#without breaking the membrane

[theskella]

With the back of a spoon if I happen to have one in use and I am only cracking one.

can u guys rb this n add how you crack your eggs in the tags? i thought cracking them in the sinks’s edge is universal until i saw my friend cracking an egg on the counter instead and it was so pervese and diabolical

[cecils-dragons]

:] yay got my halloween egg for this year! Gonna keep scavenging in plague so maybe I can get two!

[fandyjam]

quick shitty mspaint doodles of my jam hand headcanons. handcanons?

[short-and-ugly]

dib is so. gosh.

doesnt even care!!! that this is his one night out to see his dad!!!!! and eat dinner!!!!!! and be a family!!!!!! too busy chasing his dream of being a paranormal investigator! too invested in hunting the alien!!!!!

i think he should die and not come back maybe. (unapologetic florpus dib enthusiast)

[headspace-hotel]

After retting the kudzu fibers, it is difficult to get the peeled sections to separate into the fine fibers one needs for spinning, but I think I figured out the secret today, by putting the pile of fibers underneath a forceful torrent of water pouring off the roof of a building in the rain. The pounding of the water seemed to make the fibers separate without breaking them and produce thin threads that could be spun.

So now the process is: Gather green kudzu vines less than one year old (with spongy pith in the middle, not woody tissue). Remove leaves and boil the vines in a pot. Enclose the boiled vines in a bag and cover them in plant material such as leaves, grass, seed pods etc. that is starting to decompose. Get the contents of the bag wet, close it tightly and leave it in a warm place for five days exactly. Remove after five days when the vines are moldy and slimy. Go someplace with running water and run each vine between your fingers, squishing out the rotten pith and rubbing off the slimy outer bark, so the thin membrane-like layer containing the fibers peels away from the semi-woody, straw-like layer surrounding the pith. Separate the thin, translucent silky strips from the woody straw-like strips. Wash and rinse the silky strips some more. Let them dry, rinse them again. Lay them out underneath forceful falling water or other high pressure jet of water, turning and rotating them in different directions every few minutes. Peel apart the fibers by sliding your fingers along the strips while they're wet.

This video shows a very similar process that I have been following to create this process

Haven't started spinning yet but I suspect the fibers will need to be spun wet.

If heavy rain and an ill-conceived drain spout isn't available, I wonder if a dishwasher would do the trick.

[whispering-about-the-tmnt]

Some headcanons regarding TMNT physiology

Over the years, I have come up with some headcanons regarding how I believe the Ninja Turtles' bodies work. I thought that perhaps it might be nice to finally share them with all of you.

These don't apply to all the iterations, of course, but they are pretty well universal in my mind, and I tend to incorporate most of them into my fanfics.

The Turtles (like leatherback sea turtles, echidnas, and some dinosaurs) are mesotherms, meaning they are neither warm nor cold blooded. They are, instead, in a middle-ground: they internally generate heat, but not to a constant temperature. In the Turtles' case, they will shiver when cold, and their bodies will not shut down right away when the temperature dips too low, though they may lose some energy and find it hard to concentrate.

Unlike many other modern reptiles and amphibians, who have a three-chambered heart, the Turtles have four-chambered hearts (like mammals and dinosaurs) that are larger and stronger than average human hearts and located at the center of their chests.

While the average human blood capacity is around five liters, the Turtles have about seven. Much of the blood flows under the shell -- a remnant of their lives as ordinary turtles, whose own blood does so in order to warm them when they bask. This means that the Turtles could lose close to three liters of blood before dying, while a human would only be able to lose two.

Their blood is also highly efficient at clotting, but that also means that storing blood for transfusions is difficult, and so must be directly transfused from one turtle to another in emergency situations.

Owing to their extensive circulatory system, they also have a larger lung capacity than humans and more oxygen-rich blood, and so are able to hold their breath for extended periods of time without adverse effects. Other than this, the Turtles' respiratory system is very much like humans', utilizing a diaphragm to inflate and deflate their lungs.

Like regular turtles, they do not have ribs, but rather their carapaces and plastrons serve that purpose, and they have muscles under their shells that keep their internal organs right where they belong.

Also like regular turtles, their spines curve along the insides of their shells. A direct hit on the center of their shells, then, could cause damage to their spinal column and nervous system, but fortunately their vertebral shields offer a fair amount of protection, so it would take quite an impact.

The Turtles are highly resistant to most infections and diseases, which increases their immunological responses. They do not get sick easily, and they recover quickly.

While their scales are not apparent, they are integrated into their skin, making it tougher than human skin. It takes a very hard hit to raise a bruise, and it is difficult to cut through without a very sharp or pointed blade.

Their bones are similar to humans, but are more resistant to breaking. They also heal quicker and stronger if they are broken.

Their muscles are also very close to human-like, but they are stronger than an average human due to compensating for the extra weight they carry in their shells. Because of this, their ligaments and tendons are also tougher, and it is difficult for them to have a joint dislocated.

Their sense of smell is more acute than humans, but not to an extreme degree. They are also not as bothered by foul smells (though this has more to do with living in a sewer than their physiology).

Their eyes are a bit tougher and more resistant to damage than human eyes due to a protective membrane that covers them. They see a bit better than humans in dark places and underwater.

Their hearing is somewhat more attuned to lower frequencies than human hearing, and is not dependent on external ears but rather an internal auditory system (making direct damage to their hearing unlikely).

They are capable of being knocked unconscious, but it takes a significant impact. Permanent or lingering damage to their brains is unlikely due to their structure, and so they also do not tend to suffer the same side-effects that humans would in the same circumstances (nausea, memory loss, etc.).

Although their nutritional needs are similar to humans, they do not need to eat every day, and in fact can get by quite well without food for a week if necessary (though they won't enjoy it). When food is readily available, however, they will eat as much as possible to store up energy. Their metabolism does not slow down when they do not eat, so overexerting themselves when they haven't had any food for a while can burn them out suddenly.

Their sleep schedules are much like most diurnal animals, though they are able to stay awake for extended periods of time and can get by on little sleep, if necessary. There have been times when they have been awake for days on end, getting by on short one hour naps here and there. In general, though, they like to have a regular sleep/wake cycle.

Like other reptiles, the Turtles never stop growing throughout their lifetimes; however their growth is slow, topping off at about 1-2 inches every five years.

Does anyone have anything they would like to add to the list? I actually had fun compiling it!

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: Wrapped in Azriel’s Wings

The evening air was cool, and the twilight sky was painted in hues of pink and purple as the Night Court settled into a tranquil hush. The estate was bustling with activity as the celebrations for a recent victory continued, a lively affair filled with laughter and music. But amidst the festivities, you found yourself feeling a bit overwhelmed, the noise and crowds pressing in on you.

Azriel, ever perceptive to your moods, had noticed your discomfort. His keen instincts and deep connection to you made him acutely aware of when you needed solace. As the evening wore on, he gently guided you away from the crowded hall, leading you toward a quieter, more secluded corner of the estate.

