#this was pretty fun to write pls

[childrenofcain-if]

That scenario with D and MC having an argument while being long distance has me thinking how it'd go for them to spend time together at the farm? Especially for a spoiled MC who has never done any farm work 🤣

What would D's reaction be while they're complaining that there's dirt on their hands and their $1000 branded shoes, almost having a stroke when they step into fresh cow shit. I do think at the end my MC would try to adjust and even try to bond with the farm animals because they love D too much to do otherwise

the diaconu’s farmhouse looked like something out of a postcard, except for the way the air smelled—earthy and alive, undercut with the tang of manure.

it was sprawled out across rolling fields of tall grass, speckled with wildflowers, and the old oak trees loomed like sentinels guarding the quiet. the house itself had been scrubbed clean of its former dilapidation—new paint on the weathered boards, the wraparound porch gleaming like something out of a country living magazine. it was picturesque, serene, but utterly foreign to you.

and while it was all beautiful, sure, you couldn’t stop glaring at your brand new louboutins.

“oh my god, do you know how much these cost?” you said for what felt like the hundredth time, holding up one leg to inspect the damage. the soles were caked with mud, the once-pristine leather now streaked with grime. “this is disgusting. why would you bring me here? why did i let you bring me here?”

D laughed, the sound as bright as sunlight off metal. “you could’ve worn boots like i told you to.”

“boots wouldn’t have helped,” you muttered, pulling at a loose clump of dirt. “this whole place is a death trap for footwear.”

D, who was busy tying a tarp over a stack of hay bales, grinned at you over their shoulder. their gunmetal gray eyes twinkled and their brown hair caught the light just so. they looked unfairly gorgeous for someone who’d spent the last half-hour shoveling hay. “you’ll survive, city slicker.”

“i’m not a city slicker,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“oh yeah, sweet cheeks? when’s the last time you touched dirt on purpose?”

you opened your mouth to argue, but then there was a squelch.

D froze, looking down at their boot, which was firmly planted in a pile of fresh cow manure. you froze too, horrified on their behalf, until D burst into laughter.

“oh my god,” you said, positively freaking out. “oh my god. i think i’m going to die. get me out of here!”

“it’s just cow shit,” D said, still laughing as they scraped their boot against a patch of grass. “relax.”

“relax?” you said, incredulous. “that’s easy for you to say. you’re used to this. i’m an innocent witness. a victim.”

D shook their head, their smile as unbothered as the wind brushing through the fields. “you’ve never been funnier, you know that?”

“is that a real chicken?!”

***

the first few days were hard.

you complained constantly—about the bugs, the heat, the chores that D somehow convinced you to help with.

milking a cow turned out to be more terrifying than you’d anticipated, and the chickens seemed to have a personal vendetta against you.

you refused to wear anything other than your designer clothes, which only made everything worse, and every time you got dirt under your nails, you threatened to call an uber back to civilization.

D, for their part, took it all in stride. they teased you mercilessly but never in a way that felt mean.

when you were the one who accidentally stepped in cow shit the first time and started screaming loud enough for people to hear you in the nearby city, they laughed so hard they had to sit down, but later, they cleaned your shoes without you even asking.

“this place is cursed,” you said one evening, collapsing onto the porch swing after a particularly grueling day. your arms ached, your hair was a mess, and there was a smudge of grease on your jeans.

D sat down beside you, their face glowing with the kind of happiness that only came from being somewhere you truly belonged.

“it’s not cursed,” they said, leaning back and looking out at the horizon. “you’re just not used to it yet.”

“that’s an understatement, rook. i grew up in air-conditioned luxury. i’m not built for this life.”

they laughed again, soft and affectionate. “maybe not, but you’re doing better than i thought you would.”

you shot them a skeptical look. “that’s not exactly a compliment.”

“it is when you think about how pampered you are.”

“excuse me?”

“i mean it in the nicest way,” they said, holding up their hands in mock surrender. “you’re trying. that’s what matters.”

you wanted to argue, but the sincerity in their voice stopped you. instead, you muttered, “i’m only trying because i love you.”

