#world vitiligo day

[barbielore]

As part of the more diverse Fashionistas range, Mattel released their first Barbie portrayed as having vitiligo in 2020.

This was followed by another Barbie and a Ken in subsequent releases. As June 25th is World Vitiligo Day, I thought I would take the opportunity to spotlight these dolls.

For anyone who is unaware, according to the Mayo Clinic, vitiligo is a skin condition often caused by an immune system reaction that "occurs when cells that produce melanin die or stop functioning" and results in pale or white patches of skin. This can occur in anyone, but may be more noticeable in people who have naturally darker skin.

I personally do not know all that much about vitiligo, or the patterns with which vitiligo tends to present, so I asked a friend of mine who has vitiligo for their opinions on the dolls.

Overall their review was that these are "all really great" which was good to hear: I'm glad Mattel are putting in the effort with the representation. Specifically regarding the Ken and the original Barbie fashionista, they said that the shapes around the eyes didn't look quite right. Specifically the Ken looked "a little fantasy" and the Barbie looked "a little weird in 3D", though the box art looked right.

One of the things they specifically noted was that having big splashes like that but having the rest of the skin be quite even was "a little unusual" - though did want me to make sure I noted that segmented vitiligo is a real thing and does present differently in different people. They did note that it was most common to appear on the face, followed by hands and feet, followed by other body parts, so having it appear on the neck but not the rest of the body certainly isn't impossible but would be a more unusual presentation.

Regarding the second Barbie fashionista, they were more positive, and noted this doll more closely resembles how they look. (However it is important to note that they also said that they wished she was wearing "cuter clothes". Do you hear that Mattel?)

When researching for other opinions on the vitiligo dolls, I noticed several people also mention that it is common for patterns to be symmetrical - but then also other people commenting that their own vitiligo presentation is non-symmetrical, so this did not strike them as notable. In my opinion, this would be all the more reason to showcase multiple dolls with the condition - so that different kinds of presentation can all be represented.

[penkura]

where you belong [1/10]

Summary: As Luffy's big sister, you've viewed it to be your job to see him become King of the Pirates in place of your absent parents, even as you try to find where it is you belong in the world. You never really expected to draw the attention of Trafalgar Law in the process.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!reader

Warnings: Discussion of feelings of abandonment, age gap relationship (four years), brief secret relationship, mentions and heavy refences to sex, mentions of alcohol, typical One Piece stuff. Other warnings to be added if needed.

Notes: Hi, it's me again! Another fanfic here for you all! When this goes up, I'll be on my last day of vacation before I fly home, so I hope that you'll enjoy this! I know Straw Hat Reader x Law is popular, and I wanted to write my own, but with the Reader being Luffy's biological older sister. So for this, Reader is three years older than Luffy, 20 at the start and 22 after the timeskip, making Law four years older. I personally like older men, and age gap fics are just delicious reading material for me (within reason, nothing illegal).

Note 2: This is NOT the Law with vitiligo series. That one is actively being planned but will be separate from this one.

“And I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!!”

Luffy standing your tiny dingy boat worries you a little, but you still grin at him and nod.

“Hell yeah you will be!”

“Your turn! What’re you gonna do while we sail??”

Rolling your eyes, you make Luffy sit down while you stand up.

“Easy. I’m gonna chronicle your journey and write the greatest story ever told!”

Your younger brother watches you, tilting his head when you don’t continue. He believes there has to be more you want out of life, and tries to make you say what else is in your plans, what you have on your mind.

“And?”

Taking a breath, you nod. Of course he knew you had more, it’s Luffy, he’s been by your since he was just a few weeks old. Things you’ve said over time, to him and Ace, they’d both known for a long time what you’ve always wanted to find once you went out to sea.

“And find where it is I belong.”

+!+

Your arrival in Sabaody was a trip, in more than one way. You'd been excited to explore the place, hoping you could pawn your younger brother off on Camie, Pappag, and the others so you could have some time on your own to shop the stalls, maybe with Nami and Robin, turn it into a girl’s day. Of course, though, nothing could be so easy when your brother is the captain of the Straw Hats. You all find yourselves at the human auction hall, Nami willing to spend all the money possible to save Camie, but it makes you itchy while being there. You cringe to think about the things that happened in this place, how many people had been sold to Celestial Dragons. Your and Luffy's loss of Sabo due to the actions of one had severely soured your opinions on them.

You scan the crowd in the auction house, scratching at your arms which never seem to calm down while the rest of your crew discusses their plan to save Camie, and you end up locking eyes with another pirate captain there, unknown to you at that moment but somehow familiar.

A furry white, spotted hat, dark hair you can barely see, oddly enough you think his facial hair is attractive, and those yellow eyes that you almost would believe see right through you.

Trafalgar Law simply stares at you, realizing you’re a Straw Hat when he recognizes the rest of your crewmates. After a moment of fidgeting slightly you give him a nervous smile and a wave, which he returns with a nod before turning back to the auction stage as they continue to call bids on people.

