#they're still at the very beginning of this

[kyoukorpse]

What kind of internal changes does Chirin go through?

Eldritch guts? Demonic heart? Just goop where there should be like, functioning bodyparts?

rubs my terrible little hands together... yessssss... they go through a lot of internal changes, physically and mentally. they have a slow progression to ascending to full godhood, but the whole way there they change very drastically as they get stronger and more revered.

chirin is mostly all there in the beginning, while they're serving narinder and then spending their time absolving the bishops and indoctrinating them over the first few centuries.

after all that they start getting taller, grow in their third eye, and generally start rapidly changing externally. their personality shifts considerably and they start having phases every so often where it seems like they're mentally checking out or not there entirely. such is how things go when you gave permission to your crown to affect and alter your mind/memories (something they of course can't even remember).

eventually they'll change so much that their entire personality and everything that made them them will be gone and they'll simply be just a god, a being that can only be reached when they want to be, and seen only when they want to be seen. while their insides slowly change to just being ichor tainted masses of flesh they still do have a beating heart in there, one just as vile as the ones they ripped out of the bodies of the gods before them.

this takes several centuries to fulfill, though.

[peachesofteal]

I know Azriel has amassed a ton of wealth over centuries from doing the dirtiest work, and rarely spends it. He's never really had a need to. Of course, he buys gifts for his family, covers tabs at Rita's, buys himself things, essentials, etc but when it comes to spending for enjoyment or spending to indulge, it just doesn't happen.

He's not looking for reasons, either, until he literally stumbles into one.

You trip and fall into him in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Trip over something on the ground, get twisted up, and flail forward, right into his path. You're rose and pink pepper, floral, sharp, sweet in a way he cannot fathom, and he doesn't think before stopping your fall. He just reacts, grabbing you around the arms and pulling you upright, holding you steady as you recalibrate your balance, looking up into his face, eyes shining bright like the stars. They're brilliant, full of life, but lined with an undercurrent of stress, of worry, he does not understand.

You're fumbling over an apology as he studies you, scrutinizing every detail on your face, down to the chap of your lips.

He's never seen a High Fae look so... off before, and they're not known to be clumsy.

"Are you alright?" It's polite to inquire, he assures himself, it's the right thing to do.

"I'm fine," you smile but it doesn't touch your eyes, "thanks. Sorry about that. I wasn't watching where I was going." He's unsure what to say next but before he can come up with something, you're giving him a quick thank you, and then disappearing into market.

He thinks about you that night. Wonders about you, as he stares at the bedroom ceiling. You obviously weren't well. Maybe he should have done more. It's his duty, isn't it? To Velaris? To care for it and its citizens, to protect them. Or at least, you. Do something to care for you, protect you.

He's not sure what to do, so he pushes the lingering questions from his mind.

And then the following week, he sees you at Rita's.

You're waiting tables, waltzing across the floor delivering drinks with a smile, the same one that slips away as soon as you're out of sight. Your shoulders slump as you stand at the corner of the bar, covering your mouth with your palm, yawning into it again and again.

Maybe he should do something, maybe you need a healer, maybe he could help-

No. He shouldn't. You probably wouldn't want him to, anyway. Right?

He shakes it off, tries to shake you off but can't stop himself from watching every step you take, trying to diagnose the problem.

It takes too long for it to click.

You're not sick, or clumsy.

You're exhausted, and it makes him irrationally angry, fills him with a need to drag you away from Rita's and tuck you up into a house somewhere, a place you'll never have to lift a finger again if you so choose. A place where you could be taken care of-

maybe even by him.

It takes him very little time to find the ramshackle duplex you live in on the outskirts of town, the roof too sloped, the wooden steps too rotted, the siding too loose.

It makes him uneasy, makes his skin crawl. Why are you here, in a place like this? Who has allowed this?

Why does a place like this even exist when Velaris has such wealth?

He begins to play a game, and at first, he tells himself it's to make himself feel better, that he's doing it for selfish reasons.

It's winter, and you don't have gloves, so he buys a pair and the shadows deposit them on your front step, and it makes the sick feeling in his stomach go away. For a few days.

When it returns, he buys you a hat, and this time, he delivers it himself, eager to see your reaction.

He doesn't expect to see the gloves still sitting on the porch, and he frowns. Did you not see them? Did you not like them? He leaves the hat at their side and lurks on the roof of the house across from yours, hiding in shadow, in wait.

The sun is still rising when you leave for your first job of the day, and you stop short at the sight of the hat. He perks up, expecting to see you relax with relief, or happiness, but is left confused when you hold the hat in your hands for a moment, reverently tracing the stitching, before dropping it back next to the gloves.

Why? You need these things. They're being given anonymously, alleviating some of awkwardness of accepting gifts, and he had hoped it would spare you from feelings of obligation or embarrassment. Perhaps you are too proud, he wonders, but shadows echo a different sentiment, one of distrust, of wariness.

The gifts scare you.

The guilt churns the bile in his stomach, and he flexes his fingers into fists before flying away, cursing himself the whole way home.

Idiot.

You're very surprised when he approaches you on your walk from the Palace to Rita's, so much so that you jerk to a dead stop, staring at him with your mouth dropped open as he tries to explain he has something to give you.

Yes, he knows you don't know him. Yes, he's aware how strange this is.

Yes, you will be taking this scarf whether you like it or not.

"I'm sorry?"

"This is for you." He extends the scarf towards you, holding his breath. Your eyes narrow.

"Have you been leaving things on my porch?"

"Yes." There's no point in lying. He's standing here trying to gift you a scarf, for Cauldron's sake.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, anxious, and he wishes there was a way he could reassure you without frightening you further.

"You needed them." It comes off as arrogant, but he doesn't care. He's getting to the point where he's past caring, where he's past watching you freeze and work yourself to the bone. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscles are straining, and it takes effort to steady his voice. "You're freezing."

"I-"

"I want you to have this." Just take it. The shadows skitter around him, trawling across the brick to where you stand, and you glance at them briefly, surprisingly unafraid, before looking back at him. He expects a fight, some kind of resistance, but it's all been bled dry. The only thing he sees is defeat, and it stings. You're suffering, you're suffering and he's got everything he could ever want, material wise, and then some. "Please," he murmurs, stepping forward, and you shake your head.

"I shouldn't."

"It's just a gift, I don't expect anything in return."

"You say that now." Your voice trembles. Anger cracks like lightning through his veins. Is this what you fear? A transaction? An exchange for help? There are only so many things one could want in a situation like this, and all of the them fill him with rage.

"I promise you," his voice is steel, firm and unrelenting, "I want nothing in return."

"You promise." It's not a question, and you won't meet his gaze, but he pushes on.

"I do." You reach for it hesitantly and wrap it around your neck, tucking your chin into the softly spun wool, cheeks lifting in a very small, shy smile. Good girl.

He chose perfectly. It complements your skin, your eyes, illuminates your already striking beauty.

"I... thank you. This is really nice. It's lovely." The shadows hum, and he secretly preens, the warmth in his chest spreading as you tell him your name.

"I'm Azriel," he says in return, and you nod.

"I know." You sigh, and look past him, down the street to where he knows your work awaits. "I have to go."

Or he could take you. It's tempting, so, so tempting. It's wicked, and rotten, but satisfying at the same time, and it soothes the reckless pieces of him calling out to you.

No. He shouldn't. He settles on a different course instead.

"I'll see you soon." Your brow furrows.

"You will?" He nods, spreading his wings, preparing to launch into the sky, pleased by how you marvel at them.

"And you'll wear both the gloves and hat when you're outside from now on." Your lips part with surprise. "Yes?" It takes a beat, and then two-

"Yes."

[missarchive]

can i ask for sleepy smutty gentle soft spencer x reader blurb/oneshot? i just *know* in the mornings he can be such a soft boy

sleepy spencer is something i will never get tired of writing, thank you for your request, anon <3

cw; +18 minors dni, very gentle and sappy, they're so so in love, protected p in v, fingering, fade to black, aftercare mentioned but not entirely described

You blink your eyes open, greeted by the faint warmth of sunlight spilling through the barely parted curtains. The room is dim, softer than usual, and your drowsy mind registers the cozy intimacy of the moment. Then you feel it—a gentle weight pressed against your side.

Spencer is nestled against you, hands brushing faintly against your skin as he sleeps. You can’t help but watch him for a while, captivated by how peaceful he looks. His messy, dark hair fans across the pillow, and his slightly parted lips twitch as if caught in a dream.

Your hand moves instinctively, tracing the curve of his back. His skin is impossibly soft, like silk under your fingertips, and he stirs at your touch. A small sound escapes his lips—something unintelligible but endearing. He shifts closer, his body moulding to yours as if seeking you, even in sleep.

Your heart races as the warmth of his skin meets yours. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way he fits so perfectly against you, and the faint scent of his shampoo lingers, mingling with something so distinctly him. You let your fingers glide along his side, tracing the gentle rise and fall of his ribs. The motion stirs him further; his breathing deepens, and you can feel the faint tremor of his body as he begins to wake.