D’s smile was so wide it felt like it could split the sky. “i love you too, my gorgeous city slicker.”

***

as the days went on, you found yourself adjusting in ways you hadn’t expected.

you stopped flinching at the sight of dirt, started remembering to wear the boots D bought for you instead of your ruined designer shoes. you even began to enjoy some of the chores—not because they were fun, but because they made D happy, and seeing D happy made everything else worth it.

you bonded with the animals, too, though it took time. the cows were less terrifying when you realized how gentle they could be, and the chickens stopped pecking at you quite so viciously.

one particularly stubborn goat, marcus, became your unlikely favorite, and D teased you endlessly about how you’d started sneaking it extra treats.

“see?” they said one afternoon, watching as you scratched the goat’s ears. “told you you’d come around.”

“don’t get cocky,” you replied, but there was no real bite to your words.

but as much as you still grumbled and complained, there was something magnetic about D’s ease. the way they moved through this place—like the land and the air knew them—made you feel like an outsider in the best way.

you followed them around reluctantly, watching as they worked with a kind of practiced motions, securing gates, checking on animals, tinkering with an old pickup truck parked under a tree.

it was easy to forget, sometimes, that they’d lived a whole life before you. that this farmhouse and these fields had been theirs long before san francisco, long before yale.

they’d told you about it before—about summers spent baling hay and feeding chickens, about the farmhands who taught them to swear in three different languages—but the reality of it hit different.

***

D watched you from a distance one day as you were petting one of the fluffy, brown highland cows, their hands busy under the hood of the pickup truck but their eyes constantly flickering to where you stood.

they weren’t sure what they’d expected when they brought you here for the summer—maybe for you to complain the whole time, maybe for you to hate it—but seeing you with the cows, with dirt on your hands and dirty boots, felt like something they hadn’t let themself hope for.

when they glanced at the flatbed of the truck, their gaze landed on the pair of gloves you’d both left there earlier. their gloves, worn and patched in places, were next to yours, which were new but now had slight smudges of mud. something about the sight made D pause.

this place had always been a piece of them, something they couldn’t forget no matter how far away they moved. but seeing you here, trying despite yourself, made it feel like something new. like it wasn’t just theirs anymore.

you glanced up, catching their eye. “what?” you asked, brushing your hands off on your jeans.

D shook their head, their smile softening. “nothing. this summer has just been full of surprises.”

you walked over, brushing a stray piece of hay off your sweater. “well, don’t get used to it. this is a one-time thing.”

“sure it is,” D said, their smile widening.

the sun was starting to set, casting the fields in gold and pink. you sat beside D on the edge of the flatbed, watching as the cows wandered back toward the barn.

“this place is beautiful,” you said finally, your voice softer than before.

D nodded, their gaze fixed on the horizon. “yeah. it really is.”

you hesitated, then reached out, your hand brushing against theirs. “i can see the appeal now. at least a little.”

D turned to look at you, their expression unreadable but warm. “thanks for being here with me.”

“thanks for not laughing at me when i screamed about the dirt during the first day here,” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

“i mean, i definitely laughed,” D said, their grin breaking through. “but i’ll pretend i didn’t, for your sake.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that broke through your lips.

***

for D, this really was a dream.

they told you about it during your last night together at the farmhouse as you sat on the porch, watching the fireflies dance in the twilight. the air was warm and sweet, and for once, you weren’t thinking about the dirt under your nails or the soreness in your muscles.

“i used to think about this place all the time,” they said, their voice quiet. “when i was a kid, it was like... like magic. i loved it so much. i never wanted to leave.”

“and now?” you asked, leaning against their shoulder.

“now it’s even better,” they said, turning their gray gaze towards you. “because you’re here.”

you looked at them, startled by the honesty in their tone. “even though i’m a spoiled brat sometimes who whines about everything?”

D laughed, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “even then. especially then.”

