way through her confessional songwriting. there is a sense of Being Stuck on this record that would lend itself well to thorough analysis, but instead every other negative ttpd review feels like a takedown of Taylor Swift The Person.

[pirateswhore]

I don't think i can properly explain this but I feel a clear distinction between how older fans interpret and headcanon captain swan and how younger/gen z fans do it and I can usually tell roughly how old someone is from their views of the ship dynamic

[cabeswaterdrowned]

remembering on my circa 2017 booklr I used to tell people to read Gemma Doyle by describing it as trc but with an all girls boarding school / all girl group in a historical setting… I was trying to do the lord’s work she deserved tumblr fame

[amelikos]

Spinel's kind of fascination with Friede..

I wonder if he is done playing with him for now (he said Friede was still worth playing with, which sure was a line of dialogue to have him say), or if he was "happy" when Friede got out of his trap in HZ044 and surpassed him in that one moment because it meant they were equals.

[seefasters]

its wild that i apparently have 44 jonmartin fics bookmarked because i cannot recall a single one

[saltyfilmmajor]

They couldn’t translate the detective Conan reference in English or Spanish I’m crying

[onlythebravest]

it's fascinating how romanticized the image of michael schumacher is, at least when you're new to f1 and don't really know anything other than that he's one of the (if not the) greatest of all times, a record holder and just a legend. but the way ppl talk about him nowadays it's as if they're hiding awat his, let's say it more dirty side. as a driver and teammate that is, not as a person. how ruthless he was, the mindgames he played, how he pushed the limits and stepped over them. drove on the edge like that. short with interviewers/media at times. maybe not always, but it happened. he made f1 change the rulebook. does this remind you of another f1 driver about him as a driver, i only ever heard about his records and all the things he accomplished during his career. which i guess is the only thing that is remembered. and that the more time passes, the controversies are forgotten. to everyone except the ones who were there when it happened or the ones who sit down and actually read about someone

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

[aroaceleovaldez]

Dude I don’t know where you’re getting this information that 13-14 guys can’t be tall at all. Literally every guy in my freshman high school grade (13-15 year olds) were all 5’6-6’0 at the beginning of the school year and they were all actively growing taller as the year went by. Letting people think Nico is average height or tall is not hurting nobody and you are still entitled to your opinion that Nico can be short. I believe all of Nico’s of various heights can coexist peacefully.

I did say "average" height and was only referring to the fact that Nico's canon height is never explicitly stated. Anyways allow me to rephrase:

my grievances only lie with the wiki for being baselessly wrong. tall nico headcanoners i have no beef with you understand i am simply being silly goofy on my blog mwah mwah

[tanadrin]

Sorry about the long ask, but what do you think about this claim: i often see marxists (and adjacent groups, blah blah) say that the united states (empire) is about to collapse or is gradually declining, something along those lines, and specifically with regard to its economy, military and ideology. For example, i was watching a video hosting Richard Wolff, and he claimed that the united states is being replaced by china as the global superpower; he compares the situation to the historical rise of the united states relative to the british empire that slowly took place in the 19th and 20th centuries. I think his comparison is slightly flawed (imo hes comparing apples to oranges here), but in the broad strokes he might be right? I also remember seeing a pretty respectable maoist on here claim the us military is failing. Idk, i would like to hear your take

This answer got real long, so I added a cut. The short version is "people who say things like this are living in a fantasy land, and you can safely ignore their opinions on anything else as a result."

The United States is not the USSR in 1990 or Somalia in 1994 or Rome in the fifth century, or anything similar. Failed states are absolutely a thing, and they're fascinating (and often quite depressing!) historical case studies, and the United States looks nothing like a failed state. It's not even about to collapse in the sense of "suffer a prolonged period of sharp economic decline that forces it to drastically reduce its presence in the wider world and curtails its power in influence." It's not even about to collapse in the sense of "experience significant regime change." The U.S. economy is, overall, doing quite well. There is no significant popular unrest. There is no elite appetite for revolution. There are not competing centers of power that would rather see the status quo burned to the ground than their rivals get power. You might want the U.S. to collapse, and you might not, but the idea it is about to is pure fantasy.

I think before we get to any other specific claims about the United States' position relative to other countries, it's important to note that claims of impending American collapse are, like claims of impending civilizational collapse or Paul Ehrlich's claim of worldwide hunger or breathless claims that the war in Ukraine is going to escalate into WW3 any day now, IMO affective claims about how the speaker feels about the world: there is a certain class of person who, whether out of nihilistic glee, hope of revolutionary change, or simply untrammeled anxiety sees the signs of collapse all around them, Doom-Is-Nigh streetcorner prophets who are emotionally invested in the idea of collapse, for whom the idea of collapse would often justify some pillar of their politics. If, after all, the US is a failed state about to be toppled by its own decadence, this would justify their inordinate degree of contempt for the US.