Weird girl.

Strange guy.

Although she’s busy watching for Camie to be brought out, Nami still leans into you when you pull on her sleeve and start to whisper. “You see that guy in the white spotted hat?”

“What about him?”

“I think he’s Trafalgar Law, captain of the Heart Pirates. He’s more attractive than his poster makes him.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami pulls her arm away from you. “I don’t have time for you to be horny about some guy.”

“Wha—Nami!! I’m not! I’m just saying.”

She doesn’t listen to you anymore, focusing back on waiting for Camie and sending you to watch for Luffy, just so you don’t get distracted by the attractive enemy captain and defect to another crew.

You swear you never will, but do as you’re told to watch for your brother. Maybe one day you’ll get to properly meet Law, you’re quite curious about the young man.

+!+

“Another one?! Are you kidding me, Dragon?!”

You’re three years old when you wake up to your grandfather yelling at someone in the middle of the night. Normally Garp is sure to keep things quiet so you, his sweet little princess angel granddaughter, can sleep peacefully. He’d leave early in the morning once your nanny showed up for the day, returning before dinner so he had the evenings with you before you had to be off to bed, to do the day over again the next morning. It’s rare for you to stay up late or wake up early, but the few mornings you’ve woken up before he left were some of Garp’s favorites.

You quietly slip out of your bed, blanket in your hand as you rub your eyes and go to the door, opening it just enough to see what’s happening. Garp is there with someone in a green cloak, you can’t see the other person’s face, but listen anyway.

“He’s the last one, there won’t be anymore.”

“You said [Y/N] was going to be the only one!”

“Things happened.”

“Obviously something happened, babies don’t appear out of thin air!’

You tilt your head, the man in the cloak catching your eye, which makes you shy away behind your doorway, glancing away before back to him as he looks to Garp again.

“Take care of them.” He goes to leave and is gone before Garp can even stop him.

“Dragon, wait--! That…damn idiot.”

“Grandpa?”

Garp is surprised to hear your voice, turning around once he closes the door, giving you a smile while you start to focus on the bundle he's holding.

“Hey there, princess, what are you doing up?”

“I heard yelling…”

Nodding, Garp apologizes as he picks you up, letting you settle on his free arm. “Sorry about that, angel. Just… an unexpected visitor.”

“Oh…”

Garp sees you staring more at the bundle of blankets in his arm than at him, and he sighs a bit, taking you to the living room and setting you on the couch, before showing you how to position your arms as he sets the now squirming bundle in your arms.

“[Y/N], this is your baby brother. His name is Luffy.”

How unexpected! You’ve never thought about having a sibling, just enjoying your childhood and life with your grandpa, but seeing this tiny little boy in your just as small arms makes you grin while you look at him. Dark black hair and just as dark eyes, scrunched up little face and tiny hands in fists while he starts to fuss and whine.

“Luffy…”

+!+

Luffy…

You hope your prayers aren’t going unheard, that Luffy will return to you safely. Ace’s death has long passed, but you’re more worried about your little brother than anything else right now. You’d both been sent off to Amazon Lily by Kuma, but after they’d all agreed to let you both stay, and Boa Hancock seems to have fallen in love with him, Luffy left you there to go rescue Ace, that was nearly three weeks ago now, you think. You want him back, both of them, but want to see Luffy more than anyone else.

“Luffy’s returned, [Y/N]-san!”

“He has?!”

Marguerite nods and you quickly get up from your seat and run after her to wherever Luffy is. The newspapers kept implying he was dead, you were terrified you’d lost him and Ace that day, no updates from anyone apart from the papers cheering for the Navy’s alleged victory, for the deaths of Ace and Whitebeard. The Amazons, all so kind to let you stay while Luffy went to try and rescue Ace, were unsure of how to help you the last two weeks once Ace’s vivre card burned to nothing in your hands and made you nearly inconsolable.

Despite that, your prayers hadn’t gone unheard.

Once you’re at the beach that Luffy should be at, you notice immediately the big yellow submarine with the word DEATH on it and it freaks you out more than anything. You don’t know who owns it, but when you catch sight of someone you’ve only seen in person once, you worry that he’s done something to Luffy. You don’t say a word, but someone in a jumpsuit (boiler suit you think?) calls out “captain” just in time for him to turn towards you as you shove the older boy to the ground, placing yourself on top of him and your knife to his neck.

Part of you wishes it was poisoned right now, just in case this Trafalgar Law has done something to your brother.

“Where’s Luffy?!”

The knife you have at his neck doesn’t phase Law even a tiny bit, it’s the fact that someone so much shorter and smaller than him was able to catch him off guard and shove him to the ground the way you did. You’re angry for some reason, giving him a nasty glare but look like you’re about to cry on top of it, as he just stares at you, his crewmembers shouting for you to get off their captain before he raises a hand to stop them.

