#this would need to change so much for the core game too work but it would be fun to move about as these diffrent guys

[mipmoth]

The ancient sages helmets had such great designs it would've been cool if you could get them and they worked like Majoras Mask.

Repeating what the masks would do vvv

If they made treversing the sky harder then you could freely explore the sky with the Sage of Wind mask.

With the Sage of Fire mask you can roll fast on ground but also at the top speed climb up walls.

If they had added stuff underwater you could explore that with the Sage of Water mask and its a great way to move fast in water.

Mask of Lightning i think geurdo and hylians are too similar (the diffrence would be having round ears) so it doesn't transform you but it would let you summon lightning like Riju and Urbosa.

The Mask of Spirits is more difficult but it would either turn you zonai like mineru or turns you into a ghost that goes undetected by npc and monsters.

[ozzgin]

The Mean Girl Bully Reader x Nerd Loser Yandere story sparked another red flag reader idea I had 😈

Imagine a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere. Unlike our favorite monster whore gal, and two-faced bully, this new reader insert is super vocal about her distaste in just about everything. Hardly anything is up to her “standards.” She not only complains, but whines too! 🥳

Then her poor beau weirdly loves her despite her horrid personality. I don’t know how, I’ll leave that part of imagining up to you, but there’s my request 🥺

I just like morally grey or blatant antagonistic readers. A lot of times, it’s more fun if the reader is attractive this way to a yandere, than having stereotypical good traits, like being compassionate or respectful 😔

So please, a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere?

-👘

I was wondering if I should just incorporate this into the Yandere CEO draft I have, but I had this sudden idea for a downright shameless relationship between a beloved, well-respected politician and a perverted, needy brat of a Darling. (I don't like politicians but alas, I needed a high-stakes public profession for this)

Yandere! Politician x Bratty! Reader

Mr. Politician is a true rarity in his field of work: well-mannered, articulate, and most importantly, genuine in his dedication. He works tirelessly for change and improvement, earning the adoration of the people. There's only one exception to his loyalty: no country ever comes before his Darling. And what a demanding Darling you are...

Content: female reader, older yandere, NSFW, some exhibitionism

Many would describe their interactions with Mr. Politician as follows: he's disciplined, confident and resourceful. A natural born leader, you can tell within seconds of meeting him that he is a man to rely on. He's spent many years in the game, and nothing can shake him out of his signature calmness. He keeps everything in pristine order, and nothing escapes his scrutiny.

There is, however, one quirk only few select people know about. A detail no one dares to discuss. It is common knowledge that Mr. Politician has a partner, yet the particularities of it are kept private. His beloved is a much younger girl, rotten to the core. It is unclear how this pairing came to be; the day Mr. Politician won his place in his prestigious office, he showed up with the mysterious feminine figure at his side.

What's certain and obvious to all witnesses is that his vocabulary quickly discards any meaning of refusal whenever he's dealing with you. It almost feels like the man worships you. He's never alluded to being religious, most likely because that role's been taken already. His eyes soften whenever directed at you, gleaming with raw adoration.

Splurging on expensive things is a given. Money has never been an issue for someone of his status. In fact, it's a handy and convenient tool he frequently uses to dampen the damage of your tantrums.

"Disgusting", you spit between your teeth, pushing the plate away and crossing your arms. The renowned chef of the Michelin star restaurant can only stare in horror before Mr. Politician intervenes with a chuckle. "Not feeling it today, huh?", he coos at you with loving strokes. "May I ask that you bring everything else from the menu?" he says in a sterner voice to the employee. "E-everything, Sir?" the waitstaff questions. "Well, naturally. I can't let my Darling starve."

"I'm bored. Let's leave now", you mention bluntly, standing in front of the heavily ornate table with a huff. "Are you sure, Darling? It's an important meeting for the country", Mr. Politician tries to plead. Around him, the other men sit baffled, observing the outrageous exchange. "Now!" you conclude louder. Before anyone can protest, your boyfriend stands up obediently and reaches out for your hand. "Then allow me to guide you, love."

A paradox. His earnest work is put to a halt if you require anything from him. Somehow, he has until now managed to juggle the two with little effort, and to his credit, there have been many instances requiring nerves of steel. Such as you paying him an unannounced visit to the office, and disliking the fact he was unavailable due to a meeting. So, you marched over to the window and promptly flashed your chest against the glass. Everyone else was focused on the opposing whiteboard; he was the only one who immediately noticed your arrival. "As you can see, the expected result is irresistible", he continued with a professional smile, tapping the graph with a marker.

Everyone knows Mr. Politician is fervently devoted to his principles. Take his last public speech, for example. Knuckles white from gripping the podium, he'd nearly choked during an eloquent -but passionate - conclusion. His face was red, his jaw tightened. He needed a moment to recollect himself, and the public waited with bated breaths, visibly emotional. Of course, they couldn't tell the outrageous truth: that you were shamelessly kneeling at his feet, pumping and teasing his erection until, at last, he let go all over your face.

"I wanted to see if you'd stumble on your words", you explain afterwards, wiping the sticky liquid off with a damp cloth. "That would've been unpleasant", he responds with a shiver. "It was live on national television."

He does not seem too bothered by the potential risk of being caught. Truly, his nonchalance knows no bounds when it comes to you. Or perhaps it is part of the charm. There's something quite depraved yet tempting about this perpetual contrast.

To return your daring favor, he gently places you onto his desk and spreads your legs, leaving trails of kisses along the inner surface of your thigh. A quick glance down confirms his suspicions: your bare bottom lays on top of confidential, rather important documents he dutifully signed hours ago. How thrilling of a feeling! He already smiles in anticipation, picturing himself as he hands over the folder to the oblivious party. He's not breaking any rules, now, is he? Nowhere in the book of etiquette does it state you mustn't fuck your beloved on top of official papers.

You gaze at the disheveled face underneath you. "One day I'll get you in trouble", you blurt out between whines. "Me? Oh, Darling. You know I always have everything under control." He lifts himself up and gives you a quick, desperate kiss. "Including you."

[mauvecherie-writes]

a tortured touch: l.hamilton.

• pairing: lewis hamilton x black!reader

• ru’s 💌: this is just a filler, something to get my toes back into the game. I haven’t written something in full in weeks so this is not edited. don’t forget to show your love as always. I missed you guys 🫶🏾.

• tags: 18+ NSFW, MDNI, pwp, dry humping, dirty talk, slight nipple play. this is smut from beginning to end so if you’re uncomfortable please do not read.

• w.c: 1.1K

hubby’s masterlist

“I missed you.’ He mumbled into your ear as his strong arms tightened around your waist. You dropped your head onto his shoulder and sighed as you felt his lips brush against your skin.

“I missed you too, baby.” You whispered as you felt his pelvis pressing into your ass. Evidence of his longing carving into your flesh. A giggle left your mouth as Lewis let you go so that you could turn around and face him.

“How much did you miss me?” He asked. You could hear the teasing and lust in his voice.

“The videos weren’t enough for you?’” You smirked as you wrapped your arms around his neck and began weaving your fingers into his hair. He groaned, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back. Lewis loved it when you played with his hair. Your touch was all that he craved and being away from you for more than a month had been torture.

“I need the real thing.” Lewis murmured as he opened his eyes and looked down at you. His hands then focused on pulling the ties of your robe. His lips found their way to your shoulders as he pushed the fabric away.

Lewis cursed as your naked body was revealed to him and he wasted no time in cupping your breasts into his palms and teased your nipples.

His petting was getting heavier and you were shifting from side to side as your wetness began to grow.

“Lewis.” You whimpered his name and that was all that he needed to wrap his arm around your waist and pick you up. But you couldn’t wait any longer - you locked your lips with his and as he tried to make his way to the bedroom, he gripped your ass.

As your core rubbed against his lower stomach, the both of you knew that you would not make it that far.

“Couch.” You whispered. You were too wet and the need that was tightening in your abdomen fed into your desperation. Lewis laid you on the soft couch and he quickly stripped out of his shirt and pushed his sweatpants past his hips.

As he was trying to work on discarding his boxers, you couldn’t wait any longer and pulled him back to you. Your sex pulsated as his kisses alone seemed to possess you and fed the insatiable hunger that had been growing during the weeks apart.

Lewis’s tongue darted into your mouth and a deep sound of satisfaction left him as he tasted you. With arms locked around his head, you tried to press yourself into his body, craving him so much. Your hips rolled up, rubbing your clit against him through the fabric of his boxers.

He smirked into the kiss as he picked you up once more and changed your positions so that you were straddling him.

You sucked on his tongue and grinded your hips into his with such wanton aggression.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.” Lewis groaned as his hands dug into your flesh. The lustful desperation in the movements from the both of you left him throbbing. Each sweet drag off your hips sent shocks through his dick and settled in his balls. The friction caused a buildup of tentalising pleasure to reside within him.

His hands moved up your rib cage to then cup your breasts, pinching your nipples in between his fingers and tug. The acute pain caused you to gasp and then a shudder ran down your spine and nestled in the pit of your stomach.

Lewis loved the fact that your nipples were so sensitive and toying with them was the easiest way to get you worked up.

Your wetness was seeping through the cloth separating you but neither of you cared. There was something so devastatingly arousing about dry humping. It spoke to the despair of missing each other, of the exigency that your hearts had.

He then sat up and placed one leg on the carpet to stabilise himself as he held onto your back and paid extra attention onto your chest. As his lips were wrapped around one nipple - sucking on it, the other nipple was trapped by his thumb and pointer finger. All that you could do was whimper and roll your hips faster and faster as he wreaked havoc on your sensitive buds.

“God, you’re dripping so much, I don’t need to take off my boxers to feel it.” Lewis grumbled against your chest. His hand then came to your lower back and began to lead your movement which caused your clit to now be in direct contact with the weeping tip of his dick.

You loudly groaned as your eyes crossed before rolling to the back of your head as the friction became sweeter and sweeter.

“I wish you could be sitting on my face right now. Working yourself on my nose and tongue as I drink every drop of this creamy pussy, that’s all mine.” He spoke with a candidness that made goosebumps rise on your skin. “I can tell you’re about to come. Keep working yourself on me, you’re so fucking sexy.” He whispered as a moan left him. The imagery that he had described was so vivid and burned you from the inside - leaving you breathless.

You leaned down and captured his lips in a soft and gentle kiss. In contrast to the frantic grinding on your hips in tangent with his. Your fingers clutched his shoulders as your toes curled as the knot in your stomach began to unravel.

“Lew-.” You moaned as your eyes screwed shut. He locked his arms around you as your rolls became more feverish.

“I know sweetheart. Give it to me!” His mumble was carried into your ear with his harsh panting.

“Baby!” A whimper left you, the word barely left your mouth as the sensation rocked your body as it exploded into compulsive spasms. Lewis held you as he erupted in his boxers - his orgasm crashing into his loins as he buzzed from the sensation.

For a moment, you sat there holding onto each other. Lewis then turned his head and placed a kiss onto your shoulder as his hands came back to your ass and kneaded your assets.

“You know that this is your first of the night right?” He said which caused you to giggle.

“Yeah I know. Can I take a moment to breathe first?” You replied which caused him to chuckle. When his laughter stopped, you turned your head and captured his lips into a heated kiss.

You moaned into his mouth before you nipped at his bottom lip which caused a low groan to escape him.

“Take me to bed.”

“With pleasure.”

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel @sageispunk @2serenity0 @gemii-n-tay @aluapla

[cptnhngjng]

pretty sounds (part 1)

 “such a good girl. such a good, good girl for me. making all those pretty sounds.”

you help hongjoong out with his new song

-hongjoong x f!reader -1.4k words -smut, mdni, 18+ only c/w: studio sex, overstimulation, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected sex

multiple parts (eventual multiple members x f!reader)

part two three four

it’s a common occurrence to visit joong while he’s working in the studio. i mean he practically lives there at this point. most of the time you just kinda hung out there while he worked. you both liked just being in each other’s presence—hongjoong working on his music and you doing whatever it is you do. 

this one particular evening it was very hot and humid outside, so you wore a skirt to help keep cool. when you showed up at the studio, hongjoong didn’t think too much of it when he saw you in the skirt. he was a little stressed because he was in a serious song writing block and was struggling to finish up a song. just nothing sounded good and it was really pissing him off. 

you made yourself comfortable on the couch in his studio while hongjoong went back to working on his song. you were focused on your phone, mindlessly playing a game, but you kept hearing hongjoong groaning and sighing in frustration. you stood up and walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned over, kissing his jaw. 

“what’s wrong, joongie?” you ask. 

hongjoong looked up at you and sighed. “i can’t seem to figure this song out, I don’t like anything I come up with.” he turned his chair around so he could face you. 

“i wish i could help you somehow,” you said quietly as you ran your fingers through his short hair. 

at this point hongjoong finally noticed the skirt you are wearing and how delectable your thighs look. his hands grasp your waist as he stands up to kiss you. his hands slowly trail down, brushing against your ass before he grips your thighs tightly.  he kisses your lips again before moving to your jaw and neck. he whispers against your skin, “i have an idea on how you could help.”

“mmm, what is it?” you ask as you lean your head back, allowing hongjoong more access to your neck. 

he nips at your neck before he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his stare intense. “let me record your noises while i make you feel good, please”. 

you let in a sharp breath before quickly kissing hongjoong. “if it’ll help, then yes,” you whisper against his lips. 

you knew hongjoong always like the sounds you created while you two got intimate. he would always remind you of how pretty you sounded. the first few times you guys fucked, hongjoong was very quiet, and you got self conscious about the noises you made, so you tried your hardest to be quiet as well. you were convinced that he didn’t like your noises.

hongjoong did not like that you were being quiet. he loved the way you sounded—the small gasps and lewd moans you let out. which is why he tried to be quiet. he wanted to hear you and how he good he made you feel. so when you weren’t making the noises he so desperately needed to hear, he thought something was wrong. once you both explained to each other the reasons why you both were quiet, things changed. you no longer were self conscious of your noises and hongjoong made sure he always reminded you how much he loved to hear you. 

hongjoong deepened the kiss and pushed you towards his chair. he made you sit down—he broke the kiss and and checked to make sure he was recording audio. he got to his knees and rubbed his hands against your soft thighs. he looked up at you with a smirk. thank god you wore that skirt today, he thought. he grabbed your thighs and hooked your legs over the arms of his chair, allowing a perfect view of your panty covered pussy. he pressed some kisses to your left thigh while his fingers slowly danced up your right thigh, towards your core. 