On another recent post someone phrased claims like this as often being more about "what would be necessary for someone's politics to be justified," and I think that's an important part of it! In fact I think "affective claims about the world being distorted into factual claims about the world bc they are what would be necessary to justify someone's politics" is a fully general phenomenon, regardless of political orientation. There are much milder forms of it than out-and-out doomerism, though of course the absurdity of doomerist claims to this degree make it really hard to take someone's claims about the state of the world seriously.

About the specific claims here:

Re: China: China has experienced terrific growth since the end of WW2, and that's great! A country of over a billion people should by any reasonable metric be one of the largest economies on Earth, and China is, it seems, taking its inevitable place internationally as an economic powerhouse. It's a big country with a ton of people, and it's terrific that it has been able to lift so many people out of the grinding poverty that prevailed throughout much of the country in the 20th century. But like a lot of middle-income countries it seems to be having a ton of trouble, for significant institutional reasons, transitioning from an industrialization-focused economy to one driven by consumer demand and consumer spending. AIUI (and I am so, so far from an expert; mostly I just read what folks like @argumate post from other sources), China has a lot of debt dragging down its economy, and weak consumer demand. China is still much poorer than the United States on a per capita basis, and though it has a large military, is much less capable of projecting its power beyond its borders. It has aspired to increase its economic and diplomatic influence through the Belt and Road initiative, but returns on this project have been decidedly mixed, and China's military and strategic focus remains decidedly confined to its neighborhood. It wants to absorb Taiwan and protect its interests in the South China Sea, and prop up North Korea and such, but it's not able to or interested in, like, fielding large carrier groups that routinely sail up and down the world's oceans or conduct invasions of distant countries like the U.S. is able to. N.B., I'm not saying those invasions are good, just that the U.S. can historically, if it wants, invade and occupy basically any small-to-medium sized country on the planet in a few weeks, and that's not the kind of capability China has, or--AFAICT--is interested in developing.

The British Empire comparison is also, I think, very misleading, and gets at something I find frustrating about a lot of modern Marxists: they want to fit everything into the model of 19th century capitalist imperialism, when the modern global system doesn't look too much like that anymore. Mostly countries like the United States, if they have economic interests in a country, don't invade and reduce the country to a status of colony to extract raw resources from. The Cold War supported a fair bit of regime change in the service of commercial interests, even in the aftermath of post-WW2 decolonization, but nowadays the tools used to develop and enforce the international order preferred by the Status Quo Coalition (which is led, but not commanded by the United States) are much more indirect. They don't involve directly administering colonies, which is significant because colonialism is, for the states that run it, expensive as hell. Sure, it's great for commercial interests--but it's often more a drain on state finances than anything else. I have come around to the view that colonialism was as much an expression of wealth as it was a means to acquire more. Britain was always a small-but-wealthy island country whose empire was much, much larger than its metropole. The vast majority of the population and wealth controlled by the United States is within the fifty states which comprise the core territory of the United States. This isn't Britain with a far-flung overseas empire which is expensive to administer and a minority of Britons on the island itself--this is a country whose wealth and industry is built on a population of 350 million or so which identifies as American first, which speaks English and votes for President and congress. Most of the United States' actual imperial possessions are tiny archipelagoes these days that are economically marginal, or else military bases overseas--these do not generate American wealth and power, they are expressions of it. For the United States to collapse like the British Empire did, it would have to lose control of California and Texas and the Midwest or something like that--which is a goofy-ass fantasy, because if the United States federal government disappeared tomorrow, I think the vast majority of the 350 million or so people living in the present borders of the United States would support re-establishing the United States federal government. Americans like and support the country they live in! This is very different from the subjects of the British Raj, or even the people of Australia and Canada, who had begun to develop their own identity (and thanks to distance from the metropole, completely divergent economic and political interests).

"The U.S. is an empire analogous Britain" is only true if you squint from very far away and don't care about the specifics of history, economics, or politics. But I think again the way to understand this claim is partly affective. If the U.S. really is the second incarnation of the British Empire, then you can cast a lot of disparate conflicts that otherwise don't fit the mold under the aegis of a broad anti-colonial struggle. It also facilitates a certain sort of base campism that some people love to indulge in--the NATO-is-always-evil-so-anything-NATO-doesn't-like-is-good angle, which has a lot of self-described leftists backing in to saying that Putin's Russia is somehow an antifascist or anticolonial force for good in the world.