“Who—”

“Tell me, where is my brother?!”

Oh so that’s what’s wrong, that’s who you are. Whether you’re related to Luffy by blood or by ritual cup like Ace was, Law doesn’t know, but he’s sure you want reassurance you haven’t lost two brothers in one day.

“Are you [Y/N]?”

You turn your head to look over your shoulder at Jinbei, still glaring. “Who’s asking?!”

“I was friends with your brother Ace, he told me about you and Luffy while we were in Impel Down.”

“He…did?”

You’ve calmed down so quickly hearing Ace’s name, retracting your knife just slightly, while Jinbei explains things to you. You don’t move off of Law though, listening quietly, fighting the desire to cry more. You’ve done enough of that, you don’t want to anymore today.

Law doesn’t even try to move you off, knowing, like Luffy, you’re emotionally hurting right now. He doesn’t want to risk you slicing his neck either, even as Jinbei finishes telling you everything Ace did, and you still don’t move or look at Law.

“Ace hopes you find what you’re looking for.”

You clench your jaw a bit at first, before smiling sadly and nodding, thanking Jinbei for the information before Law speaks up.

“If you get off me, I can take you to Straw Hat-ya.” 

You blink, finally looking back to Law, and you feel your face burn with a blush when you realize your position and scramble to get off him, apologizing the whole way while he shakes his head. Once he’s on his feet, Law let’s you onto the Polar Tang and leads you down the hallway to the infirmary, updating you on Luffy’s condition the best he can with the knowledge he has.

“If he pulls through this, the most you’ll have to worry about is his mental health.”

“Mm.” You nod, grabbing Law’s arm as he stops to open a door, making him look back at you. “I apologize for shoving you down.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Law shrugs, you could tell just from looking at him, though he does smirk a bit at you, “Never had a girl push me down and hold a poisoned knife to my neck before though.”

“It wasn’t poisoned,” you almost shout, but keep your voice down to not wake Luffy, “…this time…”

He almost laughs, but when you see Luffy finally, you’re instantly but his side, taking his hand and trying to keep yourself from crying seeing him in such a state. He’d been injured badly before, but never like this, never this close to death.

“Luffy…oh Luffy, I’m here, Lu,” you brush his bangs away from his face before kissing his forehead, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, I should’ve come with you…”

Law doesn’t bother you for the next several minutes, stepping out so you have some privacy while you make sure Luffy is all right, your quiet prayers that he wakes soon and heals quickly don’t go unheard by the surgeon of death, who thinks back to his own sister and the prayers he’d once prayed for her health as a child.

As an older sibling, he gets it. While he still doesn’t know yet if you’re related by blood or sworn siblings, he does see how much you care for Luffy, and for your sake he hopes your captain wakes sooner rather than later.

+!+

You spend the next two weeks in and out of the Polar Tang, checking on Luffy and praying over him to wake soon, Law being the one to take you in and lead you back out most of the time, even though you’ve memorized the path already. The next time you leave Luffy to continue recovering, the friends you and Luffy have made from Amazon Lily have shown up in the time you’ve been with him, bringing food and drinks for you all. As you walk over to where he’s seated, Law offers you a drink that you reject with a shake of your head, sitting on the other side of the tree and bringing your knees up to your chest, hiding your face in them.

“Any signs he’s waking up?”

Shaking your head, you sigh and lean back, looking at the people around to distract yourself from worrying over Luffy.

“That your crew?”

“Yep. All twenty of them.”

You smile a bit, watching the Heart Pirates goof off while some have their meal and share drinks. It almost reminds you of the Straw Hats and makes your heart ache from missing them deeply.

“You have a nice group there.”

“They can be a handful.”

It makes you laugh a bit, nodding before you decide to stop wallowing and get back up, standing beside Law where he stays seated.

“Think you should hold this for now.”

Law tosses Luffy’s straw hat to you, and you grit your teeth a bit while you stare at it. You had wondered where it was, seeing it wasn’t around when you were with Luffy. You hold nothing but the highest regards for Shanks, he'd been an inspiration for you and Luffy when you were children, he helped end the war and helped Law save Luffy, but how you wish he’d shown up sooner. Maybe he could’ve helped Ace too.

“Thank you, for holding this.”

“Seems important to him, he’s not Straw Hat-ya without it.”

Smiling a bit, you nod. “He’s certainly not.”

“How do you—”

“I’m his big sister. I was three when our dad dropped him off with me and grandpa. We’ve been together almost every day since.”

“I see.”

You’re not entirely sure you trust Law, despite his saving Luffy, but you’re willing to give him a shot. At least let him know a bit about your history with Ace too, since he'd been there when you hadn’t been. Where Luffy asked you not to go.

“We met Ace and another boy when I was ten, and become sworn siblings with them soon after. The other boy died a few months later,” you grip the straw hat a bit tighter, but loosen your hold after being stabbed in the hand by sharp bits of straw, “a Celestial Dragon did it, we’ve not been fans of them since, so Luffy punching that one in Sabaody felt like some payback.”

