#then refit clothes time

[jaymber]

WIP Wednesday - Modding Hell

Thanks @morganlefaye79 for tagging me! I have a WIP for once!

I'm slowly learning the whole NPV/NPC+ shtick and oh god! This is so difficult. I want to make Flavio into his own NPC to reunite him with Silver but.... Oh god!

This first few tries were.... let's say inconclusive? And the "final" product just wasn't him?

So I restarted from scratch and decided to go NPC+ since it's easier and... I think there's a problem in the template given with Manavortex's tutorial or at least, there's a problem with their template and my game...

These two NPCs are using the exact same face, from the exact same path... And yet one is Johnny, the second is some dude IDK who that is XD

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about something about being a very soft and feminine person, strong independent in their own way, with Mizu. I like to think she is joins the party and acts as the “woman” for the group, and she just genuinely is a good person. I just want to see Mizu with someone who just cares about them.

This was way too long and whatever else you wanna call it.

‘You’ll die.’ Mizu puts bluntly.

‘I don’t care. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.’ You shrugged, mind made up as you already have packed your essentials for the departure overnight.

Mizu closed their eyes, sighing deeply through the nose before opening their eyes once more to look directly at you with their usual stare. ‘I won’t be held responsible if you were killed unawares.’ They said but the fire of excitement and adventure within your eyes hasn’t faltered once.

Mizu can only wonder how they attract people of similar natures in one way or the other to trail after them like a little horde of stubborn ducklings; A question they’ll couldn’t quite find the answer for.

You have been prone to leave Mizu perplexed since your first met after healing them of their wounds after a particularly heinous fight. Your soft touches and kind encouraging words brought about uncertain feelings within Mizu. Making them feel as though they have somehow ventured off into unfamiliar territory, immediately sending them to act out in self defensive tactics.

Constantly looking over their shoulder, hand clutching at the hilt of their sword, ears and eyes honing in on every snaps of branches and the rustling of bushes, waiting for a potential ambushes or ransacking attempts. Anything that would put their life in any and all levels of risk.

Mizu found themself in a battlefield they weren’t well versed in whenever your face shone with a bright smile upon seeing them in the mornings, presenting them with the clothes they’ve entrusted to you to sew up the worn and torn fabric, seeing as how only you were the one with the tools and the experience for the job. Or how you would often help fix up breakfast for everyone but always end up making yours last, when Mizu asked about this, you just shrugged and told them that you’d rather survive off of scraps if it meant others having full, warm and satisfied bellies.

Mizu only scoffs at this, not thinking too much into your words, but their sharp eyes would immeditly notice the difference in the amount of food you gave them before looking at your own proportions; which was enough to satiate your hunger for the time being but it was obvious that you gave larger portions of food to them. Their eyes would soften somewhat at the gesture, knowing that your words were more than just words, only to harden afterwards when catching you given them frequent side glances.

You would also patch up reopened words that were in harder to reach for Mizu or Tiagen to get to by themselves , much to Mizu’s dismay at the thought of being in such a vulnerable and open position for sabotage. However under your watchful eye, Mizu had learnt over a long period of time to put their trust into you and your seemingly never ending well of talents.

‘Stop doing stuff that’ll only reopen your wounds,’ you scolded, finishing sealing up the last of Mizu’s wounds with a final stitch. ‘I’m staring to run out of thread and alcohol to disinfect the needle with the rate you and Taigen are going at!’ You added, putting your hands on your hips like a disappointed parent.

‘If it displeases you so much to waste resources, then why bother healing me in the first place.’ Mizu responded straightforwardly as they slowly refitted their clothing on their body whilst trying not to reopen any wounds as to not waste the effort you put into putting them back together again. You huffed, knowing that Mizu was still a little on edge with you and the kindness you went out of your way to give them.

You didn’t blame them for being the way they were and only accepted this as their way of acting the only way they knew how and went to sit down next to them, remembering to keep some distance for keep Mizu from unwarranted contact. ‘It’s not the resources that I’m worried about. It’s you.’ You admitted, seeing Mizu look at you from the corner of your eye, looking as though they weren’t expecting that type of response to come from your mouth. That reaction only hurt your heart knowing that a concerning about of people lacked empathy towards their fellow man. It genuinely disgusted you at how easy it was for them to show you their back the moment you’ve outgrown your usage.

‘Me? Why?’ Mizu asked.

You chuckled humourlessly. ‘Is it a sin for me to be concerned about you? To worry about you whenever you come back from where ever you wander off to, suddenly unable to stand on your own two feet without collapsing from immense blood loss?’ Mizu reminded silent and so you took that as a sign to continue. ‘Am I expected to just stand there and not do anything? I’m sorry but I’d rather wast every resource I own on you because if it meant bettering your chances of survival, even if by a margin, then I’d do anything to make that possibility into a guarantee.’ You finished with a smile before getting up to your feet and leaving the room to give Mizu privacy and time to process your words.

Meanwhile Mizu was back to feeling those foreign emotions. They weren’t use to someone caring for them to the extent that you did, not without wanting something in exchange but Mizu noticed that you haven’t even once asked for anything in return for making them breakfast, sewing up their clothes, gifting them sharping stones for their sword nor patching up their wounds. All you did was take care of them and their every needs, so much so that they felt a weird warm within their chest at the memory of your bright smile that you gave them after everything.

You were sweet and soft but strong, firm in your beliefs and posses a strong independence. A true diamond in the rough in regard to everything they’ve bore witness to since childhood. Your attitude towards them was an extreme contrast to everyone else’s, it often caught Mizu off guard in the odd occasion but it wasn’t until now did Mizu come to realised how much their body ached to be tended and cared for by someone like you. They’ve persevered through the hardships they’re forced to call life and bore the scars of said hardships in a multitude of places upon their body, both new and old.

Mizu was use to being alone but now that you entered their life, they were starting to think that they don’t wanna be alone anymore but was a tad hesitant to make the first move on their own accord. If Mizu was grateful for one thing in life, it was the fact that you were in it and by their side for the indefinite future.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Opening Night.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Non-Con, AFAB!Reader, Heavy Dissociation, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Manipulation, and Implied Stalking.

Distantly, you could remember how excited you’d been to be invited to the showing.

You’d opened the invitation at your desk, surrounded by a small group of your more friendly coworkers who’d go on to clap and cheer and promise a round of after-hour drinks after you finished reading out the snippet of text scrolled across the cream-colored cardstock. You weren’t special - a small legion of journalists would be invited to write puff-pieces on all the new models and decide which androids were going to be in fashion next season - but you’d loved Teyvat as long as you could remember, spent more of your free time than you cared to admit doing research on robots you’d never be able to afford, not on a salary like yours. It wasn’t a world-changing, earth-shaking accomplishment, but it made you happy. It was something you wanted, and it was something you’d finally gotten your hands on after years of waiting.

You couldn’t remember when your excitement had started to wane. You were still wide-eyed and slack-jawed when you stepped into the venue, an old opera house restored and decorated to better suit the Fontaine Collection’s high-luxury theming. You hadn’t been able to bite back your smile as you kissed the back of a refitted Focalors’ hand (or, Lady Furina’s hand, as she told you to call her in a tone you could only compare to that of a newly-crowned monarch still drinking in her subjects’ attention), and watched Clorinde’s fencing demonstration with the sort of rapt attention most people would save for famous idols and athletes. Even after you lost your photographer in the crowd, your heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette (the brooding, stoic type of this line, you were sure to note when you next found a minute to yourself) offered you a flute of champagne that you readily accepted, and when a roaming Lyney-droid pulled you to the side and offered to show you magic trick with an irresistible glint in his eye, you didn’t think twice before looping your arm through his and letting him guide you to an all-but abandoned backstage area. You thought you might get something exclusive, something to separate you from the crowd of influencers and tabloids who weren’t afraid to promise features that the approachable beta models only half-confirmed. You thought you’d be safe with a premium-grade android hanging off your arm.