The space was adorned with soft, glowing lanterns and the gentle rustle of leaves, creating an almost magical ambiance. Azriel’s protective nature was evident as he swept you into his arms, his wings unfurling behind him like a dark, comforting shield. His gaze was intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke of his deep affection for you.

“I thought you might need a break,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing. “It’s a lot to take in, and I don’t want you feeling overwhelmed.”

You looked up at him, gratitude and love shining in your violet eyes. “Thank you, Azriel. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to process everything.”

He nodded, understanding fully. “I know. And I’m here to make sure you’re safe and comfortable.”

Without another word, Azriel enveloped you in his wings. The motion was smooth and deliberate, his wings folding around you with a tender, almost primal protectiveness. It was as if he was creating a cocoon, a private sanctuary where you could escape the world’s demands and simply be with him.

The warmth and softness of his membranes cocooned you, creating a snug, secure space. You could feel the gentle hum of his power, the steady beat of his heart as he held you close. The world outside seemed to fade away, the muffled sounds of the celebration becoming distant echoes.

“Better?” Azriel asked softly, his voice coming from the depths of the comforting darkness created by his wings.

You snuggled closer to him, feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and affection. “Much better,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the fabric of his shirt where it met your cheek. “Thank you for this.”

Azriel’s breath hitched slightly at the touch, his protective instincts flaring even more. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that resonated with the sincerity of his words. “I don’t want you to ever feel alone or exposed.”

The bond between you pulsed with warmth and connection, a silent affirmation of the love and trust that you shared. Azriel’s wings tightened slightly around you, a gesture of reassurance and devotion. He rested his chin on top of your head, the soft whisper of his breath brushing against your hair.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with heartfelt emotion. “You make me feel so safe.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his wings forming a snug embrace that made you feel utterly cherished. “I love you too,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re my everything. And I’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

The minutes passed in peaceful silence, the warmth of his wings and the rhythmic sound of his breathing creating a serene cocoon around you. You felt the tension and anxiety melt away, replaced by a profound sense of calm and contentment.

As the evening continued outside, you remained wrapped in the safety of Azriel’s wings. His primal instincts as an Illyrian male were evident in the way he held you, his protective nature a testament to the deep bond you shared. In that intimate space, you felt truly at home, surrounded by love and security.

When you finally emerged from the cocoon, the world seemed a little less daunting, the night’s festivities a backdrop to the profound connection you and Azriel shared. You looked up at him, your eyes shining with appreciation and affection.

“Ready to head back?” he asked, his gaze warm and inviting.

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of strength and tranquility. “Yes. Thank you for this.”

Azriel’s smile was both gentle and fierce, his pride in you evident. “Anytime,” he said, taking your hand and leading you back toward the celebration. “I’m always here for you.”

As you rejoined the festivities, you felt a renewed sense of belonging and confidence, knowing that with Azriel by your side, you were never alone. His wings had been a shield, a sanctuary, and a symbol of his unwavering devotion, and you carried that warmth and protection with you into the night.

[azsazz]

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

_________________________________________

“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan. 

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter. 

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace. 

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think? 

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.” 

You can’t disagree with that. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up. 

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp. 

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly. 

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home. 

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

read this post by @bitethedevil and ended up writing this idk don't take it too serious

Read on AO3

-

Tav's fingers skittered over the red skin of Raphael’s naked back. It was always hot to the touch and smooth, its texture almost like leather. Patches of tiny scales grouped together in different spots, especially around the big joints connecting his wings to his body. Raphael fascinated Tav - not quite in the same way she fascinated him, but they were birds of a feather, so to speak. In fact...

"I've been wondering about something," she said, breaking the sleepy silence that had settled between them some time ago.

"Mm?" Raphael was utterly relaxed, the laziest Tav had ever seen him. On his belly in his (their!) bed, shirtless and shoeless - the scandal! He'd been enjoying her aimless touches. His Majesty, indeed.

"Can you fly?" She ran her palm across the thin membrane of wing she could reach, then the sturdy bone. "You've got these huge wings, but I've never seen you use them." She'd witnessed them fully stretched out once or twice, but otherwise he always kept them folded close to his body. A shame. They were magnificent. Heavy as anything, though - especially when he was dead asleep. Tav had almost been suffocated a few times trying to spoon him, and he refused to sleep in his human glamour just to let her be the big spoon. Waste of magic, he said. Spoilsport.

"What an inane question." Raphael didn't even open his eyes. "Of course I can. My wings are not for show, little mouse. No more so than a bird's are."

"Well..." Tav chose her next words carefully. She'd learned through trial and error how much she could prod her devil and when. Most of the time he was amenable to light teasing, but sometimes, when he was in a good mood like this, she could have some fun. "There are some birds out there who have wings but can't fly, you know. Peacocks, for example. They're kind of like big chickens, if you think about it."

Raphael slowly lifted his head, turned it so he could look at her over his shoulder. Tav bit her tongue in a futile attempt to squash her impish grin. His orange iris burned in the inky depths of his black sclera. A few locks of his hair were free from his usual coiff.

"Big chickens," he repeated flatly.

"Yes," said Tav, her voice strangled by the giggle she was trying to suppress. "How do I know you aren't an infernal peacock?"

"I can fly, you insipid little gibbon," he snapped, but he wasn't angry. She could tell by the twitching at the corners of his lovely mouth. Tav coughed, choked on a laugh.

"I think you should show me."

"Do you."

"For posterity's sake, of course."

"Of course."

Tav waited, watched, moved to make space for Raphael as he sat up, languidly stretching like a big cat. Accidentally whacking her with those wings she was so obsessed with.

"Apologies, dear," he drawled, about as sorry as a horny kobold in a bathhouse. He smiled when she scowled. He stood to his full height, preening as she ogled him. In nothing but a pair of trousers, he truly was a sight. Without warning he beat his mighty wings and took off, soaring across the room to land on the other side, where he nonchalantly poured himself a glass of wine. Tav spluttered in the wake of that massive gust of air. Raphael sipped his wine, staring at her as if to say, "well?"

"Good distance! You looked a little wobbly with your execution, though," Tav said. It wasn't true. He was majestic in flight, but he didn't need to know that. His ego was big enough. She combed her fingers through her rustled hair, grinning when Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps you're right." He put his glass down and sauntered towards her. Tav's heart leapt into her throat, fear and excitement together. "I need a counterweight."

"A what? Hey!" She didn't struggle when he picked her up, shifting her in his arms until he was holding her bridal style. It was a thrill to be held by her devil, and yet. She giggled nervously, her cheeks warm. "What are you doing?"

"Why, showing you that I can fly, of course!" He declared, making a scene of looking around. "But we simply cannot do it here. There's hardly enough space. Hm...ah, perfect."

He walked them to the balcony overlooking the endless landscape of Avernus. Tav sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of what he was about to do. Now she began to try and wriggle free, but his grip was iron.

"Okay, you've proven your point! There's no need for a second flight, your technique was perfect!"