"The U.S. military is failing" is pure cope. There's no country or active coalition of countries that's even remotely close to the U.S. military in capabilities. Though there is always going to be a stream of waste and corruption and medium-sized bureaucratic fuckups streaming out of the U.S. military, it remains without peer simply by virtue of one of the largest economies on the planet being willing to spend like 4% of its GDP on military stuff. The EU or China might in some counterfactual world be able to field a similar military if they spent a comparable amount, and had similar strategic aims, but they won't and they don't, so unless U.S. foreign policy drastically changes and military spending is slashed as a result, I don't see that changing at any time in the near future.

[iguanodont]

Lineup of metallic dragons, as they appear in my personal setting. From left to right:

Gold: Among the largest and most politically ambitious of dragons. They rarely use their immense might to seek dominion over humanoid races, instead investing their First hoard (typically sea-jewels and their own shed scales) in the success of kings and cities that answer only to them, thus expanding their own wealth through mercantile success. Their wisdom spans generations, making them valuable advisors and patient strategists.

Copper: A mid-sized dragon, and the most playful. Their fascination with humanoids lies almost exclusively in how they entertain themselves. These glittering tricksters make their lairs in the hearts of theaters, theme parks, circuses, and other locales of escapism, stretching and bending the laws of reality to the awe and delight of their audience.

Silver: The smallest and most ephemeral of dragons. Though solitary among their own as all dragons, they are fascinated by the social lives of humanoids. They may spend a majority of their lives playing pretend as ordinary folk, using their silver tongues and seemingly inexhaustible work ethic to worm their way to the top of a corporate ladder or the heart of a secret society, only to leave it headless when the game is won and they seek a fresh start elsewhere.

Bronze: Smallest after silver, and cheeriest of dragons, perhaps because they remain the closest of their kin to Mother Sea, from whence the first dragons are said to have crawled. Likewise their motivations seem the most simple: to create paradise at these sacred shores. They are lorded as guardians of beaches and shallow seas, yet their vision of perfection may prove so infectious that those who visit forget the world beyond the gentle surf and glittering sand, and those who are wrenched from it find Elsewhere hollow by comparison.

Brass: The tallest, and loneliest of dragons. These flightless behemoths roam the desert in their youth, taking in everything from the goings of the skittering beetle to the rise and fall of cities. But over centuries they grow so tall they can no longer interact intimately with the many subjects of their interest. Instead they totter aimlessly from place to place, magically broadcasting their vast repository of histories, biographies, and opinions on the weather to anyone who might be there to listen.

[00valentina-writes00]

Hello! I've been thinking about this for a while but could you do Ambessa x Wolf Vastayan reader? (Basically half wolf, half human) since she's so fascinated by wolves lol, Thank you! ^_^

✞⛧ Ambessa with a wolf!Vastayan reader ✞⛧

(Okay I really liked this request ngl-)

✞⛧ Ambessa first encounters you during a political meeting between Noxian generals and a Vastayan emissary group, though your presence as a wolf Vastayan immediately catches her eye.

✞⛧ At first, her fascination is purely tactical. Vastaya have an innate connection to the primal forces, and your wolf heritage makes you an exceptional warrior, something she respects deeply.

✞⛧ However, her interest quickly becomes personal as she notices your proud demeanor, piercing eyes, and the subtle ferocity in the way you move.

✞⛧ Ambessa has always admired strength, and your wolfish traits—sharp teeth, pointed ears, and a tail that occasionally twitches when you’re irritated—are both intimidating and captivating to her.

✞⛧ You’re initially wary of her. As a Noxian warlord, she’s a master of manipulation, and you suspect she may see you as a means to an end.

✞⛧ She surprises you by speaking with genuine curiosity about your Vastayan culture and your connection to the wild.

✞⛧ Ambessa often draws comparisons between wolves and herself, claiming that she, too, understands the pack mentality and the necessity of ruthless strength.

✞⛧ You challenge her notions, emphasizing that being a wolf isn’t just about dominance—it’s also about loyalty and protecting those you care for.

✞⛧ She loves when you bare your teeth at her during arguments. It reminds her of a wolf baring its fangs, and it ignites a thrill in her that she can’t quite explain. (-kink..?)

✞⛧ Ambessa often refers to you as her “wolf,” a term of endearment that borders on possessiveness.

✞⛧ Despite her powerful presence, you aren’t intimidated by her. If anything, your sharp tongue and fiery spirit only make her more drawn to you.