“already so wet for me,” he chuckles as he slipped a finger past your panties, feeling your slick. 

hongjoong started to pull your panties off, you lifting your ass slightly to help him. once your core was free and exposed, hongjoong went back to kissing your thighs, slowly trailing up, getting closer to your cunt. “so pretty, can’t wait to make you feel so good,” he mutters before licking a thick stripe up your slit. 

you gripped the short strands of his hair as you felt him attach his lips to your clit and suck. hongjoong’s fingers quickly found their way to your entrance and he started pumping them in and out. you moaned lightly as you attempted to grind against hongjoong’s face. he giggled at your attempt and the vibrations went straight to your core. 

hongjoong removed his fingers and you whined out at the emptiness. he licked his fingers clean before diving back in, tasting your juices. his tongue plunged deep into your hole while his sharp nose pressed against your clit. again, you attempted to grind against his face, but his grip on your thighs was strong. 

you continued to let out gasps and moans as he continued to fuck you with his tongue. your nails scratched against his scalp when you felt his fingers prodding at your entrance again. his tongue circled your clit as his fingers reached for your sensitive spot. you could feel your release coming quickly. 

you let out the loudest and filthiest sounding moan, causing hongjoong to hum satisfyingly against your pussy. your toes curled as you felt your climax hit. your grip on joong’s hair became stronger as you rolled your hips against his pretty face. you could feel hongjoong smirking against you, continuing to pump his fingers as you come down from your high. 

hongjoong would not let up. he continued to abuse your cunt with his mouth and fingers, causing you to become overstimulated. the pleasure and pain was becoming too much. you were whining and begging at hongjoong to stop. but he kept going, feeling you squirm under his touch. 

“hongjoong—ah, please” you moaned out as your thighs clenched around hongjoong’s head. tears were starting to form. you were so sensitive. once again you could feel another climax hitting. 

“you can do this pretty girl,” hongjoong said as he curled his fingers up against your g spot. the squelching noises coming from your cunt and the moans from your mouth were so loud and lewd. you just know hongjoong’s face was covered in your wetness. 

hongjoong finally pulled away as you started to come down from your second climax. you were right, hongjoong was covered in your slick. he looked at you with a proud smirk, before tasting his fingers that were covered in your juices. 

not even thinking, you grab hongjoong by his shirt and slam your lips against his—tasting yourself on his mouth. he groaned into the kiss, feeling himself getting harder and harder. his jeans were tight and his cock begging to be freed. 

continuing to make out, hongjoong undoes his jeans and pulls them and his underwear down just far enough to free his dick. you are quick to grab him and start to pump his cock, spreading the thick precum around his tip. hongjoong groans again as he lifts you up by your thighs and switches places with you, so now he is sitting on his chair. you are over top of him, lining your entrance up to his cock. you slowly sink down, feeling the stretch. hongjoong throws his head back as he feels your wet warmth envelop him. you lean against him and start sucking the skin against his throat. he thrusts up against you, causing you to moan against his neck. 

you were still so sensitive from hongjoong abusing your cunt with his mouth and fingers, so you were already close to coming for the third time. you start to grind against hongjoong while his fingers make way to your clit. he rubs slow circles and your walls start to clench tightly around him. more whines and moans leave your mouth as you reach your high. hongjoong’s fingers continue to abuse your clit while you ride him. 

“joong,” you gasp out, “i’m—i’m cumming!” you tremble against hongjoong as you cum on his dick. 

hongjoong lets out a low moan as he kisses you hard. “such a good girl. such a good, good girl for me. making all those pretty sounds.” he thrusts up into you a few more times before he finally cums in you. 

[lucabyte]

i'm so curious about your character gender reads now tho 👀👀

(You enter the kitchen and see me, eating shredded cheese out of the fridge by the handful)

(I turn around to face you.)

Hi. Do you want me to sell you on amab NB Siffrin? I'm going to try and sell you on amab NB Siffrin. And maybe even a little bit of tranfem siffrin and/or loop. as a treat. just for you.

So, (I put the cheese back in the fridge.)

This read of mine comes from a number of things, a lot of them to do with the game's themes, and to do with Siffrin being a narrative foil to the other characters. And Vaugarde as a whole.

(READMORE WARNING: THIS IS LIKE 6K WORDS LONG. YOU ALL SHOULD KNOW BY NOW I DON'T MAKE POSTS WITHOUT UNCONSCIOUNABLE AMOUNTS OF EVIDENCE AND EXPLANATION. IF ANYTHING I'M BEING RESTRAINED HERE. THUMBS UP.)

(Pre-readmore note: this is in response to me having given an analysis of how I personally percieve Sifloop in relation to asexuality and shipping. Which you can look at here. (x))

It is however, not what my like, no-holds-barred no-rules just-for-me headcanon for Siffrin would be. (which is intersex 'head empty no thoughts' siffrin, for the record). This is instead my close-reading-of-the-text-and-themes interpretation of Siffrin. This is why I'm gonna be saying Read and not Headcanon, to distinguish the two. (Anything I consider a little bit too much of a stretch vis a vis interpretive hard reads I will call a headcanon. But those are for the last bit of this post.)

Unlike *gestures at mass media* All That… ISAT is already packed to the gills with queer rep, to the point where I feel no need to grasp at straws and make overextended reaches into obviously unintended subtext. Like with, y'know, most media. Since here, the subtext isn't unintended. Like this isn't a Transfem Metal Sonic or Aroace Ash Ketchum situation where I know none of the evidence is on purpose and I'm just having fun making a conspiracy theory pinboard out of it. This is like… There's intentionality there. And I want to engage with it on its level, see what the text itself suggests. It's my personal preferred method of expressing deep respect to a text. (Not that it has to be anyone else's, obviously. This is just my way of showing I love a work.)

So yeah, I am, in general, very interested in hearing hard-fought arguments when it comes to interpreting texts. I'm glad ISAT has a lot to pick at here, and so, I will. (and since not a lot of texts ever have anywhere near this kind of depth in this arena, i don't wanna squander it… i'll try and keep my own biases as in check as i can, and already have done by hashing quite a bit of this interpretation out with two people of very different gender identities to mine. To put it mildly, binary-aligned or transfem I am very squarely Not.)

(Now that the cheese bag has been removed from the equation, I drop this framing device, sit you down at the table and begin to dredge up evidence from below it.)

Okay, so. What are my like… Core reasonings here? I think I can split it into three categories. Broadly, with an amount of overlap, so bear with me…

SIFFRIN AS A FOIL AND CONTRAST TO MIRABELLE, ISABEAU AND THE CHANGE RELIGION AS A WHOLE.

SIFFRIN'S HABITS OF CLINGING TO 'KNOWN QUANTITIES', SCAPEGOATS, AND THEMES OF RACIAL IDENTITY INTERSECTING WITH GENDER IDENTITY.

SIFFRIN, LOOP, DE-PERSONING, DEHUMANISING, APATHY AND SURVIVAL.

Okay so up top I'm going to split my argument for Siffrin's gender identity Present and Future here. This means, for now, I'm arguing for AMAB NB Siffrin alone. The transfem stuff is for later (and more for loop, in my mind, too).

I have a few direct observations of the text here that set things up. Here are the things in-game that make me assume that Siffrin, as of the start of the game, has not yet undergone any radical change to their identity in their life. Not on purpose, at least. These are ordered in a messy but logical flow, so uh, try and keep up. I'll synthesise at the end. I Prommy.

SIFFRIN AS A FOIL AND CONTRAST TO MIRABELLE, ISABEAU AND THE CHANGE RELIGION AS A WHOLE.

CHANGE & THE UNIVERSE: PERCEIVED OPPOSITES

When interacting with most objects in the Changing Room in the house, they express a genuine curiosity toward body craft. It seems they are legitimately unfamiliar with it on a deeper level than having simply heard of it.

Despite this curiosity (explicitly stating they've previously wondered about it), they dismiss it as too much work early on in the game. These points combined seem to suggest to me that they have never previously sought out any kind of real change to their appearance or identity. Either for gender reasons, or other body dysmorphia reasons. (Which, despite the dismissal, they do refer to their body as a 'meat prison', which is not particularly positive) However...

This changes in Act 3. In acts 3 and 4 they flatly state: "You're thinking about crafting your body. You seem to have all the time in the world now." While still never spoken aloud, their declining mental state corrosponds with a worn-down, almost nihilistic reckoning with the feelings they masked with the 'meat prison' joke in act 2.

[Image: Interactions with the change craft textbook in acts 2 and 3/4.]

In talking to Mirabelle, they are very self assured that one can stay the same/be comfortable with their born identity. They also seem a little unsettled by the change religion's flippancy in general, which makes sense, as they have been clinging to the famliar (even when painful) to cope with other traumas. (More on this later, section 2)

The Universe Faith appears to heavily disincentivise Wanting for oneself and other expressions of Free Will due to safeguarding against Wish craft. This seems to have impacted Siffrin's mental state majorly, even if they do not recognise it. The followers of the faith are (if Siffrin is to be believed) incentivised to 'go with the flow' and take paths of least resistance, and those that DO make big decisions will tend to justify things as being The Universe's Will. (See: The King's entire Modus Operandi, and the way Loop (and Siffrin) do the same rote actions, constructing worldviews (the play analogy, the Universe's Will) and justify that as what the Universe Would Want (despite a total lack of evidence to prove as such)) As such, it seems as if a follower of this faith as neurotic as Siffrin would be unlikely to act upon any Wants to Change Themselves without a lot of turmoil and backwards-justification. (Of note, Loop's forcible change coinciding with a dropping of pronoun. But that is again for later, section 3) As of the start of the game, they do not appear to have broached this kind of turmoil directly.

[Image: Act 5 interaction with the star journal, emphasis on it being a cautionary tale against reckless usage of wish craft, instilled so deeply to be a children's bedtime story]

Siffrin, in act 5, grows frustrated with both The Universe and The Change God, feeling abandoned by the former. They struggle with simultaneously anthropomorphising the Universe as a cruel onlooker, while also seemingly acknowledging them as a cold, almost scientific fact of nature. This would heavily imply that the 'blame' put upon the Universe by Siffrin in these moments is known to them, at least a little, to be potentially meaningless. It seems that somewhere in Siffrin's belief system is something, be it the core or merely a creeping worry, that the Universe is not a thinking, feeling, thing. And thus that their invocations of "The Universe's Will" are merely rationalisations of random chance and consequence. This is in DIRECT contrast to the Change God, proven to be an emotive sapient entity, who merely refuses to offer a helping hand. (Similar sentiments are, too, spoken by the Change God itself.)

[Images: Interacting with the window in the observatory in act 5, text from the change god meeting]

So. These are the bulk of my observations when it comes to how Siffrin is positioned in contrast to the Change Belief. It would seem to be that Siffrin, inkeeping with their role as an outsider, is a complete fish out of water in Vaugarde's change-centric world. This makes sense! It makes them a compelling foil to the Vaugardians in our cast, and allows the Vaugardians to challenge Siffrin's worldviews merely by existing. It also, more importantly, makes Siffrin an interesting lens through which to inspect our two most Change-driven characters. Mirabelle and Isabeau.

MIRABELLE.

Mirabelle and Siffrin's differing faiths are put on display the most frequently. Interactions like the circle key and the party's disbelief of Siffrin's facts about the stars make this clear. These interactions other Siffrin from the group further, and are another avenue through which Siffrin can ignore their own needs, not communicating with the party and allowing them to dismiss things he deems important.

Obviously, the friendquest is primarily about Mirabelle's struggle with her aromanticism and asexuality. But there's an implicit undercurrent of gender there too. Mirabelle has never made a big change, not like Isabeau. She has never 'changed completely', by her words. And Siffrin distinctly finds this an odd thing to be worried by. Whatever culture he carries has no pressure to explore these avenues, it seems. Siffrin is able to help her by sharing their honest opinions, that he's never felt the need to change these things, and he's happy (allegedly). Why should she?

[Image: Mirabelle's friendquest text] Siffrin is not thinking particularly hard when he first does the friendquests, they are just being themselves. By positioning Siffrin as this unchanged yet confident object, they are in the perfect position to help Mirabelle by being in her almost exact position, both sexuality and transgender status (albeit, with the caveats of potential alloromanticism, and a they pronoun), that they become her ideal foil. (And in fact, the subtle differences between their positions in canon add to this, showing a display of Perceived Genuine Truth, rather than simple in-group camaraderie)

Whereas…

ISABEAU.

When Mal du pays speaks as Isabeau, it says the following;

"I don't want to know someone who won't even try to change, who luxuriates in things staying the exact same like you do."

I don't want to know someone - Shame of being known, that's Isabeau's insecurity. Reflected back at Siffrin, who has become the worst thing imaginable to each of their friends, in Siffrin's own mind. He absorbs their insecurities like a sponge and incorporates them into himself. Empathy turned ill.

Who luxuriates in things staying the exact same - Now THAT'S interesting. This is not Isabeau's insecurity, it's Siffrin's own. But also, it appears as if, Siffrin, whom to Mirabelle was unflappable in that not changing was alright, has internalised some of her worry. That it is MDP's Isabeau saying this, though, shows this is about Personal Change, perhaps even Specifically Gender and Self Image, rather than Mirabelle's spiritual side.

Isabeau and his distinct change in personality and gender, to become someone who he actually likes… Diametric to Siffrin, who has been stagnant for a long time, presumably as far as they can remember. It would seem to imply they have no recourse against this argument. Siffin becomes, in his mind, the opposite to Isabeau, a man he deeply admires the bravery of when told the story of his Change. These are Siffrin's words against themselves, that they consider themselves to have never even 'tried' whatever it is they think Change to be.

So. These are my main points vis a vis: Siffrin as a foil. This reading would posit that Siffrin's He/They status is, well, almost accidental? Which I would imagine befitting of them. They are, at the start of the game, still the mysterious rogue who never elaborates upon anything. They aren't going to be correcting a they/them from a teammate who is likely far more cautious about assumptions.

Notably, Mirabelle excludes Siffrin from the label "man" in the bathroom monologues… But as does Siffrin when in the prologue poem room. Though one needs remember, Siffrin only expresses these thoughts internally.

[Image: Bathroom conversation featuring Isabeau identified as the party's singular man]

[Image: Prologue!Siffrin expressing that they are not a man in very certain terms.]

While I do wonder what Mirabelle's knowledge (or lack thereof, potentially! Did Siffrin actually divulge this to her, once? Or is she making assumptions again?) is here, this is pretty clear evidence that Siffrin doesn't see themselves As A Man. (that, and Adrienne's word of god "fella" comments). I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this… but.

The thesis here is, that Siffrin may want to explore their gender further; doesn't feel connected to Masculinity, and yet, keeps that He pronoun around? Well, the Universe does not, in Siffrin's mind, really allow for personal wants and desires. If their friends start they/themming them, then cool. They like it, but never requested it, so it's the Universe's will. But, asking? Making decisions and requests and rocking the boat? That seems to scare Siffrin a lot. It seems to scare them so much it causes a lot of, if not all of, the conflict in the game. I feel like it's a fair deduction that this aversion to humour their own desires pervades a lot of their existence.

Plus, I think there's meat there. By only allowing Siffrin to reckon with any potential desires to change only after growing closer with the family, you get to explore things like "How does Mirabelle feel that even the person who said she didn't have to change is changing." and the slightly less potentially harrowing (OR MORE, IF YOU WANT IT TO BE? IDK. I'M NOT YOUR BOSS.) "Isa's continued changing allows Siffrin a space to explore it, maybe even just by proxy, or maybe by joining them."

But mostly, this section is about how Siffrin not having Changed Yet makes them delightfully strong narratively; allowing them to relate to Mirabelle, and get cold feet when comparing themselves to Isabeau. I love this as a narrative strengthener. It's very rare in media that we get to explore a nonbinary character's thoughts and insecurities on whether or not they're "doing enough" to be nonbinary. Even less so Aligned nonbinary people. And reading that alignment and insecurity through the lens of a nonbinary person not fully disconnected from their assigned gender at birth? It's a very compelling exploration of a very common and raw and yet underdiscussed feeling, much like the rest of ISAT. I think this is an extremely potent element should it be read this way, and is only strengthened when taking Siffrin's other themes into account.