You trail your hand over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. The moment feels electric, the tension building as his eyes flutter open, softened by sleep and something you dare to think is affection. His gaze locks onto yours, pupils dilating as a lazy smile spreads across his face.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice raspy and low, still thick with sleep.

Before you can reply, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing yours in a slow, tender kiss. They’re warm and soft, moving against yours with a languid ease that makes your heart pound. You can’t resist tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.

The kiss deepens, your tongues meeting in a slow, deliberate dance that sends a shiver through your body. Spencer responds with a quiet moan that vibrates against your lips, and the sound sets your pulse racing. His growing arousal presses against you, a subtle but insistent reminder of how close you both are.

He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes meet yours again, and there’s a question there, unspoken but clear.

He whispers again, his voice softer this time. "Sleep well?"

The tenderness in his tone makes you smile, and you nod, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "Yeah, mhm, really well," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Relieved, he leans in to kiss you again, this time with more urgency. His tongue meets yours, teasing and tasting as your hands explore his body. Every touch, every kiss feels like a promise—a reminder of the connection you share.

When he pulls back once more, his lips curve into a soft smile. "I love you," he says, the words gentle yet filled with conviction.

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice. You run your fingers through his tousled hair, letting them linger there as you smile back. "I love you, too," you say, meaning every word.

He kisses you again, this time with a passion that takes your breath away. His lips trail down your jaw, then your neck, each kiss leaving a burning imprint on your skin. You arch into him, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation as his hands begin their own exploration.

Spencer’s touch is slow, deliberate, as though he wants to memorize every inch of you. His lips and hands are everywhere—your face, your neck, your sides. The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, and you feel like you might burst if he doesn’t take you fully into his arms soon.

You whisper his name, and the sound seems to ignite something in him. He looks at you with those eyes, his expression a mix of adoration and desire. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a promise.

Your fingers weave through Spencer’s dark hair, tangling gently as they trail down the smooth expanse of his back. He’s still kissing you, his lips moving with a fervor that sends shivers through your entire body. Each press of his mouth, each graze of his tongue against yours, sets your pulse racing. It’s almost too much—almost. The tension coils tightly within you, and you feel like you might shatter if he doesn’t give you more.

Breaking the kiss, you cup his face and tilt his head so his eyes meet yours. "Spencer," you murmur, your voice breathless and raw, "I want you."

His eyes darken, the soft hunger in them deepening into something primal. Desire mingles with tenderness as he gazes at you, his lips parting slightly as though he’s about to say something—but instead, he lets his actions speak.

Lowering himself, Spencer begins a trail of kisses down your neck and chest, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every inch of your skin. His hands work deftly to remove your shirt, baring you to him. His lips find your nipple, and the moment his tongue flicks against it, a gasp escapes you.

Your body arches instinctively, pressing closer to him. The heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, and the gentle scrape of his teeth draw a moan from deep within you. He takes his time, lavishing attention on your chest, his hands exploring every curve and dip of your body.

When he finally pulls back, his lips glisten, and he looks up at you with a smile that’s equal parts wicked and affectionate. You return the smile, your fingers threading through his hair as if anchoring yourself to him.

Spencer shifts, rising back up to capture your mouth with his. His lips are warm and insistent, tasting faintly of your own skin, and the thought sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. Your hands trail down his back, your nails pressing lightly into his skin, eliciting a low groan from him that vibrates against your lips.

With practiced ease, he adjusts your bodies, positioning himself above you. His weight feels perfect against you. The tip of his cock presses firmly against your core through your thin layer of clothing, and without even thinking, your legs fall open, inviting him closer.

The contact draws a guttural sound from deep in his throat, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips resume their exploration, peppering kisses along your jaw and collarbone as his hips rock against yours. The friction is maddeningly good, and a whimper escapes you as your body instinctively moves to meet his.

The heat between you builds, his cock rubbing against your wetness through the barrier of clothing. The sensation is electric, each movement driving you closer to the edge. Spencer’s breath is hot against your ear as he groans, the sound raw and unrestrained.

“God, you feel incredible,” he whispers, his voice ragged with need.

He captures your mouth again in a kiss that feels like a promise, his tongue tangling with yours as he grinds against you. The pressure and heat are intoxicating, and your hips rise to meet his in perfect rhythm. Every movement, every touch, fans the flames between you, until nothing else exists but the two of you, lost in each other.

Spencer’s tongue moves languidly against yours, his kiss slow and unhurried. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet intimacy of two bodies learning and savoring each other. The lingering sleepiness only adds to the sweetness of the moment, each kiss and touch steeped in tenderness and desire.

His low moan vibrates against your lips as his hips press against yours, his arousal a firm and thrilling presence. His hand finds yours, guiding it between your bodies. His voice is husky when he whispers, “Touch yourself f'me.”

You nod, your breath hitching as your fingers move to your clit. You begin to circle it slowly, matching the rhythm of his grinding hips. The combination of his hard length against you and the delicate pressure of your own touch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“That’s right, baby,” Spencer murmurs, his eyes dark and full of affection as they lock onto yours. “Make yourself feel good.”

He leans in to kiss you again, his lips soft and warm against yours. The connection feels electric, every brush of his tongue igniting a fresh wave of heat within you. Your arousal builds with each passing moment, your heartbeat pounding in your chest.

A moan escapes you as your fingers work against your clit, the sensation heightened by Spencer grinding against you. His cock is hot and firm, pressing insistently against your wetness. You feel the thrum of his pulse through the thin barrier between you, and it only pushes you closer to the edge.

Spencer shifts, settling between your legs with practiced ease. He brings his fingers to his lips, licking them with deliberate intent before trailing them down your body. His touch is slow and teasing as his fingers find your entrance, and when he finally pushes them inside, a gasp escapes you.

Your body clenches around him, the sensation sending a shiver through you. Spencer’s lips curl into a soft, knowing smile. “You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he whispers, his voice thick with need.

His fingers move with an unhurried precision, stroking you from the inside as his other hand finds your clit. The combination of sensations is overwhelming, and you arch into his touch, a broken moan falling from your lips.

“So warm,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours.

You bite your lip, nodding in response as your hips begin to move, riding the rhythm of his hand. The heat between you builds as he leans down to kiss you, his breath heavy against your mouth.

“Please, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desperation. Your hand reaches for him, wrapping around his cock.

You meet his gaze, those soft, sleepy eyes filled with hunger and longing. “I want you inside me,” you say, the words carrying all the need coursing through you.

His lips quirk into a small, tender smile as he kisses you deeply. His hands move with purpose, slipping away just long enough to shed his clothes. The sound of fabric hitting the floor mingles with the quickening rhythm of your breath.

Spencer pauses for a moment, his eyes roaming over you with a mix of reverence and desire. Then he positions himself between your legs, gently lifting and spreading them. His hands are steady, but his gaze is heated, as if savouring every second before giving you what you’ve both been craving.

Spencer tears open the condom packet, rolling it on with practiced ease. Then, with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch, he guides the head of his cock to your entrance. The sensation of his tip brushing against you sends a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft moan.

He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “Ready, baby?” he asks, his voice low and tender.

You nod, biting your lip as anticipation coils tightly within you. “Yes,” you whisper.

Spencer leans down to kiss you, his lips capturing yours. As his hips press forward, he pushes inside, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed within you. For a moment, neither of you moves, savouring the feeling of being so intimately connected.

You open your eyes to find his closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusts to the warmth of you. Unable to resist, you trace your finger across his face, brushing against his cheek. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours with a soft, almost shy smile.

“Hi,” he whispers, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“Hi, pretty boy,” you reply, your voice laced with affection.

He leans down to kiss you again, his hips beginning to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, his cock sliding in and out with a pace that makes every nerve in your body light up.

A low moan escapes him, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “You feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. His thrusts deepen, his body fitting perfectly against yours as if you were made for each other. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, holding him tighter.

“Spencer,” you moan, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He slows his movements, his gaze meeting yours. “Yes?” he asks, his smile both teasing and adoring.

His hips roll into you again, the motion making you gasp. “What do you want, baby?” he asks, his voice a mixture of tenderness and need. “I’ll do anything.”

His hand brushes your hair away from your face, his eyes soft and full of affection. “Tell me,” he continues, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your side. “Just want to make you feel good.”

The emotion in his voice sends warmth flooding through you, a reminder of how deeply he cares—not just for your pleasure, but for you. For a moment, you’re lost in his gaze, savoring the steady rhythm of his body moving against yours, the way he fills you so completely.

Your lips curve into a small smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “You’re already making me feel good,” you whisper.

His expression softens, his eyes glimmering with something unspoken but deeply felt. He leans down to kiss you, his lips gentle yet firm against yours, conveying everything words can’t.

His hips continue their steady rhythm, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through you. The feeling intensifies with every movement, each one drawing you closer to the edge. Your moans mingle with his, creating a harmony of shared ecstasy.