✞⛧ You occasionally find her watching you when you’re unaware—during moments where your instincts show, like when you tilt your head at a strange noise or growl under your breath when irritated.

✞⛧ She loves to tease you about your wolfish habits, especially when your tail betrays your emotions. “Ah, so you do enjoy my company,” she’ll say with a smirk when it wags slightly.

✞⛧ You begrudgingly admit that she smells intoxicating, though you’ll never tell her outright. Her scent—spiced and smoky, with a hint of leather—always draws you closer.

✞⛧ Ambessa is incredibly protective of you, though she’d never undermine your independence. She trusts your strength but will remind you that she’s at your side if you ever need her.

✞⛧ She often tests your limits, challenging you to spar or provoking you in subtle ways to see how far she can push you before you snap.

✞⛧ You’re one of the few people who can get away with calling her out on her arrogance. She respects your candor, even if she doesn’t always like hearing it.

✞⛧ Ambessa is a tactile person, and she’s fascinated by the texture of your fur. When you’re alone, her fingers will trail over your ears or down your tail, marveling at how soft yet wild you are.

✞⛧ Though you pretend to be annoyed by it, her touch is soothing, and you often lean into her without realizing it.

✞⛧ She’s surprisingly gentle with you, a side of her that few ever get to see.

✞⛧ You bring out a more introspective side of Ambessa. Your connection to nature and the Vastayan way of life makes her reflect on her own choices and the path she’s carved in Noxus.

✞⛧ You teach her about the balance between strength and vulnerability, something she struggles to understand fully but appreciates deeply.

✞⛧ In return, she helps you hone your combat skills, teaching you the disciplined strategies of Noxian warfare while admiring your raw, animalistic instincts.

✞⛧ Ambessa enjoys sharing meals with you, especially when it involves hunting. She sees it as a way to bond with you on a primal level.

✞⛧ You’re the only person she’ll let see her truly relax. In private, she’ll lean back, a drink in her hand, while you curl up beside her like a protective wolf guarding its mate.

✞⛧ Ambessa is endlessly amused by how your wolf instincts manifest in daily life—whether it’s your dislike of loud, unnatural noises or your tendency to stare someone down when they disrespect you.

✞⛧ She often jokes that if she ever needed to lead a pack of wolves, you’d be her second-in-command.

✞⛧ Despite her imposing nature, she’s incredibly patient with you, even during your more feral moments.

✞⛧ Ambessa has a soft spot for your playful side, even though you rarely show it. When you nip at her teasingly she can’t help but laugh.

✞⛧ Though she’s used to commanding armies, she’s learned that with you, partnership is key. She doesn’t try to dominate you, understanding that respect and mutual trust are more important.

✞⛧ You share a deep bond rooted in your shared understanding of strength, loyalty, and the instinct to protect what you love.

✞⛧ Ambessa often calls you her “wild heart,” a name that reminds her of the untamed beauty she sees in you.

✞⛧ Ambessa quickly learns that your heightened senses make it impossible to hide anything from you. You always know when she’s stressed, even if she masks it perfectly for others.

✞⛧ She’s amused (and secretly delighted) by the way you instinctively position yourself between her and potential threats, your protective nature always on display.

✞⛧ You’re equally amused by how she does the same for you—except her protection often comes in the form of intimidating glares and veiled threats toward anyone who looks at you the wrong way.

✞⛧ When Ambessa has political events to attend, she insists you accompany her, both as a show of strength and because she genuinely enjoys having you by her side.

✞⛧ She loves when you dress in Noxian attire for formal occasions, the sharp lines of the armor and robes accentuating your powerful, wolfish features.

✞⛧ She’s endlessly fascinated by the way your emotions show through your ears and tail. She teases you relentlessly when your tail wags involuntarily at something she says.

✞⛧ Despite your tough exterior, you’re incredibly affectionate with her in private. She treasures the moments when you rest your head on her shoulder or let her run her fingers through your fur.

✞⛧ Ambessa loves to take you on hunting trips. While she’s skilled with weapons, she admires the way you rely on instinct and raw physicality to track and take down prey.

✞⛧ You have a soft growl that you use exclusively when you’re feeling playful or content. Ambessa finds it adorable and often mimics it just to see your ears flick in annoyance

✞⛧ Though she’s a master strategist, Ambessa is surprisingly impulsive when it comes to you. If someone insults you, she’ll cut them down with words (or actions) before you even have a chance to respond.

✞⛧ She has a habit of calling you “little wolf,” despite knowing you’re anything but little. You bristle every time, but she finds your irritation endearing.

