#this was fun. so much fabric though

[samipekoe]

commission. tamamo attack

[serpentface]

Retconned Wardi firearms- a basic handgun, a highly decorative ceremonial handgun (belonging to Faiza), and a lance-gun.

Gun tech has officially been nerfed down to hand cannons (press F) (this has been a long time coming but I'd been fallacy of sunk costs-ing myself out of retconning).

Handguns are held similarly to a shotgun, with the butt pressed into the user's shoulder, one hand gripping under the barrel, and the other free to ignite the gunpowder. These represent the most advanced firearms in contemporary usage, both in make and in their use of uniform iron projectiles built to match the gun's bore for greater range and efficiency. Lance-guns are the more basal form, usually larger and mounted with the pole held over the shoulder, and are most effectively used by two people (one to hold and aim, one to light the gunpowder).

The spread of firearms is currently mostly limited to the Eastern Inner Seaway peoples (with some additional distribution via overland trade), and actual manufacture of hand cannons and gunpowder at Significant scale is limited to the region's core powers.

The reason for this limited spread is partially due to specific elements of the technology's history. Gunpowder was first synthesized by Burri alchemists and considered to be the discovery of the legendary divine weapon + solar fire of the deity Inanariya, and its formula (along with techniques for ideally refining its components) remained a closely guarded state secret. It was used predominantly in priestly contexts to generate flame and explosive sounds (in conjunction with earlier practices of generating multicolored flames with use of other chemicals), then integrated into combustible weaponry in the forms of fire lances, which would eventually develop into early handcannons.

The treatment of gunpowder as a guarded sacred or semi-sacred substance continued with Wardi adoption, where knowledge of its making is considered a closed rite. It's name (inya tsatsul or just tsatsul, a derived adoption of the Burri iñazatsūya) still reflects a divine solar association (the Burri word means 'sun's thunder', the Wardi 'inya' invokes the sun, 'tsatsul' is an adapted loanword and has no meaning independent of the substance itself), though its priestly use is now predominantly associated with the firearm'ed Odonii (rather than priests of the solar Face Inyamache). The composition of gunpowder can no longer be regarded as a Secret by any means, though efforts to obscure the methods of its creation are still moderately successful and has kept knowledge of gunpowder manufacture more limited than the total sphere of firearm usage itself.

The actual strongest limiting factor of firearm usage is the rarity of natural saltpeter deposits necessary for making gunpowder. The practice of actively producing saltpeter via nitraries has not been developed anywhere in the setting, and all is instead obtained via natural sources. These sources are rare and limited within the current spread of firearm technology, and result in gunpowder being a limited and expensive substance to produce. The weapons themselves are also very expensive to manufacture (a good quality steel SWORD is far too material-cost prohibitive for most people to own), particularly high quality firearms designed for use with standardized ammunition.

These guns are also very basal, and logistical difficulties in their use (weight, very slow loading and firing speed, high visibility, Relatively low reach and accuracy) along with the restrictive cost of production has kept firearms far from rendering conventional weaponry, armor, and projectiles obsolete (even within the societies that have access to them). They are still, however, very devastating in use within their contemporary context, particularly in that high quality guns have a longer range than the best arrow-based projectiles, and utterly negate most contemporary forms of armor at close range.

[averlym]

litany of the martyrs (click for better resolution!)

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[kikuism]

this is still my most favorite hoop i've ever done....

[articskele]

“...Wrong? Why would anything go wrong?”

Without further ado, a stimboard for @ask-the-biggering-onceler!

x|x|x x|x|x x|x|x

[revelations-persona]

made elly and lisa cosplays :3

[irenespring]

Time for one of my favorite TV traditions, "watch the new episodes of Selling Sunset and argue with the screen like the people can hear me."

[hassianlovebot]

paltech tent!

[automatonknight]

juice patch........

[lululeighsworld]

completed a lil crafting project I've been working on!! I wanted my FE charms and pins to have a more permanent home in my shrine, so I customized a corkboard for them ✨✨

[byanyan]

main verse updates, developments, & additional headcanons

ㅤthanks to lena practically dragging them into it, byan is on the track team that she coaches at school. though they initially weren't all that interested, it's something they've come to enjoy a lot (even if they sometimes have to stop running for a little coughing fit) — they've always enjoyed physical activity, always enjoyed sports, but have never been particularly cooperative when it came to team sports (and always broke rules and got too violent when they'd try martial arts or boxing), so track suits them quite well. they quickly became one of the top performing team members and, though things were certainly rough in the beginning with byan being very abrasive and uninterested in their teammates, they've actually ended up pretty friendly with most of them over the months since they joined.