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[fadefromthelight]

I celebrate aro awareness week by making the fandom favs aro

gif version of my header below the cut ^^

[necrotic-nephilim]

i recently remembered DickTim Week 2024 is happening very soon and i looked at the prompts again to see if i could get anything out for it and. the Hades & Persephone AU prompt for day 1 has got me really thinking so here's a vague concept i plan to write.

i've been pretty burnt out on modern Hades & Persephone retellings because of how they always seem to fall into the same generic "innocent wide-eyed girl runs from her evil mean mother into the arms of a dark mysterious man because actually she went willingly and chose to marry him" which has gotten repetitive for my tastes. (for clarity i don't care if this retelling is your cup of tea personally, so long as you're not actively trying to rewrite the original myth and claim untrue things about it, if this is your favorite flavor i sincerely hope you enjoy the buffet i just have little interest in it since it feels overdone for me and exhausted of it's supposed commentary atp)

but? but. biblically accurate Hades & Persephone AU has me all kinds of interested. because wait listen so hear me out right. Hades!Dick and Persephone!Tim, obviously. i feel it'd be more loosely inspired by with themes and imagery (though playing with death and nature powers could be interesting, i haven't decided) rather than explicitly making them gods and all. but. something dark and fucked up where Dick and Bruce are especially estranged. maybe to do with Jason's return, maybe to do with them just clashing and having their usual explosive arguments. and Bruce knows the peace needs to be kept, if he and Dick are at odds then everyone starts to pick sides and things just fracture so he needs a peace offering.

and the peace offering is Tim.

Bruce (the stand-in for Zeus) offers up Tim. agrees to have Tim move to Bludhaven and be Dick's... whatever Dick wants him to be. knowing that with the implication comes the likelihood of Dick grooming Tim. and Tim has no real say and is hesitant to put up a real fight. he doesn't want this, he knows what this is going to imply Dick will do to him, but he also knows if he says no things have the possibility to just... fall apart. so he's the unwilling bride, dragged off to the metaphorical underworld (Bludhaven) with Dick, away from his family, his friends, the life he built.

and on the flip side, i think weirdly enough, your best pick for the Demeter stand-in is *Jason*. just, hear me out on that. not necessarily on the side of it being motherly, but on Jason being just estranged enough from the Batfamily to be the one willing to call it out for being bad and wrong and raising bloody hell to get Tim back. maybe it's because Jason wants Tim for himself, maybe it's truly out of a concern for Tim to have autonomy, i'm toying with the idea of it primarily being Tim's POV and him genuinely not knowing which of these is true. (and the truth possibly ends up being a complicated middle ground) and because i like Helena, i think you can use her as the Hekate stand in, the one who strikes a tentative alliance with Jason and tries to go find Tim and bring him back. Tim stuck with Dick, getting groomed and hyperaware of it, possibly even getting fucked the whole time as well, knowing he can't go back without causing massive issues for Dick and Bruce because well, Bruce did promise him to Dick. so he has to adjust his whole life, try to figure out being a vigilante in this new city with Dick breathing down his neck the whole time.

and then much like the ending of the myth, a sort of compromise is struck that's a shaky deal for everyone involved. Tim is put on an essential timeshare, going back and forth between Gotham, where he has friends and family and a support system, then getting dragged right back to Bludhaven with Dick in this brutal cycle that he slowly gets used to and stockholm'd into even liking it. Dick isn't so bad, once he gets used to the quirks of their unbalanced 'relationship'. the sex is even something he can adjust to as well. not quite a happy ending but one that sits in this realistic grey area that becomes Tim's life.

i will write this, eventually, but i don't know if i'll get to it before DickTim Week ends so by posting the idea i'm essentially putting it out into the world so the peer pressure holds me accountable. i just. really like the potential of making Hades/Persephone AUs as fucked up as they can be simply by adhering to the source material and making it a raw story of being stolen away and forced to like this new home you didn't ask for.

also a less fleshed-out aspect of this idea i have ties into Persephone becoming the Queen of the Underworld when she's taken and how the transition from Kore to Persephone could be reflected in Tim. how he makes the best of the worst situation and becomes something far more dangerous and dark when he's in Bludhaven, possibly takes on a new vigilante name/identity and leans into the worst quirks of his personality he tries to tamper because there's no point in not going full tilt Obsessively Weird if he has no choice anyway and it being one small way he takes back his autonomy, and that inevitably making Dick *more* into him, because he gets to see Tim finally just. let loose.