Maybe your excitement didn’t wane at all. It’d been there one moment, then gone the next, replaced with a dark coil of dread and some kind of dizzying, vision-blurring nausea. The sharp corner of the vanity bit harshly into the backs of your thighs, the mirror pressed into your back slowly sapping the warmth from your skin and replacing it with something else, a numbing chill you couldn’t seem to shake. Your clothes had been torn to shreds, left to scatter across the dressing room floor, but Lyney was still fully dressed, fully composed; the palest blush painted across his cheeks and his lips ever so slightly parted but all other signs of arousal, of embarrassment absent. You made a mental note to work that into your article. The new models seem to have a shared sense of unwavering confidence– a stark contrast from their more reserved predecessors from Mondstadt and Sumeru. Maybe you’d be able to get a quote from their handlers, if you ever made it back to the show floor.

You’d have to give Lyney his own section, titled something your boss would have to talk to HR about: Teyvat's New Magician is Good With More Than His Cards. You could only feel half of what he was doing to you, shock dulling your already limited senses, but the fingers drawing loose patterns in your clit was near-overwhelming, the feeling of his synthetic cock splitting you open inescapable, unrelenting. He didn’t need to breathe, to worry about things like soreness or bruising or cramps, to do anything but thrust into you at a pace so erratic, so unyielding that it left little room for you to do anything but lie there and take it. His hips were pushed flat against yours, his tip grinding against something soft and unprotected inside of you and drawing out a ragged gasp, a cracked moan. Out of reflex, your hands shot to his shoulders, nails digging into whatever you could reach, and he let out an airy laugh, leaning closer and encouraging you to hold him tighter, to see if you could tear through the faux-skin Teyvat so often advertised as ‘invincible’. That would make headlines, even if it wasn’t likely to cast you in the best light.

His free hand drifted from your hip to your side to your cheek, his knuckles brushing underneath your chin before he cupped your cheek and pulled you into a deep, lingering kiss. His saliva was flavored, though you couldn’t say what it was supposed to taste like. Cotten candy, maybe – so cloying and sugary, all specifics were lost to the sweetness. It suited him. If you’d been able to use your hands, you would’ve applauded his developers for their attention to detail.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. There was another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the corner of your jaw. Finally, he settled against your throat – his grin so broad, you could feel his perfect teeth resting against your jugular as he spoke. “They told me I’d be able to find a master tonight. The others aren’t ready yet, but I am. They worked the hardest on me.” He was bragging, transparently and unabashedly. In any other situation, you might’ve thought he was trying to impress you. “I knew it had to be you the moment our eyes met. So cute, so easily impressed – I knew you just had to be mine.”

He seemed to perk up, to catch on something. He pressed the pad of his thumb into your clit, and your entire body jolted. “No, no, that’s not right,” he went on, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to be yours.I keep getting that mixed up.”

Faulty programming? It’d be a scandal if it got out, and moreover, it’d be a massive payout if Teyvat decided they preferred to handle things behind closed doors. You bet they’d done it before. Maybe you’d look into that, later on.

Your back arched violently, another pitchy whine bubbling up from some forgotten cavity of your chest. As if in response, he inhaled sharply, buckling against you in the throes of simulated pleasure. His pace sped up, his teeth latching onto the curve of your neck, but any pain it might’ve caused was lost on you, blurred and distorted by the thick rope of tension pulling taut and snapping in the pit of your stomach. Your climax washed over you in slow, throbbing waves, and Lyney was kind enough to pretend he was lost in the same agonizing bliss, to act like that was the reason he was bucking into you so violently.

To act like he had an excuse to do this to you.

He fucked you through your orgasm, eventually stilling inside of you. With his body slotted against yours, his teeth still buried in your skin, he lingered there, only drawing back once your breathing had started to slow and deepen, once you’d stopped shaking underneath him. Even then, he didn’t let you go, didn’t leave you to cry your eyes out in an empty dressing room. Rather, he pressed a quick, fleeting kiss into your forehead before beaming at you - the light in his eyes so bright, you could almost forget it wasn’t real. “I’ll introduce you to my sister. I’m sure she’ll like you, too.”

Right, his sister, Lynette. You hadn’t seen her yet.

She and her twin brother weren’t supposed to be revealed until the show at the end of the night. You doubted anyone had even thought to power them on, yet.

“She’ll be as happy as I am to know we’ll be leaving with such a lovely master.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i just wanna be price’s lil housewife, is that too much to ask?

i want him to come home from a long day and just let me take care of him 🤭🥹

Comforts of Home

Pairing: John Price x F!Housewife!Reader

Synopsis: Good are the days when you wake up and John is already beside you. (18+)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Sleepy morning sex, p in v, soft dom Price? & fluff, etc.

A/N: There's absolutely nothing wrong in wanting that, Anon, I feel you. I had no idea if this was a request or not but I used it as smut practice sooo

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you woke up, the heavy arms around your waist nearly made your heart give out. Eyes wide, your unfocused gaze flickers back into consciousness onto the far wall with a violent tensing of your muscles; lids going back. 

You’re about to rush from bed with a call for alarm, but the soft snores puffing against the back of your neck makes your half-risen body freeze. 

A moment of clarity alights in the dim hours.

John, eyes close with a great sigh and an immediate calming of your heart, ribs raising and falling once more at a, gradually, deadening pace. You’d forgotten that your husband was more stubborn than you—and seeing that he’d slipped into your bed without waking you, it just proved your point. 

A low grumble leaves lips slipping over the clutch of your shoulder, the grip along your body being tightened like you were nothing more than a teddy bear. With a small smile on your face, you’re being dragged back into an expansive chest, firm muscle forming the mattress of warm flesh and wrinkled sheets of mapped scars. 

It was never in John’s nature to take advantage of you, and thus, even if you told him it was alright, the SAS Captain never woke you when he came home in the small hours of the morning.

He’d called it inconsiderate to do so—ungentlemanly—but in reality, you knew it was because the bastard liked to watch you sleep in nothing but one of his gargantuan shirts and a pair of thin underwear. 

Your fatigued body presses itself farther into the Brit’s chest, feeling the rumbles of his breathing and how he conforms to you, his toned hips pushing forward into the space in between your legs. He smells like your shampoo; the wisps of his beard hair soft like silk from his oils that he knows you love. 

At the very least he’d gathered enough energy last night to take a shower. How many times had you woken up because of the stench of cigar smoke and blood; dirt and dust that stung your nostrils something fierce? You’d lost count.

Oh, John…

Reaching down, your fingers dance over your husband’s firm grip, the hold unyielding unless you simply wake and ask him to move. 

But you didn’t want that.

You intertwine your digits together, eyelashes fluttering over your cheeks as the earliness of the morning hits you. It was still slightly dark in the bedroom, only a fraction of the light from the sun cascading in from black-out curtains. 

“Hnm,” the sound escapes you as the lead form of John lays heavily; squeezing you with a delicious roving of barely covered skin. 

It was no surprise that John had gone to bed as utterly naked as the day he was born.

“Stop moving.” Lips mutter, half lost to the sound of shifting cotton and your lower body being refitted closer with a hand to your naval, pulling your arse rearward. 

You blink, skin tingling and cheeks hot as a pinky brushes over the elastic of your underwear, slipping under as it once more falls stationary. 

“I didn’t expect you to be back last night.” The room was usually cold without John—he was always considered the space heater out of the two of you when it came time to sleep. His much larger and rarely clothed form was never far from you and made blankets or sheets completely worthless. 

You sometimes compared him to a mini sun with how much raw warmth he exuded; even told him that he should consider being a science experiment with how little it made sense.

How can someone even be this toasty?

“Came in ‘round o-three-hundred,” John says, moving with a sigh before situating his head to rest it above yours and pressing his nose to your scalp in the meantime. “The boys are fine.” 