“That makes sense.”

After a few minutes of silence, you finally realize something and turn to Law, sticking your hand out for him.

“Never introduced myself. Monkey D. [Y/N]. I don’t really use my last name though.”

Law takes your hand after a moment, nodding. “Trafalgar Law.”

“Thank you for saving my baby brother.”

“Don’t thank me until he wakes up.”

As if almost on cue, the door comes flying off the Polar Tang and you both whip your heads over, Law running ahead of you as you follow, and Luffy’s the next thing to almost fly out of the ship.

“Luffy!!”

You’re about to run to him before Law grabs hold of your arm, pulling you to himself and holding you still, even while you thrash around and listen to Luffy call for Ace. It breaks your heart to see him so upset, and you just want to console him, have him do the same for you, while you both continue to grieve for Ace. But Law won’t let you go to him, fear or concern your brother might hurt you while he fights through pain and raging emotions, before he disappears into the forest.

“Luffy, come back!!”

You barely register Jinbei asking what’ll happen if Luffy continues to flail and run off like that, before Law speaks and your heart almost drops to your stomach at the thought.

“If he continues to move around like that he could reopen his wound and bleed out. He’ll die.”

Quickly you turn around and Law isn’t at all shocked to see the tears welling up in your eyes as you grip his shirt, still holding Luffy’s straw hat.

“Don’t let that happen!! Please!! He’s all I have! Luffy is my whole world, I can’t lose him!!”

Unsure of what to do, especially once you lay your head on his chest while you cry, Law hesitantly wraps his arms around you and watches Jinbei go off to Luffy. Maybe he’ll be able to calm your brother down before he really hurts or kills himself.

You’ve both been through a lot the last few weeks, losing Luffy would break you more than losing Ace did to him.

+!+

“I’m sorry I got snot on your shirt.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash.”

You glance away and keep your eyes averted while Law changes shirts, having taken you onto the Polar Tang while Jinbei attempts to calm Luffy down. He didn’t fully mean to bring you into his room, but he never let go of your wrist while he led through the ship, making you sit down to hopefully calm you down. You do catch sight of his tattoos, wanting to say something but you don’t want to sound like a creep or a pervert at the same time.

“Why don’t you use your last name?”

Law surprises you once he’s changed shirts, this one almost the same as the yellow one he’d been wearing, but now a dark blue with a furry, feathery collar that you really want to pet, it looks soft. But again, you don’t want to seem like a creep.

For a moment you’re quiet, before you cross your arms and lean against the wall, shrugging.

“Why should I use the name of someone who abandoned me? I only have one memory of my father, and it was when he dropped off Luffy.”

“Your grandfather is Garp, isn’t he?”

“I love my grandpa like he’s my dad…but I don’t want to use my last name.”

Law nods a bit, seeming to understand. You felt abandoned, and wanted nothing to do with your biological father, instead viewing Garp in that light, which makes sense.

He'd viewed Corazon in the same light at one point.

“Your mother?”

“I know nothing about her. It’s like…” You start to bury your head in your knees again, almost digging your nails into your arms, “Like I don’t know who I am half the time…”

He gets that too, the same feelings after Flevance, after losing Corazon and leaving the Don Quixote family, leaving Doflamingo behind. Many times of looking in the mirror and asking “who the hell am I”.

Law is about to respond, before one of his crewmembers yells for you both that Luffy and Jinbei have returned to the beach, and you’re out the door so fast he isn’t able to believe it. He follows you out, not all surprised to see you and Luffy hugging each other tightly once he exits his ship.

Your bond with Luffy would be on full display the next few days, Law truthfully does wonder if he and Lammy would’ve been the same.

+!+

“I met some people who are friends with our dad.”

“You what?”

Luffy nods, giving you this information during dinner one evening, while you stare at him with such a blank look that Law thinks you’ve completely shut down. You didn’t say too much about your dad while you relayed some of your childhood to him earlier that day, apart from your perceived abandonment, but the look you have isn’t a very happy one.

“They’re were some cool people! They helped me escape that prison and…tried to help me save Ace.”

“So they were revolutionaries.”

“Yeah, they…they said they didn’t even know we existed.” Luffy scrunches up his face a bit while you frown, then pat his head.

“I’m not surprised, Lu.”

Luffy makes a face now, one that’s almost disgusted but annoyed but upset maybe. Law swears he isn’t trying to eavesdrop, you two are sitting too close to him anyway, you’re practically pressed up against his side. You both appear to have problems with your father, after the little bit you’ve told him and how you confessed to feeling abandoned by your parents. He wonders briefly is Luffy feels the same, even as your younger brother leans against you, pushing you fully into Law’s arm and making you glance up at him apologetically. He doesn’t move, once again doesn’t push you off, instead shifting his arm enough for you to be comfortable.