[darkwing-katy]

Oops, my fingers slipped and now I’ve got 2/7ths of a reader x Leland Townsend fic that I have no clue where the FUCK it’s going but there’s words here that I’m just pulling outta my brain and again, I don’t need to be doing this, I’ve got four LOST fics in progress at this point—brain, what the hell?

But my brain has snagged on this concept of using one of my favorite poems of all time as the root of this stupid fic and I’m a slave to the hyperfixation, so I guess this is where I am now.

[velaraffricate]

so I've been working on my latest conlang, irkan osla (or just osla for short), for a bit now and would like to showcase its writing system in this post! osla has a syllabic alphabet, not too dissimilar to korean hangul, where letters are stacked according to certain rules to make syllable blocks.

osla's syllable structure is (C)(C)V(V)(C), here's how the stacks work for each type of syllable:

all letters have small, wide, and tall forms depending on their position in the syllable. here are all the letters with their IPA value and romanization:

and here's an example text! i translated parts of the minecraft end poem into osla. maybe i'll make another post just focusing on the grammar when it's more developed. the poem says in english:

What did this player dream? This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind? Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

this post is getting long, so under the cut you'll find a "sans-serif" version as well as the poem in osla and its gloss if you're also a linguistics nerd and wanna know what's going on under the hood (the roman numerals stand for the 3 noun classes)! thanks for reading!

The way regular people would write something quickly on a piece of paper with a regular pen is an aspect of creating neographies that I feel is often overlooked, so I developed this sans-serif version that people would probably be more likely to use when writing their shopping lists or diary entries:

And, finally, here's the poem translation:

pak oṇḍul phan wimbakis?

DET.I.SG.PROX play-AGN what dream-PST.3SG.I?

pak oṇḍul lümaṇiuṣerothi han buloni an wimbakis. kaṣkhaothi han nilothi an. wimbakis, run sëmamkis. wimbakis, run xokthakis, han bumxokthakis. zöga an wimbakis.

DET.I.SG.PROX play-AGN sunlight-II.SG.DAT and tree-II.PL.DAT of dream-PST.3SG.I. Fire-II.SG.DAT and water-II.SG.DAT of. dream-PST.3SG.I, that create-PST.3SG.I. dream-PST.3SG.I, that hunt-PST.3SG.I, and PASS-hunt-PST.3SG.I. shelter of dream-PST.3SG.I.

ṭauraka, run kaak samare? run glutsüna flia?

know-NP.3SG.I, that 3SG.I.ABS love-NP.1PL? that universe kind?

imba ethamo, khaṣiŋli an ka’am hu’aŋni pitë, glutsüna ṣaraka, ti.

some time-NOM.III.PL, noise-ACC.II.SG of 3SG.I.GEN thought-NOM.III.PL through, universe hear-NP.3SG.I, yes.

[hcdragonwrites]

Spring Grooming

(a @digitalagepulao Fanfic)

I had brain fire from listening to Hoizers music so - HAVE A LITTLE FIC OF COMFORT AND BROTHERLY TENDERNESS !

The pines gave off their fresh and sharp scent as the rain continued to drip from them. Needles couldn’t hold the heavy drops up and instead shook them off when the weight became heavy and made their barren bases wet and cool. Pine needles crunch beneath horse hooves, spicing the air further. The rain cleansed the mountain air only for the pilgrims to churn the forest floor in their wake.

Spring was heavy in its breath upon the earth. The rain would have been snow if the sweet kiss of the turning season hadn’t warmed the earth. Instead her rain triggered a riot of colors and initiated animals and plants both to begin to grow again, to seek life, and to awaken from winters cold rest. Ba Longma felt his coat heavy on his body. As a dragon he had never felt the strange mammal tendency to grow hair king in a winter coat to stop the cold from stealing over his bones.