✞⛧ You’ve caught her more than once admiring your claws, sharp and glinting in the light. She often wonders how deadly they’d be in combat if you truly let loose.

✞⛧ Ambessa loves sparring with you because it’s one of the few times she feels genuinely challenged. Your feral fighting style keeps her on her toes, and she’s always eager for a rematch.

✞⛧ Ambessa occasionally lets her guard down when she’s with you, admitting things she’d never tell anyone else. You’re her safe haven, the one person she trusts completely.

✞⛧ When you’re apart for long periods, Ambessa sends messengers with small trinkets or letters to remind you she’s thinking of you. She knows how much you hate feeling abandoned.

✞⛧ Your keen sense of smell often leads to amusing situations. You can detect when she’s been drinking too much wine or when someone unfamiliar has entered her quarters. “Cheating on me now, bessa?” (You’re half joking. You NEED to know who tf else was in this room)

✞⛧ You’ve taught her some of your people’s customs, and she takes them seriously, even if they’re wildly different from Noxian traditions.

✞⛧ When she’s away on campaigns, you often leave claw marks or scents in her chambers as a way of marking your territory. She finds it amusing but oddly comforting.

✞⛧ She loves to curl her fingers around your chin, tilting your head up so she can meet your intense gaze. “You’re my wolf,” she’ll say with a rare softness in her voice.

✞⛧ Together, you’re an unstoppable force—a wolf and a lioness, both fierce and unyielding, yet capable of deep love and devotion.

[eggedbellies]

Thank @cyphlyncolours for this one! Title: All Bets are Off Wordcount: 3327 Kinks: breeding, oviposition, cum inflation, knotting, egg laying, bondage (?), breeding stocks, overstimulation Synopsis: Ashe (she/they) is a human on an alien planet. Hanging out in an alien bar and playing games sounds like great fun... until the bids are raised higher than before. If she wins, the prize is a great amount of money. If she loses, well... the breeding stocks always need a new body.

-

The sultry air in the Aura Rainforest was something that few humans enjoyed, but Ashe had found herself coming to enjoy. It wasn’t impossible to encounter other soft-skinned folks like herself in here, but it was definitely something rare. She liked how comfortable it was, in only the barest modicum of clothing, and the Selesians seemed to enjoy the novelty of seeing such an unusual creature in their midst. The human settlement nearby had been tolerated when they’d first landed; the reptillian locals were not huge in numbers, and friendly enough, even if it had taken some time for communication to be established. That was hundreds of years ago now, and Ashe was part of a generation that was long since settled… although interactions between the two communities was a little more distant than it really should have been.

Ashe, though? They’d never given a damn what was expected of her. The thick leafy foliage was part of the building; the air was heavy with moisture, and her crop top – barely containing her heavy chest - and light yoga pants were not enough to stop sweat dripping down her back. For the scaled creatures that were her friends and compatriots, it was clearly pleasant – they found her strange, soft nature to be fascinating. Eyes drifted around the space before settling back on the hand of cards she had. It sometimes made her think of saunas she’d seen on footage about Earth, and always enjoyed it…

The last few games had been disastrous; an upsetting shift in pace from Ashe’s previous luck. This game had been one she’d learnt here, on the very first, nervous visit – a friend had heard her talking about wanting to try some of the local delicacies, and had almost mockingly recommended Aura Rainforest. The silence that fell when she’d first stepped in, a half-dozen sets of slitted eyes turning to look, suspicion that spoke of perhaps some crueller visits in the past. Yet, upon learning what kind of person they were? Ashe had been accepted with open arms.

The game was fun, but tense; a little like poker, a little like chess, even if it was played from the compressed-leaf ‘cards’, able to tolerate the balmy temperatures. The pile of money in front of them, though, was drawing tension. The space around had a low chatter, but many eyes were fixed upon the two players. All the others had dropped previously, and now, it was only Ashe and her opponent – Manna. She was a stunning creature, truly. Six foot two, glossy green and gold scales with touches of warm copper, brilliant orange eyes. She reminded Ashe of images she’d seen of cobras; the way her natural head shape flared out like a hood or even long hair… her own brunette locks felt unremarkable in comparison.

She was also the owner of Aura Rainforest, and one of the most skilled N’ic players that Ashe had ever faced off against.

“Damnit.” the human sighed, sitting back slightly, dropping her cards down in front of her. “I concede. I don’t have anything else to bid.” “Hmm…” Manna’s voice was as warm as the air, and she smiled in that languid way the reptillians had. “There is something else you could raise…” she murmured. “One more game. If you win, all this…” she gestured a clawed hand down at the pile. That was a good amount of money – enough to cover her rent for the month, at least. Brows drew in, trying to consider what was being suggested right now – before the black claw pointed across the room. Ashe turned, and her eyes settled on – ah. ‘The Stocks’, she’d heard them called, although they weren’t like any stock they’d ever seen before in their history docs.