ㅤalthough they never planned to go to college, having zero interest in continuing in school once they were finally out of the hell of high school, they've come around on it a bit. this is mostly thanks to both lena and sol's encouragement and helping them realize they can go to learn something they actually care about — fashion design. almost entirely because of these two, byan is planning to apply to the local community college and is in the process of building a portfolio of their work for this purpose.

ㅤbecause of this plan, they're slowly becoming a (slightly) better student: attending class more regularly (though still skipping fairly often), paying a bit more attention in class, and even completing and handing in homework. they're actually on track to graduate now rather than flunking out. they may not graduate with flying colours, but it's enough for a diploma and that's all they care about.

ㅤjust because they're doing better doesn't mean that things are perfect, though. they still get discouraged a lot in their struggle with their (still undiagnosed) dyslexia, general inferiority complex, and overall difficulty in the typical school setting. it's not uncommon to hear them ranting about changing their mind about college, see them throw a textbook across the room, or catch them straight up burning their homework out of frustration. if they're feeling particularly awful and discouraged, they have a tendency to disappear for a few days, get themself into even more trouble than usual, get themself into more fights, and numb themself with drugs and/or alcohol. they come back around eventually, but sometimes it takes a bit of coaxing.

ㅤthough they still technically live in the group home, they spend almost no time there anymore, only really stopping by for food or appointments (when they don't blow them off, anyway). most nights they're either crashing on lena's couch or at sol's place, and even most of their belongings have been moved and split between these two locations.

ㅤat this point, the caretakers at the group home have more or less given up on trying to keep an eye on them or expecting any different behaviour from them. they've been in this particular home for several years at this point and, with their eighteenth birthday fast approaching (and with it the time where they'll be unable to stay there any longer), not much point is seen in trying to change anything anymore. byan has always been difficult to keep a handle on, efforts at controlling them to any extent met with aggressive rebellion, and it isn't seen as worth the hassle anymore. at least if they're off doing their own thing all the time, it means they're causing less trouble around the home.

ㅤthe boy they share a room with in the home, si-u, still covers for them a lot of the time, telling the caretakers and staff that oh yeah, byan was totally here last night. byan suspects he mostly does this because he likes having a room to himself, but it results in them being hounded a little less all the same, so they appreciate it.

ㅤof course, just because their future is looking a little less grim doesn't mean that everything has changed. they might have a boyfriend now, might have found themself some actual friends and even some familial figures, but they're still byan. they still love to go out and get themself into trouble, still love to fight, steal, and cause havoc for others, and still have a tendency to get themself in over their head or disappear without warning when their ptsd acts up. things are looking up and they might be feeling more fulfilled but, when it comes down to it, they're still them, and they still have a long way to go.

[running-in-the-dark]

over the past few days I've switched from watching lots of cleaning videos (which was good because they made me want to clean - though that effect is still there for now) to sewing videos (which is very very bad because now I want to sew more and get a sewing machine that actually works right (I got mine used for like 50€ and it's very basic and a lot of things just keep breaking/not working (which is probably at least in part because I don't know enough about using it correctly)))

[arsenicflame]

little wrap up of day one of the ofmd bird skirt!

i went into this one with a clear plan for once, even having a cutting plan and an order of operations written in my journal (wow look so prepared. expect to never see this again)

i have faith that this one will actually be a quick project, ive basically achieved all i can do for the moment- which isn't a lot, but its all the prep work at least! ive got to hang my skirt panels for several days now so they can stretch (which is more important than ever because its the /seams/ that are on the bias, rather than the center of the panel)

all my cutting out is done (a MINOR deviation from the cutting plan was made- i wanted to use my mega pocket pattern and i couldnt fit it in the top piece of waste fabric, i needed the extra smidge from the curve of the skirt) ive overlocked my pocket pieces, and stay stitched my waist line on the skirt (though i didn't cut it out as im not sure the pattern fits me absolutely perfectly, and i thought itd stabilise it more!)

i also started on the waistband! i had to re-teach myself how i like to do a petersham waistband, but its still my favourite way to do one! the petersham essentially acts as an interfacing, but itll never fold over on itself!) ive basically followed that as far through as i can too- given that the fabric is velvet i cant press it down so ive topstitched the inside edge but im not sure i want it visible on the outside, so im leaving that one for now

see you all next week when the bias has (hopefully) finished stretching for pockets, invisible zip and the rest of the waistband!

[technicolorxsn]

what if we all made things ourselves peace and love

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.