Raphael had no mercy. He smirked down at his little mouse, showing teeth. His eyes alight with dark mischief. "Big chickens, Tav," he said, and leapt off the edge. She shrieked, clung to him like a limpet, feeling and hearing his chuckles as he effortlessly flew them around.

After the intial spike of shock, Tav relaxed, just a little. This wasn't so bad. Raphael was an adept flier, and if she ignored the monumental height she was suspended at, it could almost pass as romantic. Soaring about the hot skies of Hell in the arms of her underworld Prince. Feeling every powerful flap of his wings. His strength. Avernus, from a distance, was beautiful in a devastating way. Unfortunately for Tav, she'd forgotten quite how fiends liked to play.

"Oh dear," Raphael said, stoic. He'd been waiting for her guard to lower. Tav's stomach lurched when she sensed his grasp on her slacken. "I seem to have lost my balance."

"RAPHAEL NO DON'T- AAAAAAHHHH!"

He dropped her. Tav screamed as she plummeted to the ground, terrified and betrayed. Raphael was rapidly becoming a shrinking red blur as she fell. He was probably watching her with sick satisfaction. She cursed him. She cursed herself. Mostly she cursed him. Bastardbastardbastard -

"Fret not, little mouse," he purred, hideously amused. She was in his arms again. "I've got you."

Tav couldn't speak; could only tremble, dig her fingers into him. He laughed the entire flight back to the house, deep and rich and raw. Tav planted herself on stable ground the first moment possible, glaring at him.

"You're horrid," she hissed. Raphael cackled.

"Oh, come now. You didn't truly believe I would allow you to fall to your death, did you? Such little faith. Ah, but how sweet your screams were...I shall be hearing them in my dreams for weeks."

"Horrid," Tav muttered again. She wriggled between the bedsheets and buried herself under the covers. It didn't take long for him to join her, surrounding her with his cloying heat.

"You'll forgive me, won't you?" He murmured sweetly into her ear, raising goosebumps all over her skin. One big clawed hand slipped beneath her shirt to gently rub her stomach just the way she liked. Wordlessly she pressed into his touch.

He played her like a fiddle, always.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐌 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “That’s so fucking hot.” — Paired with Ghost on a 'drill' mission, you get to witness his sniping prowess first hand.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Utterly self-indulgent. Shy reader (because I fancied something different), firing guns, very vague power play, very light degradation (barely there but it’s there), fingering, cum eating (don’t know if this counts but I’ll put it anyway), Ghost is very skilled with a gun.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Easterly winds trace the curve of your cheek and gently waft your hair across your forehead. The pitch blackness that hangs in the nighttime desert air swallows you whole, your defensive spot illuminated only by the waning crescent moon. It's fucking freezing, you're tired, and you'd been staring down a sniper's scope for over six hours.

You’d already decided that whoever thought a sniper drill was a good idea was going to face your wrath in the morning.

Settled into the sand grains beside you is Ghost's hulking frame. His patience is remarkable, settled on his front with his finger fixed on the hairpin trigger of the HDR. He's not moved once since getting into position, the vaguest sign he was even alive being the blink of his eyelids. He doesn’t even need to practise, and you’re convinced he’s been paired with you simply because he pities you being a shit shot. 

"Do you not have pins and needles?" You grumble, the crosshair in your field of vision blurring into a shapeless mush after gazing at it for so long, "I swear I've got a dead leg."

"No." Simon's answer is definitive. You're unsure if you believe him at first, but he squeezes the trigger without warning. The gun cracks, firing its round, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden break of silence. "What the fuck, Simo-"

Disbelief stalls your loud complaint, the image of a body-shaped target with a bullet hole dead centre of the cross in the inner circle's fixed point making your jaw drop. 

Simon settles back, shedding the shell casing from the HDR and effortlessly loading a second round. It's like breathing for him, the sniper rifle like a body part that worked as seamlessly as his arms or legs. 

It slips out, your inner dialogue somehow managing to worm its way out of your lips before you can swallow down the mortifying comment. 

"That's so fucking hot..."

Simon doesn't seem to respond at first, but your cheeks are already heating up in embarrassment as you try to backpedal. "I mean- I mean, I'm sure most girls at home would find that really hot! You must have so many girls asking you out when you go home- Half of Manchester, I bet!" 

You laugh awkwardly, holding your own sniper weapon in a death grip. You wish the sand would sink beneath you, dropping you into the depths below. 

"Not really," Simon's rumbling voice cuts through the desert silence. It makes your humiliation even worse, and you squeeze your eyes shut and plan to request a transfer with Captain Price the moment you return to base. Or even hand in your resignation letter. You'd never have to fear running into Simon on another team that way—

"Delta," Ghost's gruff voice cuts through your downward spiral. You open your eyes and glance over at him apprehensively. He's still staring down the scope of his rifle, mask concealing his expression from you. Undoubtedly he was enjoying making you feel stupid.

A heavy hand settles on the back of your thigh, and you suddenly exhale the oxygen in your lungs as though someone has popped the membrane with a pin. Ghost doesn't look up from the scope; his attention is focused on the target over seven-hundred meters away. 

"G-Ghost-" Your voice tremors, and you wish you could blame it on the chill in the desert air. Instead, it's Simon's palm slowly tracing up your thigh, palm squeezing gently at the globe of your ass. 

"Quiet," he orders, and you nod quickly, falling in line at the sound of his authoritative 'lieutenant voice'. He continues his advance, pushing his fingertips under the waistband of your khaki cargos at the small of your back. 

Simon hesitates. He offers you a chance to wave him off, but you can't think of anything worse— he's touching you, sparking your skin hot beneath his slow, deliberate touches. 

Breaching the waistband of your pants, he ensures that he inches his hand below your panties, too, fingertips tracing the naked curve of your ass as they continue their descent. You whimper softly, impatient, but the sound dies in your throat when you see Ghost's irises flick to you in a warning. 

Quiet, I said. 

Swallowing back any more noises of complaint, you spread your legs ever so slightly for him. A rumble of content sound from his chest, and Simon aims his sight down the scope of his rifle again. 

Simon's fingers sink into your fluttering cunt from behind. The stretch alone has you biting down on your knuckles in an attempt to smother the yelp that threatens to breach your mouth. 

What makes it worse is Simon's blatant nonchalance. He adjusts the positioning of his Sniper to mitigate the desert breeze with one hand. Meanwhile, his fingers sink deeper into you, easing in and out until you hear the slick sounds of your cunt swallowing his digits. 

It's pathetic. Ghost'll probably taunt you relentlessly for it, but you rock back onto his hand as his fingers tease your spasming walls. 

"O-Oh, fuck-" you choke out, breathless, as you lower your head and brace against the rising bliss in your abdomen. Again, Ghost's eyes flick over, cautioning you. 

"I'm tryin'a focus," he scolds you flatly, pushing his thumb into your clit harshly. You yelp at the sudden pressure, the arc of pleasure that whips up your spine. 