However his horse like form had other instincts, and one was to grow fluffier and thicker about. In the deep snows and the cold hail, when the sleet had slashed the other pilgrims and made their teeth chatter, he had been thankful for his bodies sudden growth. As eldest disciple, the eldest of the brothers among the merry band, it fell to him to carry his Master and tend him. He had spent less days in his humanoid form, and more as a horse - determined with will to carry his master through the worst of storms. To break paths in the frozen snows. The cold couldn’t touch him. Even as the ice formed in his mane and fetlocks, across his body where the sweat rolled off and in his tail.

Now spring was here. Ba felt his body sweating in the heat of the now warmer world. What had given him an edge, an advantage, was now making him suffer. He longed to scratch it off- to seek a low hanging batch of pinewoods and rub himself against them. He had tried to get out of the heat as a man but when he returned to this horse body, it held stubbornly to its habitual rotation. He was a magical steed but even that didn’t prevent the instincts of the seasons from effect his body. Sweat beaded beneath the saddle and it’s blanket, creating a crust of salt that itched and chaffed him. The girth that swung beneath his belly and held the contraption of leather and wood to his back, rubbed and creaked at each step he made.

Ba Longma had noticed the slight cracks beginning to appear in the leather- stiffened by the salt of his body and cracked by the movement. They would need to replace it or Master would experience an unexpected fall when the leather finally cracked and the cloth gave beneath the weight. He held his tongue, walking slowly onward.

When Tripitaka called for a stop for the day, for the mid meal and a bit of rest for himself, along a felt relieved. The terrible itch of his sweat, of the excess fur, had built from annoying buzz to a incomprehensible urge. His instinct was to rub, to roll, to cake his backside in dry cool dirt and to rub himself free of the fur and sweat. It had taken all his will power not to shake himself and beg his Master for a bit of relief.

As Wujing and Bajie set about starting the fire and cooking the rice and setting to chopping and mixing brown sugar into bowls with fruit to make candied sweets for snacking on, it was Wukong that came up to Tripataka and Longma.

“Shifu.” The stone monkey held out a hand and Trip took it. He dismounted, legs bowed from the long day in the saddle. Longma felt a twinge of worry. Did Shifu suffer from saddle sores? Had he been too rocky in his gait? Did he jostle him too much in the saddle ? These things hummed in the eldest disciples mind as Trip made to start taking the tac from his body. A monkey paw reached up and stopped him. “I will take care of Longma.”

“Are you sure Wukong?” Tripataka asked again. He had his hands on the bridle, fingers over the buckles that kept it in place.

“Of course Master. Go go- make sure that Bajie doesn’t eat too many palm fruits before they can be turned to candies.”

“I heard that!” The pig demon snorted, tusks flashing threateningly. They were not as sinister however at the flash of the cheeky smile of the youngest disciple. Trip hesitated only a second more before he settled onto a long and rubbed at his inner calves, relieving the cramps built there from the long day of riding.

Wukong turned an eye back to Ba Longma and the dragon horse saw a twinkle of something there.

“Now brother- I’ve noticed your switching tail all the way from the pine forest to here,” the little monkey crossed his arms taking on a scolding tone, “and you cannot fool me. You are uncomfortable.”

“I am not..” Longma spoke so few times in this shape. It felt strange to have the words rumble up and out of his throat and between teeth that were flat except the canines he retained from dragon shape.

“You lie poorly.” Wukong undid the chin strap of the bridle, pulling the top of the bridle free of Longmas ears. He let gravity slide the metal bit out of his mouth and Longma champed and licked his mouth back into order. Having the bit in his mouth, the metal contraption that sat over his tongue and across his mouth had at first, been something to get used to. Longma didn’t think it was entirely necessary - until he realized that his master was so light of hand and leg that he hardly asked anything of him in the rider fashion. Riding depended on leg and pressure - and Tripataka was too kind to even press his heels to his eldest disciples sides. Longma had decided then to keep the bridle so he could better sense when Shifu asked him to turn or gave the reins a gentle tap to coax him into faster gaits.