When Luffy falls asleep, you finally speak again.

“Luffy met our dad once, in Loguetown”

“Oh yeah?”

“Neither of us knew until grandpa told us…he didn’t even stop to say anything to me…”

“…I’m sorry.”

You shrug, watching Luffy. It still stung to know that, to know that Dragon didn’t even seek you out when he must’ve known you were on Luffy’s crew, that you’d never leave him to do this alone. When Garp told you he’d been in Loguetown that day, it felt like a knife in your heart that you didn’t even get to see or speak to your father.

Law, while he watches you start to drift off to sleep yourself, thinks about his own dad and Corazon at the same time. He had two fathers in the end, who both cared about and loved him deeply, both wanting to protect him as long as they could. He had his mother and Lammy too, you had Luffy and Garp, but it wasn’t enough for you, and it makes sense. To not have that connection with the people who gave you life, Law can’t even imagine how difficult that must be.

He ignores the slight snickers and comments from his crew when they see you leaned against him, even has he slightly tilts his head towards yours, not going all the way to lay his against your own. Even when Shachi makes a small comment about ‘love’ being in the air at Amazon Lily, Law doesn’t open his eyes to respond or even Shambles his friend away.

You won’t see each other again for a long time after this, most likely, so he’s willing to give you some comfort and allow his crew to see him a little softer than normal.

+!+

“Bye, thanks for your help, Traffy!”

Law tries not to grimace at the nickname Luffy’s given him over the last few days, nodding to you both as his crew also shouts goodbyes and wave to you both, you personally sad to see them leave. You’d spent so much time getting to know them while taking care of Luffy, that it felt like you were losing friends again. You’d probably see them one day, maybe as friends but maybe as foes, yet, you’d like to see more of Law and learn about him like he had you.

Luffy notices your face, the sad look it has, then looks back to the Heart Pirates as they start to disappear below deck. You’ve already chosen to stay on Amazon Lily the next two years and learn from the women there how to fight, but even watching you the last couple days, he could see your heart wasn’t in it. You more so loved using your knives and making poisons, he remembers the one he and Ace mistakenly drank thinking it was lavender tea from Makino. You weren’t an archer or a swordswoman, you much prefer close combat and paralyzing your enemies. Your work during Enies Lobby earned you your $25 million berri bounty, the Navy having trouble recreating antidotes from the one you’d left with a knocked out marine, they knew you’d be trouble one day.

With all that in mind, Luffy sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around you in what you first believe to be a hug, before he lifts you up and you look at him. He’s got a grin that concerns you greatly as the color drains from your face.

“Luffy.”

He giggles a bit, nodding at you to brace yourself.

“Luffy, don’t you dare.”

“Have fun with Traffy for two years!!!”

He doesn’t give you anymore room to argue, flinging you towards the Polar Tang, making you yell for Law to pay attention, and he barely does in time to catch you, knocking both of you to the ground, several Heart Pirates making sure both of you are all right and that Law didn’t hit his head on anything.

You’re up and holding onto the railing, yelling at Luffy, “You’re an idiot!!!”

He pretends he can’t hear you, waving widely and shouting another goodbye, but to you this time.

Once Law is sitting up, realizing what the hell has happened, he sighs a bit while you look back to him.

“I’m sorry, Trafalgar. You can turn back and I’ll beat some sense into him!”

One of his crewmembers, you’re pretty sure it’s Shachi, leans down to ask him, “Should we? Kinda seems like Straw Hat wants us to take her along.”

He sighs, taking his hat off and running his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“You can stay.”

“…huh?”

You tilt your head in confusion, Law doesn’t think it’s cute at all no matter what that weird feeling in his chest is, while he stands up and nods at you.

“The Amazons might get angry if we return without permission, so we’ll just…take you along…and then bring you to Sabaody.”

Blinking several times, you’re still confused while some of his crew laugh, Penguin coming up to pat you on the back.

“You’re a temporary Heart Pirate! We’ll take care of you!”

Nodding, Law turns to go below deck.

“Say your goodbye, we’ll be going under shortly.”

While the rest of them follow after their captain, you turn back and see Luffy still waving at you, which makes you sigh and shake your head. You do smile though, you had wanted to continue getting to know Law and his crew, this was a perfect opportunity, and maybe he could help you with creating effective antidotes for your poisons.

“Luffy! Love you, see you in two years!”

“Okay!!!!”

Once you go below deck, Penguin being the one to wait for you in order to close the door properly, he starts to show you around a bit, the rest of the crew happy to see you’re staying with them for now, while Law keeps a slight distance unless he’s asked about something. You looking around and being so impressed by the submarine caused another weird feeling in his chest, and he fights to ignore it, especially when you thank him for letting you stay with a smile, which he waves off with an “It’s nothing”.

It's going to be an interesting two years.