"W-What can you possibly be fo-ohh-" you moan out, losing your sentence as he slowly begins to circle your clit with his battle-calloused thumb. 

"On this," Simon hums, and again the crack of his sniper rifle jolts your body in shock. Fuck- but he keeps rubbing at your clit, sinking his fingers deeper into you as he searches for your g-spot. 

Your head whips up as your cunt flutters around his digits, looking down the scope. Again, Ghost has hit the target perfectly— slap bang in the middle of its forehead. 

Honestly, you could have cum from that alone, but Ghost's fingers are retreating just as your orgasm surges. You whine loudly, looking over your shoulder to see him remove his hands from your pants despite your protests and use his thumb to push the bottom of his ski mask over his mouth. 

Sinking his fingers into his mouth, he groans as he tastes you. It's the most sordid sound you've ever heard, the noise settling deep into your abdomen as you watch him lick his fingers clean. 

Simon knows what he's doing, knows he has you on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, but ignores your heavy breathing and desperate gaze to nod his head at the target. 

"Your turn. Best stop your hands from shaking, love. Get him between the eyes, and I might let you cum."

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[ossifer]

On the Mechanics of Lyctorhood

I want to preface this by saying this is a long, long post that is going to delve deep into lyctorhood, skim the surface of physics and biology, and fully embrace conjecture! If I'm right about all this then I'm very happy, but I also cannot wait to be disproven in Alecto the Ninth.

Thanergy

Thanergy is the product of the decay of thalergy: this is the principle that underpins all of necromancy. All necromantic adepts are capable of manipulating both thalergy and thanergy, but necromancy is shown to be reliant on thanergy specifically, and is most geared toward utilising thanergy as a result.

“Thalergetic decay causes cellular death,” you said carefully, pressing the nail in harder, “which emits thanergy. The massive cell death that follows apopneumatism causes a thanergetic cascade, though the first bloom fades and the thanergy stabilises within thirty to sixty seconds.” [Harrow the Ninth]

As shown by @pokkop15 in this post the term thanergy is almost certainly derived from Thanatos, the Greek God of Death, but thalergy's origins are more murky: likely candidates are thaleros (a greek word that means lively), Thalia (the muse of Festivity whose name also means blooming), or Thalassa (divine personification of the sea in greek mythology, which would fit considering how life is very associated with saltwater in TLT).

The Eightfold Word: What is Lyctorhood?

According to the resident tall glass of skank and questionably reliable narrator, Ianthe Tridentarius, the Eightfold Word is composed of the following steps:

Preserve the soul, with memory and intellect intact.

Analyse it—understand its structure, its shape.

Remove and absorb it: take it into yourself without consuming it in the process.

Fix it in place so it can’t deteriorate.

Incorporate it: find a way to make the soul part of yourself without being overwhelmed.

Consume the flesh [NOTE: Ianthe says 'a drop of blood is enough to ground you', which to me indicates that this step serves as a way to ground the incorporated soul into the lyctor's body, by having material from the soul's original body. This is very significant.]

Reconstruction—making spirit and flesh work together the way they used to, in the new body.

Hook up the cables and get the power flowing.

Lyctorhood seemingly works by providing the necromancer with, among other things, a near limitless reserve of thanergy that is presumably derived from the incorporated soul once the power is flowing: as we see with Cytherea healing herself, lyctors are either unable to generate thalergy—or their ability to do so is lessened in comparison to their ability to generate thanergy—and must instead siphon it from external sources when their own thalergy is depleted.

In Nona the Ninth we are introduced to Palamedes' conception of Lyctorhood in terms of Lysis: the Lyctorhood we are most familiar with is Petty Lysis, where only one of the components dies, while Grand Lysis is a mutual death—a gravitational singularity creating something new, as is the case with Paul. Lysis is a term used in biology that refers to 'the breaking down of the membrane of a cell', which as I've explored before

In the series, Lyctorhood is spoken of in terms of fire: there are repeated references to Gideon's soul being made the furnace of [Harrow's] Lyctorhood and serving as a furnace of power, Mercymorn refers to her cavalier's mortal soul burning in her chest, John says that the risk posed by fully incorporating Alecto into himself completely would be that he'd probably burn to death, and Paul's birth results in Camilla's body being consumed by flames. This leads us on to how lyctorhood is also characterised as consumption: eating the cavalier, absorbing their soul, burning it for fuel.

What is the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood?

Lyctorhood is barbaric, it is cannibalism, it is taking another and burning them in yourself for power. But that raises the question of where that power comes from. By the way that thalergy/thanergy are spoken of with terms reminiscent of radiation, coupled with how lyctorhood is rendered through metaphors and imagery related to fire and/or consumption, it would seem that the logical conclusion behind this is that the soul is being subject to continual thanergetic fission.

The terminology Tamsyn uses is something that lends credence to this: nuclear fission 'occurs when a neutron slams into a larger atom, forcing it to excite and split into two smaller atoms—also known as fission products'. Sudden, sharp decay/conversion of thalergy into thanergy could be the mechanism behind thanergetic fission, as we see with Harrow's description of apopneumatic shock and how the burst of thanergetic energy (a neutron slamming into a larger atom, forcing it to excite) is sufficient to prevent liminal osmosis from taking place: "In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated."

But from what we know of the nature of the thanergy, thalergy, and the soul, this explanation makes no sense. Thanergy is emitted by thalergy decay, but souls in of themselves are not a source of thalergy nor thanergy, as shown by Anastasia's tripod principle: “The body needs thalergy and a soul to keep the lights on. Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable … after a while it gives up and shuts down.” [Nona the Ninth]

Going back to the nuclear terminology, I'm going to cut straight to the core of this theory: the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood is thanergetic fusion.

What is thanergetic fusion?

The term I use here is a misnomer, because a more accurate term would be pneumatic fusion, considering how Tamsyn Muir is fond of using the Greek pneuma to refer to the soul: nuclear fusion 'is a reaction in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles'.

A nucleus in physics is 'the positively charged central core of an atom, consisting of protons and neutrons and containing nearly all its mass', while in biology the term refers to 'a dense organelle present in most eukaryotic cells, typically a single rounded structure bounded by a double membrane, containing the genetic material'. Palamedes uses the term lysis for Lyctorhood, which as you'll recall refers to the disintegration of the cell membrane, thus exposing it's innards: such as the nucleus. The soul is the nucleus.

Nuclear fusion involves combining two or more atomic nuclei to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles: the difference in mass between the reactants and products is manifested as either the release or absorption of energy; as a rule of thumb the fusion of lighter nuclei releases energy, making it an exothermic process, while the fusion of heavier nuclei results in energy being retained by the product nucleons, and thus the resulting reaction is endothermic. An exothermic reactions releases heat, causing the temperature of the immediate surroundings to rise, while an endothermic one absorbs heat and cools the surroundings.

In the context of this nuclear fusion explanation of Lyctorhood, an exothermic (exothanergetic) reaction releases thanergy while an endothermic (endothanergetic) reaction absorbs thanergy: the fusion of lighter souls release thanergy, the fusion of heavier souls absorbs it.