It wasn’t a structure designed to hold the wrists and neck, no – it was something entirely different, something she’d rarely seen used but – there was a deep throb of heat that sunk straight to her core. Maybe, as Ashe looked back around, she saw Manna’s nostrils flare – but she could have imagined that, surely? “One night.” she said, with a grin, “Anything goes. I won’t let anyone hurt you, of course – standard rules would apply.” Yes, Ashe had seen that before – although never taking too close a look, just in case, not wanting to seem overly interested – that little translator in their brain working to shift the words to something she could understand. No hurting, no suffering, nothing overly… permanent. But, still… that was a hell of a thing to gamble on… eyes drifted back to the money. She remembered the last time they’d seen a body in the stocks… the moaning and gasping from the monitoresque Selesian as she’d been fucked hard, over and over… maybe… maybe the risk was worth it.

“You’ve got it. Deal me in.” she said, giving a grin that Manna reflected back, gesturing casually for the cards to be shuffled and redealt. As each one appeared, she inhaled slowly, well aware that every eye in the space was fixated on the game. She lifted the hand up, staring – trying everything she could to not reveal just what her eyes were fixing on. Impossible. There was only one hand in the game that could possibly beat this. Her own blue irises flicked up, focusing, don’t give it away… the tension held between them, then, finally -

“Marshall.” Manna declared. Ashe’s heart lifted, and she beamed, slapping down her own glimmering purple hand - “Full basilisk.” she declared, sure that Manna had overreached, but the snake was smiling, wider now, and that delight twisted to fear as - “Good hand, Ashe. But …” she laid her own down. “White sail.” “What? No! That’s – how?!” Ashe jolted to her feet, hands on the countertop. Manna began to laugh, throwing her head back before she stood, moving to the human’s side. “Looks like you have a night with us.” she whispered, just the faintest hint of a hiss in her tone. There was laughter all around, now, the rest of the bar delighted at her failure.

“Let me get you a drink.” Manna murmured, “You’re going to want it.” they waved at the bartender; a moment later a shimmering shot was laid in front of her. They stared at it for a moment, knowing just what that was; something she’d never tried, because it was expensive and – well -

“Are you sure?” Ashe murmured. There was a ripple of laughter in return; Manna nodded, leaning in her face close to the back of the human’s head, breath surprisingly warm for a mostly cold blooded creature… reaching out, her fingers caressed the cool sides of the glass before throwing it back. The ‘venom’ shot was made with – well – venom, from a particular species of Selensian – it was rare, and the price came from more than just how hard it was to obtain. Almost immediately, a new kind of heat was suffusing Ashe’s body, making her gasp.

“I always wondered just how it might work on a human.” Manna murmured, and now her slender hands were sliding over Ashe’s hips, then up – scooping under her crop top then the bra, cupping her heavy breasts. Ashe gasped roughly – her hips ground back instinctively, pressing against the growing bulge in her pants. There was more laughter, rising, but seeming so very unimportant in comparison to the throbbing heat building in her own crotch, the wetness soaking through her tight fitting pants. Those cool, unexpectedly soft scaled hands were massaging her now, rubbing over her nipples with a fascination that could only come from someone who didn’t have them. Then the fabric was being pulled from over her head, baring her in front of the entire group.

She found she didn’t mind.

Now the hands were slipping down, into the edges of her pants. Everything was becoming blurry beyond the desperation growing between her legs. As they were led through the bar towards the ‘stocks’, hands reached out to caress the soft skin, stroking her and fondling her, a whisper of what was to come…

There was a soft pad here; they’d never noticed before. But, well – they’d never been on this side of it before, after all. She let them lay her forward. There was a thick bar that settled over her hips, holding her in place, a deep soft curve in the ground, surprisingly comfortable as it was locked into place. There was a hand gripping their ass, stroking over the curve it, tantalisingly close to her desperate, aching hole…

Then something soft was pressing her clit, rubbing against it – she squirmed, bucking, letting out a loud moan.

“You know the rules!” she hissed at someone unknown. “I get first breeding. You lot get to go after. Remember – two drink minimum to use the fucktoy!” and there was a roar of laughter, the clatter of the bar picking up, and then – oh, God, yes – yes – sweet relief – there was something sinking into her. It was surprisingly slender and cool compared to the burning emptiness that was Ashe’s body right now, the venom making every nerve alive. Manna dug her claws into the bits of Ashe’s hips that she could reach.