Spencer presses his forehead to yours again, his breath mingling with yours as his thrusts grow slightly deeper, each one punctuated by his quiet, unrestrained groans. His lips find yours once more, his movements and kisses merging into an intoxicating rhythm that makes the rest of the world disappear.

Spencer pulls back slightly, his sleepy, soft eyes locking onto yours. A tender smile graces his lips as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with emotion. He leans in for another kiss, the warmth of his lips grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

Your mouths move together in a languid rhythm, his hips keeping pace as he continues to thrust into you. The warmth of his cock inside you and the gentle caress of his tongue against yours send waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moan into his mouth, your hands clutching at his back, pulling him closer.

Spencer smiles against your lips, the curve of his mouth soft and full of adoration. “So, so beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. His kisses trail from your lips to your cheek and down your neck, each press of his lips igniting sparks of pleasure. He pauses to breathe against the sensitive skin of your neck, the warmth making you shiver as his cock grinds deeper, pressing deliciously against your clit.

Your eyes flutter shut, the tension coiling tightly in your core. Every slow, purposeful movement of his body against yours pushes you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“Spencer,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “I’m going to...”

He stiffens slightly above you, his gaze locking onto yours. His voice is low and full of need as he responds, “Cum with me, baby.”

You nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the tension snaps. Your orgasm tears through you, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. You cry out, your walls clenching tightly around him, drawing a deep moan from his lips.

Spencer’s movements grow erratic as he chases his release, his cock thrusting deep inside you. With a guttural groan, he cums, his body trembling as he fills the condom. His head drops to your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rides out the last shudders of pleasure.

“Baby,” he moans, his voice soft and full of awe. His body presses against yours, his weight grounding you as you both come down from the high.

You let out a soft cry as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, your body still sensitive and buzzing with pleasure. Your legs fall limply to the sides, and you look up at Spencer with sleepy, satisfied eyes.

He collapses gently against you, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath. His softening cock remains inside you for a moment before he carefully pulls out, leaving you feeling both empty and content.

Your hands find their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands as he peppers gentle kisses along your collarbone and shoulder.

Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead before getting up to clean himself. You follow his lead, your bodies still humming with the echoes of your shared pleasure.

Once clean, you both return to the bed, slipping under the covers and curling up together. Spencer’s arms wrap securely around you, his hand lazily brushing through your hair as his lips find your temple.

“I love you,” he whispers, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You smile, your eyes closing as you nestle closer to him. “I love you, too.”

With Spencer’s arms holding you tight and his heartbeat steady against your ear, sleep comes easily. You drift off, feeling safe, loved, and utterly content in the embrace of the man you adore.

[sailorluna15]

what about pitfighter vi who wants nothing to do with virgins because she thinks they get too attached, and then reader is a virgin but vi really wants to fuck her anyway

"Come on, you're telling me you like used goods?"

Vi rolls her eyes and takes a swig of her beer.

"It's not used goods. I like a woman who knows what she likes and doesn't get too attached. Virgins get one taste of you and fall in love. I'm looking to fuck, not get married."

"You're thinking about it too much! It's kinda fun when they get attached. They're like little puppies."

"Nah, I'd rather stay away from that shit. I don't got time for the puppy attachment bullshit. I'm good.

That's how Vi felt until she met you.

Vi walks into the club and scans around for a nice piece of ass. She walks further into the club and sits at the bar. Waving the bartender down, he slides her a drink that she knocks back in a second.

She looks around again and spots you. Immediately, she knows who she wants to fuck tonight.

When she sees you, you're spinning upside down, naked, with your legs split in the air. Your bikini top, G-string, and dollar bills lay thrown across the stage as you dance. You look mesmerizing and delectable.

Vi walks over to the host and requests a lap dance from you.

After you finish your set, the host tells you Vi wants you. She points to the room Vi's waiting for you in and wishes you good luck.

You stalk towards the room and open the door with a smile.

"Hello, Vi?"

She nods and stares at you like a predator checking out its prey.

"Thank you for booking a dance with me. Do you want anything to drink before we get started? I wanna make sure you're comfortable." You say flirtatiously.

She shakes her head no and allows you to begin the dance. It feels like the entire world has disappeared as your bend over and shake your ass in her face.

When you turn back around to grind against her again, your faces come so close that your noses touch. The energy between you two is magnetic. As you two continue to breathe each other in, a knock comes to the door, signaling the end of the dance.

"I guess times up, huh?" Vi whispers.

"Yeah."

Silence passes by before you speak.

"My shift is over in 10 minutes if you wanna take this to my place.

Vi contemplates your offer, before agreeing.

"I'll be at the bar waiting."

A small smile graces your face as you both leave the room.

The host approaches you with a knowing look.

"Did little Ms. Emo Girl enjoy her lap dance?"

"Very much so. We're about to take it to my apartment." You say sweetly.

With a loud laugh, the host says, "Okay, girl, get you some! I want to hear all about it tomorrow."

"Oh, trust me, you will!"

You both wave your goodbyes as you walk to Vi and leave the club with her.

The air is filled with anticipation as you both make your way to your apartment.

Finally, enter your apartment and immediately jump on each other's bones.

Vi kisses and sucks on your neck as moans flow out of your mouth.

She quickly drops to her knees, removes your panties, and immediately starts to devour your pussy.

Loud groans fill the air as she sucks on your clit and sticks her tongue in your pussy. She sticks two fingers into your pussy and fingers you as she continues to eat you out. Vi stands up and leads you to the bedroom. She manhandles you onto the bed and starts to unbuckle her pants.

"Wait...wait." You plead as you put your hands on her belt buckle.

"I've...I've never done this before."

Vi laughs in disbelief and says, "You joking, right?"

You avoid her eyes and shrug your shoulders.

"Oh my God, you're serious. You're a fucking virgin."

"It's not my fault! I've...I don't get out much."

"You're literally a fucking stripper! How are you still a virgin?!" Vi exclaims.

"Me being a dancer has nothing to do with having sex or my virginity! It's a job just like any other and has nothing to do with my personal life." You say defiantly as you lean back on your hands.

"You know what? I don't even fucking care. I just wanna fuck. You take strap or what?" Vi asks with a raised brow.

"I mean, I...I guess. I've always wanted to try it." You whisper out shyly.

With a hum, Vi drops her pants and underwear simultaneously, revealing a thick 8-inch purple dildo attached to the strap.

"Is that gonna fit?" You question nervously.

"We'll find out in a few seconds, won't we? You got lube?" Vi responds

"It's in the first drawer."

Vi leans over, opens the drawer, and grabs the lube. She squirts it on the dildo and lines herself up with your pussy.

"You ready?"

You nod and relax as Vi slides inside you.

"Fuck." You breathe out.

Vi slowly fucks you until she feels you get comfortable.

"Go faster."

Vi smiles and quickens her pace. She lifts your legs, presses them to your chest, and fucking you deep into the mattress.

Moans, groans, and curses fill the air as Vi takes your virginity.

"Damn, your pussy's so tight. You wanted this bad, huh. Fucking whore."

"I'm a whore." You whine out as you clutch Vi's arms.

You feel a sting on both of your asscheeks as Vi delivers a slap to them.

"I love a girl who knows what she is."

Vi begins to rub little circles on your clit as she drives her hips faster into you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead and cum. Cum on my dick." Vi grunts out.

One, two, three thrusts, and you unravel. Your body shakes as ecstasy overcomes you.

"Oh my God, I've never come like that in my life." You say with a heavy breath.

Vi chuckles as she removes the strap from you and helps you clean up.

After she helps you clean up, she heads towards the door. You quickly chase after her.

"Wait!"

Vi turns around with a raised eyebrow and an expectant face.

"What's your number? I wanna do this again sometime."

"555-876-0982. Don't expect a relationship, though. I'm strictly here to fuck."

You quickly write the number down and nod your head in agreement.

"Yeah, no, no, no. I want the same strictly fucking. No strings attached."

With a low 'mhmm,' Vi walks out of your apartment and heads home.

"What a fucking woman."

[agirlinthegalaxy]

Hi! Fellow person with an English degree, along with working for an academic company that has a short college textbook about AI! One of the things that was discussed was hallucinations, which is incorrect information that AI presents as fact. Because the thing is, AI isn't capable of critical thought on its own. It takes in all of this information from the internet, but, as well all know, the Internet isn't inherently a trustworthy source of information and AI isn't capable of actually verifying this information.

One of the ways that we demonstrated this in our textbook is by inputting "Who won the 2022 presidential election?" This was using a previous ChatGPT model, but it actually would answer the question genuinely as if there had been a 2022 presidential election. Another way that I found personally is that I would begin discussing television shows and push it, and without fail, it always began making a lot of errors about obvious plot points and would be unable to keep it straight. Here's an input where I ask for an explanation of the finale of the Charmed (1998) series. (Spoilers for that ahead, but also the show ended nearly twenty years ago, so.)