An up-tick pulls at your lip muscles. He knew how you worried about everyone on One-Four-One.

“Good.” Your backside shifts with a rotating of your pelvis, the Brit’s thigh in between your legs more comfortable if you move farther up it. A shiver slices your spine; voice goes breathy. “And you?” 

John’s breath hitched, and you could feel a low roll of thunder in his breast. His grip tightens. 

“Alive.” 

So stoic. You roll your eyes at the brief explanation but internally enjoy the statement. Sometimes it was better to only receive the bare minimum when it comes to your husband's job. And you sigh as a growing pressure makes itself known near the base of your tailbone.

“What about my wife, then?” John’s fingers start moving below your stomach in small circles, the skin of your abdomen obeying the push and pull readily. “She do anything worthwhile when I was away?” 

Fatigued cheekiness enters his tone when you shiver and bring his hand up to your mouth—laying gentle kisses on the knicks and scratches. New scrapes.

You chuckle lightly.

“Hm, I planted new flowers in the back.”

“Did you now?” John huffs, taking down a slow breath as his digits delve lower. You surrender readily to him, letting him do as he wished before jolting when his forefinger brushed your bundle of nerves. He purrs like a cat, “What kinds.” 

Your husband’s watching you closely with a partially-closed eye, tired yet that gleam of awareness is still present in cerulean blue; breathing into your ear as the image of his hands inside of your panties sturs his eagerness even more. His legs shift in muted annoyance at the creeping sensation over his lower body.

He likes the way you languidly roll with him.

Fuck, how long had he wanted to do this? To come home to you—his housewife—to a home that was void of shouting and the scent of gunpowder and engine oil. A loving touch; a soft body. Being away from you was worse than torture. 

His little beauty. His little wife.

When soft sighs answer him instead of words, he comes to a pause; thigh moving to give him ample space to work and spread your legs farther. 

“What kinds, Love?” He teases, a smirk pulling his lips back that leaves you shaking when you sense it forming over your skin.

“S-Star Jasmine.” You whisper, opening your lower body to him as his digits go once more to bring a striking of lighting, pulse in your core growing hot as his scent overwhelms you. Eyes snap shut, constricting over nothing even as a great need screams that you shouldn’t be.

The bedroom is filled with the soft noises of hitched breaths and carefully flinching legs intertwined with covers. With every circle of John’s touch, your arousal grows; tension breeding in the sudden slickness of your cunt that pools out to coat the man’s digits. 

You’d missed this.

“What else?” A hard press for a non-enunciated reward and you whine, fingers tightening over his other hand as he noses over your pulse, whispering kisses like butterfly’s wings over your rapid pulse. “Use your words.”

Your mind falters, the unknown of what John would do next leaving your neurons short-circuiting. Sure, you’d touched yourself to his voice over calls—helped gotten each other off by just the static through a phone—but having him here. Feeling you now with tender care and blown-wide eyes that darken like a storm. Yourself still clothed in a shirt and now ruined panties and your beast of a husband with nothing but a dripping erection that now digs like hot iron into the curve of your ass. 

He bites a hickey into the skin below your ear and you gasp out.

“John, please, j…just,” The Brit laughs at you, deep chuckles jerking against your back before the hand you’re gripping tight leaves to curl under your breasts; trapping you to him as you squirm. 

The abuse of your clit ceases and you’re forced to confront the structure of your lungs as they fight for air. A sudden patheticness fills your blood at the ache of your empty slit. Eyebrows pull in.

“John!” Behind you, the man’s hard-on ruts into you as he grunts into your neck, biceps flaring with every-other movement. He does it slowly, still tired in the early hours but unable to help himself for the very same reason. Desperately, he wanted you as a fish longs for water.

All-consuming; yielding rapture that only can be fulfilled by your malleable flesh.

The friction moves your body back and forth, mouth opening in weakened pants of soft breaths and sluggish muscles. You didn’t want to move but at the same time, the teasing leaves you yearning to be held down and left filled; only smelling like John and sweaty linen as slick bodies fuck half-asleep. 

Your cheeks are burning as the sensation of being used washes over you.

“Tell me. C’mon, know you can.” John’s fast yet hushed tone accompanied by the sensation of his pre-cum slathering itself over your sensitive skin and his dick twitching was a drug. It became hard to think between those demanding instincts and hopeless attempts to form cohesive thoughts. 

“I–” You force out, face screwed up, “Green Spice.”

“Attagirl.” Your panties are stretched to the side, and the thigh in your shaking legs shoves you open even wider. “Lookin’ damn good in my shirt, Sweetheart, y’know that? Eh? Bloody temptress.” 

The stiff desperation of his cock makes you moan before it finds the entrance to your slit. 

“Just for you.” Your voice hitches at John’s eagerness; his desperation to be joined—held in your wet clutch despite how tired you know he is. How tired you were.

The Captain works so hard; spreads his blood over the earth in defense of others with little need for reward or recognition. He came home without an expectation of you to even spoil him—the thought makes your mind sad. How could he not expect that? Hell, he spoils you by leaving a spare credit card for your every whim and want; you could ask for anything and he’d get it with no hesitation. 

His wife.

Even now with his cock ready to enter your eager yet unstretched cunt, his body vibrating and breathing fast, he pauses. 

Your eyes flutter open, huffing in expectation as you clench over nothing, slick falling over the mattress. You blink and look over your shoulder to find blue orbs watching you; the wrinkles around the Brit’s eyes tiny. 

You hum a question, shifting your lower body to grind into John’s twitching dick, memorizing the grand size of his leaking head as your lashes flutter. The man groans and tights the hold under your breasts. 

“Let me?” He pants. 

A small smile forms on your sweat-slick face, fingers tight over the sheets. John lays a kiss on your cheek, so close it takes little movement as the bed creaks. 

“You don’t need to ask, Love.” You chuckle, heart warm. “You’re my husband.”

The confession seems to spark something in his eyes, a smirk slashing his lips. The Captain’s pelvis moves, angling the tip until you feel the burn of an unready cunt as it causes you to mewl. 

“Always gonna ask,” he grunts into your ear as your head falls back to its sideways position in concentration as your face scrunches; muscles wound. “Proper, eh?”

“Such a gentleman.” You whimper, body jerking as more of his sizable girth is swallowed down. Deep pulsing emulates inside your body, a sheen of oblivion opening between pain and a deep-seated pleasure that only John gives you. The Brit shushes you comfortingly. “Even as he’s opening me up without letting me cum on his fingers first.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He’s shivering, feeling himself enter your heat as slowly as he’s able. “Had to have you like this. In our bed. Wearin’ my shirt. Fuckin’ hell.” John gasps, feeling you constrict around him like a vice as his abdomen bunches. 

He wouldn’t last long, but neither would you. The two of you were wasted on each other, just wanting to feel the friction of skin and the sweet release of an orgasm that the both of you can share now that you were together. 

The sound of him entering you was vulgar, a liquid squelching that echoes above the tight sighs and growls. 

“Keep taking it, then,” John pants, forehead pressed heavily into your scalp, muttering into your hair dreamily. “Know you can. Just like that, now.”

With your mouth opening and sweat dribbling down your neck you feel him bottom out with a horrible shaking, grip almost bruising as his free hand goes to massage your clit sluggishly. 

Your cunt spasms, textured walls stretched to their limit on the throws of delicious agony as veins press into silky grooves, the clutch of John’s cock-head a plug of large proportion. If you move, you’re afraid you’ll tear something. 

“Erm,” the fullness sends searing heat up your vertebrae, back struggling against your husband’s chest to arch as your toes curl. 

“Hush, Love.” John quickly runs circles over your bundle, “Easy, now. I’ve got you…Let me show you how much I enjoy being home with my wife, yeah.” He’s rambling—how he usually does when he’s sleepily fucking you on maybe two hours of oblivion. 