[cripplecharacters]

sorry if this is a little too vast, but how often do you feel the whole fantasy concept of curses falls into harmful stereotypes? just because a lot of ‘curses’ in fantasy media:

a) display either symptoms of real disabilities, especially chronic illnesses, or have fantastical symptoms that disable the character in some way or another

b) are often tied to some form of morality, whether a person is cursed because they’re evil and it’s a punishment, or they’re helpless and need to be saved from the horrible life of being ill

c) are usually curable through some sort of magic solution, even though disabled readers cannot magically cure their body

d) overall are linked to magic, and it is my understanding that ‘disability caused by a magic spell’ is very tropey with conditions such as vitiligo.

as an (aspiring) fantasy author, i think the whole concept of curses holds a lot of potential, i just wanted to know if it’s something that could likely be taken as hurtful and ableist, and if so is there a specific aspect of curses that shouldn’t be written about or is it a case of ‘abandon the whole concept of curses’.

sorry if this isn’t very coherent, i’m currently on a flare up right now so words are harder for me than usual. thank you all for running such a cool and helpful blog.

Hello!

You're right that this is a very broad topic. Curses on their own aren't inherently problematic but they certainly can be, especially when they're tied with the first point you've mentioned (That is, having symptoms of real disabilities).

Something also worth noting is that none of those points are necessarily bad on their own, it's all about how the author handles it. For example, a character that becomes cursed with immortality after stealing a child from the fae would be okay. A character that becomes cursed with paralysis after offending a sorcerer, however, would be different.

One example that comes to mind is Eda's curse in The Owl House. For those who aren't familiar with it, Eda was cursed by an unknown person for unknown reasons (Though this is later revealed). Her curse caused things such as limbs that pop off easily (Literally becoming removed from her body, in a cartoon-y way), changes to her appearance (Eye and hair colour), occasional transformation into a large demonic beast, negative effects to her magic, and several other things that are more similar to chronic illnesses (Periods of low energy, etc.).

Even before Eda became disabled (She becomes an amputee later on), her curse felt a lot like a disability narrative to me. She's found ways to cope with it and manage the symptoms she experiences such as taking naps and using an elixir (Which has a similar use to medication for her) that keeps her beast form at bay. There are days when the curse is worse and other days when it's better.

Two main things that stick out to me the most about this example is that, though she obviously doesn't enjoy the curse, Eda is more upset about (And focused on) the fact that she doesn't know who cursed her or why. The fact that curing her curse isn't her main goal is very refreshing to me.

The other thing is one particular arc where her mother comes to visit and it's shown that she comes every year with a new proposed cure. Although this is a magic world, the proposed cures are equated to the whole idea of curing paralysis with certain herbs or ADHD with a certain diet. What was especially relatable to me about this was that Eda doesn't want these so-called cures and her mother's actions are shown as an imposition rather than an act of kindness or charity. As somebody who has accepted my own disabilities while my friends and family members have not, this was something that felt very close to home for me.

Eda's curse has some similarities with real world disabilities -- both in some of the symptoms such as low energy as well as in the way it's treated -- but it isn't a disability in and of itself. That said, it's still one of the best portrayals of living with disability that I've seen and it's an excellent example of how curses can be done and related to disability in a way that isn't ableist or poorly designed.

The main reason that the portrayal of Eda's curse is so well done is because it's designed with consideration for the show's disabled audience. Although some able-bodied people may pick up on certain things, the whole narrative around Eda's curse is much more relatable and obvious to people who live with a disability than those who don't.

Essentially, it's the story that a lot of disabled people want to see.

Not somebody with a disability being cured or fixed but somebody with a disability living a full, meaningful life and with those around them learning to understand and accept that.

Eda's mother doesn't stop looking for a cure because she gives up on her daughter or because her daughter pushes her away. She stops because she realizes how her efforts were hurting Eda and how their relationship was suffering from it.

Not only that but she also accepts that Eda knows her curse better than her mother does AND she wants to learn more about Eda's methods for dealing with it.

This is huge!

The series is showing respect for Eda's bodily autonomy and her independence. It's recognizing that disabled people know our disabilities and our bodies better than others do. A lot of us have to deal with constant unsolicited advice on how to deal with our disabilities from friends, family members, and even complete strangers so to see this situation portrayed in this way was especially refreshing.

This is a smaller factor but another way that Eda's curse was done well is that it's clearly fantasy. The cause is fantasy, the manifestations are fantasy, and the resulting effects are fantasy.

While the effects may have some similarities to real life disabilities, the manifestations are enough to differentiate the curse from actual disabilities. For example, people with dissociative disorders may have moments they can't remember but they don't turn into a large demonic beast during them.

There's enough of a distance there that it isn't equated one-to-one as disability, even if the narrative is very similar to disability narratives.

Unfortunately, I have also seen curses portrayed in a way that is ableist and rather poorly dealt with.