What are the implications behind these mechanics?

The question that comes to mind is what is a heavier soul? The answer, once again, lies in physics: "The heaviest atomic nuclei are created in nuclear reactions that combine two other nuclei of unequal size into one; roughly, the more unequal the two nuclei in terms of mass, the greater the possibility that the two react." [Wikipedia]

How does John explain the soul of a planet to Harrow?

John: “And what has a soul?” Harrow: “Anything with a thalergetic complexity significant enough to … have a soul. So, humanity.” [...] Harrow: “A planet’s a ball of dust. Its thalergy comes from the accumulation of microbial life. You can’t consider it one coherent system.” John: “Call it a communal soul. What’s a human being, other than a sack of microbial life?

Planets' souls are communal, formed from the thalergetic complexity of an entire world coalescing into a nuclei that lies at its heart, heavy in a way a human soul is not: a human soul is light, a planet's soul is heavy. In other words, Alecto is a heavy nuclei and John is a light nuclei, with the resultant nuclei of their combination forming something heavier than either: an endothanergetic reaction.

Moving back to thanergetic fission and the apopneumatic shock of a violent death, we can now examine what happens when John becomes God:

He becomes aware of Alecto when Cristabel kills herself in front of him.

Now aware of Alecto, he creates a massive flood of thanergy by inciting the violent deaths of millions, possibly billions, through the detonation of nuclear devices.

Empowered by the mass thanergetic fission caused by an untold number of apopneumatic shocks, 'I became a demigod', he finishes off the rest.

He kills Alecto, takes her soul in his hands, and attempts to become one with her.

He almost fails, and during this flawed process is forced to split her soul between his body and another, hiding himself in her and herself in him.

Fusion still occurs, this reaction is endothanergetic and allows him to near absorb a massive amount of thanergy in one sitting: "And when we were together … once the shaman had claimed the sun … I became God."

He violently kills the rest of the planets in the system, flipping them and creating a surplus of thanergy, a process of large-scale energy creation and transferall: to quote Ianthe once again, "You see, my field has always been energy transferral … large-scale energy transferral. Resurrection theory."

What this all means is that the secret behind the Resurrection is that John's Lyctorhood works fundamentally differently to that of his Saints, because his is endothanergetic where theirs is exothanergetic, a reaction between a heavy and a lighter nuclei.

Not only is it endothanergetic instead of exothanergetic, it generates a different form of energy. Emperor John Gaius produces thalergy.

Resurrection Theory

As we know from Anastasia's tripod principle, thalergy alone cannot make life, a soul is also needed—meaning that the inverse is true, in that a soul alone cannot make life, thalergy is needed; In order for John to have performed the Resurrection, he would have needed to imbue bodies with both their soul and thalergy to recreate the life he took in the first place. Logically, this means that John would have to be able to create thalergy. John is the only being in the universe who is able to generate thalergy, namely via the continual fusion reaction between a heavy soul and a light soul, also known as Alecto and himself, to produce it.

Let us return to what Augustine says of the nature of his power: “You don’t get your power from Dominicus,” said Augustine. “It gets its power from you. There’s no exchange involved, no symbiosis. You draw nothing from the system. It relies on you entirely, as we all know. You’re God, John. But—as the Edenites are fond of pointing out—you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time.”

John is the source of fresh thanergy in the system: he produces thalergy, which he can decay into thanergy. The thanergy in the system is finite, it would drain away after enough time, but his heavy and light soul reaction producing thalergy that can then be decayed into thanergy allows for new thanergy to be introduced into the system; John's necromancy's unique in that it relies on the rapid creation of thanergy via accelerated thalergetic decay, resulting in thanergetic fission.

Why do I say thanergetic fission? Becase it could explain why his necromancy is shown to manifest as large amounts of light, because what does thanergetic fission result in? We see when Palamedes utilises the rapid thanergetic fission of his thanergy reserves to blow up in Cytherea's face:

The sickroom exploded into white fire, and the bonds pinning Gideon snapped. She fell hard against the wall and spun, drunkenly, lurching back down the corridor as Palamedes Sextus made everything burn. There was no heat, but Gideon sprinted away from that cold white death without bothering to spare a glance behind as though flames were licking at her heels.

White light that gives off no heat. What happens when John reassembles himself?

White light. It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

Speaking of that scene, it is likely the most definitive proof we see that John produces thalergy, because there is no way for his body to function without thalergy, and thanergy cannot be converted to thalergy (as far as we know). That thalergy has to come from somewhere. John, the Resurrector, is able to create thalergy.

Do you know where else we see what is explicitly called a form of resurrection? The endothanergetic reaction that created Harrowhark Nonagesimus: "My parents gassed fifty-four infants, eighty-one children, and sixty-five teenagers, and harnessed that thanergy bloom to conceive me. My mother used the resultant power to modify her ovum on a chromosomal level, so thanergy ignition wouldn’t compromise the embryo. She did this so I would be a necromancer." [Harrow the Ninth]

A large amount of thanergy is generated within an instant by closely-timed apopneumatic shocks caused by sudden death via what Harrow specifically names as nerve gas [Gideon the Ninth]. This brings to mind thanergetic fission as opposed to fusion, due to the fact it relies on thanergy, but the key detail here lies in two factors: the unequal size of the nuclei (souls) involved here, and the fact these souls are shown to have been manipulated.

The souls—emphasis on souls, as opposed to thanergy—of a large amount of children, of varying ages, are forcibly prevented from passing to the River via liminal osmosis due to the sheer amount of thanergy involved, and they are tied to Harrow's soul, as shown by Abigail commenting on her unique spiritual signature: "I’ve counted up to one hundred and fifty signatures contributing to you, and there’s more—they’re stamps rather than complete revenants, of course, which means their spirits were manipulated to leave marks on you in some way, which is fascinating if it means…"

What is a planet's soul? A communal one, the thalergy complexity of a world. What is Harrow's soul? A communal one, exactly two hundred sons and daughters of her House, manipulated to be stamped on her original one. I cannot speak of what this means, but it means that Harrow's soul is naturally heavier than John's: a nuclei formed from two hundred others.

Conclusions

Lyctorhood is nuclear fusion, with souls as the nuclei: the combination of souls produces thanergy as a byproduct of the process of forming a new nuclei; Souls are not a perpetual energy source, and are unable to generate thanergy or thalergy on their own, it is the combination of them that creates thanergy or thalergy.

Petty Lysis, the Lyctorhood of the Saints, is an exothanergetic reaction which produces thanergy as the two souls involved are melded over untold years: it is not a one-way consumption, it is a fusion, but the power transferral does only go one way, due to the fact it is not a mutual death. Grand Lysis is a more complete, and thus powerful, version of this reaction wherein the two nuclei are fully combined within an instant, as opposed to gradually combined.