While a lot of people probably don't know a lot about the show, here's the most relevant part: the entire Ultimate Power section is a complete fabrication because, while they exist, they're distinct characters with a completely different background. (And before anyone says anything, the point isn't about how recognizable the show is, it's about the AI literally makes up false information and presents it as truth when it's very easily disproved.)

Another way of illustrating AI's hallucinations is asking an either/or question, presuming that an event happens. Now, in full transparency, I have not read Dracula since 2021/2022, but I'm about eighty percent sure that this is an example of a hallucination. If not, my apologies, but I'm sure you can find a hallucination if you input it enough similar statements.

Beyond clearly just knowing what is accurate or not, AI also, like the previous OP said, doesn't know what is important. In many classes, when you're discussing some kind of novel, small details will of vital importance whether it about character, plot, or theme of the book. Demonstrated by one of my professors who asked us about the symbolism of the horse that Thomas Sutpen rode into town in the beginning of Absalom, Absalom only to very loudly proclaim that it was between his legs as a phallic symbol, which honestly was probably correct with the author William Faulkner being who he is. Side note, but he was a weird man, and I still don't like his works. If I was a student in that class today, here are the two different shortcuts I could have gotten.

(ChatGPT)

(SparkNotes)

Between the two, even disregarding that SparkNotes' summary is four paragraphs to ChatGPT's three (since the girl in the og Twitter post used three), SparkNotes just provides so much more information and detail. I'd argue that ChatGPT doesn't even summarize it efficiently anyways. So if you're just trying to cheat for class, ChatGPT still isn't a good option.

But I think the worst thing is that the people in the original Twitter convo aren't even reading for class. They're (presumably) reading for enjoyment, which makes it so much more bizarre to me. Because the thing is, and this is a rare one for me to say, you don't... have to read if you don't enjoy it? Once you've left school, very few places (unless you intentionally opt into it or have a very specific job) will make you read novels in your free time. Furthermore, I really can't fathom problems that ChatGPT solves that, say, an audiobook can't? Discussing these two specific instances individually:

If you're wanting to learn more about what Aristotle said in more readable English, baby, he's Aristotle. I can almost guarantee you that there is some kind of book out there, or even something online if you'd like to use the Internet, explaining his philosophy in easier to understand terms. Also with philosophy, I think that "main gist" can be a bit of a trick in of itself because it's designed to make you think critically about these ideas. Sometimes, the "main gist" is even the opposite of what they may seemingly be arguing because they're mocking it.

As for reading a book recommendation by a friend. ... girlie pop, you literally could just not read the book. I've gotten plenty of book recommendations that I've never read and my friends are not insulted at it. If it's a bid for connection, I'd argue that this is more insulting than simply not reading it because if you don't want to invest the time into it, that's fine but this weird shortcut way as if it's beneath your time is... oof. But especially if you want to discuss it, because AI will not include every beat and a lot of a novel is in the way it's written, the pacing or tension, etc. Things that an AI summary can't define out for you to have an actual meaningful conversation. That's something I do when I see a movie that looks halfway interesting but don't care enough to actually sit down and watch it. And even then, I'd never go back to that friend and act like I actually consumed that media; I'd probably just say that it sounds good because I still have not actually truthfully engaged with it!

This is a very long post, but I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about AI, especially in classes, literature, and media in general. Most of them are very negative, but I mean, please don't hand over your critical thinking of what you're consuming to artificial intelligence. Its intelligence is artificial; yours is not.

what is HAPPENING

[ghouljams]

Omg how's Gaz and the maid doing??? We haven't heard of them in forever. They're the least depressing ones in this AU, I think.

Love you and your writing btw

Muah

You wave the letter from you father in front of Lord Garrick's face, uncaring for your decorum when all you want to do is jump across his desk and strangle him. Your father, loving as he may be, is marvelously angry. Someone claiming to be the king's advisor, though you suspect it truly was your lord, has asked him for your hand in marriage. Which has caused your father to make the understandable assumption that you're pregnant. Why else would a nobleman begin marriage talks with him? It's not as if you're of any high standing, you're just barely a step above a peasant from working in the castle but you are still woefully common.

"Is this some sort of joke?" You ask Lord Garrick, slamming your letter against his desk. He looks down at it, then back to you.

"It's not a very funny one if it is," He responds, taking the letter from under your fingers and standing.

You take a step back from his desk, suddenly reminded of your station. Garrick reads over your father's letter as he steps around the desk, you turn with his path, keeping your eyes trained on him. You're too wary to look away, he's unpredictable and you lose all thought when he touches you. Which seems to be the only thing he wants to do, and you can't say you feel any different.

He's charming.

He's gorgeous.

He's dangerous.

He's far, far, too close to you too quickly.

He holds your chin between his fingers, soft and loose, it locks you in place. The memory of his thumb sliding against your lips makes your cheeks flash with heat, goosebumps prickling over your skin when you force it back down.

"You father thinks you're pregnant." Garrick summarizes, his eyes darting over the letter in his opposite hand. You wish he'd look at you, or let you go so you can get some distance. His eyes are so rich this close.

You feel the memory of his hands on you so often you'd convinced yourself you were sleepwalking. The press of his chest against your back haunted your dreams. The tip of his head as he leaned over you followed you through the back halls. And yet nothing hung over your head quite so sharply as the fleeting feeling of his stubble brushing your jaw, interrupted too soon, and taking too much to walk away from. He called you "doll" but maybe "puppet" was more accurate.

"I'm not," You assure him, assure yourself and the memory of your father's frown. Lord Garrick hums, something flickering over his gaze that you can't parse.

"You could be," He reasons, "you've been in and out of my chambers alone, and you're so-" his fingers move from your chin to stroke over your cheek, his thumb rubbing just below your eye as he cups your face, "-beautiful, it wouldn't be unbelievable."

A shiver fingers its way through you, spreading to touch each muscle along your spine, up your cheeks and down to your fingertips. You tense all over to keep from shaking at the way your lord looks at you. An almost pitying, but unmistakable hunger that makes your heart quicken in your chest.

"I'm a virgin," You remind yourself, "I could have a physician check, write something as proof."

"Or you could let me check." Garrick breathes, his gaze consumptive, pulling you closer with each breath. He tips his head and you feel that phantom brush of his stubble, with no one to save you from yourself this time. "Your husband is better suited for that, don't you think, poppet?"

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Hey I'm back with more arcane thoughts and they're sad! Because god forbid we catch a break in this fandom, right? Anyway (spoilers ahead)

MEL DOESN'T HAVE FRIENDS :(

I know that's gonna sound crazy. You're probably saying, "oh but she's so cool and lovely" and I agree but I really need y'all to think about this. Who does she talk to for any reason except political intrigue? Nobody but Jayce and Viktor. You could make an argument for Lest but she was also spying for her, so we don't know the nature of that relationship. It may very well have been another political thing.

Now I just wanna say upfront that I don't think any of this is really her fault, I mean you've seen how the council is and she probably doesn't know anybody else in Piltover. I mean think about it, she's a whole princess, her life IS politics. Her existence is political. Anyone she knew before her exile is probably a noble of some kind and it's very hard to remove politics from those relationships. That's probably how she ended up on the council to begin with. Jayce and Viktor are the only people who aren't nobility that she talks to. Jayce is a part of a family that was only just starting to gain significant wealth and respect, he's new money. Viktor is from the undercity. All of his money is coming from whoever's paying for him to be there. They're the only people who exist outside of the politics of the council. They're also dead now.

So let me summarize and put it in perspective. Mel lost her brother, was exiled from her home and whatever relationships she had there (which was probably with a whole bunch of nobles), went to Piltover and became a politician, thus becoming surrounded by nobles once again, she then had to kill her mom, and the only people who didn't want anything from her and didn't pressure her are now space dust. Let it sink in.

It makes this scene right here just that much sadder. She's really doing it all on her own now. Once again, her whole life will revolve around politics and there's nobody to give her a break. Nobody she can trust enough to be vulnerable around. She has more power than ever before but I don't think that's ever what she wanted. She knew she'd get it, I don't think this was a surprise, she knew she didn't have a choice.

I'm also thinking about how she didn't even have time to process her grief. They just cleaned up the aftermath of the war, which took a few weeks if not a month. They're probably still wondering what happened to Jayce and Viktor, did they figure it out yet? Can they even figure it out? She's probably still waiting on that news here. She probably already assumed they were gone in some capacity. That must be hurting her like you wouldn't believe, especially considering that she and Jayce never officially ended their relationship. They got separated, argued a little bit but made up, and then just went to war. There was no time to break up even if they wanted to, and honestly I'm not sure that they did and I'm saying this as a Jayvik truther. And don't even get me started on the guilt she probably feels about her mother. That could be a whole other post in itself.

Anyway, point is, Mel needs a hug so so badly oh my GOD

[cosmic-glow]

Can't You See The Connection?

Notes: Just a cute intrusive thought I decided to write, but I hope you like it!