Your pleasure bleeds raw, and the scrape of the man’s exiting and re-entering cock becomes a trance-like affair of passion. The bedframe hits the wall, a steady, slow, rocking of thrusts that emulate the bare affection John uses you as an example for. 

Moaning, you stare blankly at the far wall, body jolting whenever he manages to strike that sweet spot and bite into your back’s flesh in unbridled adoration. He whispers the dirtiest things to you, and your lower-body flexes with each uttered sentence.

“So good to me, keepin’ this cunt all to myself.”

“Walls so tight I can feel you tryin’ to push me out, Love. Fuck.”

“Hear that, eh? Listen, b-bloody hell, listen to how wet you are for my cock.” 

It brings you to a point of tears, satisfaction building to a tight knot of immobility. It was a good thing John liked doing all the work for you because although you had been meeting his thrusts quite evenly before, now you had all but lost the plot. Your thighs quiver, slit trying to tense over the man’s foreign prodding until it became apparent you’d been molded into the very shape of him like a form in the snow; flesh littered with the dew of perspiration as the scent of carnal desire swims. 

“That’s right, Love.” John’s jaw is clenched, pace for a minute quickening as he feels you shifting as if possessed with feelings of overstimulation. “That’s it. So good to be home with you—home with my little housewife who ruins me.”

Your hands clench into the bedsheets; sounds of ecstasy get louder and more clipped.

“Fuck,” you gasp, repeating the curse multiple times along with John’s name. “John—” One more angled thrust and you’re left shoving your head into the pillow, great waves of precious enlightenment smashing into your chest full force until you can only recall the sensation of your husband’s strangled breaths and the feeling of his seed spilling into your womb. 

Sloppy and quick ruts of varying success as his abdominals convulse in a display as old as time itself. Panting and shuttering, your body utterly falls limp. 

The joined fluids of evidence ooze out to form a sticky concoction over your thighs and cunt, pubic hairs on both ends shiny with cum. 

Hands spread over your breasts to grip and massage; traveling atop your quivering body as well as your achy hips. John’s thigh leaves the spread of your legs so the one can fall back to the mattress with a muffled thump and a poof of fleeing air. But his cock stays where it belongs, milky ring dribbling as every slight movement causes you to contract and him to grunt and wrench his eyes shut. 

It’s sometime later that a firm set of lips is dug into your neck, fingers skating over every possible section of skin as small nips set nerves alight with sensitive sensations. You hum in appreciation at the worship of your body, sensing the hard muscle that protects you as well as the physical words before they’re spoken aloud.

“I love you.” You smile.

“I love you too, John.” Your head weakly turns, noticing the farther-risen sun beyond the curtains of the hot and sex-scented room. Finding blue eyes already staring at you from the pillow and the small smile present on mustache-hidden lips, you smirk. John chuckles, though he doesn’t know what’s in store. 

“You’re letting me make you breakfast today.”

“Hm...you’ll not find me complaining.”

There really was nothing else like coming home.

TAGS||

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[writingquestionsanswered]

Describing Scene Locations

Anonymous asked: I've been writing for a decade, mostly short stories, and have recently started writing a fantasy set in the 17th century. My setting is a world pretty much like ours, but with made-up names for specific towns and whatnot. The characters are pirates, and a few are non-human. I'm finding it difficult to figure out where certain plot points take place when the story is mostly character-driven. There are parts where they need to be on land, but apart from 'vague port/island', I don't know what else to do with it. (Am I overthinking this?) I suppose my question is: How specific do secondary locations have to be for it to be immersive and realistic (for their world) without it being lackluster or overdone? I don't want it all be "it's a beach with a village," but adding a giant seaside kingdom seems overkill if it's only mentioned in passing once or twice. Thank you so much for taking the time to answer these - this whole blog is a gift, really.

[Ask edited for length]

First, thank you... that is very kind of you to say! ♥

So, I think it really helps to think of your story in terms of scenes, and to think of each scene almost like a scene in a play. Your scene's setting is like the stage in the play, and the amount of description is the amount of scenery and props on the stage.

If you've been to plays, you've probably noticed that the scenery can be very minimal or very elaborate, depending on the needs of the show:

With fiction, it works the same way. How little or how much you describe the scenery (setting) depends on the needs of the scene, but you do need to make sure to give the reader a sense of place. Looking at the first image, just with the little bit of scenery that's there, we know this scene is taking place in a home, perhaps a living room. If the two men were just sitting on chairs with no other scenery, we wouldn't have that sense of place.

However, that doesn't mean that any of your scenes need to be set in sprawling seaside kingdoms. There are all sorts of land-based settings for pirates:

-- bustling port town like Port Royal or Tortuga -- coastal village, town, or city -- isolated island or cove -- small fishing village -- seaside castles or estates -- pirate's stronghold on a hidden island/cove/cave/bay -- tropical jungle or rainforest -- remote island -- colonial outpost -- swamps and marshlands -- rural countryside -- ancient ruins

There are all sorts of reasons pirates might go ashore in these places:

-- to resupply (food, water, liquor, gunpowder, ammunition) -- to buy specific items (weapons, clothing, equipment for ship) -- to sell, trade, deliver, hide, or bury loot -- to hunt and gather resources -- to recruit crew -- to maintenance, repair, or refit the ship -- to meet with allies, informants, business partners, etc. -- to visit friends/acquaintances -- to avail themselves of various goods and services -- to drink in a bar, gamble and carouse with friends -- to enjoy some much needed rest and recreation -- to learn or exchange information -- to seek medical treatment/medicine/remedies -- to seek legal assistance or meet to discuss legal matters -- to "case" a potential target for a raid -- to visit family and love interests

Within these settings and potential errands, there are many specific settings you could use:

-- the docks of a bustling port -- the tavern of a coastal village -- a quiet moonlit cove where pirates are laying low -- the great hall of a seaside castle -- a masquerade ball at a country estate -- the crumbled ruins of an ancient civilization in an isolated jungle -- at a freshwater lagoon on a remote island during resource stop -- busy market at a colonial outpost -- fisherman's shanty in a quiet bayou -- an official's luxury town home in a big city -- the coastal farm belonging to a family member

So... having the different locations in mind, how much or how little do you describe them? Once again, all you have to do is create a sense of place for the reader. If your pirates are having a heated argument on the docks of a busy port town, you may at least want to give a vague description of the docks, whether it's night or day, what the weather's like, how crowded it is, and maybe a brief sampling of what the crowd is doing, notable sensory details (sounds, smells, visuals) etc. You can also weave those details into the narrative in a way that serves a dual purpose. For example, maybe in the argument, one pirate gestures to a toothless fish monger and uses them as an example in a point they're trying to make. Not only is this a necessary part of the dialogue, but it also fills in some of the scenery detail. Or, maybe instead, they're perusing spices in a bustling seaside market while they talk/argue quietly. Here are some posts from my description master list that will hopefully help further:

The Right Amount of Description (5 Tips!) The 3 Fundamental Truths of Description Description: Style vs Excess/Deficiency How to Make Your Description More Vivid Adding Description to Your WritingWeaving Details into the Story Guide: Showing vs Telling When “Telling” is Okay

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[pinkyjulien]

"Important update for flat chest mod users!"

Addressing Streetkid-named-desire and Wanderingaldecaldo unecessary update on the Flat Chest Detector and their claim of it being for the "community's sake"

The update for the Flat Chest Detector has now been reverted

Apologise in advance for the salt and for the upcoming modding lesson

TL:DR

Both the Wearable Flat Chest and Flat Chest Body mods were already compatible; this "important update" is nowhere near important for users who already used either or both mods together They will continue to be perfectly compatible and you do not need this now reverted "update"

Let's start from the begining;

For pride this month, I've released a binder-like mod, in the form of a wearable flat chest

I've published my Wearable Flat Chest on June 14th

On the same day, Streetkid-named-desire made multiple posts publicly trashing my mod and assuming all kind of stuff

You can see my response to these assumption here

One person that have been really supportive of their post is WanderingAldecaldo; its not really important to point it out but for those who know she's been passively harassing me for the past 4years, it's nothing surprising and explain a lot as to why this is happening at all.