“You’re such a wet toy. Oh… we need to find more humans to test this venom on. Or maybe it’s just you. I saw the way you looked at it when I raised that bet… I bet you wanted to be here, didn’t you? Wanted to have everyone in this bar lay their eggs in you? You’re very lucky… I can see Snaa is looking at you. We’ll have to let her go last… when you’re all fucked open and ready for that monster, hm?” she laughed again, and the noises made her tremble inside, Ashe clenching around her member. It was just like Manna. Strong, long, slim but irresistible as it drove into her. Over and over, rough, uncaring almost, yet it felt like bliss.

She was getting closer, now, so close, feeling the liquid heat building and building, thrumming into her centre. There – there – and – no – Manna was pulling away, thick strands of cum still drooling from the tip of her cock. “I could’ve given you my clutch… but no. I want to wait until you’re a little more broken, pet.” she slapped Ashe firmly across the rear, and the human clenched, moaning wantonly. Her hands dug into the padding below her, breasts scraping against the soft material… her whole body twitched hungrily, still feeling that throb that was now dancing away, only --

“Ah -” the moan escaped her throat – Manna was still hovering nearby, but there was someone new lining up. Something thick and surprisingly blunt slid slowly down the crack of their ass, rounded and textured. It was so different from the owner’s slender tool, but – surely this wasn’t Snaa’s cock? They knew her – she was the komodo who sat in the back corner, downing huge jugs of the simmered palm ‘beers’, some kind of labourer with a beautiful muscular set of arms and oh, god, she was being split in half, this couldn’t be Snaa but what if it was already? They’d never be the same again. It felt so good; they were so slick and hot compared to the blunt, unstoppable intrusion…

“Fuck!” Ashe cried out as she came, clenching, yet the cock slipped all the way in, and the high laughter above her wasn’t Snaa’s, no. It was hard to think beyond just how full she felt, each ponderous thrust slow, steady, driving all the way in then nearly all the way out. Pre was drooling into their body, doubled up on the slick from Manna’s first filling, and then – oh – oh, they were moving faster, rougher. Each blow all the way in rocked her in the ‘stock’, whining and drooling into the padding. She truly was a toy, being used, the venom making her blood sing and body shimmer all over… a bliss that she didn’t imagine she’d ever feel again.

Somehow, that cock was getting thicker. At the base now, swelling – bigger – they couldn’t move even if they hadn’t been held. Twitching, pulsing, almost squirming where it was packed into her tunnel. Each pulse of cum had nowhere to go but in, the knot preventing anything slipping out. Ashe howled, then babbled, hearing the rising and falling of laughter and excited talking. Someone carressed her face, tilting her head up as if to check she was still alive. Her belly was aching – she’d never felt so full. Then there was a soft hand on that too, rubbing it – they could feel how it hung, packed with cum, into the scaled palm. Manna was talking, laughing, and the idea that she might be proud of just how well Ashe was taking the breeding… it sent another tremble of pleasure through them, making them clench again.

“Oh, it liked that.” a deep voice rumbled, and she finally realised it was Kroak. They had been knocked out in the first round of the game, entirely unable to hold anything like a poker face, but clearly didn’t seem to be all that disappointed. “Rub it again.��� then that hand was pressing against her swollen womb and she was howling as she came once more, panting, gasping. “It’s like she was made for this.” “You’ve had your turn, pet. Move on.” slowly, the cock slipped out of her. The balmy air was cold for a moment against her swollen, open cunt; then there was another slipping inside. She let out a breathless little whimper, legs trembling against the sensation. It wasn’t bigger, but it was so ridged, lumpy and pressing in just the right places against their twitching, spread tunnel. She dug her nails into the padding again, realising through the fog just what the curve below her was for now. Oh, God. This had barely begun, hadn’t it? Her mind drifted; just a mess of pleasure, legs shaking, knowing that if they even tried to stand now, they wouldn’t be able to take their own weight. Another knot – yet more cum, unstoppable, as she came and howled and thrashed and their belly filled with the thick seed…

“Now, my dear… sip this.” Manna murmured, gently holding a glass to their sweaty lips. Ashe sipped, expecting more venom, but no – it was just water. Sweet and cool and fresh. “You’re doing so very well. Not too many left now, but…” she chuckled, reaching down to cradle her breasts, stroking over the rock hard nipples. Ashe whimpered, tender, squirming. “Well. All that cum sloshing around in you… isn’t it about time we got you some proper young, hm? Can’t waste it, after all.”