Warnings: SFW!! Thanos x GN!Reader; Reader is not Asian, but country of origin not specified! ; No use of "Y/n" ; Reader paints nails ; Soft ; Cute ; Violence mentioned in the series.

You were still having to absorb your current situation. Stuck in a place you have no idea where it is, having to play children's games to survive, surrounded by people you've never seen in your life… all because of a debt. What a load of shit.

For your own benefit, you've always been more of an observer than a talker. So you managed to read some of the players just by watching what they did. Without having to talk to anyone, you discovered that player 333 almost got punched for manipulating his followers into investing in cryptocurrencies (which led to them losing everything); player 456 had played the games before and won; player 230 was a rapper and players 149 and 007 were mother and son.

It wasn't much, but it was something to know who to avoid and who could be useful.

After the first game, the dormitory no longer seemed so full. Not just because of the people who died, but because most of the players were still in shock, the only ones who spoke were those gathered in small groups. You were sitting on your bunk, minding your own business and totally ignoring the brief glances that landed on you.

As a foreigner, you were more than used to your simply different appearance attracting attention. The problem was when they made hostile comments, but as long as they weren't directly said to you, you could ignore them. These damn games were just beginning, it wasn't a good time to get into trouble and be tarnished in the eyes of others if you needed a group in the future.

Because you were ignoring all the stares, you didn't even notice the one that was most persistent on you. Since the end of the first game, Thanos hasn't been able to take his eyes off you. Not only because your appearance stood out, but because when the game was over and everyone was pale with horror after seeing people die because of a stupid game, you were standing just catching your breath. Not seeming at all affected by what just happened, by what you just saw. And that made him curious even though he was a little high at the moment.

Thanos was sitting with player 124, Nam-Gyu. His eyes still on you with curiosity. He analyzed every detail of you that was different from what he was used to. The shape of your eyes, the tone of your skin, the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips… everything was captivating to him.

But something caught his attention as soon as his eyes noticed it. It made him jump as he stood up and walked over to you without even responding to Nam-Gyu's call. You insisted on keeping your gaze down even when he stopped next to your bunk, thinking that it could be some random player wanting to get into trouble for some reason, wanting to avoid that for at least one more day.

- Hey, your nails! They're just like mine.

The soft but excited voice said and then the man stretched his hand in front of your eyes so you could see. In fact, the man painted each nail a color just like you, even if it wasn't the same colors as yours. When you looked up to see who it was, you were met with the smug smile of Thanos, who was waiting for your answer. You really thought about giving a short and cold answer to cut him off and thus get him away from you. He was very noisy and had already started a fight early on, he was the type of player you should avoid. But honestly? He was the only one so far who didn't look at you as if you were an alien, so at the last second you decided to give him a brief smile before answering:

- It's true. Are you copying me by chance?

You said with sarcasm and a slightly friendly tone. And God… it was just a half smile, but Thanos was sure his heart wasn't beating faster because of the drug. He smiled wider as he absorbed the sarcasm and withdrew his hand, putting both in his pockets.

- More likely the opposite. There's no need to be embarrassed if you're a fan of mine.

- Fan of yours? - You raised an eyebrow - Why would I be a fan of yours? I don't even know you.

- Don't know me? I am the legendary rapper Thanos! Come on, you must have heard me somewhere.

- No, no idea.

If Thanos was upset that you didn't know him, he hid it well by just shaking his head, still smiling and letting out a sigh.

- Guess I should introduce myself then, huh?

And without waiting for your answer, Thanos began to improvise a rap introducing himself and talking about how great he was. In a kind of pathetic way, on purpose to make you laugh. He would soon discover that he was becoming addicted to your smile as if it were a new kind of drug, even if you hated yourself a little every time it happened. But you couldn't help it, his rap was so cocky and pathetic that, for a brief moment, you forgot that you were trapped in this place at the risk of your life. You relaxed and just laughed, feeling the brief lightness that the sensation brought.

When he finished, you said your name accompanied by "I'm just…" in front to contradict the cocky way he introduced himself. Thanos smiled and said it was a pleasure to meet you, repeating the "just" in front when saying your name.

He extended his right hand to greet you, you looked at the gesture for a second before shaking his hand with yours. Your colorful nails matched in a way and he liked that, it was as if there was already a kind of bond between you, something that connected you.

- Come to my group. Nam-Gyu is a bit annoying sometimes, but you can tell him to shut up if you want.

You found it funny how he said the phrase in the most banal tone possible, as if he were referring to some kind of pet and not another player, but you accepted the offer and went with him to the other side of the dormitory where the boy was waiting for Thanos in the same place he left him.

As the drug wore off, Thanos noticed more how much he liked your accent, your smile, your voice, the way you sometimes gestured with your hands… it was as if it was simply difficult not to look at you.

And in that moment of sobriety he knew he would do everything he could to make sure you survived the games with him.

Sorry for any typos;

Buy me a coffee?

Masterlist;

Drabbles Game

[anatombombatallhours]

For anyone who speaks or is wanting to learn Japanese, this is EXACTLY how keigo works (with, of course, the respective words in Japanese).

Speaking very informally to someone either means they're lower status than you, they're a literal child, you're close, or you're insulting them. This is why "omae", especially in older works, usually speaks to intimacy among close friends, but most non-native Japanese anime watchers will recognize this as an angry-toned "YOU 🫵🏻".

This is also why the basic word for "you" taught in many Western-located Japanese courses, "anata", is actually extremely rare to hear from Japanese speakers, unless they are talking to their partner or being insulting. "Anta", a shortening of the word, has really come into vogue as a less direct way of referring to a "you" that you want to respect or have no particular relationship with.

And lastly, if you've ever struggled to understand Shakespeare, use the you/thou dichotomy to investigate the types of relationships the characters have. For instance, I recently played Laertes, who, upon coming home to rumors of his father's death, shouts "O thou viled king!" at Claudius. Does this mean he's being intimate or that he sees Claudius as beneath him? No, he likely intends to insult.

Then, at the end of the play, as he lays dying and realizes his own part in the bloody violence, Laertes turns to Hamlet and begins using "thou" towards him for the first time. While gravely telling Hamlet that the poison will kill him soon, and asking for an exchange of forgiveness, Laertes is clearly being intimate in both of their last moments together, and Hamlet responds in kind with his own "thee".

To be honest, I really wish we still had use of both in today's English, because the singular "you" is so fucking limiting.

NO ONE knows how to use thou/thee/thy/thine and i need to see that change if ur going to keep making “talking like a medieval peasant” jokes. /lh

They play the same roles as I/me/my/mine. In modern english, we use “you” for both the subject and the direct object/object of preposition/etc, so it’s difficult to compare “thou” to “you”.

So the trick is this: if you are trying to turn something Olde, first turn every “you” into first-person and then replace it like so:

“I” →  “thou”

“Me” →  “thee”

“My” →  “thy”

“Mine” →  “thine”

Let’s suppose we had the sentences “You have a cow. He gave it to you. It is your cow. The cow is yours”.

We could first imagine it in the first person-

“I have a cow. He gave it to me. It is my cow. The cow is mine”.

And then replace it-

“Thou hast a cow. He gave it to thee. It is thy cow. The cow is thine.”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Pack Behavior and Ritual Headcanons

I have some very specific Headcanons about the ways in which shifter Packs (specifically wolves) traditionally behave, and I just wanted to write those down because I think they're neat. Please enjoy.

When it comes to eating, Packs have, traditionally, fallen under a strict hierarchy. Older, more traditional packs will wait until the Alpha has finished eating to begin. This comes from some animal behaviors in which dominant members of a group have the pick of the food before the rest of the group gets to eat through the scraps. Sometimes, Alphas would appoint certain members of the Pack (often their mate and/or the Beta and their mate) to eat with them.

Gabe did away with this particular tradition when he was Alpha, even through his pack often still waited for his permission to begin eating. It's an innate, instinctive thing that a lot of wolves have, a difference to the hierarchy. David also doesn't follow this tradition very strictly. When the Pack eats together, they will often sit and wait for him to begin eating or give a signal before anybody else touches their food. It kind of creeps David out a bit? But he understands it because he felt the same instinct when his father was Alpha. The only Pack member who is exempt from this show of respect is Darlin', who David wants to eat whenever and whatever they want with no restrictions from him or anybody else.

At the Summit and when around other Packs that the Shaws aren't allied with, they all very strictly follow David's direction when it comes to food. It's a show of respect to their Alpha. They do not want outsiders to see anything that could even be misconstrued as disrespect.

Mates of Alphas have their own special place in a pack. They certainly aren't always part of the pack structure, and don't necessarily have control over the pack because they're mated to the Alpha, but there is an instinctive, base level of respect and difference that packs show to them. It's undeniable for the Shaws that, when both David and Asher are out of commission, Angel has the ability to step into a leadership role very naturally. After the Inversion, when David, Ash, and Milo were all down for the count, Angel and Babe ran the pack. It was only for about twelve hours, but they handled all of the recovery and response efforts for their mates, and revealed themselves to be pretty competent when it came to the pack's care.