Side note: WanderingAldecaldo has been blocked back in early 2021 I've been avoiding her and her content ever since; the only reason I know of this reply is because my friends warn me of everything that might create unecessary stress in the near or far future, like today

Anyway, these two were mad at my mod because they did not like it

Shortly after the release of my wearable chest mod, I contacted Berdagon, creator of the Bulge Detector script, and asked him if I could commission another script from him

Modding lesson time: To understand the nature of the problem, it's important to understand how dynamic mods works, I'll try to make it as simple as possible and link to the wiki when necessary The majority of body mods now have Body Tag As you can see on the Wiki, the Flat Chest Body have a body tag as well, meaning it's compatible with Dynamic Refit

But what are Dynamic Refits? In the past, modders had to publish their refits as replacers, meaning an additional mod that users who use custom body mods had to download along the main clothing mod Some body mods, like Adonis, VTK small and VTK big do not support dynamic refits yet, and still requires replacers

Now, the majority of mods come directly packed with refits, meaning whatever compatible custom body will get detected by AXL and the correct mesh, the correct refit, will automatically be used when equipping the garment For that, clothes modders can use multiple ways of including Dynamic Refit detection; I personally use Subtitutions to detect both the gender and body

Here's my latest garment mod structure; you can see my Dynamic Refits for both female and male frames, for both Gymfiend and Angel AND You can also see my dynamic refits for my wearable flat chest, the meshes that ends with "_flat"

Now, if dynamic refits are already a thing, why did I need to commission the Flat Chest Detector? Because as I said earlier, and in my initial mod release, my Flat Chest is not a body mod; it's a wearable garment, it's a "binder" and I wanted it to work like a proper binder. Body mods tags are directly included in AXL I needed a custom script to detect my custom modded garment as something that could influence other garments only when equipped

As you can see in my own mod, Dynamic Body Refits and the Flat Chest Detector already works fine together, as I've used it in my mod for my racerback top and my fishnet top, refited for the Angel body, so why did they need to edit it to "make it compatible" ?

Well that's the thing. They did not have to, as it's already compatible.

To be perfectly clear here, the flat chest body and the wearable flat chest are two really different mods; in how they're structured, in how they're made, how they work and in how they LOOK too. SKD made it really clear in their multiple vent posts how much different they are

SKD mention it again in their recent post; the two chest are different, they requires different refits to avoid clipping, which is Normal for different mods and has always been normal for body mods

You can't use EBB refits for EBBP, you can't use EBBP for Angel, you can't use Angel for Lush, etc etc etc. Even Adonis and Gymfiend, while being similar, require different refits.

I don't see any logical reasons why my flat chest has to be treated differently

If clothes modders want to fit both chest mods, they can do it already, by using the Flat Chest body visual tag, and using the wearable Flat chest script detector (I made a tutorial for it)

Here, let me show y'all how easy it is

Boom, now my mod is compatible with both the Flat Body mod and the wearable flat chest! Wow, can't believe how hard that was.

Does it look confusing? Sure, if you don't know what you're doing, which I'm assuming is why both Wash and SKD felt the need to go and ask for an edit of the script for no reason

Let me explain it so you two don't go up other people's business in the future

the {body} substition will detect the first "_flat" as being the flat body mod, automatically using the correct "flat" refit that fit Na's body

if equipping my wearable flat chest, the mod will automatically switch to the "_flat_flat" version, thanks to the flat chest detector script and to how I set up my garment entity's components

The name of the meshes doesn't matter for the Flat Chest Detector, I could've named it "_flat_butusethisonefortheequipableflatchest" and it would've worked all the same.

See how easy that is? Yeah. It was always this easy, always this approchable, always this simple.

Making it really clear: I did NOT give them permission to edit my racerback set mod

My clothing mods were made for the wearable flat chest only, I did not include refits for the flat chest body mod

They edited my mod without permission so that it could be detected and work with the flat chest body mod. They edited my mod and its structure to change it to use their new "BaseBodyFlat" tag, that did not need to exist, just so they could use my refits

Instead of asking to make their own refit for the body mod they want, if they really liked the clothes this much and wanted to use them? Like normal users? Like users have been doing for the past years?

I commissioned (= paid) the Flat Chest Detector script for my mod to work with dynamic refits. Body Mods already have access to dynamic refits and modder could already make refits for both flat chests if they wanted to, like I said multiple time in this post

This script edit did not need to be created.

I wish WanderingAldecaldo would leave me and my stuff alone. She had no business "looking into the script in the first place", for what reason? Like I said, everything was working fine before

Its fine not to know how new tools and system works, but ffs.

Don't go and edit people's work without their permissions and make a fuse about it online, proudly displaying it as some kind of service to the community, a service to modders and to users, because it's really not

I've already talked with Berdagon, he obviously had no idea about all the beef and all the drama that happened regarding the Flat Chest, and I'm not mad at him for updating the script; I'm sad that he has been used as a tool in this pathetic little "fandom war" disguised as a "service for the community"

From what Berdagon told me and what I've seen, Ratstick (= SKD) has been really persuasive in making it seems like this update would "beneficiate everyone, users and modders" when all it did was making both Berdagon and Psiberx work and edit their script for no reason, because again, it was already possible to fit both bodies in the same mods if you wanted to since everything involved support dynamic refits

It's up to clothes modders to decide which mod they want to support.

Don't edit their work without their permission, it should be a commonly known and respected fact, but it seems I was mistaking

Sorry for the long post, as you can imagine I'm properly pissed, but I hope this was easy to understand and maybe even educative on how clothes mods and scripts work

[itsabouttimex2]

I loved the reactions to the lady bone demon defendant! But what about LBD reacting to it? Platonic of course, but would she try to manipulate them? Perhaps get them to join her willingly or by force?

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part Three

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should've seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn't pick up on. Looking back on it now, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? All those little things should've added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can't explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn't understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

Just because someone loves you doesn’t mean that they want the best for you.

The man that Megapolis calls their ‘Mayor’ has somehow become your most enduring caretaker thus far. Everyone that came before him had either given you up after a few scarce months of guardianship, disappeared without a trace, or succumbed to some kind of sickness.

Frequently, the blame had been put on you. If a child gets passed through foster home after foster home after foster home and never acclimates to any of them, there’s a conclusion that many will draw- the child isn’t trying hard enough.

Never mind how many of your guardians would leave you locked outside for hours on end, well into the freezing cold night.

Never mind how often they ‘forgot’ to properly feed and clothe you, pocketing the allotted care salary for themselves.

Never mind often you weren’t allowed to explore the temporary houses outside of your own room, kept away from areas meant for ‘real’ family.

Never mind often how you were fed box-mix macaroni-and-cheese while your foster family ate real meat and vegetables.

Never mind any of that, of course.

The problem was obviously you, your ‘families’ had decided. And so had their friends and extended families, and even the system that threw you from one miserable little home to the next, leaving you with no one and next to nothing. All that you owned you carried around in a disposable plastic sack, never bothering to unpack and try to settle in.

You’d be gone in another month or two anyways.

Until you had been introduced to the mayor of Megapolis, that had been all the life you had ever known.

With one hand firmly on your back, he leads you into his house, a discreet building hidden away in quiet part of the city. It stands proudly above you, an ancient building refitted time and time again to suit the ever-changing trends of time. The walls are painted in elegant grays and a variety of tastefully selected blues, providing a clean and refined atmosphere.

It wasn’t often that you could truly call a temporary home clean. And this was certainly the first time you could apply an adjective such as ‘elegant’ to a building.