Speaking of which.

2. SIFFRIN'S HABITS OF CLINGING TO 'KNOWN QUANTITIES', SCAPEGOATS, AND THEMES OF RACIAL IDENTITY INTERSECTING WITH GENDER IDENTITY.

HOLDING ON TO WHAT YOU KNOW. (OR KNOW THAT YOU DO NOT.)

I explained above many of my thoughts on the Universe Faith, and trying to keep these two sections separate was difficult, but needed to be done for the sake of clarity. But this section and the above are deeply intertwined.

Siffrin… Holds on to the things they know. They do not know much. But man do they fucking hold. And yet, paradoxically, they are also avoidant about it.

It is made clear in the text, to the point where I really don't feel the need to rehash it here, that Siffrin's disconnection from their homeland is incredibly painful, but that they consider that culture utterly and irreplaceably important to them. They cannot face it, it is too painful. They cannot let it go, it is too important.

Knowing what we know of the Island's irl inspirations (though, word of god, the exact location is not supposed to matter, one can infer it from the text (and I did! within reasonable proximity!)), Siffrin is of an indigenous peoples of some description, more than likely. And at the very least, Siffrin carries with them inherent biases and ignorances that show that Vaugarde's conceptions of things don't quite mesh with their own. Bowing to the Vaugardian way of things could very easily be seen as assimilation, in this way.*

And identity? Gender? Presentation? Role? All of that has a cultural element. There's no telling what specifics Siffrin has lost in that arena, and that's the problem. Neither do they. How paralysing, the feeling, to know that should you change yourself you risk unknowingly erasing another piece of home? I wouldn't blame them for locking it off. Keeping their old clothes, keeping what little they can remember of themselves… It doesn't seem to me a conducive or safe mental space to get experimental.

And the Universe makes for a perfect scapegoat. As referenced in the section above, a lot can be justified should you call it "The Universe's Will", because who's there to call you on it? Hardly anyone. Your divine right to Freeze A Place In Time; Your Deserved Punishment for Wanting to be Loved: All of it the Universe-- If you want it to be. And thusly, if the Universe wanted you to be a certain way, wouldn't you already be? Wouldn't it make you so? (Wouldn't it take away your body, that which makes you human? If that is what it thought of you?) So best to put it out of your mind. Wouldn't want to accidentally wish anything.

But as the game itself puts it, personified by The King, you cannot stay mired like this forever. As Loop themselves puts it, they can "get so fixated, sometimes." At some point they need to allow themselves to grow in whatever direction they need, because in the end, they need to live their life. They don't need to abandon their country, their culture, but they can't let it restrain them either.

(* MASSIVE CAVEAT: im white as fuck boyyy. i cant say shit. im like technically Of The Land im like 90% pictish or something ridiculous like that so my particular line has never moved anywhere but. this is notttt something i have input or insight on. this is all gleaned from reading and listening to indiginous perspectives from wherever they may be. i am simply trying to infer from what the game gives us without inserting my own feelings on the matter.)

3. SIFFRIN, LOOP, DE-PERSONING, DEHUMANISING, APATHY AND SURVIVAL.

Alright, here's some less heady and purely-thematic points to round things out. And where we'll also address the fucked up star being in the room; Loop.

My last couple of reading points are the most potentially-transfem to me. Or at least the ones that really hammer home, to me, a seeming lack of want to be masculine-aligned.

ANOTHER NOTE ON THE 'NOT A GUY' THING.

Obviously, there is the aforementioned "Not a man/not that you're a boy" thing. This is rather straightforward, but also still pretty ambiguous. You can be masc-aligned and still Not A Guy. But it does seem to be of note that being a guy very much does not seem to be a goal of Siffrin's. I would posit this in direct contrast to… Isabeau.

But not Isabeau's masculinity. I would instead hold it up against Isa's femininity.

ISAT, as a text, has its characters have genuinely different levels of security in their gender identity, and Isabeau, despite still having insecurities, seems super chill on the gender angle specifically! Their internal strife comes not from their 'not feeling like a man enough' or 'hating being a woman', but instead from their self perception as a friendless nerd! Something that seems to be only tangentially related to Isa's gender, really?

The big dumb bruiser thing is certainly aided by being a dude, but Isa still seems completely comfortable referring to themselves with feminine language, calling himself a "mother hen" (prologue) and having "the heart of a fair maiden" (cookie snack time). (However, they also take being excluded from Mira's girly book club as a surprised compliment, implying they weren't expected to be excluded, and find it affirming.) And even further so, Isa states they want to continue changing further and exploring their identity more, being rather blatant that they might lean back into femininity (and more importantly, let themselves be outwardly smart again), since they're starting to feel hurt by everyone assuming they ARE genuinely stupid.

[Image: Prologue Isa calling himself a mother hen]

And man, this is such a breath of fresh air vis a vis representation. I don't think I really need to explain that. A character who's gender identity is driven by chasing euphoria, even if it started out by trying to drive out misery. Isabeau's character is so damn good. But this essay isn't about him, so get back in the crate, boy.

... So here we have Isa, who is genuinely comfortable reclaiming things about their birth gender, and Mirabelle who loves her traditionally feminine traits to the point where she feels a little guilty that she isn't rejecting them to foster change. And then we have Siffrin… who seems to reject masculine language…? Hrm… (… And then we have The King. A Masculine Title. Someone who Siffrin increasingly sees themselves in and deeply, deeply dislikes this.)

APATHY AND SURVIVAL

It should be clear by now that I see Siffrin's core character as being driven by avoidance and survival. This seems to lead to a lot of apathy, brushing off emotions that are too intense or events and occurences that are too painful. (See: just absolutely everything with Bonnie)

It's all Siffrin really seems to be able to do to Survive. They've travelled, seemingly alone, for what would be around a decade by what the game says about the island's disappearance. They've lived alone on the road as a traveller in a country that so openly welcomes strangers that THE KING and his whole motives can happen. Siffrin is avoidant and refuses to acknowledge problems or strive for help and comfort.

So. That line about the dress. Let's unpack the line(s) about the dress.

THE DRESS LINE, AND THE WAY IT CHANGES BETWEEN PROLOGUE, ACT 2, AND ACT 3.

Good god where to start with this. Full disclosure, the first draft here was way more vague in how I approached this line because I remembered it (and another line, I'll get to it.) way more tame, but going and getting the screenshots..... Siffrin. Buddy. We gotta unpack this.

In act 2, we have "You haven't worn a dress in forever!". This is a neutral, if seemingly a little joyous statement. All we really glean from this is the information that Siffrin at some point, wore 'a' dress. No real inferences there. (Maybe you could say that the singular as opposed to plural makes it more likely that they borrowed/only owned One Dress rather than owned several? But that's a massive stretch...)

Then, act 3/4 shuffles this off into a more general "You wonder if you'll ever wear different clothes again." Which is a more despairing and distant statement. Considering Siffrin seems to travel with only the items they can carry, and owns sleep clothes... It's unclear how many changes of clothing they have. The party seems to consider the cloak a pretty permanent fixture, anyhow. But this line doesn't really say much aside from 'oh god i'm losing myself to the time loop malaise'

NOW THE PROLOGUE. Prologue Sif, buddy, pal, Loop, if I'm allowed to call you that....

Thousands of loops in. We are wistful for specifically dresses. You've forgotten almost everything. You dream about someday seeing the sun again. To be anywhere but here. You want to wear a dress again.

I. Kind of do not know what to do here but point at it. Like I said, my first draft had me half-remembering the progression of this line and as such I was far more vague on what I thought it could imply. Instead this is just straight up yearning.

To, try and segue back to what I had initially written, we'll pick up here...

Siffrin expresses a want to wear other clothes, explore changing their body... But instead, they wear a ratty old form-covering cloak that keeps them warm and safe and is a last reminder of home. They are shapeless, formless, hiding their face under the brim of a wide hat. They do not voice their desire to wear a dress aloud. They once again, keep a desire to themselves, because they do not allow themselves to want publicly. Apathy is safer. Apathy and quiet means you do not risk retribution or hurt.

While I do not think the above is exclusively a transfeminine feeling, it really, really reads like one when taken part and parcel with assuming Siffrin has denied themselves prior exploration.

... And here I have to break my first draft again. I was being, once again, restrained in my reading when writing this. Because I had convinced myself I had maybe straight up imagined one of the lines I was basing my reads on, because I couldn't find it. Because it was a line that read so strikingly desolate to me that my brain had slotted it in during Act Five, meaning when I went looking for it neither me nor my friends could find it.

It's in acts 3 and 4. It's a line I already brought up.

"You're thinking about crafting your body. You seem to have all the time in the world now."

good fucking christ. sorry to break the academic tone but Jimminy Fucking Willikers, Siffrin. What's with that bit. The resignation and despair and guilty comfort we know the timeloop brings them, bleeding into the gender.

This. *taps my finger harshly on my desk* THIS, this feels transfem. this feels so wildly transfem to me. The knowledge that they've never changed before this line lends. The admission that they've been holding back because it's 'too much work'. I spent a lot of time during the game relating Siffrin not to myself but to my friends.

If I'm honest, really, truly, I'm not all too often in Siffrin's shoes. I'm the stable one, of my group. I'm the rock people ground themselves on. And I see so much hesitance, all the time. Denial of joy because what if it's taken away, again? Or futilely out of reach? It hurts more to try, and to fail, than to never try at all.

I wanted to shake Siffrin by the shoulders this whole game. Grit teeth beg them to accept help because for fuck's sake people are clearly offering it get it through your skull--

*coughs* Ah. Ahem. Right. The uh, academic tone.

Right. What I mean to say is, this read as transfem to me because of the way it relates to real-world experiences of denial. And this combo of the Dress line, and the progression of the Meat Prison line, the constant evidence of never having strived for what they want, and that insistance that you're not a man, seem to dislike being percieved as a man, but not being able to shed the outward signifiers?

Individually, yes, these points can be read in different ways. The total opposite ways, even, I'm sure! But as a gestalt it feels really, really transfem. Even if yeah, sure Vaugarde is a magical setting where being transgender is accepted, and this hesitance, specifically, around gender, might not 'make sense' in 'the lore'...

Diegesis isn't everything. Sometimes something that reflects a real-world feeling is important, even if it doesn't 'mesh' with 'the lore' of the world.

TANGENT: DIEGESIS AND READING INTO NON-REAL-WORLD-SETTINGS.

This is a Watsonian vs Doylist spectre that's been haunting this whole argument. In-universe (Watsonian), Vaugarde has seemingly no discrimination between genders, sexualities, and a lackadaisical approach to most things in the arena. Reading our own patriarchal/heterosexual/amanonormative/perisexist society unto it does not make sense, not in this context.

In the real world, however (Doylist), ISAT is a text made in our prejudiced society. A text that is distinctly flavoured by those bigotries which it is kicking back against. Because of this, it is not the whole story to simply read the text while discarding our real-world-informed inferences. Isabeau is a big example of this. While perfectly accepted in Vaugarde, he is very obviously a revolutionary character in our real-world space! He has so much to say, specifically BECAUSE things about him that are not readily accepted here, are accepted there! Same with Mira's struggles, and yes, Siffrin's too.

ISAT was written with the knowledge of how it would play against our real world in mind, we know this, clearly, from many an interview. This is most present in how it engages with asexuality and aromanticism (and immigrant identity), but make no mistake, it influences the Whole Text.

Ergo, just because I view certain writing choices here in the context of Our Real World Perspectives On Gender and not Vaugarde's In-Universe Perspectives, it does not make them an invalid read. They are simply a Doylist read.

There's been an admittedly loosey-goosey lack of delineation here between things I'm reading with either lens, because for the most part all of these points have been a vague synthesis of both that I can't quite decouple. Unprofessional, I know, but I'll admit to not having written my thoughts down like this in a good long while. Usually I just hash this out verbally over discord voice to a small number of weirdo literature and classics student friends who are willing to humour me. I'm an arts student too, but animation hardly required I actually write an essay to a literature degree's standard. Lol.

DE-PERSONING. AND LOOP. OH JESUS . LOOP .

Siffrin de-persons themselves a lot. I say de-person rather than dehumanise because, well, there's a subtle difference there. Siffrin doesn't see themselves as vermin or an animal or an object, but they do seem to see themselves as lesser, not requiring the respect they grant others. They aren't, you know, a 'real person'.

People get to have things like thoughts and wants and identities. Siffrin is, at best, Just Siffrin. They have what they have and they don't ask for more and they don't (CAN'T) feel too strongly on what they do have!

When Loop at first offers their pronouns they offer the Royal 'We'. This is at least a little bit, a joke. A nudge toward their true identity, a potential dig at themselves for becoming so understanding of The King. Mostly though, a joke on the first thing…. and a sign that they do not see themselves as a separate entity to the Siffrin stood before them.

When Siffrin rejects this, they settle for they/them. Loop drops the he/him, presumably partially to cover their tracks, but… They just showed their hand with the 'Royal We', and if you wanted to go even further with this, there's no way for us to know whether Loop is treating this pronoun as singular or not. They presumably are, but it is still a potentially plural pronoun.

Loop… Clearly does not see themselves as a person. It's, I would say, a completely reasonable assumption that the form they have taken reflects implicit feelings toward themselves as less than a person, an actor, a monster, a tool, a means to an end. They are rendered inhuman by The Universe, frivolous distractions removed. No mouth, inventory and clothes confiscated, nothing between the legs. Formed roughly in the shape of a person to allow them to do their only job: Help.

Loop's body does not make logical sense, given their continued ability to sleep, dream and their continued habit of deep breaths to self-soothe. It would seem to me, it was made in the image it was, with only the tools it needed to Help Siffrin. Why obfuscate their identity? Because giving the game away too early would likely make them lose hope. Why so deeply, thoroughly star themed? An instant signal, that even if a stranger, they are an ally. They are home.

[Image: Loop saying that they take naps and dream, and evidence of Loop habitually attempting to breathe in the twohats lose-to-loop ending]

And they… Degender themselves. No longer with any bodily signifiers of masculinity, and cruelly disallowed the ability to hide themselves beneath fabric, they are null. The spoiler Q&A (paratext, as it were) states that:

Q. Is Loop: 1. Actually comfortable with both he and they, but only gave the one pronoun to emphasize the distance? 2. Only using they/them because a large life event led to a shift in identity/ how they’d like to be perceived? or 3. time lops stole he from they they :( A. Mostly that first one. But all three of those reasons have a bit of truth to them.

While the 'mostly the first one' comment does imply that Loop would not baulk at being he/him'd (similar to how Siffrin does not), the other reasons, especially the second, having 'a bit of truth' does lend credence to this reading. That Loop's self-perception has shifted, and what I posit, is that this shift is in tandem with a disconnection with humanity. Due, presumably, to the dehumanising experience of the timeloop.

Loop has no biology to speak of, and yet they remain blind in one eye. I take this as an implication that they considered this so core to themselves, to who they could remember being, that it stayed. Even if they had forgotten their own face, trapped in a part of the house with no mirrors, they knew they couldn't see. They kept this, and yet seemingly they, or The Universe, or both of them in tandem, discarded all else.