I believe that it was @romirola who coined the term "Alpha-Mate" and I really love it. I like that as the official distinction that packs and government agencies use to identify an Alpha's mate. For example, Angel might identify themself to other packs like "I am ____, Alpha-Mate of the Shaw Pack." That term has power behind it, just like "Mate" does.

Tying back to the food HC, Alpha-Mates receive special attention when it comes down to food as well. Most shifters have the instinctive drive to feed their mates. It's an animal instinct to provide, and to make sure that their mates are taken care of. That drive extends to the entire pack when it comes to the Alpha-Mate. Angel often finds themself at pack gatherings with four or five plates of food because, as soon as they've even part way cleared one plate, somebody is bringing them another.

There is a slight magical connection between mates. It's not quite telepathy, but most of the time, mates have a general impression of what their mate is feeling. They also tend to have a sort of sixth sense for when their mate is in danger or hurt, a shiver down the spine or phantom pain. It's not been proven to happen to unempowered mates, or even mates who aren't also shifters, but Angel, Babe, Sam and Sweetheart have all experienced moments that would lend to the theory that it does. Angel was nearly sick with anxiety during the day of the Inversion. Babe gets a shiver up their spine every time Asher shifts, even when they're not with him. Sam can tell when Darlin' is hurt, and gets echos of their pain across his body. Sweetheart could tell you with pretty near accuracy what's on Milo's mind at any given moment, whether that's because they know him so well or because of some sort of Mate-telepathy.

[raintemper]

More of them,, but they’re robot cats this time lol… I’ll draw Moon and Pebbles soon, and some others maybe

I’ll do anything but actually draw them as Iterators apparently

Don't look too close, Ive never drawn such mech heavy designs until now...I don't know what I'm doing. I got a little more confident with NSH but I was absolutely just going blind with Suns. It took me 2 days to figure out how I wanted to start with Suns...

Some background info dump of them for this? Au??? Idk yet lol, under the line if interested

Erhm. Set in a post apocalyptic world, much like how Rain World actually is. Alternative timeline where iterators don't exist?? Failed??? The ancients have not yet ascended?? Maybe??? Idk the details are still blurry to me also 😞. They are in a high security lab facility ground type setting. (Perhaps just an excuse for me to draw apocalyptic higher tech designs????) It is cold outside, some failed iterator structures still produce rain, and occasionally the air may become toxic.

Suns is an offensive/surveillance model meant for fighting and protecting as one can probably tell with his tail blades. It folds back in an attempt to make it less dangerous and also functions as a way to swiftly cut into something if needed. They are the only one of them (excluding Pebbles for special reasons) to be equipped with a mouth hiding sharp teeth and/or lasers for even more attack prowess. They are also still huge. Sorry I run with the huge Suns agenda. He is a tower. Easily wrestles most lizards. I still like the idea of fluffy Suns, so he still has it as a robot cat. Some insulation for the colder outside temperatures, he's outside a lot. Suns is not built to be friendly. Mostly acts and behaves as an unassuming robot early on.

Moon and Suns were the first properly functional/successful projects. They were edited and reconstructed a lot from beginning to now. Maybe they were both originally purposed as therapeutic companions.

The overseers are little drones that fly around. They still project things and are still sometimes unhelpful with directions, follow at your own discretion. The lizards and predators mostly ignore them as well. They do recognize the different drones with time. They've learned to recognize NSH's drones, which sometimes might contain some edible collected material, so they do occasionally try to eat those. And most of the smaller predators try to leave the area if they see Suns' drones.

NSH is closer to a pet model. He is made for reconnaissance and scouting. He is still tiny because I like him tiny, he's adorable. NSH has three pairs of legs for rough terrain traversal, and is a fast little guy. He helps in collecting samples and materials from the outside, marking maps, as well as finding viable safe spots/shelters. He has no mouth but has a component in his chest where he can collect small samples, as well as storage units in his drones to store excess. He has small vials of decontaminate fluid to clean any samples he collects, they have to be refilled occasionally. Also, as mentioned in the art, he can open his neck and chest area and just swallow bigger samples. He can even keep them alive inside him if he wants to. Otherwise, they're killed and turned into power for him to use. Sometimes he finds lizards with cool patterns and tries to swallow them to show Suns, who oftentimes will kill it afterwards.

He was the experimental project for emotive programming alongside Unparalleled Innocence/UI, hence his fully functioning screen as a face. As opposed to Suns, who functions more as a security camera. I think NSH and UI are both similar in the more playful/chaotic personalities, so I decided for them to be created around the same time and put into the same testing. Overtime, UI did not respond very well and was repurposed (She's not gone). Emotive sentience was programmed into NSH first and then tested on Moon. It was generally successful in both cases. NSH really enjoys messing around and can even imitate his fellow iterators faces. It works really well temporarily scaring predators using Suns' color markings lol.

Because NSH and Suns are both outside often, they have solar panel components in their design for extra power. The two of them are very close because of their shared experiences. NSH likes the outside more, Suns has little opinions of it. They worry about NSH because he's so small and curious and occasionally brings back dangerous things.

Suns is a little bit of an outcast here because of his difference in role. He is mostly left to roam and function on his own/not approached as he carries his role. The others are research focused and Suns is more obviously purposed for battle, so there is a little bit of a divide. Not to mention, he technically does not have the programming for emotions that Moon and NSH have. Suns does learn on his own though :D, some of it is learned from NSH too

I will leave it here for now. I will probably talk more about Moon and Pebbles for their own post. And the others as well. I'm still thinking about their designs though.

Erhm hopefully this makes sense somewhat and was at least a fun read.

[utilitycaster]

Idk how to articulate this but in regards to a lot of defense of certain elements of C3 being that they “make sense” in universe, (Ashton becoming indecisive, the party not knowing each other well because of the little passage of time, the party not having stakes in much of things,) it’s always very misguided because something can make sense in universe and still be a really bad writing decision. Especially if you’re trying to respond to an out of universe criticism with in universe logic.

Correct. I think there are two big problems with these arguments. The first, is as you said, the fact that these Doylist critiques (story poorly structure, party lacks investment) are being met with Watsonian defenses (makes sense for the party). We're saying "the party should have been given a reason for investment in the beginning."

The second is, and I've been reluctant to point this out because the bulk of hate I've gotten has been (largely false and frankly idiotic) claims of hypocrisy. But man is a lot of this hypocritical, the defense of Ashton specifically. Like, yes, Ashton is someone who's had a difficult life and frequently had very little power, so the fact that they do have power now isn't something they are used to. However, and this really is the even larger problem, just because a sentient being has a reason for feeling a certain way does not in fact mean that acting on it is excused from criticism. Ashton also learned he contained the shard of a titan only a few weeks ago; why aren't we granting the same "well, it's new, let them process" it to the party's fixation on avenging the titans? Why are we getting this from people who frequently treated Orym as "irrational" and bent on nothing but vengeance for deaths he'd carried for six years and had thought about extensively? Hey, Ludinus is acting from trauma! So is Liliana, according to a lot of these people. If acting from trauma is always valid, then criticism of any of these people is cut off. So clearly, what you do with that trauma matters!

You can feel any way about anything, but how you act matters, and time and time again, a huge number of Bells Hells and Campaign 3 fans have argued that actually it doesn't, and if you've ever had your choices curtailed your lack of agency means you are entitled to do whatever the fuck you want. It extends to themselves as well - doesn't matter if (for example) there's absolutely no indication that Gelvaan's issue with Imogen was homophobia or misogyny and in 118 episodes there hasn't been - if you feel like Imogen's experience is relatable to your real-world one where those were factors then obviously your feelings are right so who cares about like, the facts of the situation! You're new to the campaign! You can't be EXPECTED to LOOK THINGS UP and THINK.

You know what I realized, upon answering this question: I don't know if Ludinus realized that the impact of reaching out to Predathos would be the ruin of Molaesmyr; I don't think he was terribly worried about consequences but I do think it's fair to say "he might have not realized how badly this could go, and was surprised as any by the result". Just someone following a path because they were hurt and traumatized and not thinking things through. We keep talking about how Bells Hells might be remembered as Vespin Chloras, and they might be remembered as such, but Vespin was an arrogant but genuinely competent and even, arguably, well-intentioned person with a clear plan that was ultimately a gross underestimate. I think they're more likely to be just fuck-ups in the dark who could cause mass destruction because they cared far, far more about the hurt they'd received than the world around them.