So many houses run-down from lack of care, pet urine long-seeped into fraying carpets, worn cots covered in dust and packed six or eight to one crumbling room.

His arm shifts down your back and to your wrist, holding tight. With such unnervingly wide eyes and the rictus grin he sports, you should be scared.

You should be scared that he’ll hurt you. But you’ve lived a life that’s proven to you a single fact: getting hurt is inevitable.

No matter how much you come to trust someone or how long you live with them- there’s no love or kindness. Just an always-ticking clock, counting down until the moment they break and throw you out quicker then they would toss trash.

But there’s no bruising grip this time. No harsh shoves. No unkind words. No molded side room that smells of bleach and detergent.

“Welcome home, Y/N!” he calls out with a much too loud tone, grinning ear to ear. “I hope you like your new room!”

It’s… actually nice. Not ‘for your standards’ nice. It’s ‘hotel’ nice. ‘Lavish guest room’ nice.

The longer you spend basking in the pleasantly smooth greys and blues of your new room, the more welcoming they feel.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, hoping that you weren’t ‘too late with gratitude’ as you had been so many times before according to many, many caretakers.

“Why, of course!” The grey-clad man pats your back with far too much force, pushing you inside with a stretched grin. “Please, get comfortable! I hope you’ll enjoy your- hopefully- very long stay!”

The door slams behind you, but doesn’t lock. That’s good, you think. You could leave, if you wanted to. You weren’t just trapped in here until your case worker came and asked for you.

And you think that might be the case when he knocks on the door hours later, probably to hand you a metaphorical eviction notice and throw you out because he got ‘unnerved’ like everyone always does-

And you are instead invited downstairs for a hot drink.

How could you say no?

The fireplace is hot, stoked by old papers strewn between the logs inside. If you looked closer, you’d see the names of your previous caretakers and case workers, printed onto them in neat lettering, all in a short, succinct list. And you’d notice the big ‘missing persons report’ stamped in bright red.

But the tea is warm and sweet, and the ‘Mayor’ has his arm around your shoulders as he holds you a little too close-

And you’re naive and desperate enough to consider this safe.

The Lady Bone Demon watches from within. She’s an ever-present force creeping through your veins, ice-cold and unearthly. Her power courses your blood, pumping slow. She feels through your hands. She sees through your eyes. She hears through your ears.

There’s no escape from her.

Carefully, the Lady sows and reaps your suffering. From the confines of your flesh, she makes note of all that brings you to tears, all that brings you to your knees.

In pulses, she strengthens you. Where you walk, crystals grow, smothering flowers and grass in your unknowing wake.

In waves, she activates the powers lying dormant in your veins. Bones buried deep underground shift and stir, waiting eagerly to heed your call.

In surges, she unleashes her presence, staining your eyes the color of a deathly cold ocean. All but a select few retreat in droves, leaving you to wonder what you’ve done to deserve your loneliness.

It is nothing short of cultivation. Within you blooms a small seed of her power, and she stokes it from the inside. The bud of cold blue slowly blooms, rooting deep through your blood. In time, she weaves those roots further and further into the fertile soil of your flesh, ensuring that they may never be pulled free without the utter destruction of your life.

A flower; unremovable, of crystalline sinew and careful tending, a slow and creeping overtake of your life woven by hands unseen. A growing mote of power to be plucked and consumed, taken as part of a greater whole when the day finally comes that you bloom.

And what a wonderful sacrifice you shall make for her cause.

[lobster-risotto]

Since ya'll liked the last ones so much, here's some more Astarion headcanons c:

just sfw ones this time cause they make me happy

Astarion is never... kind, per se. But he is very sweet. When his lover falls ill or just doesn't feel well, he is more than happy to spend the day in bed with them. He does what he can for them, even if he complains the entire time with a small little smile that makes it quite clear he's happy to help.

Only his lover, he makes clear, gets this treatment.

When Astarion takes his partner on a proper date, he always makes it a whole evening thing. Dinner, show, a walk somewhere they like, a nice bath to finish off the evening.

Astarion starts writing in journals, after everything. Halsin suggests it somewhere along the way, telling Astarion it helped him. Astarion, of course, told the druid to eat shit and die. He also bought a nice journal that night. He writes down whatever he's thinking of, ideas, stories, memories, gripes, anything. It really helps as he works through years of trauma at his partners side.

Sometimes, he even lets them read a page when he can't quite articulate what he's feeling on the especially hard nights.

Astarion is a gift giver. A mediocre one, sometimes, but a gift giver, nonetheless. He likes to pick out little trinkets and clothes and books.

He refits all of his partners clothes as much as he can, or helps them pick out a nice new wardrobe. Of course, he finds them breathtaking no matter the clothes they wear.

[volno]

Vestments of The Apostate- A Drow themed robe for those seeking to cast spells from the shadows. (wip)

This is a project I have been working on for a while now, and had hoped to fully complete before the end of the Modathon, but unfortunately that was not to be. That being said, its still very much in a play able state and I was only unable to complete some of the flavour based additions I wanted as well as refit it to the shorter races. (Currently only supports bt1, bt2, bt3, and bt4). Also, the outfit is tintable and uses the following slots: cloth primary, cloth secondary, cloth tertiary, leather primary, and metal primary.

This was the first time that I have made an outfit like this from scratch, so feedback is much appreciated. I hope to make some more outfits like this in the future as while it was a lot of work, it was also a lot of fun. (also I have seen all your comments on the nexus so far, and I'll get around to replying to them when I can! I'm just catching up on a massive slept debt right now. Thank you for all the love and support!)

also yes this outfit (and head) is blatantly Dragon Age inspired

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 52

First / Previous / Next

Fen strode down the promenade, the commander taking long strides to keep up with her. "Empress, I am afraid I must insist you are not being careful enough."

"This is my home, commander. I grew up here. I know the area, the people, the culture. There is nowhere else in this galaxy that I am more comfortable."

"That's just it, Empress. This is not the place that you grew up anymore. You are not the person you were when you left. This is a Gren station and we have forced our way on board in order to capture a Gren. They will not like this. We are in danger."

"Noted commander. You may retreat to Eternity and wait my return." Fen stared at the commander cooly, but she did not stop walking.

"Empress, I did not mean-"

Fen stopped. "Oh but you did commander. You are concerned for my safety, which is admirable, but you have also made it clear that you do not think this is a wise course of action. Return to the ship. You-" Fen pointed. "You are commander now."

"Empress, I-"

R̸̬͈̳̪̃̈́͝e̶͍̅̀͠t̵̰͠u̴̖͆͠r̶̩̃̆̇͠n̵͇͜͝ ̶̲̔͐t̸̫͐̅̔ò̶̒̚ͅ ̴̧͙̊͆̓ṫ̴̢̢̛̹̤h̷̛̥͒̊͝ė̸̼̑̃ ̴̨͉̇͊š̵̮̦̟̹̎h̴̛̛͙͙̦͌ȉ̵̻p̷̨͖̣͗.̸̢͖̪̓ͅ

His legs started to carry him back almost without his control. The former commander struggled for a moment and then seemed to resign himself and walked back.

The new commander saluted sharply. "Lead the way, Empress."

They made their way up-station, higher and higher towards the area that the refugees were permitted to live. Given Tam'itarr's last contact, Fen felt that was where he most likely was. Using whoever was left of the refugees as leverage to keep Fen from just obliterating the station.

They stepped into the final elevator. When they reached the 43rd floor, they'd be in the refugee zone. The group stood silently in the elevator as it rose.

Fen had never planned on destroying the station, her home. She had hoped that her secret police would have been able to grab him quietly and they could play dumb. Now that she was here though, it was going to turn into an incident.

Let it.

"You always say things like that. You're not thinking of the repercussions."

No, you're not thinking. The goal has always been the expansion of the empire. Let it start here. Take over the station. Make it a provocation. You can conquer the Gren.

"No, we're not ready yet, we-"

You are ready. The Gren are weak. Take them over, extend the Gate network.