John's joining with Alecto works on the same fusion principle of Lyctorhood, but the difference lies in the nature of the reaction at the heart of it: he is endothanergetic and produces thalergy as opposed to thanergy, which he can subsequently decay into thanergy to fuel his necromancy. The Resurrection was made possible by him generating thanergy.

Final Note:

I want to point out something before anyone else can, and that is the fact Lyctors could be interpreted as working on pneumatic fission as opposed to fusion: meaning that the constituent souls are split to produce power, and that the exothanergetic and endothanergetic reactions would be reversed—John exothanergetic instead of endothanergetic, and vice versa with Petty Lyctors, which explains why they appear to be thanergy voids: they absorb all thanergy in their surroundings.

I considered this while writing this theory, but ultimately I found that fusion seemed more likel. Alternatively, both Paul and John are examples of pneumatic fusion due to their more complete Lyctorhood while the Petty Lyctors are working on pneumatic fission. I prefer the idea that all Lyctorhood is pneumatic fusion, which is why I ultimately leaned into that interpretation in this post.

Thank you for reading.

[transgenderer]

All cells with mitochondria have a nucleus, all cells with a nucleus have mitochondria (or denegerated former mitochondria). It's not obvious that this should be so. In general, you should get branching after every trait (ofc this isn't always the case). If organisms with trait A are successful then there should be enough of them to branch. If they require trait B to be successful, trait A shouldn't have reached fixation in the first place, unless they were both caused by the same genetic modification.

Nick lanes theory, in the vital question, is that the mitochondria *directly* caused the development of the nucleus. If you're an archeon with bacteria living inside you, and one of them dies, it's membrane will dissolve and release its genetic material. You're an archeon, so you're used to doing lateral gene transfer, and will copy it's code into yours. This code has a poison and it's antidote

Bacterial genetic code has self-replicating parasitic genes. these genes are adapted to their bacterial host and splice themselves out before transcription. bacteria face strong selection to pare down their genome, so they dont have very many of these. but if you suddenly acquire a huge amount of bacterial genetic code, the parasites therein, not adapted to you, will put themselves in all sorts of bad places. then, because you dont face very strong selection, if these codes mutate in a way that breaks their ability to copy themselves, and splice themselves out before transcription, youll have a bunch of faulty genes. these dead regions are called introns. this is a huge problem! you can develop a protein to splice them out "manually", called the spliceosome, but it works slowly, too slowly to get them all fixed before they reach the ribosome to be made into proteins

HOWEVER, this bacterial code will also have a bunch of genetic code for bacterial membranes. the archeon will start producing a bunch of extra membrane enzymes, which will go around producing extra membranes. without adaptations to handle these, theyll just build up. around where theyre produced. lipids naturally form into closed surfaces in solution, so you'd end up with a bunch of lipid "bags" around your genome. but those bags are the solution to your intron problem! they impede the diffusion of the rna from the genome to the ribosome, giving the spliceosome time to work.

eventually (its theorized) these lipid bags evolved into an enclosed double membrane with pore membranes, but during mitosis they split into discrete lipid bags again!

[imaginesmai]

Something new - Azriel

Another kinktober fic! I've seen this trope SO MUCH lately, I couldn't help myself.

Plot: Azriel proposes something new, and even if you have doubts, you're all in.

Warnings: just porn , facesitting, shadowplay.

Azriel is looking at you with a raised brow, a smug smile on his face. He’s silently daring you to bring up another argument, only so he can dismantle it as easily as the rest of them.

It’s hard enough to deny his petition. Not only it’s unusual for him to ask anything, to be comfortable enough around you to talk about sexual fantasies and desires. It is hard because he is completely naked. You can spend hours staring at his sculped chest, muscles hard and wide, covered in tattoos.

And you don’t even want to drag your eyes lower, where his cock is standing tall, demanding your attention.

Usually, you would be more than happy to give it all the attention you have. But Azriel has stopped you moments ago and proposed something different. Something you have never tried, although it has crossed your mind sometimes. Multiple times, actually.

“I will be fine” he assures you for the sixth time that evening. “I promise, darling. I’m a trained warrior, I push my body each day to the limit in the ring with Cassian. If I can take down Illyrian warriors, I can hold your weight”

“Or not” you rebate. “You can’t compare sparing to Cassian to me sitting on your face”

“Certainly not, I’m sure it will be far more pleasant”

Sex with Azriel is never monotonous, he makes sure of it. Even if the shadowsinger is an introvert and quiet on the outside, inside the bedroom he shows you a different part of him. You are used to playing games, some of them involving his shadows, ropes, and even wax.

You have enjoyed each and every of them, and you know you will enjoy what he is proposing even more. But still, you are doubtful about it.

“I could hurt you without meaning to. And what if you can’t breathe? How am I supposed to notice?” you repeat the questions, and he just blinks unamused. “We don’t know if it’s safe. Maybe someone has died and no one has reported it. Death by asphyxiation, under mysterious circumstances. Maybe their partner was shoving their – “

“What better way to die than between your legs?” Azriel cuts you off with a deep, loud chuckle. Tired of the banter, he grabs your hand and pushes you forward. “My shadows will make sure I live to do this again, don’t worry. Now let me have my dessert”

Any other time, you hope, you would have been more hesitant. But you have been both naked for a long time now, lazily making out and grinding against each other in bed. There are purple spots all over your neck and chest, where Azriel has been buried minutes ago. And your nails are printed all over his back and ass.

Before you can act on your newest fantasy, Azriel brings you close. He presses his lips against yours, as he has done already a thousand times that night.

They are swollen and soft, his hand holding the back of your head to keep you close. It brushes gently your hair, easing your worries away. His tongue traces the edge of yours, as if he hasn’t almost shoved it down your throat an hour ago.

Azriel eases the both of you until you are laying on his chest, wings sprawled under him. All it takes is for your sneaky fingers tracing the membrane of his left one for him to break the kiss.

His left hand gives you a playful smack on your ass and pushes you forward.

“Come on, Y/N” he growls, his shadows pushing you forward too.

“Let me know if it becomes too much” you remind him as you get to your knees.

“Sure”

“And if I’m too heavy, please don’t die” you place your hands on the headboard.

“I won’t die, I promise”

“If you feel like you can’t breathe, you touch my – “

“Get here”

You are still hesitant, hovering over his face with your knees at either side of his head. But Azriel, who has quite patient, doesn’t let you finish. He grips the top of your thighs and pulls down, his shadows fixing your hands on the headboard so you can’t pull yourself up.

And damn.

Any coherent thought leaves your head as he licks a long strip through your soaked folds, parting them without any care. You suck a breath when he reaches your opening and doesn’t stop for a second before digging in.

His shadows are the only thing cold on your body as you almost melt against his face, not caring anymore about asphyxiation or crushing him. Azriel is griping you so hard that there will be purple fingerprints on your legs the next day. And if the shadows holding you in place and his mouth devouring you isn’t enough, one of his hands gropes a handful of your ass and pulls you closer to him.