This isn't like…. Healthy behaviour. That is for certain. But it is interesting that Siffrin and Loop seem to hold on to their masculinity by a thread, and that Loop, when actually given the excuse to make a choice, chooses the Neutral Option. Siffrin might de-person themselves, but Loop, Loop is absolutely dehumanising themselves. From Loop's own mouth (or lack thereof) do they call themselves a Corpse. That's… pretty damn bad.

TANGENT 2: POTENTIAL IMPLICATIONS OF THE JAPANESE TRANSLATION.

Did somebody say 'distance'? Yeah turns out that has some more potential evidence. In the form of First Person Pronouns. See, English, with its third person only pronouns relies on others to gender you. Japanese, you get to gender yourself. And Siffrin specifically has an interesting discrepancy in the way he refers to himself.

(DISCLAIMER: I . DO NOT KNOW MUCH ABOUT JAPANESE. THIS IS SECOND-HAND KNOWLEDGE. SOURCED FROM THIS TUMBLR POST AND OTHER QUICK SKIMS OF WIKIPEDIA)

Loop and Siffrin use the same, very neutral "mostly male but could go either way" pronoun of 僕 boku. Safe, soft friendly pronoun. Used by people on the younger side of adulthood, not so impolite that you can't use it in a formal setting. Such a neutral all-rounder that female singers in japan tend to use boku in their songs to relate to the audience with quiet confidence.

And in their internal monologue? Siffrin uses a completely different pronoun. In his head, for himself, he uses 自分 jibun. Now, this may be an artefact of the monologue's english second-person "You", since jibun can also be used to mean a very neutral "self". A "myself/herself/himself" type 'self'. But when used as a first person pronoun, it has a connotation of being… distant, introspective. Which is… a fascinating implication, if that was the intent.

But I don't know anything about japanese so ! If I'm off the mark, discard this!

LOOP, PART 2: MAYBE NOT A GREAT STATE TO BE IN.

While Siffrin I can comfortably argue that they can like, keep their current gender presentation, whatever you may perceive it to be, once the game is over, Loop, I cannot.

Siffrin's potential issues with their identity are ones that honestly feel like they would best be explored with gentle refinement and searching. They don't need to violently seperate themselves from what they are now, far from it, in fact. They need to learn to grow comfortable in their own skin, and with the people they love. To become open and trusting, with an open mind to where it may lead.

Loop has already lost this battle. They don't get to refine anymore, just pick up the pieces. While I don't necessarily think radical change is Good for Loop, I think they may Need It. For them, resting will probably become stagnation (see: napping all day under the tree, resigned, really, to the idea they're stuck there forever.), they need a shake-up in order to re-find their feet. Even if they end up right back where they started, they still need to do the actual painful process of soul-searching first.

Problem is, they're still rather avoidant. So it basically becomes a question of getting them into a situation where this exploration is forced upon them. At which point, that's a whole new plotline. This becomes fanfiction. Hence, why while I think Transfem-Egg Loop is a Valid Read when extrapolated from Siffrin… I must concede any actual adventures into them acting upon that as headcanon territory. I just do not know how you would get them there without making a whole new Thing, at which point it stops being Just A Read of the text haha. It doesn't help that Loop and Siffrin (grudgekeepers supreme) both have reason to spite the Change God after who was phone.

As for whether this egg-read reflects directly back on to Siffrin? Maybe! They are the same person. But I think that, especially with Vaugarde's lax views, and their actual differences (Loop's general worse mania // Siffrin's incentive to stay a reminder to themselves and Loop of their country) means they could easily go two different routes, along the road to becoming their own distinct individuals. (And in all honesty, growing into their differences is probably the more healthy option in the long run if you're keeping Loop around? But again, we are going so far into the future here this is no longer a read. And I am not here to dispense baseless headcanons without massive disclaimer, so…)

Tl;Dr:

Siffrin's Survival-Apathy and hesitance to change feels really thematic to their being 'what's left' of their homeland

They seem unsettled by the flippancy of the Change Religion at times, clinging to the familiar to cope with the trauma of displacement.

Mal du pays speaks of them that they have not 'tried' to change, showing an insecurity there, even outside of the literal stagnance of the loops.

They are self assured to Mira that one does not have to change, in a very genuinely personal impulsive statement.

They and others exclude themselves from being "A Man", but Siffrin keeps desires to explore their expression to themselves.

The Universe belief, seemingly in Siffrin's view of it, disincentivises Free Will and Wants very heavily. It is not hard to assume they extend this to all elements of their life.

They have self-admittedly never pursued tangible change, likely due to this aversion to choice. Despite this, they express interest in changing, seeming nonplussed with their body, and house at least some desire for more traditionally feminine expression.

Oh Good God. Loop Sure Does Not Treat Themselves Like A Person. Why Does That Come With A Pronoun Change? What Does That Mean?

But most of all:

It makes them such a fascinating foil and lens to Change and characters who believe in it! It makes them eerily similar to The King! It opens up such fascinating debate between characters like themselves and Mirabelle, Isabeau and Loop, on whether or not they want to change in future, or if it truly is okay to never radically change yourself! What genuinely fertile ground for dialogues. And man if I'm not heavily drawn towards dialogues.

(End of essay! Congratulations for making it the whole way! 🎉 I hope this nightmarish deep dive helps with understanding some of the ways I've been writing Siffrin and Loop too. Since while I've not ever focused on the gender side of it (and probably won't in comic form) this does pervade my view of the two, since it would be impossible for it to Not. As you can see, I do think it is pretty relevant to both their themes.)

(Now for some bonus material)

ADDENDUMS:

PERSONAL BIAS NOTE:

Not included in this analysis since this is more a Pet Theme of my own (usually kept quarantined to the realms of my OCs), but something else I see in Siffrin is a reflection of the Dude Issue(tm) of patriarchal irl society disincentivisng Dudes(tm) from ever fucking introspecting ever.

I'm curious about nonbinary/trans characters who have no idea they’re nonbinary/trans because they’ve been disincentivised from thinking/doubting their identity due to societal power structures or simply tradition. I dig around the themes of “a lot of guys are trapped in a societal prison without ever knowing and it makes them miserable but they can’t escape because they don’t even see the cage” like, a lot, in my personal work. It intrigues me. So bleh, cards on the table there. That mode of interacting with nb/trans characters is one I'm inclined to.

This kinda goes hand in hand with the watsonian vs doylist situation i took an aside to mention. But it is so far along the doylist side that I didn't want to include it, since it is a little too assumptive of the text for my comfort. I don't think the game necessarily has much commentary on this specific Societal Bind. But if it does, then hey, there's my thoughts on it.

STRAY SIDE NOTES AND HEADCANONS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS (AS A TREAT FOR GETTING THIS FAR):

MID-GAME OBSERVATION ABOUT BONNIE AND ODILE THAT I NEVER WENT BACK TO VERIFY:

I got the impression that Bonnie heavily favours they/them pronouns for Siffrin, and Odile he/him, as a bit of presumed character voice. I don't know that I am right, literally at all, in that observation, because it very well could've been confirmation bias.

BUT! It did give me the impression that one of the things Bonnie was idolising about Siffrin was a degree of "wow!! older person with my gender!! wow!!", which is just like, cute. I like it even if I don't have any solid evidence.

ODILE, WHAT'S HER DEAL?:

Oh she stays just as mysterious as she intends to be, huh? Even with her comments in the Changing Room alluding to knowing things about underground changing operations, you can't draw much of a conclusion about her. I appreciate verily that she's word-of-god unlabelled and also poly. That shit's great. Woman who has stopped drawing lines or caring what she's up against. Nice characterisation flavour I think.

Anyway, I do think that transfem Odile is a really, really nice take. I have no evidence in either direction for her in either direction, and her being a woman of any description makes her relationship with her absent mother something interesting to chew on, but the idea that she pursued womanhood intentionally lends an interesting texture. I've not much to say, but it's a thread to pull on. Makes you wonder what other female role models she had in her life instead. Anyway she's mysterious as fuck I can't extrapolate Jack nor Squat. Shrug! I'm also made curious by the idea of her potentially moving away from womanhood as she feels the weight of her history lifted. This goes either way, really. Diagnosis: mysterious.

HEADCANON NOTE: INTERSEX SIFFRIN

I don't have any in-text support for this so this entire thing is an unbased headcanon to me. but i DO like it because 1. fun and 2. potential for more thematic exploration

haha gotcha its fuckin themes again. its always themes with me.

But yeah. Not much to say here besides drawing a parallel (that I believe I've seen drawn elsewhere in the fandom already?) between ISAT's comments on how a society that values change would view Aroace identities, and how Mira feels about not wanting to change with the real world experiences of Intersex people having alteration and conformity forced upon them, saying the Change Belief would likely be just as bad for them as it is for aroace people.

So, adding it to Siffrin's situation further drags them into the opposition-to-change foil role. Which like I said, think has a lot to explore.

HEADCANON NOTE: A POTENTIAL METHOD FOR GETTING LOOP OUT OF THEIR GOD DAMNED COMFORT ZONE

I think utilising Loop's contrarianism is an effective and funny way to get them to explore their gender. I personally think running with them trying to hide their identity from the party is a hilarious way to do it. Having them try to position themselves in direct opposition to Siffrin to "throw the party off their trail" (not that i think they really need to?), going full feminine-revealing-clothing because it's NOT what a Siffrin would do and accidentally growing accustomed to it. Funny to me. Especially when the party eventually do find out who they are and go . "????? what was the girl stuff about ??? is that something you wanna do now ???".

[Isabeau] "Ohhhh it was a bit! Haha you really are Sif, still a jokester!" [Loop] "HAHA YEAH . JOKES. LOVE THOSE. LOVE TO MAKE JOKES!" [Isabeau] "Yep! Anyway. Tell me if you need anything!"

Bonus bonus:

[Siffrin] "Okay, so, if you're a girl. Does this reflect on like… me?" [Loop] "No doubles. Get your own gender, parasite~!"

[russo-woso]

Captain || Kim Little x reader

Request | Masterlist | prompt list

Warning smut 18+

Summary You reward Kim for being a good captain

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Everyone had gone into the Bayern Munich match with high hopes and positive attitudes.

You all knew it was going to be a tough game, but you were prepared for it.

What you didn’t expect was to be down 4-2 in the 80th minute.

As the clock ticked down more and more, you got more violent, wanting to prevent as many goals and chance as possible.

However, after one particularly vicious tackle, the ref blew her whistle, indicating a free kick.

She also reached into her pocket, showing you the yellow card.

“Y/N, stop it!” Kim shouted at, taking a deep breath in before continuing to shout. “There’s no need for it! Grow up!”

Although Kim was telling you off, you could help but think how hot she looked.

Her biceps flexed as she lifted her hands, the captain armband sitting perfectly on them.

She noticed the smirk appear on your face, making her frown at you.

“What?”

“You just look so sexy. I’m thinking of The things I’m gonna do to you after the match.” You whispered in her ear, her face turning bright red.

“Stop it.” She whispered, trying to stop herself from blushing even more.

“Never.”

The game continued, the final score being 5-2.

Everyone got changed before getting onto the bus and arriving at the hotel.

You and Kim got to your room, the image of her on the pitch earlier still fresh in your mind.

Of course, you’d seen her with the armband on before, many times, but this time was different, this time she was telling you off, and that was with ten times sexier.

You decided to unpack Kim’s match day bag as a good gesture, but your eyes widened as soon as you set your eyes on the bright red armband.

“What’s this, love?” You asked with a smirk

“I thought we could make use of it later.” Kim said, an identical smirk on her face.

“If only the rest of the team could see this side of you. What would they think of their captain then?” You whispered, your lips centimetres away from hers.

“They never will. Only you’ll see this side of me.” Kim muttered, connecting your lips.

Your hands made their way to Kim’s hips, pulling her into you.

You both grabbed at each other’s clothes as the kiss deepened.

Within minutes, both of you were completely naked, your bodies flush together.

You pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath before reaching for the armband.

You gently lifted Kim’s arm, putting it on her.

You couldn’t help but stare in awe at the woman below you.

“You look so hot.” You murmured, your lips attaching themselves to her collarbone.

A moan escaped Kim’s mouth as you sucked harshly, marking her skin.

“Baby, please.” Kim whined, resting hand on the back of your neck, pushing you into her skin.

You obeyed her pleads, kissing down her body until you reached her drenched core.

“Gonna show you how good of a captain you are.” You whispered, kissing her clit teasingly.

Kim just responded with a moan.

“Please…”

Without any warning, your tongue slipped into her core.

Kim’s hand immediately went to your hair, pulling and tugging it violently.

You moaned shamelessly into her core.

“Doing so well, baby.” You told her before sucking her clit.

You brought your fingers up to her pussy, your middle finger slipping in.

Kim cried at the feeling.

“You close, love?” You questioned, adding a second finger.

“So close! Please don’t stop. Please.” Kim begged

You started curling your fingers as you sucked her clit harder, desperate to watch her fall apart.

“Cum for me, love. Go on, baby.”

Kim screamed your name shamelessly as her pussy tightened around your fingers.

You worked her through her orgasm, stopping when it got too much for her.

“You okay?” You asked, watching her breathe in and out, catching her breath.

“I’m definitely keeping this armband. I think that’s your answer.”

[blacktabbygames]

What’s been the biggest change in Scarlet hollow from its design concept/beta script to how it is now?

I can think of quite a few! • In the earliest concept stages of Episode 1, you met EVERY romance option on the way to the woods. A bit of a quest with Stella to get everything you needed. This felt very "game-y" and a slog to write, so we instead chose to introduce characters one-by-one over the course of the next few episodes. I want to say Wayne originally didn't show up in episode 1 either!

• There was originally going to be a worst of both worlds Fourth Option for the major decisions (i.e. losing gretchen and duke in episode 1.) Scrapped because it was unfun, went against our core design philosophy (no wrong choices) and would be a ton of extra work for something people would just re-load and undo anyway!

• In the first draft of Episode 2, originally it was Stella who went deeper into the mines, thrilled at the chance to finally film Tommyknockers. Becka would make Alexis stay behind because "chasing after ghosts for youtube clout" was super lame, and Street Smart players would be able to convince her that it was cool actually. When the collapse happens, you would have to choose between going out of a *closer* exit, or going back after them. It was sloppy and not good. I believe discovering the carving in the mines was also optional in that draft! The whole situation made Stella, IMO, Too Much™, so we did a rewrite.

• The ghost hunt in Episode 3 was originally more of an active puzzle where you'd have to go back and forth between different rooms until you actually pieced everything together. This was: 1.) Not very fun* 2.) Hard to write 3.) Again it violated the no-wrong answers thing. Likewise, if there was no real consequence to getting things wrong, it would just be solvable via brute force. Much more compelling to leave folks with lingering questions and have them piece things together on their own.

*One of our longstanding rules of writing is that if something isn't fun or interesting for you to make, it isn't going to be fun or interesting in other people. Cut it and move on. I genuinely think this mentality is a large part of our Secret Sauce™ as a studio. • Avery was originally not a romance option and also a total dweeb instead of hot. Now they're a total dweeb (confident version) AND hot.

• We scrapped an alternate version of the clinic in episode 4 where a romanced Kaneeka would accompany you — we even did a bunch of unique art for it which you can find in the game files. Can you guess why it was cut? (IT WAS NOT FUN (also it felt like her presence undermined so much of what makes the clinic interesting — there was too much familiarity with her there. Too much comfort. We wanted players to be more uncomfortable!))