"With what ships? You know as well as I do how many Super Dreadnoughts we have. Not enough."

Capture some Gren Warfinders. They are fine ships. A small amount of refitting and they could be repurposed to your needs.

"Just like that. While I'm at it, I'll go take the Sefigan's orbitals too." Fen scoffed.

Now you've got the right idea. An Empress leads an Empire. An Empire expands.

They continued to bicker in her head until they reached the 43rd floor. The door opened with a ding, and Fen strode out ahead of her team.

****

Fen was on the beach again. This time, the sky overhead was unsettled, filled with roiling and boiling clouds. The surf was loud, thundering upon the rocks. The wind tore at Fen's clothes and sand was blown into her eyes.

Using her hands to shield her eyes, Fen looked around. A few meters away, she could see Melody, standing on the sand as the waves crashed around her. Her Empress uniform was billowing dramatically as she stood, watching the sea.

As she approached, Melody turned and smiled. "Having a rough time of things, eh?" Even though it was stormy all around them, she could hear Melody speak with a normal volume just fine.

"What's going on? Why are things like this? Why am I here? I'm not asleep." Fen fought the urge to shout over the noise of the surf and storm.

"I'm sorry Fen, you are asleep." Melody pursed her lips in thought. "Well, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that you're unconscious."

"I am? What happened?" Fen's head whipped around, but all she saw was stormy beach. "What's going on?"

"What's going on Fenchurch Whitehorse is that you are entirely too cocky." Melody put her hands on her hips and stared at Fen. They were about the same height, but Melody still managed to stare down her nose at Fen. "Your team told you to be careful, and you sent the commander back to the ship! Hell, when you first came aboard you were ambushed. It was just luck that you were able to Voice them and stop the fighting. Fen, you're not loved here. You're an interloper."

"No, that can't be right, I grew up here, this is home."

"Fen, you're the Empress." Melody rolled her eyes, but then smiled softly. "I remember when it happened to me."

"What happened? Did you get blown up too?"

"Yes, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the moment when you had the realization that you are different now. Empress You is not the same as the You who came before. The Gren station isn't your home anymore. Nobody you meet here will trust you. Even old friends."

She was right. It was different this time. It looked like home, it smelled like home, it sounded like home, but it wasn't home. Nobody treated her like the old days. Everyone was afraid of her. She looked at Melody and saw in her a kind of sadness. The recognition of something lost that can never be regained.

"What did you do about it?" Fen asked, quietly.

"Well, I had friends to help me." Melody looks past Fen. She turns and sees a ghostly outline of a few figures. Two humans and a K'laxi. The human woman is slightly clearer. She's about Melody's height, with high cheekbones and blond hair. She radiates a beauty that only a memory could bring. Fen realized that must have been Melody's wife, Ava. The woman smiles at Melody, and the three of them disappear. "They're memories of memories, so it's not like you'll get to meet them Fen, I just... wanted to remember them."

"I thought you were the Nanites, but you sure are acting like Melody right now."

Melody laughed. "And how would you know what Melody would act like, Fen? She was dead before your project was even started."

Fen looked out to sea. The weather was still dark, but the storm had subsided a little. "I don't know. You seem... lighter than the Nanites. Less serious. More human."

"Less serious? Fen, they were witheringly sarcastic to me. You should listen to your Nanites more. But to answer your question, I've already told you that I'm a copy of Melody. I'm... more me right now because I - we - figured you needed a friend. Some understanding. Because of what happened."

Oh, that's right. "So what did happen?"

"You were bombed." Melody shrugged her shoulders. "The Nanites and your suit caught most of the damage - at least you kept your visor down - but you're unconscious and things will be... difficult for a while.

"Bombed!? By who?"

Melody just rolled her eyes.

Then, Fen was underwater, and she felt pressure on her head, on her body, everywhere. She started to kick with her legs and sweep the water with her arms, desperately trying to come to the surface. She heard Melody's voice as she swam. "Remember Fen, you're the Empress. Use it."

****

Fen awoke on the floor. She felt numb and her thoughts were a jumble. Wasn't there a beach? Where's Melody? She blinked and her head rang. Right, the bomb. The audio feed to the outside of her suit was off, and her face shield was opaque. Something was indeed very wrong.

She tried to sit up, and as she pushed, the suits strength amplification kicked in until Fen could hear the servos whining and saw the orange warning lights on her heads-up display. 'Emergency. Escape mode active, limiters removed.' She cleared the visor and looked around.

It was a disaster.

Smoke and sparks filled the air. Wall panels were blown out and hanging at odd angles. The floor was covered in smoldering debris. Fen was lying on the deck, with two huge beams pinning her legs to the ground. As she tried to rise, the servos whined louder and some of the orange warnings turned red. If she kept that up, they would fail and she'd be trapped in a hundred kilo armored spacesuit with no way to move it. She slid back onto the floor and looked up at the damaged ceiling.

"Commander? Commander, where are you?" Fen called out. She turned her head as best as she could to try and find them, anyone. The debris pinning her down, made it difficult to turn. She tried her suit to ship. "Contemplation of Eternity, This is Fen, this is your Empress. Do you read me?" There was only static in reply. Trying to hold off panic, fen looked at her display and ran local diagnostics. Physically, she was fine, but her suit took the brunt of the damage. Radio was damaged, air supply was damaged, and power was down to minimum. If she wasn't rescued soon, then it wouldn't matter what she was going to do about the Gren. Their problem will have been taken care of for them.

Fen was still tired. Dazed probably she realized. A thought crystalized in her head, electric sharp. If she fell asleep now, she probably would not wake up. Looking through her suit, she saw that she had an option for a stim to be cycled into her air. She set the dose - a low one to start - and applied the stim.

Like a fog burning off, she began to be more aware. It was a chemical awareness, taut and filled with vibration and she would pay for it later, but it was better than the fuzzy concussed way she felt moments ago. Fen sat up and took stock.

She seemed to be alone. Her new commander and their retinue were nowhere to be - oh wait. Fen swallowed back bile and her stomach flipped and jumped. There they were. There was a large red stain along the back wall where the elevator door was, and there were pieces of arms, legs, and pressure suits. The chemically induced clarity caused Fen to wonder why she was so relatively undamaged.

We helped with that while you were talking to Melody.

"What do you mean?"

We can control matter on a small scale. We wouldn't be effective if we couldn't We shielded you from the majority of the blast.

"But, the commander? Their crew?"

We can only do so much, Empress. We determined that your survival was paramount. Now, your attackers think you're dead. You should lay back down and let them come admire their handiwork.

"And then what?"

And then you kill them all.

[arcandoria]

Thought I'd make a little post to plop all my existing (and future) modding tutorials. A lot of these have been around a while mostly in Discord servers and not everyone joins these.

Some tutorials might be outdated, have better methods, or even be somewhat obsolete. I don't update them often and most of the time I just write them down to help people with specific inquiries.

A lot of these things were taught to me first before I sat down and wrote a how to. Thank you to everyone who was/is part of my modding journey and for sharing your knowledge with me!

My tools are mostly Wolvenkit, Blender and Noesis. These tutorials focus on the use of these tools and aim to aid beginners.

How to replace a vanilla tattoo

Adding decal meshes (for pictures) to clothes (Outdated)

Shirt decal replacing framework

How to make custom microblends

Changing NPCs clothes

Importing custom poses into the same container

Adding pride makeup to NPCs

How to change an entities' locomotion

How I refit clothes in Blender

Fixing sticky/falling feet in custom poses

Adding submeshes to garments without needing a new source

Complete Decal Workflow

NPC+/NPV to Nibbles Replacer

Poses Retargeting

Please don't hesitate to reach out with questions. Happy modding!