“You’re so sweet” Azriel mumbles from under you, his teeth grazing your clip and taking a deep moan out of you. “Coul be here all day”

“Az”

“My sweet pussy”

He isn’t possessive, at least not when you are public. Behind closed doors, he owns your body and soul. Your grip on the headboard almost flatters when he sucks hard on your clit, taking the small button between his lips, brushing his tongue underneath.

All you can smell is him, his arousal, and all you can hear is him lapping your juices. You don’t have to look back to know there’s a hand wrapped around his cock, a hand that isn’t his entirely. His shadows must have touched a sensitive spot, because his body is bucking up and you almost fall to the side, if it wasn’t for his hands holding you in place.

You try to get one hand free. Maybe to pull at his hair, to cover your mouth. Azriel doesn’t let you.

“Let me – I need a hand” you moan again when he starts leaving kisses from your clit to your opening, covering any reachable spot. “Azriel, let me go”

“No”

His voice resonates in your cunt and that is almost enough to bring you close to the edge. Only his presence would be enough, the presence of an Illyrian male that falls on his knees in front of you, that is completely yours.

Azriel knows your body and knows you’re close, so instead of letting go of any of your hands, he speeds up. All you feel are his teeth, his lips and his tongue on your pussy, on your folds, on your clit. He rounds the sensitive spot as the shadows rip a moan out of him, and the next second he has his tongue in you, his nose brushing your clit.

Like a madman who hasn’t eaten in days, he devours you whole. You are almost sure he has stopped breathing a while ago, but before you can make sure he’s fine, you’re cumming.

Without your hand to cover your mouth, anyone within hearing range hears you breaking down screaming his name as you cum on his face. He rides through your orgasm without even changing the pace, and black dots appear on your line of sight.

“Az, I can’t – Azriel, stop –“

He doesn’t, and before you know it, your tights are trapping his head between your legs and you’re having the best orgasm of your life. He continues licking any juice that leaves your body, alternating between eating you out and assaulting your clit.

The shadows let go when there’s nothing left in you to give, and Azriel has barely time to catch you as you fall to the side, completely spent.

He manages to pull you back to him, and when you open your eyes again, you’re met with his hazel ones looking down at you with only love and adoration. His lips and chin are shinning with your juices, and without breaking eye contact, he licks them clean.

It’s certainly enough to make you notice the shadows around his shaft.

“I’m alive” Azriel smirked. “Are you?”

“That was the best orgasm of my life”

Your confession drags an ego boost out of him, that you feel through the bond. You smile when his hand finds your cheek and caress it loving. If you asked, you are sure he would turn around and try to sleep with a painful boner. And if you asked, he would totally use his shadows to keep you up and go for a second round.

Before he can propose any of them, you prop up on your elbow and drag your nails down his chest.

They follow the pattern of his tattoos, and he watches you with a raised eyebrow. His expression quickly changes when your fingers find his nipple, your thumb flickering it gently.

“Return the favor?” you propose, with a knowing smile.

The next thing you know, Azriel’s lips are once more on you and his cock pressed against your stomach.

You’re in for a long night.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[tanadrin]

Lane's thesis around the emergence of eukaryotes (and why it was necessary for complex life) seems to be this:

Bacteria (both kinds, archaea and eubacteria) have pretty strict energy limits in terms of growth. One big constraint here is genome size: the more genes you have, the more energy that gets spent on protein synthesis. But the smaller your genome, the faster you replicate, which is important given how quickly bacterial generations turn over; replicating fast is a big advantage. You can pick up any new genes you need from the environment, thanks to lateral gene transfer. This is why bacteria don't have a lot of junk DNA.

You could try to scale up the size of the cell to increase the size of the membrane, which would allow you to produce more energy. But the volume of the cell scales with the cube of its size and the surface area with the square; and, for obscure reasons, it seems like there is a strong evolutionary pressure to keep the genome near the energy-producing membrane. So what you effectively get is a big dead area inside the cell (a vacuole, in some species of huge bacteria), lots of extra copies of the genome, and no extra energy for your trouble (each copy of the genome is a copy of every gene, which requires more energy to support).

Compare chloroplasts, which often have complicated, folded up membranes to facilitate photosynthesis--and also lots of copies of their genome floating around.

You could imagine breaking the genome up into plasmids, rather than copying every gene, and only putting extra copies of the genes needed for respiration near the cell membrane. But then you need complex transport systems (which require energy), and there's no evolutionary pressure for size for its own sake that would encourage you to develop such a complex transport system to support a large bacterial cell, in aid of maybe in the future developing an ATP surplus.

Eukaryotes didn't evolve to produce extra ATP, they evolved to get a consistent source of hydrogen, for cell growth. The endosymbiont provides the host cell with all the hydrogen it needs, and in return the host cell provides a stable environment for the endosymbiont.

In this safe environment, the endosymbiont's genome is free to shrink without limit, down to the absolute minimum number of genes needed to support respiration. Many genes will move to the nucleus of the host cell; others will simply be lost. But this produces an ATP surplus! All of this ATP needs to be used--if the whole pool of ADP gets converted to ATP, respiration stops (bad!), and free radicals accumulate which fuck up proteins and DNA and can kill the cell. So this excess of ATP encourages the host cell to find uses for it--like a cytoskeleton and internal transport mechanisms and new organelles.

Unlike the plasmid scenario, every step of this evolutionary process confers some benefit on both the host cell and the endosymbiont.

You might wonder, given the benefits, why this only happened once with mitochondria! This is sort of related to the fact that all apparent intermediate cells, like the archaezoa, are actually subsequent, reduced forms of the true eukaryote rather than being offshoots of the process of eukaryote development: the early eukaryote would have been genetically unstable, and small in population size. There was strong selection pressure to quickly converge on a single form (the eukaryote LUCA), and intermediate forms would have been quickly outcompeted and driven to extinction. Likewise, this was a feat not soon to be repeated: eukaryotes got lucky.

Endosymbiosis dumped a ton of introns--self-replicating genetic parasites--into the host cell. Some of these could have been from endosymbionts that failed to thrive in the host cell, and when they died dumped their genetic material into the host. We still sometimes see mitochondrial DNA segments invading and disrupting nuclear DNA.

The eukaryotic genome was able to tolerate the invasion of bacterial introns because of the benefit the endosymbionts provided; but initially, the result was a genetically unstable cell. The nucleus evolved to separate the nuclear DNA from ribosomes, giving time and space for spliceosomes to remove introns from transcribed RNA. Excess lipid synthesis from having both bacterial and archaeal enzymes for membrane formation helped promote the creation of the nucleus (and other membrane-bound organelles).

Because of the intron situation and overall genetic instability, the mutation rate of early eukaryotes was high, selection pressure was immense, and there was a lot of variation in the population--just the circumstances which, in mathematical models, favors the emergence of sexual reproduction.

Lateral gene transfer is of limited use as genomes get bigger, and sexual reproduction, with the genetic recombination that occurs during meiosis, makes individual genes much more salient to evolution, as opposed to just whole genomes.