[bitterrfruit]

wild cherries [2]

[masterlist]

Price x f!Reader - tags: modern western AU, cowboy!Price, light sadomasochism, brat taming, spanking, humiliation, chasing, dubcon if you squint 18+ mdni - 7.1k words

Old enough now to change your name When so many love you, is it the same? It's the woman in you That makes you want to play this game

If Mr Price’s goal had been to deter you, he had sorely failed. 

Not his scoldings, nor his threats, nor his blatant distaste for you and your family did anything to discourage your habits. More than anything, he emboldened you. There was something in his voice, you thought, some reflection in his censorious eyes that told you there was more to find. That you needed only summon the bravery to dig deeper. 

You were sent home with the uneaten jam, and when you dumped it on the kitchen counter, Evelyn had scoffed, appalled; “What an asshole.”

When you asked her what she thought was going to happen, she merely sucked her teeth and stormed off to inform Miles of your apparent failure. 

There was more at play than they were willing to share with you, though that wasn’t uncommon. That had even been the case even while your parents were still alive. You’re just away-with-the-fairies, daddy used to tell you, and thus your siblings deemed you ill-prepared; too airheaded to assist them with the supposedly meticulous puzzle of running a family business.

It didn’t bother you, though, not too much. It did hurt when they would exchange unspoken words at your expense, shooting each other a glance when you attempted to wedge yourself into whatever scheme they were working on. But, all the same, you knew that you would hate shouldering that level of responsibility. That you’d bitterly begrudge the weight of generational expectations if they were dropped on you, as they were on them. 

No, as the youngest, silliest sibling, you were given more grace. You were allowed to roam unfettered. Not purposefully, no explicit permission was given to encourage your escapades - instead, not two days after returning home, it was as though they had forgotten that you were there at all. If you kept to yourself, stayed out of trouble, they paid no mind to your capers; there was always something more important that pulled their attention away. 

So, while they were busy ordering around their ranchmen and managing the many industries of your family ranch, you had already slithered through your little broken gate, before the scorching midsummer sun had made it halfway across the sky.

You meandered down the rows of his overgrown cherry trees like they belonged to you. The trees were old, likely fruiting since before you were born, and their trunks were thick and sturdy at the base. They had once been well pruned, so the lower branches were stockier, but years of neglect had allowed skinnier, floppier chutes to grow out from the tops. They were so laden with fruit that they drooped low, and you felt as if they were reaching down to offer their treats directly to you. 

You picked the prettiest, glossiest, reddest ones, and made a basket out of the skirt of your cream-coloured frock; nobody was around to see your bared legs underneath, and so you collected as many as would fit. Popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, you’d spit the cleaned core into the grass as you moved onto the next. Maybe, you thought, the pits you discarded would one day grow into even more trees to succeed the old ones.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on door frames, on the planks of fences, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.  

In scuffing sandals you wandered aimlessly along an old dirt road, long unused; green sprigs of grass and bunches of wildflowers almost covered it entirely. An old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.  

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked sweet flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.  

One, two, three, four… 

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, pale blue paint faded and matte after at least a decade of proper use.  

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. John squinted at you through the glare of the afternoon sun, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes pinching, barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye, adrenaline flickered like a flame in your chest. 

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you, last time I saw you?” 

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.  

“D’you remember?” He insisted, tone richly disparaging. 

“You don’t want trouble,” you answered meekly, through a little smile, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other. 

“I don’t want trouble,” he repeated, a confirming grunt, as he tapped the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head, gesturing for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “G’on. Get in.”  

Your brows knotted in doubtful confusion. “What for?” 

“I’m takin’ you back to your brother,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.” 

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”  

With a snort, he rocked his head to glare ahead out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on you.”  

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.  

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed. “C’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”  

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”  

Glowering at you, nostrils flared in frustration, he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.  

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the menacing shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, and yet so delightfully thrilling. You felt the prickles of gooseflesh tingle down the back of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach, not yet daring to retreat.  

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint smirk in your lips.  

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, lour combed you from your bare legs to your skittish expression - but, stare caught brazenly on your chest, his sneer sunk quickly into a pout of disapproval.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you, you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if you might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream cotton of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap, blatantly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.  

But, no, he instead curled the light fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front.  

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance. 

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing eyes glued to your lips, his impatient focus withered into ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.  

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat, as he tilted your head up and to the side. His thumb wiped over your bottom lip, firmly and precisely, from the corner to the centre. Your lips were suddenly hypersensitive, his touch charged, it sent a tingling current through the soft pink flesh and made your mouth all wet. 

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”  

Were you scared of him? 

It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heart rate between terror and thrill – a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the prickles his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflected off your dress and illuminated them like they glowed from within.  

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the neckline.  

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – tugging up your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, honey.”  

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”  

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, wiping his juicy thumb off on his denim-blue button down, leaving a stain of red among the blue. He hooked his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”  

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”  

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward, looming over you with a domineering scowl. “While you’re on my property – yes I am.”  

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibbled at the inside of your lip, pursing your lips. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”  

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”  

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.  

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.  

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.  

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”  

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.  

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, but he charged after you like a grizzly.  

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the trees that littered the outskirts of his prairies.  

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”  

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.  

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!” 

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there. 

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, tumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood among scattered hay and dust. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.  

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – not an ounce of humour left.  

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.  

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”  

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”  

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”  

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped within your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.  

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.  

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist and hooked you by the stomach.  

“C’mere,” he growled, through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, he held your back to his chest with a constricting arm and your feet dangled high off the ground. 

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.  

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your big brother so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.” 

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip. You dug your nails into his tanned and hairy skin, corded with veins bulging from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them while he began hauling you towards the exit.  

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got plenty of them.”  

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen once you went over the edge.  

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.  

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”  

That was a step over the line.  

You knew it immediately, quick to bite down hard on your tongue after the words spat from your lips like poison.  

His retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against a bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.   

He dropped to his knees behind you, leaned his forearm heavy against your lower back, and you were flustered and confused by his haste – skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack. 

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.  

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.  

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place - grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You waited for him to apologise, to express some remorse for his blatant degradation, to beg for you not to tell your family what he did. But he was silent. Almost proud. 

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.  

“For what?” He growled; voracity burned hot and bright in his otherwise shadowed glower, and you felt yourself shrivel, intimidated into diffident obedience.  

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”  

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.  

And he must have heard it, taken it as encouragement. You felt the hand that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm and lifting up the hem even further. You felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin, your rear entirely exposed to him.  

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?” 

You stared face down into the bale of prickling hay, sipping the turgid air like warm milk and scouring your mind for your next apology. There was a long list of transgressions he could demand an apology for. Would he punish you for every single one? Did you want him to? 

His spread hand hovered over the skin of your ass, a threat – it ghosted over the fine fuzz and triggered ripples of gooseflesh to radiate out from the faint touch. 

“I’m sorry for–” you uttered, barely a croak, “for making you chase me.” 

The second you spoke it, your entire body tensed itself on instinct – girding itself for the discipline that would inevitably follow. Swift and purposeful, he raised his arm, reeling it back like the string of a bow. And he released it just as suddenly, hurling his palm downward rapidly enough to emit a whistle through the air; it collided with your ass in a sharp smack, over the same burning handprint he had already left there. 

The force of it thrusted you forward, knocked a helpless squeal from your throat. You whimpered at the grit and dust grinding under your knees as it rocked you, your hands that had flat on the haybale turned to fists as you desperately squeezed handfuls of straw. 

“Mhm,” he grumbled, grave and deep. “And?” 

You swallowed air through your open mouth, your heart thundered in your ears – out of breath, but too wary to inhale deeply enough to sate it.  

“For…” you hesitated, “for talking bad on your father.” 

Keeping your hips still with his restraining forearm, he raised his free arm once again; you held your breath, squeezed shut your eyes in preparation for the blow. Swing. Smack. 

Each collision of his vicious hand over the same spot burned worse than the last, as though his palm was adorned with barbs that pierced your fevered skin on impact. Yet a quiet moan slithered from your chest, slipped from your tongue, oozed like honey. 

He drew in a grumbling breath, strained as he sucked it deep. Could he hear the pining titillation in your throat, dripping from each yelp? Might he hit you harder for it?  

You winced, shivered, as his wide hand rested against the matching print that only grew more raised and more red by the second, the touch by turn warming and punishing. “Keep goin’.” 

“I’m–” 

Bitten off by a gasp as his fingers pushed in only slightly, they burrowed into the pillowy flesh of your ass as though the squeeze was unintentional – the pressure on your near-broken skin inflicted a sparkling ache that made you whimper. 

“I’m sorry for stealing cherries,” you force out, in a wet mewl. 

He bore his dissatisfaction with a cocksure suck of his teeth. “Whose cherries?” 

“Yours,” you squeaked.  

“Mh,” he nodded, grinded out through a tight jaw. “Mine.” 

Followed quickly your castigation; the swish of his hand hurtling through the air, the ear-splitting crack of his open palm striking beaten flesh, the whine of twisted thrill that squealed out from your lips. 

“My cherries–” he spat, unrelenting; again he lifted his palm, letting it hover in the air for a brief moment before he brought it down with a force.  

Smack. 

“–My orchard–” 

Smack. 

“–My hat–” 

Smack. 

“–My horses–” 

Smack. 

“–My stable–” 

Smack. 

“–My land.” 

Smack. 

The final blow threw a saccharine cry from your heaving lungs, dosed with a shameful squeak of desperation, wet and eager; eyes watering, your head collapsed into the haybale, prickly against your bright red cheek. 

The skin of your rear stung numb, throbbing like a heartbeat, your knees shook with the adrenaline that riddled you from head to toe and turned your muscles to jelly.   

You adjusted your knees to balance yourself after he had knocked you off kilter, and you felt the slick that had seeped from you. With a grimace of ignited humiliation, you realised your cunt was drenched in slippery syrup, the cool air biting cold at the saturated patch of your floral pointelle panties. 

You could only suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in abashment and guilt, self-flagellation for the burning heat that had pooled between your legs; almost as blindingly consuming as the white-hot sting of his hand-shaped brand. 

He leaned back from you, balanced himself with his hand on your ass. Panting like a wolf, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand as though he had overexerted himself, broken a sweat in his outburst. Seemed to pause as he looked over his handiwork – had spanked you hard enough that you wouldn’t doubt how crisp the perfect outline of his hand would have been. Perhaps it was purple, speckled with the spots of broken capillaries and blood seeping under the hot skin. 

But it mustn’t have been the damage he had inflicted that he was stuck on, as you heard his heavy breathing degrade into hoarse, animalistic chuffing; a broken grunt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. 

You felt his thumb, slow and probing as though influenced by an unseen force – creep towards the cleft of your ass, running along the elastic lace hem of your panties. Teased the trim like it might slip underneath, but it didn’t. No, instead, he hovered it over the gusset, barely grazing the sodden fabric. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you inhaled weakly, a quiet whine as he pushed his thumb into the valley of your cunt; wetting the tip with your fluid that soaked the thin cotton, dipping into you as though the single layer of fabric wasn’t the only barrier preventing him from plunging it deeper. 

He must have felt the ring of muscle at your entrance tighten and twitch, an inadvertent reflex to his intrusion – because he pressed the pad of his thumb a little deeper to feel it flutter around him, before he pulled his hand away. You quickly released a sharp and feverish breath, cunt still pulsing around the painful absence of his finger. 

“Alright,” he huffed, through teeth, as he rubbed the back of his head in exasperation. “Reckon you learned your lesson?” 

You squeaked as you felt his pelvis press against yours, weighing against you from behind; as he leaned over you, reaching past you to pick up the cattleman that he had knocked from your head. 

“Huh?” He persisted.  

“Yes,” you croaked, realising his demand, you were quick to follow it. You leaned upright, kneeling still, as you tugged down the skirt of your dress to cover yourself; grimacing as the light fabric brushed over the burning welt on your rear. 

With a hand on his knee he pushed himself to stand, sniffing in vexation as he dusted off his jeans. Bowed his head to put his hat back in its rightful place, pinching the leather crown with a single hand as he gave it a shimmy to adjust it. “Yes what?” 

Through a whimper, you whispered, “Yes sir.” 

“’Atta girl,” he gritted, “learned you some manners.” 

You feebly swept a lock of your dishevelled hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, too poignantly humiliated to think of anything pert to utter. 

“Up y’get.” 

It took you a moment to gather the nerve to stand, breathing carefully as you placed your hand on the edge of the haybale. Impatient, evidently, John bent down to you, slipping his broad hands under your arms in an effort to pick you up. 

You yipped, wriggling away from his grasping hands as he hoisted you upright, and you landed on your feet with a wobble. “I can walk,” you bit. 

“Yeah, right,” he groused, spinning you by the torso before hooking his arm around your waist; you yelped as he tossed you callously over his shoulder like a wet rag. “I ain’t letting you run off again, missy.” 

“I wasn’t gonna run,” you whinged, but you mustered no resistance as he hauled you towards the stable door, kicking it open with his boot. 

He snorted as he adjusted you on his shoulder, carting you out into the scorching midday sun. The hum of the cicadas blared, almost deafening, and there was no cool breeze to alleviate the burn on your rear; only the sun to bake it.  

Trudging through the long grass, no doubt towards his truck, he chided; “D’you expect me to trust you?” 

You bit your tongue, combed your scrambled mind for any retaliation. “I don’t want to get in trouble again,” you mumbled.   

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he sneered, “I think trouble is the only thing you want.”  

The pressure of his thumb lingered against your entrance, a permanent impression that made your heart flutter at the memory. Perhaps he was right.  

“That’s not true.”  

“No?” He questioned scornfully, grasping hand digging into the side of your waist to keep you steady. “Then why’d you come back here, huh?”  

You pouted, staring into the grass, watching the back of his boots rise and fall with each step. Would you tell him it was just to see him? Just to have him find and scold you? Just to toe the line? Long since crossed, wasn’t it.  

“I wanted some cherries,” you lied.  

“Uh-huh,” he scoffed, as the grass began to shorten, bleeding to the rubble and dust of the old road. You heard the deep click of a handle, the rattling of the truck door, the moaning of its old hinges as it swung open. “Was it worth it?” 

You hesitated, gasping as he tossed you into the passenger door of his Chevy – you landed on your back across the worn leather bench seat, bouncing slightly in the fall, head narrowly missing the steering wheel. 

“Yes,” you breathed, to answer his question, and he froze like you had caught him in a bear trap.  

He stood imperiously between your knees as your feet dangled out of the open door, skirt having been rucked up by the landing. He glowered down at you, lips in a thin and admonishing line, but his predacious eyes betrayed his stoicism.  

Glare clawed down your splayed form from your dewy lips to the swell of your breasts, to the bare skin where your thighs met your hips. Catching a glimpse of the mound of your pussy from under the hem, hidden from him by the dainty fabric of your underwear.  

He breathed raggedly through flared nostrils, put a white-knuckled hand against the top of the doorframe, casting a looming shadow over your body. His gaze was pointed, fiery, burned from lidded eyes - you felt the heat of his stare, it made you sweat. Made your cunt ache unbearably for his attention.  