“I do not lie Little Brother.” He spoke softly, always feeling ill at ease when he spoke in this shape. “I just silently endure.”

“BAH!” The Monkey set the bridle carefully on a overturned stump and came back. He went for the girth, that terrible bit of leather that made Longmas under legs itch. “I was the keeper of Heavenly Horses. I learned the body language and silent speech of them. And you may be a dragon in disguise but you speak quite clearly of your discomfort.”

“Swishing tail, ears flicking back at odd intervals- the stamp of a hoof - you are uncomfortable.” The girth came free in a jangle of buckles and bands and Longma breathed out in a gratified snort. The saddle came free, the sticky blanket with it.

Wukong pulled a few hairs from his head and chewed them. When he blew them out he had a brush, a metal band that looked like a comb, an a curved iron piece.

“Let me tend you Brother. You carry our master day in and day out. Let me help as I know how.” The little brother asked, holding up the metal comb. Longma sighed. What he really wanted was to roll very undignified like in a nice patch of earth or sand. Instead he cocked one ear towards the stone monkey and nodded.

Wukong gave a little whoop of triumph then set to work. Though it had been five hundred years since he attended and took care of the horses of heaven, the knowledge of that time hadn’t faded. Wukong took the brush and began to tackle the sweat patch on the dragon horses back. He had to get the worst of the sweat off before it settled into a crust of hair and itchiness. So he set to brushing, first moving in little circles over the withers and down the back to break of where the sweat had tangled in the fur. Dirt and shedding fur came up in a flurry as the monkey worked his magic.

“Brother! You are shedding! You must be so uncomfortable in this heat.” Wukong tutted and cooed back, setting his hands to a flurry. Once the worst of the sweat and road dirt had been brushed and taken off the back, Wukong switched to the metal comb. Carefully and gently, to avoid the press of the metal on the points where the bone jutted or was closer to the surface, he brought the comb up and over. Clumps of the winter coat began to fly free in great flurries of white and grey.

The stone monkey was careful and diligent in his task. He found it soothing to brush and groom, to tend and care as he had when he had been in Heaven but also when he had been among his people. It almost pulled him into a trance like state, the task becoming enjoyable and habitual. Horse skin was sensitive, highly sensitive to the touch of flies on the withers, to the brush their velvet nose to feel sweet shoots of grass. He was gentle in the press of the comb, understanding that the metal bristles could hurt if applied with too much pressure.

Longma felt his head dipping lower and lower as the monkey set to work. Wukong combed his legs, his chest, his withers and shoulders. The relief! Longma felt the cool air kissing his skin as the old winter coat came free. A flurry of hair was gathering at his hooves, a great gathering of white grey fur. The two pilgrims stood in companionable silence, Longma soothed into almost slumber and Wukong consumed with the task of grooming. They were so absorbed they didn’t notice the birds of spring diving and gathering the great tufts of the dragon horses fur. Nesting materials this numerous were not to be frowned upon and the birds had a bountiful harvest for making nests and lining their woven work with the white down of Longmas winter coat.

“There brother doesn’t that feel better ?” Wukong finished removing most of the winter coat. The Monkey chuckled, seeing the half asleep expression upon the dragon horses face. It would be a time before the rest would give way. Winter fur always liked to cling and stay even after the dregs of spring have moved well into a summer balm.

“Alright Ba Longma, let me check your hooves.” The Stone monkey didn’t know if the senior disciple heard him. So Wukong set to the task of hoof care. He gently pressed into the horses leg and Longma lifted the foot instinctively.

“Brother! You have rocks all throughout the crevices!” Wukong truly was appalled now to see the state of the horses hooves. Such impaction with the hooves over time could lead to limping which could lead to further pain or, worse, lameness! Wukong champed his teeth and tutted more.

“You will go lame if you keep silent and then where will we be ?”Wukong spun the pick in hand and set it to the compacted hoof. He dug out the worst of the dirt and compacted little stones, careful of the sensitive parts in the middle of the foot called a frog. People thought horses to be tough and enduring animals when they needed as much care as a mistress of a fancy and rich house. They needed manicures and pedicures, grooming and tending, careful watch of diet and attention to detail. Each leg Wukong grumbled and chided the older disciple at his lack of self care and Longma simply sighed and grumbled. The dragon horse puffed in contentment. Now this… this was the life.