I don't intend to name it (I'll explain my reasoning below*) but I recently read a book where one of the side characters was cursed as punishment for her own selfish actions and ended up functionally mute. She used ASL to communicate for the most part. Within the book, the character is shown to be so bitter and upset about her curse and the resulting effects that she takes it out on her family and her child in particular.

This is bad for several reasons.

First, by making the curse so similar to a real-world disability/symptom, any associations made with the curse are also, by extension, being made with that disability. In showing how much this character hates her curse, it's also showing how much she hates being disabled.

If her curse was something like waking up every day in a different body (Or something else that has no real-world equivalent), it's easier to put distance between the curse and any similarities to disability. It also allows you, as the writer, to focus more on other aspects as opposed to the immediate focus of how the curse disables a character (Such as how Eda was bothered by not knowing how or why she was cursed rather than the curse itself).

Because the curse is equated to her disability, this also falls into several ableist tropes.

As the curse was a punishment from the fae for her own selfish actions, it falls into the "disability as punishment" trope.

The fact that her curse -- or at least her frustration/bitterness from the curse -- is pushing her to act the way that she does also causes it to fall into several problematic tropes involving disabled villains. For one thing, the prime cause of her "bad behaviour" (For lack of a better term) being her curse/disability.

In contrast, Eda from The Owl House does push people away because of her curse but it's because of her fear (Specifically the fear of losing control of her beast form and hurting somebody) that causes her to do that. This habit of pushing people away out of fear is also touched on and shown outside of the context of her curse.

With the book, the character's actions are directly shown to be because she's mute and the anger/bitterness/frustration she feels around that.

A lot of this specific problem comes from the writing itself. If the author had wrote it so the character was lashing out at her family because she felt like she wasn't being heard or because she was afraid they might do something dangerous (Such as going after the fae that did this) and she wouldn't be able to stop them, that would be a different situation. There may still be some negative associations but it's less of a direct correlation between being cursed/disabled and being a jerk.

Now, having a character become cursed as a punishment isn't necessarily a bad thing.

In the show Lucifer, the side character Cain is cursed with immortality after killing his brother (And, as this is the same Cain from the bible, committing the first murder). Throughout his arc on the show, Cain is looking for a way to cure his curse and, essentially, die.

Because immortality isn't anywhere close to a real-world disability, these other factors aren't a problem as there's no association with disability.

Essentially what I'm getting at here is that curses can be perfectly fine. They aren't inherently ableist or problematic in any way but they certainly can be. It's all about how you, as the writer, handle it and what associations you're making -- whether you intend to or not.

The main thing to keep in mind when including curses in your writing is to consider what purpose they're serving and what you want to do with them.

If you want the curse to be a punishment for something terrible that the character has done, it's best to stay far away from disability and lean more into the fantasy side of things.

If you want curing the curse to serve as the character's main goal throughout the story, it could be okay to have some elements of real-world disability in there. For example, in a world where magic is used freely maybe your character is cursed to only be able to use their magic through a specific conduit and if it goes unused for a while, it causes tics or spasms.

While this is still similar to real-world disabilities (Such as Tourette's syndrome or epilepsy), there's enough distance between the manifestation of the curse (Only being able to use their magic through a specific conduit) and the disability-like effect of it (The tics/spasms). This distance gives you the ability to focus on other aspects of the curse (Such as the problems with magic) as the motivation for wanting to cure it rather than the disability aspects of it.

One final word of caution is to be careful when mixing the "curse as an allegory for disability" and "curse as a punishment for doing something evil". I'd generally suggest avoiding it. I have never seen it done in a way that doesn't end up incredibly ableist and reading as a bad cautionary tale for children ("Eat your veggies or you'll end up in a wheelchair" = "Don't kick children because they might be witches and you'll end up blind").

This is especially important to keep in mind if you want to use the curse as a disability narrative or otherwise have it be treated/showed similarly to disability (Like The Owl House did with Eda). If you want to do that, explore explore other causes for the curse. Maybe it was the result of a training mishap with a new witch? Or maybe they accidentally broke a dangerous artifact? Just as long as it's not shown to be a punishment/consequence of sorts.

As promised, I've explained my reasoning for not naming the book down below.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

*So my reasoning for not naming the book is because of a few things. The main one is that, while the rest of the examples I gave have a fairly large and established presence, this book is by a new author and published by a small publishing company. Simply put, they don't have the same resources that corporations such as Disney and Fox do.

The other thing is that while there are multiple writers working on tv shows like The Owl House and Lucifer, this book has a singular creator and this is her first book. Although I did criticize her portrayal of the character's curse heavily, there were several parts I enjoyed and I am reluctant to put the book on blast and risk discouraging her from writing more.

If this was the work of a more established author (Such as Rick Riordan or JK Rowling) or I was discussing it in a more positive light, I'd be more comfortable naming the book openly.