Tongue squirming, too bashful to form a plea; you made your entreaty with a meek hand, tracing your fingertips down your stomach, catching in the pleats and folds of your linen dress. With a hook of your fingers under the hem of your skirt, you coaxed it upwards, coyly exposing yourself bit by bit. Watched cautiously as his lour raptly followed your movements, belying his stone-faced expression.  

But he stopped you, or himself, with a light smack on the outside of your thigh, a scolding. And he ordered, dark and strained;  

“Settle down.”  

With a moan of petulant defeat, you dropped your arm to your side.  

“I’m takin’ you home,” he grumbled, reaching for your skirt – did so with purposeful cruelty, letting his calloused hand graze up your thigh as he grabbed the hem and tugged it downwards to cover your panties.  

He took impatient hold of your knees and swivelled them inside the cab, before shutting the passenger door with a creaking swing and a loud slam. You sat yourself upright, wincing at the painful reminder of the lashings on your rear as it pressed into the firm leather seat. He marched around the truck and hopped in behind the steering wheel, you crossed your arms churlishly as you glared out the passenger window.  

You bounced around in your seat as he started the engine and accelerated off down the deteriorated dirt road, the vibrations of the rolling vehicle doing little to settle the sore throbbing between your legs.  

“I’m telling my brother what you did,” you griped, rich with spite.  

“You can tell ‘im whatever you want,” he scoffed, hanging his arm out his open window, wrenching the steering wheel in the tight grip of his closer hand.  

“I’ll tell him you hit me.”  

“Yeah?” He gibed, “Gonna tell him how worked up you got?”  

Scowling, you felt your cheeks glow red as you stared out the window. “I’m not worked up,” you fibbed.  

“Sure seems like it.” You could hear his smirk without having to look at him.  

You fumed. “Sounds like you’re proud of yourself." 

He only released a quiet huff of scornful laughter in response to that. Nothing snide left to say, now that you’d accused him of purposefully arousing you. But he was right. It was all you could think about, writhing and sizzling in your mind and in your stomach; a fire that he had lit. Now he mocked you for being ablaze.  

You could only sulk, keeping your arms vitriolically crossed and refusing to utter a single word until the truck rolled up your drive, and came to a halt over the raw gravel of the turn-around. 

You spotted Miles in discussion with the foreman by the front steps of your family farmhouse, head bowed as though discussing something of import. But upon seeing John’s truck approaching, he dismissed him with a wave, and adjusted the black pinch-front hat that shaded his face while walking in the truck’s direction. 

John left the engine running and hopped out with a grunt. You sorely begrudged the idea of letting him best you, allowing him to feel like he had been victorious in forcibly taming you. Your cheeks, still pink, burned even hotter at the thought of him scolding you to your brother like you were wayward juvenile. 

So in the brief seconds you had before he stormed around to the passenger side, you slipped your hands under your dress. Tucked your fingertips into the waistband of your panties, bucked your hips as you shimmied them down your legs and plucked them over your feet. And you nestled them behind you, out of sight as John yanked open your door, beckoning with an impatient and commanding hand for you to step out.  

You groaned as you followed his wordless demand, jumping down into the gravel and glaring up at him with a vindictive curl in your lips. You spitefully stayed still, then, not taking a step in any direction of your own volition, wary that he might glance upwards and spot the coquettish little calling card you left in his truck.  

“Move it,” he ordered.   

You only pouted. “You’re such a dick.”  

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he tugged your shoulder in the direction of your house – then lodged his hand at the back of your neck, under your hair, an authoritative grasp so that he could drive you by it. And he did, you stumbled awkwardly over your bare feet as he nudged you along.  

Miles had his hands on his hips, but crossed his arms dubiously as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Jonathan,” he greeted stiffly, blinking at you with a knit in his brow. “Y’found her.” 

You gave him a look of insolent anger before you glared into the distance, flushed with fervent humiliation, disguising it as malice. You crossed your arms over your chest, hiding the cherry stains from him. 

“Trespassing,” John growled tersely. “Again.” 

Miles hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, squinting at him. You had expected him to put up more of a fuss, to berate the estranged neighbour for being as bold as to put his hand on you, carting you around like one of his cattle. It seemed, though, that he was more interested in maintaining a degree of decorum, keeping the peace, for a reason you could not fathom but were nonetheless grateful for. 

“Fence is on your property, John. S’your problem if she fits through the gaps.”  

“You need to keep a handle on her,” John snarled, thick with derision, fuse running short. He released your neck with a slight shove, then, and you vindictively rolled your shoulder away from his lingering touch.  

Miles snorted. “Looks like y’got a better handle on her than I ever will.”  

Had enough, you stormed away from the condescending rancher, marching with your arms crossed towards the steps.  

“Y’know what happens if I catch you back on my property, don’t you, girl?” John barked after you, a growl in his throat. 

Shoving past your bewildered brother as you trudged up the creaking stairs, you rolled your eyes. Concealed the coy smirk that curled in the corner of your lips, you answered with a grouse;  

“Trouble.”  

-----

John wiped an open hand down his face as he sped along the dirt drive, white-knuckled and stiff. 

The road was clear and bright ahead of him, glowing by virtue of the blinding sun, and yet he could not focus on it. His vision blurred by the image of you standing winsomely among the wildflowers. He was distracted by the sight of the harsh sunlight unveiling you, the thin cotton of your dress failing to conceal the shadows of your soft nipples, blissfully unaware they were revealed to him so vividly. 

His palm still stung red and hot, tingled under his skin like needle pricks in the aftermath of his ruthless discipline. He knew he should feel guilty. That he should be chastising himself for assaulting you, for unleashing his long-caged fury in an eruption of rapacious torment. 

But he didn’t. He felt not an ounce of shame. 

Instead, he felt angry. Angry at the knot that was tight and wrenching in his stomach, at the heat that flared in the back of his neck. Angry that he could still smell you in the cab of his car, your berry-scented shampoo and the animal musk of your frightened sweat, drawn out by the chase. 

Angry that he fell for your bait, that he gave you the satisfaction of retaliation for your insolent behaviour. 

Christ, some satisfaction he gave you. 

Despite all valiant effort he could not dispel the picture of your tiny, frilly knickers. Worn under your sheer frock, so visible in the sunlight, as if to purposefully entice him upon their reveal. The delicate fabric turned so dark where it was sodden, it demanded his attention even if he attempted to ignore it. His compulsion to touch between your legs was undriven, and he could not resist it - he had to check, to know for certain, that such an abasement had filled your cunt with eager nectar, so much of it. That your body responded to its punishment as praise, to its degradation as pleasure. 

Such knowledge ridded him of any guilt, even if it should have done the opposite. But it did little to temper his indignation. Now, he understands what drives you. The fuel for your delinquency. 

Is it a lack of attention, sweetheart? Do you yearn for somebody to notice your misdeeds? For someone to care to penalise you?

Are you so bored, so neglected, that your cunt drives you to self-sabotage? 

He should have guessed it from your persistence, from the frequency of your unwanted visits and the habitual nature of your crimes. From your coy little smiles, the way you’d flutter your pretty eyes at him whenever he scolded you. 

He knew then, conclusively, that in order to deter you, he mustn’t embolden you. Mustn’t satisfy you with his anger or his reprimand, mustn’t indulge your kittenish efforts to provoke him. 

But he heard still your cloying cries ringing loud in his ears, the yelps he forced from your little throat each time he struck the soft, supple flesh of your rear. Still saw the way your skin rippled with the impact, the way your fine hairs stood on end after each lashing. The pretty purple marbling that formed in his handprint, swollen and red. The way your loose hair spread over your shoulders, knotting and picking up bits of straw from where you had landed. The way your toes curled when his touching shifted from punishment to exploration, when his fingertip felt the lips of your soaking pussy through the painfully thin cotton of your panties. 

Fuck. 

It would be far easier said than done. 

Would you get that wet, so wet, if he simply yelled at you? If he chased you once again off his property? If he berated you for helping yourself to his fruits? 

He glanced over his shoulder to where you had sat cross-armed and sulking, where your bare thighs had pressed against the leather of his truck seat. Wondered if your juices might have soaked through your knickers on the drive over, worsened by the bouncing of the truck trundling over raw dirt and loose stones. 

Instead, he was met with a little white handkerchief. Soft woven fabric, and as he tried to peel his eyes from the road to inspect it closer, he saw it was dotted with small and dainty flowers, pink and green. 

He recognised them, in a heartbeat; pulled his truck to a screeching halt and pulled up onto the grassy shoulder, next to the poplar windbreak that lined his fence. He reached over to snatch up the little white bundle, eyes squinting in disbelief as he felt the gentle fabric between his fingers, still warm from where it had been tight against your skin.

Unfurled them in his hands, and the air escaped his lungs in a jagged breath. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he growled hoarsely to himself, and he felt his scruples boil away, dissolving into steam.

Your panties. Left for him in the passenger seat like some salacious memento, a token to remind him of his depravity. Were you mocking him with them? 

He unconsciously rubbed the fabric in his fingers, finding the spot that sat flush with your cunt; still wet, cold in his hands, glistening with your syrup. He let out a defeated huff as he balled up the knickers in a tight fist, now powerless to the urge; raised your favour to his face and buried his nose in the bunched up fabric. 

The elasticated cotton was warm and soft on his skin, and he breathed in your scent deep and slow. It filled his chest and sinuses like smoke; your aroma was subtle, delectable, something utterly primal. The smell of sex and balsam, it made him grunt into the muffling fabric, made his thumping blood flood into his cock like the breaking of a damn.  

Might you taste as good as you smell, sweetheart? 

He scented you and his mouth watered like it was your cunt he was buried in, like the folds of the soft cotton brushing his skin were the petals of your pussy, and he wanted nothing more than to taste you. He grinded his palm against his length; rigid, twitching, straining in his trousers - tranced, he ripped at his button fly, shoving a hungry hand into his chequered boxers and taking his thick cock in a fist. 

His grip of his shaft was tight and hasty, he ran his fist up and down the length of it, rolling his foreskin over the sensitive head; to bring himself some reprieve, he told himself, to alleviate the ravening fury that pervaded him since you arrived at his doorstep. 

But the raucous thunder of an incoming truck knocked him quickly out of his delusion, and he swore at himself. Slammed the steering wheel with an exasperated palm. He resentfully tucked his throbbing cock back into his boxers, did up each of the labouring buttons of his fly, and adjusted himself in his seat as if he could ever find comfort. He stomped a frustrated boot into the accelerator and veered back onto the dirt road, faster than necessary, homeward bound once again. 

He stuffed your panties into his pocket, and rubbed his jaw with a rigid hand. Gritted his teeth for the entirety of the short drive home. 

Get a fucking grip.

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Superwoman AU So, I have been seeing a lot of Justice League Gender Bent art lately and couldn’t help but think that for characters like Wonder Woman and Batman it doesn’t really work for. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that the change is REALLY interesting for one core member in particular. Superman.

Given the kryptonian power set the change doesn’t affect the fighting much, but it does change workplace relationships and social aspects of the civilian ID a lot.

For example, Clara Kent would most likely have a rivalry with Lois that borders on antagonistic. Not at all helped by Clara getting scoops that should be damn near impossible. Sure, when Clara is still new at the paper she likely would act as a mentor figure. But that would change really quick if Clara starts beating Lois to scoops and stories.

Clark Kent's sweet and dorky behavior on a male reporter is cute and charming but on a female journalist that is just neon sign to take advantage of her.

Jimmy may be her only good friend but given her physique that is hindered by Jimmy probably developing a crush on her. Which seen him more like a younger brother type friend is not reciprocated.

Then there is villain gallery. Again, the ones where is find there hidden whatever and then a physical fight to win. That is pretty much the same.

No, the villains things are different with are the ones that like to outsmart and play mind games.

Aka Lex Luthor.

And in Lex’s case the major difference again is in the interactions with Clara the civilian ID.

My thinking here is that while Lex Hates Superman because he can’t see anyone being that altruistic with so much power and it must an act. He actually really likes Clark Kent the mild-mannered reporter who in Lex’s eyes overcame humble beginnings and became a self-made successful reporter.

In this AU with Clara that gets amplified. See in a few different versions Lex attempted date and, in some cases, actual got so far as nearly marrying Lois. The attraction was largely based on the fact that she was a driven woman who was climbing in a difficult industry. It is part of Lex psychology is his value of Humans overcoming things with intelligence and will. and the difference with this AU is Clara has the farm girls start as opposed to Lois typical city or military daughter origin depending on the version. In Lex's eyes, Clara is starting out from a disadvantage to Lois and rising up to be just as successful a writer. In short, a better example of something Lex values.

It is just too good not to explore. So, if we go ahead and have Lex take interest in Clara, it would only take a good conversation for her to know there is something is wrong. But what if during her crime fighting, she ran across something that the talk with Lex makes her think he may behind it. So instead of the immediate rejection she wanted, she agrees to go out with him for opportunity to investigate.

Lex is a narcissistic egotist, and in most versions his parents were not a good example of love. and in most versions his Idea of love is a bit more like conquest. (Yeah, warning now, this is not going to go down in a good way.) He is also smart and knows how to cover his tracks. I don't think it would take him long to realize that Clara is looking for something. Here comes the dark idea I had. What if he arranges things so that if Clara tried to expose his crime empire it would look like it tied back to her instead. This also gets used to keep her from leaving. and if this is far enough in the timeline where Lex already is keeping kryptonite in a lead box in his pocket, Clara has to keep her secret identity tightly held. which means she has to go along with this until she can figure out how to bring him to justice.

Unfortunately, Lex did too good a job and Clara needs help. She turns to Jimmy and Lois. at this point Lois has been an antagonistic rival, for sniping stories from her and seemingly to have gotten the most eligible bachelor in metropolis. But once Clara explains what actually has been going on, Lois' attitude changes and is all on board for taking down the rich creep. thus, this AU's beginning of their friendship.

(well this is where I am ending this initial post. I'll add on or do a part two later. @emacrow thanks for listening to the initial idea. this post is the continuation.)

[buckets-and-trees]

Talk

Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral (female receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

READ THE SEQUEL: FEEL

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[earthnashes]

Hello there! If I may ask about your oc Sakura, how did you go about conceptualizing her? Was there any characters or media that inspired her design? How did her character change to what it is now? Apologies for this many questions, feel free to choose just one when you have time; love your work!

Hello! You may indeed ask about my baby! 🥹

So for context, Feathers and Flowers' birthing concept was about a girl summoning a demon because she was lonely but too shy to make her own friends, so she concludes summoning a demon would somehow be easier. In that iteration of the story, Sakura was meant to be a side character; a friend to the main characters that acted as the ultimate foil to basically everyone around her. She combated Kaela's crippling anxiety by being confident and overwhelmingly outgoing, contrasted Evangeline's bossy, bitchy attitude with being kind and friendly, and be the opposite of Mal's stoic, silent character with being expressive and chatty. I also needed a character that could conveniently know enough about niche media to reasonably be able to help Kaela summon her demon in the first place, so I ended up making her a huge geek: she loved anime, video games, and had knowledge on obscure things... including occult summonings xD

So I worked off that idea to form her appearance. Again her core direction was to be a foil to all of the main cast: Kaela was short and soft. Evangeline was tall and thin. Mal was tal and hard. I wanted Sakura to be the biggest character, so she originally started started out compact and wide. Her face was what I started with: I wanted her to look somewhat like an anime character, and her inspiration was based off of the older episodes of Dragonball, Pokemon, Tenchi Muyo, Ranma, Inuyasha. I basically wanted her to have Goku vibes (his wide dark eyes, his big smile, his open and easy personality) but with Inuyasha's hairstyle (she originally had long hair).