Wukong set the last hoof down and patted the white flank of his companion.

“From now on I will take care of you- we can’t have the senior disciple limping now can we?” Wukong chortled and left his brother to lie down and groan in relief.

“Thank you Brother…” Spring never felt so nice against Longmas now soothed and lighter fur, his brushed and tended body. The horse folded himself into the earth and closed his eyes, ready for a nice long and sweet nap. The birds flitted and landed upon the white flanks, plucking hairs and thick winter fur free. Longma felt none of their little ministrations as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[scribbleshrimp]

i miss escam so much it might actually kill me

*krill

[callixton]

barba torture fic chapter 1 <3 pls read it and be so nice to me

[rawbin-hsr]

Jesus Christ bro just received the most aggressive ask in my inbox confronting me about how I write Aventurine and demanding proof for why I interpret him the way I do 😭😭 I’m not good at making straight up analytical content but ig I’m gonna have to try to do it so I can support my own ideas because ig it’s not fair of me to say things about him without backing myself up. I wouldn’t mind if they hadn’t been so hostile like pls I like to think I’m pretty reasonable you don’t need to yell at me 😞

[venti-death-watch]

okay. there is something to say about genshin’s lack of women being included in important plot lines/like endgame plot lines. like so far you’ve got venti, diluc, kaeya, arguably childe, albedo, neuvillette, scara, arguably zhongli, and then you have like. ei, nahida, lisa, maybe mona or miko depending on how things continue. i haven’t seen anything so far that seems like furina’s storyline/arc will include things that are like, specifically important to more endgame/future story lines. however. her demo was so fucking funny i’m willing to make up lore in my head to make it so.

[sysig]

The most fun you can have, barring the pain and torture (Patreon)

[maesaeart]

I know I'm down bad and I probably might get blocked for this butt imagine being tag teamed by two Nagto's

Like really imagine choking on on his dick while the other one is railing into you

EHHHEHEHHEH HAI ANONIEE

if you wanna talk about being down bad - you're in the perfect place +w+ I have been down DOWN DOOOOWN oh sO BAD for months I cannot go a day without thinking about nagito omg

//HUFF HUFF i wish I was a better writer to really explain my headcanons on a spit roast with two nagitos

I drew a threesome with two nagitos before and I definitely haven't stopped thinking about it god

im already folding for solo nagito BUT TWO???

I wanna believe both would praise me heavily during, like how good I'm taking both of them at the same time, but once I cum or if i get close and they notice they get rougher ////////

AHHH SO ROUGH, their hands grabbing, pulling, scratching at my body. leaving marks, marking their propertyyy EEEEE .//. they get desperate to finish with me, at the same time

god oral drives me crazy too what

like to feel how hot they are in my moUF HITTING THE BACK OF MY THROAT FFFFF and their taste?? //chefs kiss

UGH THAT WOULD BE ALL I NEED WOWOW to get face fucked and getting eaten out??? I'd be gushing omfgGG nagito would def be sloppy and clumsy bc of the overwhelming horn knee he's fighting against. mindlessly rutting against my leg as he devOURS MEEEEEE FFFFFFUCK

...//adds to the wip list

[lazywriter-artist]

Is mosh and fret the names they were born with or did they just call themselves that

Oo good question Anon!

Mosh and Fret are infact not the names they were ‘Born with’, both being chaos marines they get the honor of haveing 3 separate names, two sets of which they don’t remember to various degrees.

The first come from their time pre-space marine but they didn’t really remember those anyway if they even had any, they don’t remember much pre space marine nowadays.

Then their ‘second names’ comes from their time as pre-CHAOS marines, which is Armaros & Sorn they probably started using around their time as eerrrgghh I wanna say initiates to maybe Neophytes? If not maybe as late as scouts, which I mean these names are really starting to fade from their memories as it is anyway. It’s been so long since they’ve heard them the duo likely wouldn’t realize you’d be referring to them.