[not-the-conversation-starter]

The GUN Soldiers are not exactly depicted as the good guys, they're depicted as the army fighting the aliens invading the earth. Literally anyone doing that is the good guys, such as Eggman's robots in certain levels. In the very beginning of the game there's a cutscene with Towers telling his soldiers to kill Shadow no matter what. This is partially because of his history with Shadow, but also because they didn't have any time to make it so the various enemies didn't attack you if you were working with them. (I know the exception, irrelevant)

This positions them as big dumb dumbs who happen to be fighting significantly worse guys during the events of the game. Who are still targeting you because they're also bad, following orders from an old man's irrational grudge. It's just never the hero thing to kill a guy fighting the aliens from hell who are blowing up random civilian cities. Not without like, an entire Ace Attorney sequence at least.

call me a conspiracy theorist but i wanna say that was def corporate tapping the devs on the shoulders like "hey you kinda made sonic and shadow too anti cop in sonic adventure 2. can you tone it down"

[cursed-and-haunted]

I'm going to ramble about a version of a horror story I've been working on because I actually like the plot of this one and I want to share it:

A house is built in a secluded area of a forest near a small rural town. The house is built by a man who is secretly a serial killer

He lures young women to his house where he kills them, cannibalizes them, and then buries what's left of them in the foundation/walls of the house. Usually burying them in the basement or lower levels of the house

He finds out he's dying and doesn't want to be separated from his house or the victims hidden within so he goes up to the attic, hides in a crawl space, and kills himself. His body essentially becomes part of the house

Few years later the bank sells the house to a young couple. The husband works in town and the wife stays at home

The wife who spends most of her time in the house begins being haunted by the killer

This evil oppressive force wears her down until she is essentially being possessed or influenced by the killer

She learns or at least believes her husband, who has been dismissive of her, is having an affair with the farmer's daughter who lives nearby causing her to snap

She invites the young woman over and kills her (with the help of the killer). Her husband returns home to find her butchering the other woman preparing to cook her and eat her

He obviously freaks out but the wife kills him as he attempts to escape. Horrified at killing her husband she buries him and the farmer's daughter in the basement and goes to the attic and kills herself just like the killer

Several years later a writer buys the house (despite the rumors that whoever owns the house ends up disappearing). He plans to fix the place up while working on his novel. (I'm thinking the house is built early 60s and the writer moves in mid to late 70s)

While moving in he is greeted by a young woman (the wife) who says she lives nearby. They strike up a friendship and flirt a little. She ends up coming around the house a lot to help him, cook for him, do his laundry etc while he works fixing the house/writing his novel. They seem romantically interested in each other

The writer soons begins being haunted by the husband, the killer, and even the farmer's daughter which causes him to spiral and is made even worse by the wife who gaslights him

The writer is driven mad and tries to kill himself but he just ends up waking up in his bed next to the wife who comforts him and tells him it was just a bad dream

But the writer is super suspicious and paranoid of the wife (bc of the husband and the farmer's daughter) and is convinced he actually did die and that she's hiding his body somewhere in the house

So he goes searching the house. The wife tries to stop him and they fight. He manages to get away and finds the bodies of the husband and the farmer's daughter in the basement

Then he goes to the attic and finds the killer, the wife, and his own body. He realizes that he's trapped here and the only way to end the nightmare and be free is to destroy the house so he doused the house in gasoline. They wife (or the killer?) tries to stop him but he manages to light the match and the house goes up in flames.

The epilog is a news article saying there was a house fire and the body of the writer was found. That he apparently committed suicide before the fire and that officials don't know what caused the fire and they're still investigating it.

(if this was a movie the killer, the husband, the writer would all be played by the same actor or all look very similar, same with the female characters)

[ghost-bison]

a christopher eccleston appreciation post

i will never say this enough because i don't know enough words, nor do i think such words exist, that could even begin to summarize how much i love christopher eccleston, but... i love christopher eccleston. and, more importantly, i have a deep-rooted respect for that man.

i started doctor who as, let's be honest, a sci-fi hater, forcing myself because i was obsessed with david tennant, and i was kind of dreading the first series because of this. but i was dead wrong.

he broadened my mind, gave me so many laughs, and so many cries, and i'm not the first to say that whenever eccleston is on the screen you just can't take your eyes off him, even when he's not supposed to be the main focus of the scene.

the way he can switch from silly goose to traumatized soldier in a matter of seconds will never cease to amaze me. or how he can play with both like he's on a swing by balancing it out with sarcasm?

i think whoever doesn't give him the title role in their shows/films is either an idiot, or they know the main character just isn't always the best.

i think it's downright idiotic and shameful that he gets rejected from ever playing some shakespeare just because of his northern accent (they're just posh elitist pos). now that he's older, and that times are evolving (i mean, i hope the world of theater is vibing with this evolution, but i'm not delusional), i hope we get to see him portray a character like leontes in winter's tale cause i know he'd be absolutely perfect for the role, and who better than shakespeare (this character especially, with his nuances and highs and lows and breakdowns and breakthroughs) to match acting like his?

saw an article where eccleston talked about how the moment he really knew he wanted to be an actor was when he had to wear mascara for a play, and had enjoyed it. i think he talks about it in his autobiography too (you should read it, btw, it's frankly affordable, and he happens to be a marvelous writer as well).

eccleston knows he is mistakenly type-cast, because of his background, as macho men and tough blokes in general. he's aware that it's kind of a big part of his culture. again, he talks about it i think in the very first chapter, how for instance he used to dress up as james bond, the pinnacle of "masculinity", which i think was a disguise in the metaphorical sense of the term, to mask his delicacy and femininity (or at least, that's my interpretation of it).

in his biography, eccleston talks about the differences between him and his dad, ronnie: he was surprised, as a child, whenever his father's affection manifested as a kiss or a hug, cause that usually wasn't his father's way of doing things. he compares it to how he, in contrast, has the habit of kissing his own son, albert, and telling him he loves him.

you can find it as well in how he talks about his anorexia, his body dysmorphia and, i think we can call it that, gender dysphoria. he's from a time when those concepts didn't even exist, they weren't a thing to the public eye. my father and my step-father, both feminine men in their own way, and both around eccleston's age, both told me about the struggle that it represented, not being the stereotype of the macho tough guy, and being surrounded by boys who didn't struggle with that issue. it made my dad a junkie, my stepdad a depressive artist, and, apparently, it made eccleston an anorexic actor.

i think it takes a lot of courage for people that age (the boomer generation as we call them), especially men, from whom we expect toxic masculinity, masculinity pushed to an extreme, to be able to openly call it out and dissect it into what it is: a ridiculous standard. but to be a PUBLIC FIGURE, in his 60s, and still find the strength to express it? damn. takes guts, i think.

most of us on this website, we're babies. most of us are at most in their thirties. the millenials and the gen z, and now the gen alpha, we take that for granted. or get offended and scandalized that being able to express oneself isn't yet a basic standard.

but then, i talk to my mum, and i realize that she had to stray from her catholic, sexist education, she had to make up her own mind about things in order for me to be born a free spirit. and that's just considering my mum's a cishet.

christopher eccleston expressed in other words that he doesn't fully consider himself to be cisgendered. i have mad respect for the way he talks about it, and for even talking about it at all.

then, there's his honesty. the more interviews i watch, the more it impresses me. he knows honesty goes hand in hand with dignity. i'm sorry but i'm tired of people who are nice all the time. you never know when they're being honest, and maybe some of them are, who knows. but i'm not stupid enough to think that so many people are just pure sunshine all the time (respect for tennant for lashing out publically about transphobia, i think he passed the test).

eccleston? he knows how to be both brutally honest and yet respectful at the same time. no ukulele apology from this man and holy fuck, it feels good!

i've seen him call russel t davies out for his lack of professionalism on the set of doctor who, and then list him amongst the great writers he's worked with. which makes me want to believe eccleston's side, because, if you're always either too polite, or too full of spite about eveything, who's to say you're not the problem? i've got way less trouble believing you if you can stay unbiased about a person you're having beef with than if suddenly everything said person does turns into shit just cause you don't like them. that's just maturity and wisdom.

one last thing i love about eccleston is that he is interested in other people's lives. there's a critic by marcus berkmann in his book that perfectly expresses my point: "you know what to expect from the autobiographies of most actors, i think: anecdotes, charm, more than mild self-satisfaction and faux-modesty by the bucketload. but christopher eccleston is not most actors".

and that's it. watch him in interviews and at convention panels, where he lets his younger co-stars speak before himself, and seizes the occasion when journalists ask him questions that are meant to make him talk about himself to praise his writers and other actors instead.

read his autobiography, which is both a love letter to his dad and a big let's-be-honest about the struggles of growing up poor and his personal struggles, because he thinks raising awareness is just as important as protecting himself.

look at his instagram posts where he unabashedly disses the monarchy and stays true and loyal to his background even after getting a taste of money. and his other posts where he shares his love for acorns and spending time with his kids.

i've seen him nearly break down in shame and regret on television for having stolen a kid's crisps in primary school. and not trying to find lame excuses for his behaviour. no ukulele apology, just facts, just christopher eccleston showing us what masculinity in its purest, most beautiful form should be about

[triplefrontierbabe]

Hey! I love reading your work eSPECIALLY the smaus they're just 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼 I want them to be in my soul you get me?

Anyways I wanted to request a sebastian vettel x reader fic where he's living alone/occasionally gets his kids around the house and the reader is his neighbour, a little bonding over the snowstorm and power outage, and him helping w the occasional car trouble (wink wink) Nothing too specific just wanted to read about seb through your writing!