“Wha..?” Ashe mumbled, so lost in the sensations that they could barely register. Then there was another cock splitting them open, sinking in. Slow. Almost gentle, as if knowing how sore she was. They began to rock, bouncing her against them, then rougher, clawed hands adding to the marks on her butt. They added scratches, too, scraping into that flesh. Making it clear that they belonged to the patrons… it sent another tingle through their body, clenching, whimpering…

“Good toy.” the gruff voice whispered, and they laughed, “Good, good. Give in to it. We all know you wanted to be our breeding.” breaking off with a moan, there was that swelling. Different now, though – not quite a knot. Hips rolled. The lumps shifted. The starfish at the tip was flaring open, pressing into her cervix, and yet Ashe could barely feel it – no pain, only pressure leaning into pleasure. The eggs were thick, oblong, bigger than a Chabbit’s – slowly spreading the tip until it deposited into the pool of slick that filled them. A keening whimper escaped Ashe’s face, and that cool hand gently stroked her sweat-soaked features. Yes… she was doing well, wasn’t she? Oh… they would all be so happy with Ashe…

“Made to be a pet.” Manna murmured. “Might be something in that, sweetness. Oh…” she pressed a thumb to Ashe’s lower lip, and without hesitation the human pulled it in, near enough suckling on it, pupils blown wide… “Good. Good.”

The eggs continued to slip inside her, rounding that belly out further. Now the curved padding below was struggling to support her burgeoning frame. They moaned weakly against the thumb… more, more eggs… bigger, fuller… a low whimper of disappointment when that cock slipped from her hole. The last, of course, as promised, was Snaa. Huge, clumping her way towards them, wasting no time. It didn’t matter that she was rough – Ashe was so fucked open they could barely register anything beyond pleasure. Pounding against her cervix, pushing deep into her. Rough, wet slaps – the exhausted patrons cheering as Snaa pulled hard enough to loosen the lock on the stocks. Manna exclaimed a warning, but the night’s abuse and the powerful pounding – there was a clunk as it pinged open. Wasting no time, her thick hands wrapped all the way forward, grasping Ashe’s tits. They massaged them roughly, then those digits gripped her by the torso and lifted her up. Belly dangling, Ashe cried out, a weak howl as she was hefted like a sleeve.

Up and down, belly bouncing even with how tight and full it was. The clutch didn’t waste time – the eggs just as hefty as the creature releasing them. Each pushed sunk another inside her, bulging visibly on her front. A half dozen later, and the clutch was done; Manna lurching forward to help take Ashe’s weight and stop the human being dumped on the floor like a wet paper towel.

“Good girl.” Manna whispered, stroking a hand over her cheek. “Let’s get you out back and laying down, hm? I think you’ve earnt some sleep…”

--

She woke with a lurch.

It was cooler out here; the soft silky fabric of the couch below her. Ashe tried to sit up, then moaned. Her whole body felt utterly fucked out, sticky and sore. But beyond that, was another sensation. A low aching thrum. A pressure. Unresistable. Oh, fuck – the eggs had gone in. Now they were fertile, and … -- “Ah, yes. Humans. You’re so quick. Up to you if you’re lucky or not.” Manna was lounging against the wall, arms folded, completely naked, her tail curling languidly on the ground. “If you were like us, pet, you’d have to waddle around that for at least a week. Relax. Lean back. Enjoy it. I promise it’s going to feel ever so good.” she chuckled, moving closer. Ashe cried out again. Her overworked clit twitched. There was a throb, a hint of pain, and then heat rushed down through her tunnel. Liquid dripped; the eggs were moving. It stretched her out, but nowhere near as much as Snaa had. More leathery than she’d expected. Thankfully her body seemed to know what to do, rippling clenches and pushes… the first egg plopped wetly out of her. Manna was kneeling next to her now, stroking her cheek.

“Good pet. Good, good pet.” she murmured, low and syllibant, right by her ear. Ashe cried out and tried to buck, but her body was too heavy. No – there was no stopping this. Another egg, then another, until each was right on the tail of the prior. They whimpered, feeling fresh sweat dripping down their neck. “You know… I think you’re a natural.” she whispered, tenderly. “Let’s get these eggs out of you, and then, well… I know you don’t like your job, Ashe. How about considering becoming the permanent stress relief for the bar?” Manna chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve made this much in months after all.” she paused. Ashe moaned, squeezing, the egg slowly slicking loose then popping out onto the others. “Maybe I’ll wait until you can think past that big belly of yours, mm?” they murmured, patting the swell. Ashe howled – and came again, as yet another egg escaped...