Then of course there is Mosh and Fret, monickers they took on ever since their turning to chaos and finding of the path of the noise marines. Far as they’re concerned these are their true names and they had non other before them.

I think Mosh has kind of let go of his previous life pre-Chaos much easier and quicker then his brother as he really doesn’t remember much at all and doesn’t care to. Fret has a bit closer clinging to these memories tho and likes to sometimes think of, even if they’re growing distant and foggy in these times, some of his fonder memories of he and his brothers pre-chaos. Though he doesn’t really share this much with anyone, his own personally little guilty pleasure.

[justanotherhawksfangirl]

If anyone wants to role-play Hawks and a self insert oc 👉👈 it could be fun you never know 👀 ive been role-playing for years!

[curiouschaosstarlight]

-- Zandik's (Dottore's) Silent Hill --

(brief warning for blood/decay/that kinda stuff + generally horrific themes)

-- The Otherworld --

The Fog World is more or less the same as it's always been, if perhaps leaning most on Silent Hill 1, with a light snow and hefty fog that a mere light can hardly penetrate. Zandik's Otherworld, however, couldn't be more different from others seen thus far; the world is cast into what appears to be an eclipse, dark with the sun technically visible as a ring of fire in the sky, and an overbearing, suffocating heat that invades everything, at times so dry it scrapes and burns as the wind picks up debris, and at other times the humidity rises so high one could almost feel like they're melting into it.

Sand rushes from the tops of buildings and under closed doors, and pours down into absolute nothingness, falling through the oh-so-fragile grates that Zandik must trust won't give out from underneath him. Signs, fences, even walls and furniture, are eroded, the town taking on an appearance as though it had been left alone for thousands of years, and is breaking down as such. Being outdoors is treacherous and harsh, but being indoors offers little comfort, as it's rare a room doesn't have a hole or several leading back to the outside.

The sand itself is burning hot, of course, and can become quite the obstacle if one of the pillars of pouring sand is walked under, or if one needs to shove their hands into it for any reason. It's lucky Zandik has a high pain tolerance, but that won't get rid of the burns he can sustain so easily.

Blood similarly flows freely, at times being mixed with the sand, and other times acting like rain or water. Actual water is almost nonexistent while the Otherworld is active; even facets have blood flowing from them if turned on. Containers of water will have also turned to blood, and ordinary food becomes viscera and entrails.

The smell of heat and rot is inescapable in this Otherworld.

But if you thought you were alone, great news! The half-decayed corpses of smashed, sliced up, and/or diseased humans and animals and monsters alike will keep you company, even when you're not being attacked…

-- Monsters --

The design of Zandik's monsters are surgical and precise; medical science gone wrong. Creatures he could have, maybe even in some cases did, made with his own two hands, and some that have obvious "flaws" in their design that should keep them from functioning, like exposed innards or a hole where part of their spine should be, but they continue to move, twitching and spasming like they're in pain as they drag themselves around. Certain medieval medical practices are reflective in the design of some of the monsters.

They're also highly aggressive. Some shamble around slowly and groan when they haven't noticed anyone else, some play dead, but all will break into a mad dash to attack Zandik should he venture too close. They react to sound and light with a twitch or jerk in his direction, but only jump up to attack when he's within a certain distance. Some, primarily when outside, may even stalk him for quite some time.

This gets worse in the Otherworld. Elements of decay and machinery are added to their designs, and many of the monsters get substantially larger than they are normally. There's also themes of starvation and hunger, most monsters being impossibly thin, skin taut around their bones or worse, and different kinds of monsters may even try to attack and eat each other if Zandik hasn't been spotted, but this is rarely enough to put them down entirely.

The traditional nurse monsters do not exist for Zandik, instead being replaced by specific-to-him doctor-based monsters, ones that look significantly like him at all different shapes and sizes, but they otherwise fit the same design themes as the rest of the monsters do. The doctor monsters are not active in the Otherworld, but dead ones can still be found buried under sand or caught in various mechanical contraptions…