[fandaniel]

ffxiv modding is so ass like here is another slight variation to already well known body mod under a different name for the 50th time that just makes your thighs huge and tits huge and needs all your clothing to be refitted. no good body mods for like fat people though we forgotted ❤️

[wanderingaldecaldo]

In the neverending chain of tags, I was tagged by:

@streetkid-named-desire @ouroboros-hideout @aggravateddurian @luvwich

@ghostoffuturespast @sofia-in-nc @gloryride

Retagging everyone above and also:

@corpo-cunt-couture @breezypunk @rosapexa @olath124 @theviridianbunny

@medtech-mara @fereldanwench @thelonestrider @togepies

Modding

Jeans & Chaps

You might have already seen my latest WIP: VG's bulge highlighted by chaps. I am very invested in Rat's vaquero AU for VG (I don't feel the need to bully him there, what?) and getting garment support working meant I needed to go back to the player jeans and update them with GS.

Tony showing off Ms. Flowers's Valentino jeans with the chaps

Last night I spent time learning how to use the Bulge Detector with Dynamic AXL and I got it working! I also learned something really cool about GS while I was doing it, and I haven't seen it mentioned elsewhere.

Clockwise from top left: the "no-bulge" mesh I added for testing showing without GS; both bulge and no-bulge rendering with GS; the "no-bulge" mesh with GS; the bulge mesh with GS.

I want to write up a tutorial on using the bulge detector with Dynamic AXL because it's very different from the existing tutorial, but also Dynamic just makes life easier. I plan on adding a bulge to the flat chest version of the swimsuit I'm working on, so I will write something up then. (WIP list just doesn't get shorter, does it?)

Retro Bathing Suit

Breezy's/@breezypunk summer props got me in the mood for a cute bathing suit, and I found this mesh for a whopping $2! Refits are in progress!

Modding & VP: Pride Edition

Why so blue, Carol? Thanks to Heather/@togepies for the cute pride tee logo!!

I've been wanting to give Carol some custom clothes so she and Hilary can go on dates, but this lady has got some BOOBS. Everything has to be refit for her because she doesn't have a separate chest component that I can hide, just one giant uniboob/upper body submesh. Oh Carol, I know your pain.

Expect to see her (and everyone else) rocking Pride wear soon!

What about you? What are you working on?

Even if I didn't tag you, you can tag me! I love to see what everyone's up to!

[the-autistic-spider]

the phantom beetle

disclaimer! this is probably gonna be a lot like how ben got the omnitrix

Danny was newly 14 and 1 year into being a guy and was exited for the stargazing/camping they do every year as it would be his first as a boy

this year was different for three reasons the first being Maddie and jack working on a secret project in the lab (a refitted shed) and second he was going to be a boy this time and lastly there was going to be a meteor shower

after a short drive in jazz's convertible they arrive at the camping spot

a few minuets later they have a large fenton tent™ set up along with a blanket out to watch the meteor shower

not long later it starts its a beautiful and massive collection of celestial elegance flying over... but Danny excitedly points to one of them crash close by and begs jazz to go see it with him

she of course agrees for his safely and also because she is curious about the meteor crash as well so jazz grabs the fenton bat and starts to go with Danny

once they get there Danny screams in excitement at a meteor made of god damn kryptonite in a long damage line from it crashing

jazz holds back to call someone about the kryptonite meteor while Danny sees something on it and goes closer to get a better view of it

jazz is halfway through talking with a person from the justice league report centre about the kryptonite meteor when she hears a scream

quickly pausing her phone call she runs to Danny who has a green scarab like device running around Danny's body attaching itself to his spine

jazz comforts Danny who is extremely panicked about the alien device fusing to him

when suddenly it starts to expanded out burning away clothing as it covers his body in an armour

but because of there being testosterone and oestrogen in the host body armour looks like a mix of male and female proportions being extremely hard to tell the users gender as the armour looking ambiguous

Danny is terrifyed both by the device fusing to him but also making him look alien

jazz tries to comfort Danny by bringing up how the suit makes them look ambiguous

suddenly wings materialise from the armour firing Danny into space Danny is panicked and exited by this when suddenly (i have no idea how to describe the scene from blue beetle past this so just imagine it please)

jazz is panicked and goes back to the call but her phone has died so she runs back to the tent to use Danny's but as she gets back to the tent Danny crashes into the ground

end prompt

you continue from here =]

[mybeingthere]

A Vivienne Westwood tulle skirt from the year 1993. The skirt has various layers of netted tulle in a ray of colours and prints. The skirt lowers at the front gradually getting shorter towards the rear leaving the layers fully exposed creating an amazing silhouette and explosion of colour. Only 12 copies of this design were made and sold exclusively to special Westwood clients.

How it started:

"The hippie movement was still the fashion look of late 1960s London, but this did not inspire Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren, they were more interested in rebellion and in particular 1950s clothing, music and memorabilia. Vivienne began by making Teddy Boy clothes for McLaren and in 1971 they opened Let it Rock at 430 Kings Road.

By 1972 the designer’s interests had turned to biker clothing, zips and leather. The shop was re-branded with a skull and crossbones and renamed Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Die. Westwood and McLaren began to design t-shirts with provocative messages leading to their prosecution under the obscenity laws; their reaction was to re-brand the shop once again and produce even more hard core images. By 1974 the shop had been renamed Sex, a shop ‘unlike anything else going on in England at the time’ with the slogan ‘rubberwear for the office’.

In 1976 the Sex Pistol’s God Save the Queen, managed by McLaren, went to number one and was refused air time by the BBC. The shop reopened as Seditionaires transforming the straps and zips of obscure sexual fetishism into fashion and inspiring a D.I.Y. aesthetic. The media called it ‘Punk Rock’.

The collapse of the Sex Pistols and the absorption of Punk into the mainstream left Westwood disenchanted. In 1980 the shop was refitted and renamed Worlds End, the name still in use today." https://blog.viviennewestwood.com/the-story-so-far/

[mint-corset]

I'm a guy who wants to get into making his own clothes, mainly for historical stuff and partially for a want to get into cosplay. Any advice for a newcomer who does not know his stitches and his fabrics, or anything at all?

I might be able to assist, here are some things I know I felt like were helpful as I got into the hobby:

Get your measurements. If you can't have someone help you, measure your body 3 times and use the average for the best results and accuracy.

You only really need to straight stitch on a sewing machine, imo, you do not need a serger, do not let people tell you that you need a serger. I promise you I only use straight stitches and hand stitching for my garments. A serger is indeed a nice tool to have though.

If you do any hand sewing, seriously invest in good needles. And get yourself a thimble, it's life changing.

Make mock ups, always. Unless of course you made it before (in that case make a reusable paper copy, have have thick poster paper copies of patterns I made.)

In reference to patterns; go for broad, general use patterns. Like once you have one good pants pattern, you really do not need any other pants pattern (unless it's just that different of a style, like baggy versus some slacks). I have like 3 paper patterns I have bought and I used them as a basis to create new patterns on my own. Not all people who make clothes should feel obligated to create a pattern, but I think it's a very helpful skill. it seems overwhelming at first but it's so worth it.

And to reiterate on part 5, consider making yourself a sloper. A sloper is basically a bodice/shirt and basic skirt/pants that you made to your measurements and shape, you're meant to save this and you can trace it for infinity to make whatever you want without worrying about refitting every new pattern you make (very helpful). You can make this out of cheap muslin. Once you make this I swear it saves you time for all future projects.

For fabrics, If you have store near you always opt for buying in person and feeling the fabrics. otherwise if you shop online it's worth getting samples. I have a book on fabrics I sometimes use to reference when I'm confused called "Textilepedia." It's not remotely mandatory but nice to have. Personally I use the same 3-4 types of cottons over and over again so once you have a favorite I'd just stick to it.

Long list but I hope this helps you and anyone else. The most important thing is to also be kind to yourself. You will mess up, even experts mess up, but the beauty of stitching is that you can seam rip and start again. The only time it's too late is when you cut too much off.