The individual steps for the evolution of sexual reproduction are not so clear, but the mechanical precursors of both the segregation of genetic material and the fusion of cells are attested in prokaryotes. Various effects arising from natural selection also tend to favor two sexes, anisogamy, and the inheritance of mitochondria from only one parent. Handling mutations and the specialization of tissue, and the separation of cells into somatic cells and germ line cells, also led to the evolution of senescence.

the evolution of sex, incidentally, also favors moving as many mitochondrial genes to the nucleus as possible, so more beneficial versions can be selected for. there's no way to repair the mutational load of genes which remain in the mitochondria, and do not recombine.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey i just broke my own hymen a few days ago and it bled. I'm not worried about the bleeding because it seems to have stopped normally and I'm in no pain, but will I have to wait for it to heal before trying penetration again? Are the edges of the torn hymen like a small raw wound that I just can't see? I havent really been able to find info online about what comes immediately after doing this. Tysm

hi anon,

so, let's talk about the hymen, and the language that we use when we talk about the hymen. this is a good starting place:

the hymen doesn't really "break," per se, it just stretches wider over the vaginal opening. that stretching can definitely be painful, for sure, but no part of you is broken. bleeding is also common upon early attempts at vaginal penetration, rarely from the hymen but much more likely from delicate vaginal tissue being abraded by rough, unlubricated penetration. even for people who have had penetrative vaginal sex many times, microabrasions - tiny tears within the vagina - and accompanying bleeding are very common. these itty bitty injuries usually heal up quickly and without difficulty, because the vagina is generally pretty good at keeping itself squeaky clean.

the hymen is not an open wound; the membrane is meant to open wide enough to allow entry. but there are likely tiny tears within the vagina, and avoiding further penetration, whether it's fingers, toys, or tampons, for a few days can help make the process easier and avoid reopening any tears up before they can properly heal.

[spacelazarwolf]

shakshuka - maghrebi

cookbook: jewish flavors of italy

total time from start to finish: 50 minutes

rating system

difficulty: 2 this recipe required chopped veggies and some sautéing, and it does require a couple of different timed steps (like watching the eggs to make sure they don’t overcook... oops...), but overall it wasn't difficult to make. the recipe did call for harissa, which i found (hechschered) at my local international market, or felfel u ciuma. you can make the harissa yourself, it just takes some extra time. i don't know if you can find the felfel u ciuma in any international markets.

rating: 5 absolutely fucking delicious. 100/10.

this particular recipe comes from the libyan jews of rome. there is a substantial population of libyan jews in rome because of the increasing levels of persecution faced by the jewish community in libya in the 20th century, culminating in violence and pogroms during and after the six day war, until around 6000 libyan jews were airlifted out of libya to rome by the italian navy in 1967. the refugees were forced to leave their homes, their businesses, and most of their possessions behind, but despite these hardships, libyan jews have become an integral part of the roman jewish community.

and i can’t mention libyan jews without mentioning david gerbi, a libyan jew who has spent years trying to restore synagogues and cemeteries in libya and hopes to eventually make libya safe enough for libyan jews to return. so far his attempts have been met with a lot of violent pushback, but b”h someday they will get their home back.

recipe:

shakshuka:

preparation: 15 minutes cooking: 50-55 minutes serves 2-4

ingredients:

3-4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

3-4 garlic cloves, crushed

2 tsp ground cumin or caraway (i used cumin, which is most commonly used, but the author of the cookbook likes to use caraway)

1 tsp paprika

1 tsp felfel u ciuma or harissa

3 red, yellow, or orange peppers; stems, seeds, and white membranes removed, and flesh cut into 5mm (1/4 in)-thick strips

2 ripe vine tomatoes, diced, or 10 cherry tomatoes, halved (optional) (i used 2 cans of diced tomatoes)

500g (1lb 2oz/generous 2 cups) passata (an italian tomato puree, you can use pureed tomatoes but passata is a bit thicker)

1 tbsp finely chopped fresh italian parsley

4 eggs

sea salt and black pepper to taste

bread to serve

many middle eastern cuisines claim this dish as their own. libyan jews are no exception, and those who migrated to italy took it with them. shakshuka has become popular all around the world and today, many of rome's kosher restaurants have it on their menus, reflecting not just the city's large libyan jewish population but also the food of israel, where shakshuka is very well known.

put the oil, garlic, 1 tsp of cumin or caraway, paprika, and felfel u ciuma or harissa (i used harissa and added an extra tsp) in a large, non-stick frying pan, stir and cook over a low heat for 5 minutes. (before this, i sautéed some yellow onions)

add the peppers to the pan, stir, add a pinch each of salt and pepper and cook, covered, over a low to medium heat for about 15 minutes until the peppers start to soften.

add the tomatoes (if using) and toss for 5 minutes, then add the passata with a pinch each of salt and pepper and cook for another 20-25 minutes, covered, and stirring occasionally. remove the lid, add half the parsley, and the second tsp of cumin or caraway, stir and taste for seasoning. you can cook the eggs in the mixture straight away, or make the recipe up to this point and keep the sauce ready in the fridge for up to 3 days.

when you're ready to cook the eggs, make four dips in the sauce (reheating the sauce if you've made it ahead of time) with the back of a spoon and gently break an egg into each one. cover and simmer over a low to medium heat for 6-8 minutes until the egg whites are just set but the yolks are still runny (oops...)

sprinkle with the remaining parsley and, if you like, a little more cumin or caraway. serve hot, ideally with bread.

harissa (from saffron shores):

4 large red bell peppers or pimientos, seeded, deribbed, and cut into pieces

3 large cloves garlic, minced

1 tbsp ground coriander

1 tbsp caraway seeds, toasted and ground

1.5 to 2 tsp cayenne pepper

1 tsp salt

extra virgin olive oil as needed

in a meat grinder, food processor, or blender (you could probably also use mortar and pestle, it would just take longer), grind or puree the bell peppers or pimientos. strain, pressing on the solids with the back of a large spoon. you should have about 3/4 cup puree. stir in the garlic, spices, and salt. add oil for spoonability.

alternate harissa (also from saffron shores):

3 dried ancho chili peppers, soaked in hot water for 1 hour

3 garlic cloves, minced

2 tsp cumin seeds, toasted and ground

1 tsp caraway seeds, toasted and ground (optional)

1 tsp salt

cayenne pepper to taste

extra virgin olive oil for filming

drain the peppers. in a blender, combine the peppers, garlic, and seasonings, puree to a paste (could probably do in a mortar and pestle). pack in a hot sterilized jar and film the top with olive oil. seal and refrigerate for up to 6 weeks.

felfel u ciuma (from jewish flavors of italy):

6 garlic cloves, crushed

1/2 tsp chilli powder

1 tbsp paprika

1/2 tsp sea salt

juice of 1/2 lemon

1/2 tsp ground caraway (optional)

2 tbsp water

simply combine all ingredients in a small bowl and stir well to create a paste.