Snowed In with Sebastian Vettel

summary: you’re snowed in, so is Sebastian

pairing: f! reader x single! dad! Sebastian

warning: pining, some fluff?

a/n: I’m absolutely in love with all the Sebastian requests I’ve gotten. Also, anonymous, you’re so kind 😭🥹 I hope this did your idea justice! (should I make a part two???)

word count: 2k

Life has always been quieter in the countryside; less people, less noise and more distance between yourself and others. Although being a solo-flying person has its perks, it does feel alienating at times. You learned this all too fast once you finally moved towards the countryside. No longer did you have to share a wall with a noisy neighbor who has no regard for those around them, you were on your own and your closest neighbor was more than just a couple meters away.

Sebastian- that’s your neighbor- a single, recently divorced dad of three. When you first moved into your house, you went around your neighborhood to introduce yourself to your neighbors, most of whom seemed to be empty nesters, retired or both. Sebastian however was only retired, although you came to find out he said he still works philanthropically. The day you first met him, you also met his kids but it was only through an absentminded observation in the coming days that you realized he was single… not that that is important.

The days of living in your quant neighborhood came and went. Summer turned into fall which turned into winter. Through that time you occasionally had run-ins with Sebastian on the street, checking the mail or going for an afternoon walk. Eventually those run-ins became more intentional on both your parts. You figured out that he checks the mail at the same time each day, he figured out that you leave for work in the mornings promptly at 7:31 on the dot.

One fall morning, you got off to a very rough start. Your tire was flat and you could not find your car jack for the life of you. So, you made your way next door in search of help. You knocked on Sebastian’s door since you knew he was still at home and you’re pretty sure his kids were with their mom this week.

“This is gonna sound so stupid, but do you have a car jack?” You said as soon as Sebastian opened his front door. He chuckled a little at your distressed state, your usual cardigan you wore to work was thrown somewhere in your garage in a fit of slight rage earlier.

“Well, good morning to you too.” He said, smiling at you. Before then, you never realized how much taller he is than you. You have to crane your neck just to meet his gaze.

“Sorry, good morning, Sebastian.” You respond, letting out a huff of frustration.

“Well, you’re in luck,” He began “I happen to know a thing or two about cars.” You’ll never admit this to his face but upon the first time you met him, you were able to figure out he was a retired Formula 1 driver, though you’ll never admit that realization to his face.

“Why don’t you step in for a moment, the jack’s in the garage and it’s chilly out.” He says stepping aside to let you into his house. It’s the first time you’ve actually stepped foot in his house since all your interactions have occurred on the exterior. As he walks away to grab the jack, you let your eyes scan over the entryway. There’s a table with pictures of him with his kids and a photo of him from his beginning days in Formula 1. He was cute back then but his rugged look now fits him best you think to yourself. Despite being a home of three kids, the house is surprisingly clean, at least from what you can see from your spot in the foyer. After a few moments, Sebastian returns with the jack in his hand.

“Alright let’s go fix your tire.” He exclaims, waving the piece of metal in his hand. You turn on your heel to head out the door. Sebastian is close behind you and as he opens the door, he lightly lays his hand on your lower back to usher you out.

It only takes Sebastian a few moments to replace your tire which is half the time it would’ve taken you.

“There, good as new!” He says excitedly standing up and brushing his hands off on the sides of his jeans. You are quick to snap yourself out of the daze you were in– his arms just looked really good and muscular.

“Thank you so much, I owe you one.” You say clasping your hands together, bringing them up to rest beneath your chin as your gaze meets Sebastian’s. Thankfully, you were able to get to work on time with just a couple minutes to spare.

Ever since that one fall day, you circumstantially saw each other more often. Like one time Sebastian accidentally received a piece of your mail in his mailbox, or one time the lid of his garbage can blew into your yard, so on and so forth.

But no interaction could compare to the one you were bound to experience today. This winter’s weather is the nastiest the town has had in years. Every news station is predicting inches of snow, enough to keep everyone snowed in and worst of all, potential power outages. Snow began falling earlier today and it was enough to keep you home to work remotely. Last night you prepared yourself for Snowmageddon by breaking out all the candles and flashlights you would find.

Around lunch time, you noticed the snowfall begin to pick up. The accumulation was beginning to become serious and borderline worrying. And as you were beginning to prepare yourself a cup of soup for dinner, the power went out.

You thought you could power through the night without power, but the lack of heat got the better of you. The previous owner’s of your house had boarded up the fireplace and you always told yourself you’d get around to it but you never did. It only took a look out your side window to see smoke coming out of the chimney next door. So, you bundled yourself up in your coat, hat, scarf and blanket and trudged through the snow to the house next door.

Which brings you to where you are now; on the front porch of Sebastian’s house. It only took a couple knocks for Sebastian to come and answer the door.

“Are you okay?” He immediately asks, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside. He’s wearing a black crewneck and gray sweatpants with an old Red Bull beanie which makes him look like an off-duty lumberjack since he’s let his hair and beard grow out.

“My power is out and my stupid fireplace is boarded up and I feel like I’m freezing to death.” You say as water fills your eyes. It’s hard to tell if the tears are from the blistering cold or just sheer frustration. In the back of your mind, you kick yourself for only having these interactions with Sebastian when you’re in a moment of desperation.

Sebastian gives you a look of pity when he sees a singular tear roll down your cheek. His heart breaks a little at the sight of your lip quivering and more tears welling up in your eyes.

“Please, make yourself comfortable in front of the fire. I’ll get you a cup of tea.” He says guiding you to the couch that’s in front of the fireplace, crackling with comforting heat. You sit down and wrap your blanket tighter around your body. Looking around the room you see more photos of him and his kids and a few pieces of memorabilia from racing. By a quick glance, it’s hardly noticeable that he was ever a world renowned driver but it’s evident that since his retirement, he’s been trying to assimilate as normal of a life as he can.

Sebastian returns to the room with two mugs of herbal tea and a cup of soup. He sets the tea and soup down in front of you as he sits himself on the other end of the sofa.

You both sit in silence for a few minutes as you eat your soup and occasionally steep your tea. It’s a comfortable silence, neither of you feel the need to disrupt it as you drink in the moment of being in someone else’s company.

“This is very kind of you,” You begin to say while taking a sip of your tea “after this, I really do owe you.”

“Don’t even worry about it, seriously. After all, I have been meaning to invite you over ever since you moved in– I mean we’ve lived next door for months now and there’s only so much you can know about a person by checking the mail.” He says laughing. You offer him a smile as you nod your head. He is right, for months you’ve lived next to him but your words have always been very limited.

“Well, why don’t you start things off? Tell me about yourself.” You say, turning your body sideways so that your back rests against the armrest of the couch to face Sebastian.

He tells you the cliff notes version of his life, from his racing career to starting a family and retiring and he quickly brushes over the divorce that happened two years ago. In turn, you tell him about yourself, your job and what made you move out to the countryside. Easily enough, your conversation flows into talking about anything and everything. He tells you tales from the paddock and you tell him about the drama happening in your office.

In the middle of your hours-long conversation, Sebastian gets up to add more firewood to keep the fire burning. The domesticity of the situation is now at the forefront of your mind. You can’t remember the last time you really sat down and talked with someone like this. A small smile appears on your face when Sebastian turns back around to you.

“What?” He says with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Nothing. Just relishing in the moment.” You say as your smile grows wider. Sebastian stops in his tracks for a beat before he breaks out a toothy smile.

“Ever since I moved out here, I’ve just felt a little lonely so it’s nice to be in good company.” You say holding Sebastian’s gaze while he sits back down on the couch, closer to you this time.

“I know how you feel. The solitude out here is nice until it’s not.” He says looking at the fire. You’re still looking at him and you notice how the glow of the fire reflects in his bright eyes. Absentmindedly your eyes travel down his nose to his lips then up to his hair. It isn’t until you bring your gaze back to his eyes that you see he’s turned his attention back to you and he most certainly caught you analyzing his features. Your eyes meet his and your cheeks immediately flush out of embarrassment. How has it taken you this long to finally look at him, let alone really be in his presence?

“You should get some rest, it’s been a long day.” He says finally breaking the silence and you out of your thoughts. His eyes quickly flicker down to your lips then back up to your eyes. You’re too shocked to move or say anything. Whatever happens, happens you think to yourself. But nothing does. Sebastian simply stands up from the sofa, says goodnight then moves to the other sofa in the room. You’re too tired to overthink the interaction that was just had, you’ll do that in the morning. After a few moments of listening to the fire crackle, you drift off to sleep.

A couple hours later, Sebastian wakes up to feed the fire more wood to keep the warmth going. He sees you peacefully asleep on the couch with your hair tousled and your lips slightly parted, but to him you’ve never looked more radiant than in that moment. On his way back to his sofa, he leaves a small kiss on the crown of your head. Maybe being snowed in isn’t such a bad thing.

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