But then the story changed; it wasn't about a demon being summoned in a silly slice-of-life story but a Spirit getting lost in a magical modern era, still very much slice of life.

That ultimately shifted Sakura's design into something more athletic; football specifically. I wanted her to keep her dorky traits but pair it with the popular star athlete trope, so she became leaner, taller, and more "top heavy". She also became more oblivious; she remained sweet and friendly and outgoing, but in turn she didn't understand when someone liked her. In fact she was later canonized to be asexual originally didn't have romance planned for her character.

Fastforward to now: the story of F&F has changed again. While the core remains mostly the same (found family), it ironically shifted into something much closer to one of the earlier concepts of the story; something more serious and not slice of life, something that focuses more on the good and bad of a world instead of being predominantly lighthearted. So with that change the characters had to get a tune-up to their characterizations. Sakura received the biggest change, I think.

Her core remains true: she's relentlessly kind, expressive, a dork. But I decided to make that her biggest strength and her biggest flaw, as well as making her loving personality be conflicted by how the world views her by changing her appearance. That's how we get current Sakura: she's kind, she's loving, she wants to help others. But people think she's a threat, a ticking timebomb, because of what she is. So her once open smile is now more manufactured, a wall to protect herself, a farce to try and make herself look less like a threat. She's now a pushover; she can't establish her boundaries without it being misinterpreted as being aggressive, so her coping mechanism is to grin and bear it. She can't get visiblt upset or angry, so she has to fight for calm to have even the smallest chance of being listened to. She's "nice" because it's all she's allowed to be.

Hence her appearance change! She is now the largest character in the main roster, the physically strongest. Her smile is now "tainted" by sabre teeth she can't hide, her size contradicts her gentle nature.

It's late for me so I'm sure I forgot a few things but that's what I got for now! If you're interested I could show older concept work of Sakura to illustrate how she looked then vs how she looks now too. But ye! Thank you so much for asking about my character! 🥹🙏

[lint-beetle4]

Okok hear me out...

Macaque...

Teasing with toys.....

HEAR ME OUT--

Endurance Training (Macaque x Reader Smut)

Anon, you goddamn genius

Macaque is a bit of an asshole

Anyone who's met the monkey for more than 5 minutes could tell you that

Even as you two were dating, Macaque's personality never changed--something you hold dear

He was an honest man, someone who refused to change

Macaque was snarky and full of bite--he didn't bow to anyone anymore

Before your relationship, he was on you like cat fur in black clothing, usually hiding in the corners of your vision

It turned less creepy and more endearing the way he made himself more obvious to you as you got closer

Of course, he was still rough, he didn't pull back verbal punches, and you wouldn't either

That's when he knew you were a special one, the way you reacted so well to him

You read him like a book, able to pull him away when he needed space, able to drag him back in when he was drifting too far

To him, you were his ocean, always following his presence with nothing more than instinct and grace

Macaque was more open to you, more comfortable in letting the roughness of his words become softer, vulnerable even

It was that openness that led you to quiver in front of him with vibrations running through your body

You were stuffed with anything but the monkey you needed and you knew it was just the beginning

"Now, now cherry blossom, you can handle a few minutes, can't you?"

You squirm against Macaque's shadow tendrils as he inserts yet another toy into you. Vibrations already shaking your core dangerously. You'd probably cuss him out, but he's already taken the precaution of gagging you with his cock.

You're not even sure how he didn't cum yet, but there was one rule between the two of you that was set before the night began.

"Remember, you don't cum until I tell you to."

There was a signal you could make to your lover if you were ever overwhelmed. Macaque seemed slightly afraid at the idea of gagging you, but if you moved your hand a certain way, Macaque would stop everything.

"There's no shame in tapping out, y'know?"

You're the type of person to go down with the ship, and if you lost to Macaque, you wouldn't hear the end of it. Instead, you bobbed your head against his dick, tongue swirling the head as you tried your hardest to win this little game.

Macaque hissed underneath you, pulling out of your mouth quickly with a slight glare. He tugged at your hair, eliciting a deep moan from your throat.

"You want to play that game, huh? Fucking slut."

Macaque's voice sent shivers through your core as he tore out a vibrator from you, ignoring the high-pitched yelp that escaped you. You were gently lowered onto a larger object, a dildo that stuffed you to the brim.

"If you want to get me off that much, the least you can do is give me a show." Macaque growled at you, leaning down to whisper a gentle, almost worried question. "Color?"

Green, you were green to the heavens, and if you stopped, you'd charge after your lover like no other demon had seen before. Macaque chuckled, shadows forcing your body to move.

"Then suck, and if you cum, we'll make this night go on as long as you need to be a proper bitch."

You obeyed, feeling your insides twist and turn as you clench onto the dildo while dutifully sucking off Macaque. You held back a smirk, knowing that the stone monkey was also reaching his limit. You sucked harshly, tongue running through the sides of his member, lapping up any precum that escaped him. You felt claws running through your hair, Macaque's voice rumbling with another deep, barely hidden moan.

You worked harder, sloppy noises drifting through the air as the dildo inside of you sent jolts of forbidden pleasure through you.

Macaque seemed to have enough of you, his claws digging into your hair as he thrusted into your throat with an animalistic growl. You moan against his cock, legs shaking as he used you like the arsenal of toys you had.

With a stifled groan, you felt his cum leak into your throat, forcing you to swallow the salty mixture.

Macaque pulled out of you, watching your love-struck face as you focused on fucking yourself into the dildo beneath you. Macaque pulled you gently, sliding the toy from out of you as he pulled you into a deep kiss.

You panted against him, feeling worn out and empty. Yet, the urge to cum was still igniting a stubborn flame in your body.

"What's that look for, my little sparrow?" Macaque smirked, fingers teasing your body as your hips jerked impatiently. "Surely, you can last a few more minutes?"

[bengals-barnesbabe]

FYS (Babe's Version)

Pair: FB! Joe Burrow x Black!Nurse Reader

Descr: Just the reader's view of the events in 'Fuck Your Status,' no major changes to the plot. But more insight on how she feels about their "relationship.” Also it doesn’t matter which one you read first :)

TW: MDNI 18+ | smut, protected sex, p-in-v, jealous and possessive traits, bratty behavior, drinking, self centered!Joe.

OG Version | Main Masterlist | SCS

WC: 1615

‿̩̥̩ ‿̩̩̥͙̽ ‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

You got Higgins’ text when you were sitting on the couch binge watching ‘Living Single’ with a glass bottle of wine. It was a simple, ‘come celebrate wit us’ text, but it meant so much more. It meant along with seeing one of your closest friends, Joe Burrow would be there. 

Ugh, just the thought of him made your core clench.

That name brought intense, lustful downright nasty flashbacks to your mind. It’s been a while since you hooked up, but all the memories are still there, engrained in your brain as some of the best fucking sex you’ve ever had. 

Walking into your closet, you knew there was only one choice for tonight. Joe’s already seen most of your party dresses, so the new lacy black skintight dress that you got at the mall last week was the winner. It fit like it was painted onto your body, and the low v-neck did wonders for your rack. You paired it with black red bottom pumps and a glossy red lip. Then rubbed some shimmery body butter into your skin. Spritzing yourself with a sweet musky Arabian perfume, you were smug looking at yourself in the floor-length mirror.

Your hair was already done, so you just took it down from the bun you had it in a few hours ago for work. Today was one of the rare days that your supervisor sent you home because of a scheduling error and you were not complaining. 

Since the dress you were wearing didn’t require a bra, you just switched out your boy shorts for a pair of lace panties that matched your dress. Not that they’d last very long.

Drinks plus you and Joe meant they wouldn’t stand a chance, they’d either get too wet or he’d tear them off. You didn’t mind either, he’d be paying for new ones if he wanted to keep this little arrangement up.

Since black was already the night’s theme, you picked out a cute little clutch to go with the fit- not forgetting to slip some protection in there as well. It’s that kind of night, there’s no shame whatsoever. It’s time to have some fun.

You beeline straight for the bar once you get past the bouncer. Being friends with the starters has its perks. 

Apparently, because they won a big game all the drinks were based on the Bengals. Which made sense, if you were into that type of thing, which you aren’t.

You asked the bartender for something fruity but strong, with a non-medicinal cherry flavor. You didn't need much after the half empty bottle of red wine you left at home. Your drink was delivered at the exact moment you locked eyes with him. It was like he was your prey, when by the end of the hour it’d definitely be the other way around. 

A flirty smirk pulled at your features and you held the drink up. He copied your gesture and knocked back the entire glass.

You took this time to admire his casual fit, like most guys here he keeps it simple. Dark jeans, plain white tee, a jacket and probably a nice pair of sneakers- maybe even Jordans. But the thing about Joe is it doesn’t matter what he walks in with, his aura is unreal. He always has a pair of glasses on, and his face card never declines- unless he’s mid throw.

Don’t get started about his legs, you could shiver just thinking about his meaty thighs and how good they feel rubbing against your pussy. He’s fucking different alright. If he took off the damn jacket you’d just drool at his arms all day and his fingers- its getting really hot in here. 

You left the bar and found an empty restroom that luckily only had one stall. Leaning your arms on the sink you chuckle at the mess you started, but have no desire to finish. 

Has it really been that damn long since he was inside you? Yes.

Are you about to lure him into this nasty ass bathroom? Hell yea.

You slide the lingerie down your legs and let out a sigh as the cool air blew over your wet folds. The crotch of the panties is soaked all the way through, you should feel ashamed for letting him affect you this strongly, but you don’t. 

Your close friends that aren’t Bengals, think you’re just using his fame to get free shit out of him. Sometimes you let them think that, because the truth is much worse.

You went from not needing a man for anything to needing him in order to relax. You were always the type of person that took their work home with them and after your last breakup, that work consumed you. Somehow hooking up with him allowed you to reach deep and lose yourself in the immense pleasure he was giving you. He could make you forget about all the horrors of nursing, being the first-born daughter, and all of the other anxieties you faced. It truly was some magical dick.

You swapped the panties for your phone and dropped the lace in your bag on the floor. Then shot him a quick text. 

To: JB🤤

Miss me

Like always, the short thread consisted of him being a dick and you teasing the shit outta him, actively trying to piss him off. By the end you give him your location and prepare to relinquish all control to him.

Thankfully you didn’t have to wait long, as soon as you heard that strong knock you pulled him in. You were very pleased to see he did in fact abandon the jacket, the veins on his arms presenting themselves beautifully on his ivory skin. Looking up you smirk at his inability to bring his usually cocky self back at the moment.

“I did not invite you here so you could just stare at me. That’s what Instagram’s for. I already know how fine I look, Higgins beat you to it.” 

The quarterback’s eyes finally meet yours and you feel flutters in your stomach as he stalks up to you. You bite your lip as he traps you between his body and the porcelain sink. His big hands clutch your waist and his mouth leans down to the shell of your ear. “If I hear his name come out of your mouth one more time, I’ll make you choke on it.” 

Your eyes flutter closed at his husky voice, knees threaten to lock up and give way to gravity if he didn't already have you in his grasp. Your hands clench on the sink as you begin to regret taking off your underwear so soon. All you can feel is the heat radiating from his body and the slick threatening to drip down your thighs.

A dark chuckle snaps your eyes open. “Not so talkative now are you? Now who’d you wear this dress for?” 

You take deep breaths to calm yourself. “No one- myself.” It doesn’t work.

He took a step back and tsked. “Yea I don’t think so.” Suddenly he’s manhandling you around to face the mirror. You stare at his reflection and his hands fondle your hips then drag your ass against his hard bulge. 

Not helping my own arousal at all. 

“Joey!” 

If only he’d just move his hands down.

He smirks at your complacent figure and palms your ass. Well it’s a start.

“Just tell me the truth, did you wear this-

His smirk turns into a clenched jaw as his eyes darken. You look up at him through your lashes in the mirror.

You let out a silent laugh as the dress is pushed up, now his breathing is getting harder. “Where are your damn panties?” He grumbles.

You lean over the side of the sink and retrieve the lace from your purse and wave them in his face. “You mean these? I got tired of them.” He caught them as you threw them at him and hesitated for a second before pocketing them.

“You’re just asking to be punished aren’t you?”

Yes, precisely.

“You must really want someone to find us here.”

Fuck public exhibition sounds hot as fuck.

“Wanna get caught fucking Cincinnati’s best quarterback?”

You scoff rolling your eyes and lift up your arms. “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your damn status.”

Got me fucked up.

“Then why are you here?” He chuckles, shoving me back down. Rude. At least he’s starting to get rid of those jeans.

“So I could get fucked in the bathroom of a club by Cincinnati’s nerdiest white boy.” You say locking eyes with his reflection. “That’s your real status.”

The boy I see after getting fucking tens ways to Sunday. 

“Well you’re right about one thing.” He groans.

While your body covers most of his groin, you can tell he’s stroking himself by the way his veins flex and turn. You grab a condom from your bag and hold it out to him. Biting your lip to suppress the moan in your chest as he rips it open with his teeth.

“I’m always right.” You tease wiggling your ass as against his length.

He rolls his eyes and lays a smack against your cheek. “Ow!” You gasp in surprise. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He warns rubbing the tender muscle then kicks your legs apart. 

“Make me.” Mischief shines in your glare while repeating the motions with your hips, shaking the fat on him some more.

He humors you for a bit before halting your movements with a strong hand. “Gladly.” 

“Ahh.” You moan when his finger spreads your slick over your clit and cunt. Looking up at him, you feel him replace it with something much thicker. “Wait.”

His grip on your hips deepens as his cock impales you. “Fuck.”

So fucking worth it.

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

A/n: so which one did you prefer??

OG version or Babe’s Version

Edit: there were so many grammar errors in that, whoops.

[lunarcloak]

Blue Lock Chapter 262: Visual Storytelling

Can we talk about the visual imagery this chapter?? Kaneshiro is always cooking but Nomura cooked extra hard this time with his own illustrative storytelling

An almost entirely white panel. Except for the black spot of Kaiser's hunched figure. Almost as if he's the stain on an otherwise perfect game from BM right now. (He's thrown off balance.)

Here, in the first picture, this is Isagi's view of where Kaiser is right now. On top of a puzzle piece— a symbol of Isagi's power, and also a symbol of how off kilter he is. The second picture is part of a larger paneling of how he's being left on the ground as Isagi runs past him in a flurry of puzzle pieces. Almost as if Isagi's kicking the pieces of his perfect puzzle astray, leaving him to rebuild them from scratch. (The theme of this chapter.)

You can tell he's only barely listening. Eyes are always a huge indicator of visual storytelling— i picked this up from looking at BSD panels for too long. Here there's virtually no pupils, smaller, wider eyeballs because he's not listening to Ness's words. They're going in one ear out the other. Because Ness's words are superficial— He's trying to help, he is, but that is desperately NOT what Kaiser needs right now. He needs to figure out how to FIX this. Not to retreat back into the safety of his cocoon so that he can pretend he's still the star on the field.

NOTICE HOW EVERYTHING IN THE SECOND PANEL CAN DIRECTLY BE RELATED TO ISAGI. The offer from Reale— what if Yoichi gets it instead of me? The throne in this team— what if Isagi takes that, too? Am I about to lose everything I worked to get myself? The whole world is watching my worst performance in years. I can't lose here. I can't be defeated here. Not here, of all places, in Blue Lock.

Negative colouring. The previous, prominent memory I have of this is when Rin went to his "flow" state. It's specifically to emphasise the "HUMAN" wording. It's usually used to showcase a very prominent moment, in this case it's Kaiser realising exactly what the core of his worry is right now. It isn't the defeat, not beating Isagi, not anything. At the moment, he's afraid of losing the very humanity he had thought he clawed himself into. To emphasise this, the black and white being reversed are to indicate that time almost freezes, completely changing his perspective and line of thought at that moment.

Less dramatic, still negatively scaled panel. Emphasising how he's really digging into his psyche here and going "Oh, I'm scared. I'm afraid of losing everything I've got for myself." The last time this happened was when his secret money stash was found— he didn't care as much then, because there was nothing to lose that he hadn't already lost. But now? Now, it matters a lot more. Because he's built himself up on an entirely shaky foundation. Note how he's also sliding below here, losing his footing, like he's lost the stable ground he thought he had.

The angle of this panel makes it look like he's climbing upwards, and he's just lost his grip on the wall before him, and is in the process of falling. It's extremely well done.

Plenty people have already pointed this one out— yeah Isagi's just reached a height that's similar to Noa's. The position Kaiser thought he used to have, but now he's not even on the staircase to victory and the treasure he thought he would attain soon is now inching towards his most challenging rival to date.

You will never see him this tired, this defeated, or this melancholic ever again. At this point, his eyes are no longer that wide, shocked stare of not seeing. Now he's comprehended his stance, and he's come back into himself.

Each petal is a memory, a visual representation of the crumbling of the rose he once held. It's gone now, there's no rose in his hand anymore (nothing for him to hold onto anymore). When you have no roses in hand, you grow a new bouquet. When you have nothing, there's nothing to lose if you go reaching for something to hold onto again.

But HERE, the petals can be interpreted in two ways— either he's being reformed from the petals of a new rose (blank petals, not representative ones). OR, you can interpret it as those very petals dissipating from his being, leaving him as this black, blank slate to rebuild himself. Zero— as in no colour, no petals, no gardens to flourish anymore. Only way to move now is up.

Also I'd like to draw your attention to the negative paneling again— inverted this time, the exact opposite of the previously conveyed emotion. Now he's the one in the black, working to redefine himself. He's already redefined the external aspects.

Your Zero— Your Beginning. I LOVE this page, even if it's a repeat. It conveys so much. Kaneshiro and Nomura are such a GOOD TEAM

A black hand clasps around the core memory— the memory of when he truly had only his football. He can't let that petal float away, that's one he wants to keep. That's the idea he wants to hold onto. He crushes the petal into his hand, assimilating it into his new beginning. That's the one he'll hold onto, to recraft the person that is Michael Kaiser.

[rubberduckyrye]

You know I've seen quite a few people say they're wanting to make v3 rewrites lately--and as someone who is actively working on one by myself, I feel like I should give some advice. I know I'm nowhere NEAR done with Twins AU, but I've made a ridiculous amount of progress and I think these things have greatly helped me out personally

So here are my tips for making a V3 rewrite and actually making it stick/not to burn out before the first chapter!

This is important. Don't try to please everyone. You will never please everyone. Write this for yourself, and you will find an audience. People can and will hate your fic no matter what you do. Don't try to please them, they are not your target audience-- so Write this story for, first and foremost, yourself. It'll feel so much more rewarding if you do I promise.

V3's main theme is extremely muddied due to how the narrative was and how open ended the game was left, and from my own research, no one can agree on what V3 was trying to say about truth and lies, or Reality and Fiction. If you want to rewrite this story, you're going to need to narrow down what you want your rewrite to say about the themes presented.

PLAN THE EVIDENCE AND MURDERS AS THOROUGHLY AS YOU CAN. I think not knowing what I was going to do for the cases and trials really scared me for the longest time until I essentially sat myself down and fleshed out all of the cases for Twins AU. Make evidence lists, do research on how your murder cases might go, the works. It's a lot of work but I personally followed this post and also made an evidence list to help me out plot out the murders for Twins AU. This is also a great way to flesh out your protagonist as well, since you get to explore their note-taking style and what kind of language they'd use for taking notes and if they have opinions about certain things.

Write a summary of each character in the story. DR games have a big cast and V3 has an even BIGGER cast than usual, so it's good to write down summaries for all of the characters. I also suggest really studying each character too, even if you plan on changing a character to better suit your tastes (or to get rid of offensive material.... looking at you Angie) you still want to keep the core of their character intact for fans of that character.

Speaking of characters, make sure to try and remember to write each one as a human being, even if they aren't human (Kiibo for example). Develop them, give them quirks and flaws, motivations and wants and desires and dreams. Even if you hate a character, doing this much character study will help you keep them in character and keep their motivations reasonable and understandable.

If you don't have a good grasp on a character, study harder. Don't go looking for other people's interpretations or try to be a crowd pleaser. Make your own interpretation, and that interpretation becomes special to your rewrite.

If you plan on changing a character, for the love of GOD do your research first. Don't go accidentally making Angie into a worse racist caricature of Pacific Islanders Please and Thank You. Actually, just do a ton of research in subject you think might be relevant to a character or the plot--like Gonta and how ableism prevails in his story. Like how Shuichi has anxiety up the wazoo and how Maki has learned helplessness. Study and research hard.

Pace yourself--I don't think people realize how GIANT a V3 rewrite project is--remember that this game is extremely long and you cannot write this in a single month. Once all of your planning is done, write a reasonable amount for it each day. For me, I'm able to crank out 2k a day because I type absurdly fast, but most people would probably want to start at maybe 500 words a day.

If you're not having fun, step back. You might be burnt out and need a break, or maybe the scene you're writing is just not working. Take time to assess your own feelings and do what is appropriate to resolve them.

Don't feel too discouraged if you need to rewrite a whole scene--it happens to the best of us and sometimes things are just not working. It's not lost progress to retry--consider the scene you are replacing as a rough draft you need to remake. I've had to erase huge 1k chunks due to this.

Reward yourself for big accomplishments! When I finished the prologue, I threw myself and my editor ( @trans-shuichisaihara ) a pizza party, and I plan on doing something like that again, albeit probably cheaper. Reward yourself for huge milestones! Hell, I owe myself at least one treat for two chapters I've written, but tbh I've been having so much fun just writing that doing so is rewarding within itself. That doesn't mean external factors can't help, so if you finish a chapter and you're proud of it, buy yourself a treat for working so hard!

If you got a friend who likes editing/beta reading, invite them to beta read for you! They can help you find errors and typos that you might've missed. If you plan on editing your fic, I highly recommend reading your writing out loud to help you find weird sentence structures and awkward phrases. This should have the bonus of making it easier for people who use screen readers/just prefer audiobooks to enjoy your fic as well!

EDIT! Here are two more:

It's okay to be scared writing something new! Getting out of your comfort zone is going to happen with a giant story like this, and maybe you're going to flop at the best parts. That's perfectly fine!!! You can always edit it later--or even just call it "good enough" and move on! This is fanfic for fun, not a professional project you're making money off of. It's okay if things are less than ideal and incredible imperfect. An imperfect story is at least written. That's better than not writing it at all.

For the love of everything that is holy, remember that the characters should be people--and remember that their talents do not make up their entire personality. Their talents should not solely dictate what they wear, how they act, or the worst offender in this fandom--how their executions go. When writing a character Execution, think instead of what would be the worst way for that character to die--that is to say, what would bring them the most despair upon their death. DR1 and DRV3's executions all play with the despair of the blackened in each execution (with DR2 being noted to heavily miss the mark and to be the set of executions that are the most disappointing to Kodaka, from what I've been told.) So if you're stuck on writing a new Execution, try to think about what each execution from DR1 and DRV3 does to play with the despair of the blackened. What about their executions are giving them despair in their final moments? Do they at all relate to their talents, or are they completely separate from their talent? Study them, and you'll be able to use that information to write your own unique executions that are miles better than most of the fan made executions out there.

And I think that's my advice for now! Happy writing, everyone!

[fineghkst]

Cards

summary: azriel shows you exactly what you will miss if you break up with him.

warnings: minors don’t interact (only 18+); smut; break up sex; oral receiving; shadow play

english if not my first language so let me know if you find any mistakes

It has been hours since you decided to break up with Azriel. When you finally said the words to the spymaster and he looked at you with an indescribable expression.

Things between you weren't going so well lately. He was absent, always busy with the missions Rhysand sent him. Azriel suddenly didn’t have more time for you. He wasn’t there at your birthday, wasn’t with you when you finally beat Cassian at during a competition of a card game you were addicted to and, of course, he forgot about your anniversary.

You tried to understand that he was working too much, tried to talk to Azriel and solve everything, but it wasn’t enough. Even if you didn’t want to let him go, you couldn’t date someone who practically wasn’t a part of your life anymore.

So you ended it and felt your heart explode in a million pieces while you stared at his expression turn into something desperate. He’s eyes becoming more tired than you thought it was possible, like his pain were leaking from them.

Countless thoughts crossed your mind before finally talking to him. What would be his reaction? How would you act around each other after the break up? Would he fight for you?

None of them came close to guessing this would happen.

After the discussion you started, with him questioning what he could possibly do to change your mind, he found himself defeated. You had made your decision.

Of course, the attraction you felt for Azriel always seemed to overcome barriers of logic. At some point a thought passed through your mind that maybe you could be mates, but the bond never snapped.

To be honest, if someone asked how Azriel ended between your legs, you wouldn’t know how to explain.

Even with a concrete decision made, of course Azriel would play dirty, showing exactly what you’d miss if you weren’t together.

— Are you enjoying this, love? — Azriel said, finally stopping his tongue from moving on your core. He had his arms around your legs, holding you open for him — I hope you are, because this is the last time you will ever feel me.

A senseless moan left your mouth, disapproving that he stopped to eat your pussy and was talking such things.

Azriel laughed, leaving a small hickey on your tights.

— Hm… since you made your mind and there’s nothing to convince you to come back to me, I bet you thought about this part, right? Never touching me again…

His shadows started to surround your skin, lightly stroking your legs like a ghost touch.

— Never feeling my shadows playing with you… — You whimpered with the thought. No one would ever know how to touch you like he does. — What’s wrong, love? Didn’t you prepare yourself for that?

Azriel moved away from your legs and the shadows grabbed them, replacing Azriel’s hands. He stared at you with something… primal in his eyes. His huge wings half opened and his defined muscles showing. Cauldron, Azriel was so beautiful that you felt like your brain was severely damaged to even think about breaking up with him.

— If you don’t want me anymore, why you’re so wet? Why did you agree so fast to have a last fuck with me? — The spymaster said, still staring you while his shadows begun to stimulate your clit. You could see the possessiveness in his look.

— Azriel… please — A moan escaped your mouth.

— Please what, love?

— Just… just fuck me.

— Why should I do that? — He chuckled.

— I need you, Az. Please. I don’t want to leave you.

— So you’re changing your mind this quick? But you looked so committed to your decision earlier… that’s a shame.

His shadows accelerated the movements, taking you to heaven and back. You were so close to having an orgasm that it was impossible to form a congruent thought.

— S-stop punishing me. — You whined

— Again, I don’t see any reason to — Azriel had a smirk on his face. He was playing with you until you become completely desperate for him, with your brain almost completely empty and the only thing left was his name.

Azriel was succeeding in his goal and he knew it.

— Unless you give me one good reason, love — The smirk turned into a grin. Azriel keep observing his shadows stimulating you, which were moving faster now — Because, honestly, you don’t deserve to have me inside you.

You tried to reply, but it was too much. His shadows were taking you beyond your limits, slithering against your clit. Only incoherent moans left your mouth. It didn’t take long for finally reaching an orgasm.

Azriel never had let you cum with his shadows, he always stopped them and ended the job himself. However, today, the spymaster were playing all his cards, showing exactly how much pleasure he could give you.

Even if Azriel still wearing his pants, you could see the huge painful bonner he had. But he kept his distance, watching you squirm with his fierce eyes. Anyone could say how much he was craving for you, how he wanted to fuck you senseless.

— So… do you have a good argument for me, love?

— I-I…

— I’m listening.

— I just want to feel like you truly desire me, Az — You confessed, trying to normalize your breathing. The shadows loosen the grip around your thighs.

Azriel stared at you, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

— What to you mean, love? You really think I don’t want you?

— You barely have time for me, for us. I understand you’re working a lot since the end of the war with Hybern, but I need you to see me, Az. — You pulled the sheets, covering your body.

— I’m sorry, love. — He said, finally breaking the distance between you two and supporting his arms between your body, firming his hands on the sheets. Azriel’s face was so close from yours, allowing you to feel his breath against it — I didn’t realize I was making you feel like this. But I need to be clear: I will always want you and see you. I desire, crave for you so hard that sometimes I can swear I’m going insane. Let me prove it that I’m mean it, princess.

Giving him a small hesitant nod, feeling your insecurities dissipate slowly, Azriel kissed you deeply as his hands took the sheets away from your body, letting you complete exposed to him. His hard cock was pressing against your bare pussy, making you grind. It was impossible not to moan considering how sensitive you were after the orgasm.

— No, princess. Don’t be greedy. — Azriel said, moving away to finally unbutton his pants.

His hard cock jumped out and he didn’t think twice before claiming your mouth again, feeling you whimpering against his tongue while his fingers touched your nipples. With the other hand, Azriel held his cock and pushed inside you.

— Fuck, you always take me so well, princess. — He groaned, increasing his pace — You have no idea how much I missed to feel you around my cock.

He put his shadows back in action, making them play with your nipples. Azriel pinned your wrists beyond your head with one hand, while the other got down to your clit.

— Az — You moaned loud.

— You love when my shadows tease you like that, don’t you? — Your walls started to clutch around his cock. Azriel growled, thrusting deeply — Maybe I let they play with you more from now.

You squirmed with the idea of feeling them guiding you through pleasure.

— Remember, love. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this. — He whispered, approaching his mouth to your ear — And you’re only mine.

Azriel kept moving inside you until you finally felt a wave of pleasure dominate your body. The spymaster didn’t take long to cum inside you, filling your inside.

He stood in and looked to your eyes, both of you breathless.

— I love you. And I’m truly sorry I made you doubt about my feelings — Azriel said, stroking your hair gently as his shadows retreated, caressing your skin before disappearing. The spymaster moved away, giving a small kiss at your forehead.

— I love you too, Az. — You said — I’m sorry I broke up with you. And just to make clear, I don’t want to.

— I deserved it and I’m relieved to know you changed your mind. — Azriel got up and disappeared through the door for a few minutes, coming back with a towel to clean you up. — I won’t let work getting between us anymore, I’m talking to Rhysand tomorrow. He must find a way to solve everything without me.

Azriel lifted the sheets, covering both of you and pushed you to his chest, stroking your hair until you fell asleep.