[bloodismymedium]

My Mona Lanius Headcanons (Warning: lethal amounts of cringe ahead)

🔪 Mona grew up in a very privileged and lavish lifestyle, her parents being insanely rich and living in a mostly white, gated community. She had a relatively average childhood but lived as a recluse due to her deformities and an extreme sensitivity towards sunlight that forced her to stay inside at all times, usually cooped up in her bedroom, painting and drawing the day away, having exhibited great artistic talent at a very young age.

🔪 Young Mona become something of an urban legend as people who saw glimpses of her from her bedroom window believed she was a ghost due to her chalk white skin and dark hair and some of the neighborhood children always tried to break in and get a good look at her, those who did were either frightened or would mock her relentlessly. Social detachment and living with a distant and rejective family who resented the way she looked caused her to become extremely resentful and emotionally detached from people to the point where she began to view the world and humanity as a whole as just “ugly and wrong”, which would play into her complete lack of empathy and morals as an adult, as well as her motives as a serial killer.

🔪 Mona is a product of incest, the Lanius family having practiced inbreeding for generations, believing in a false notion of keeping their bloodline “pure” and while Mona’s parents looked completely normal they were emotionally and mentally stunted and had a lot of health problems. Mona meanwhile is the complete opposite as she is extremely intelligent and has superb health but is heavily deformed. Her deformities include full body vitiligo, extreme photophobia (a skin condition identified by an allergy towards sunlight), Marfan Syndrome (longer than average limbs) in her arms, legs and fingers, extreme ocular albinism as well as larger than average eyes, a minor cleft lip and Kyphosis (hunched back).

🔪 Mona is seven feet tall, 7’2 to be exact. Her incredible height paired with her lanky physique adds to her intimidation factor, this combined with all of her other physical attributes causes most of her victims to believe she’s some kind of demon or monster, a notion she finds vey flattering as she doesn’t really consider herself human at all anyways, having a very negative outlook on humanity.

🔪 Mona practiced extreme levels of self harm up until her mid-twenties, cutting herself so much that her arms, legs and inner thighs are now just completely shredded and having lost almost all feeling in those areas as well. Mona’s reasons for self harm stemmed mostly from depression with a hint of masochism and she only stopped after meeting Bill Collins.

🔪 Mona flip flops between being a girly girl and a tomboy in terms of her taste in clothes and fashion. She fantasizes about dressing up in gothic lolita and a leather jacket with combat boots equally and while she does have a passion for clothing, her height and awkward proportions make it difficult for her to wear most clothes and she is usually limited to wearing oversized, unflattering clothing such as her iconic painting smock, much to her disappointment.

🔪 Mona is definitely not a picky eater, being a cannibal and having a preference for raw meat as well (the brain and heart are her favorites) but strangely enough, she also loves sweets, having a powerful sweet tooth ever since she was little and she has a habit of stealing anything sugary from the homes of her victims to indulge in (pop tarts are her favorite).

🔪 Mona’s favorite animal is the owl, especially Barn Owls as they remind her of herself, owls were also one of the most common images she painted/drew as a child. Mona has great affection towards animals that are typically considered “creepy” or “gross” in general (rats, bats, roaches, spiders just to name a few) and has great disdain for “cute” animals like cats and dogs. Mona’s relationship with animals may or may not be a parallel of her self image and outlook on people/society and how they treated her 🤔🤨🧐

🔪 Mona LOVES dolls, plushies and stuffed animals, especially clown dolls (she thinks clowns are neat in general really) and she has an impressive collection stashed away in one of her many dwellings, the vast majority of her collection are stolen from victim’s homes and she likes making frankensteinian monstrosities out of them by stitching them together as well.

🔪 Mona’s first victims were her parents, having dismembered them with an axe when she was only thirteen where she then burned her entire house down with the remains of her parents inside, taking only the clothes on her back and a few art supplies with her before jumping the gates of purebred neighborhood and officially starting her career as a “true artist”.

🔪 Despite growing up in a literal mansion, Mona prefers to live in dark, damp and cold places that are basically rotting away around her, finding strange comfort in such places and she would actually prefer to sleep in an open grave and spoon a rotting corpse than in a warm bed. The abandoned lighthouse was the longest she squatted in an area as she liked it quite a bit, too bad that little shit Fuckboy Cory™ would result in her needing to move out 😡

🔪 On top of being a talented painter, Mona has many other skills and talents that she acquired through her rich parents wanting her to be more “cultured” to make up for her physical appearance, these include sculpting, photography, sewing, hunting (as well as cutting and dressing meat) and musical talents with the violin and piano as well. Her high intelligence allows her to pick up on things quite fast.

🔪 Mona dreamed of being a surgeon when she was child, having a lifelong fascination with organs and blood even at a young age but also having aspirations of being appreciated and accepted by others in spite of the way she looked. Mona would spend her days reading medical books and “practicing” on her stuffed animals, tearing them apart and stitching them back together. Mona also developed a fascination with drugs and narcotics and the effects they have on people and would sometimes experiment with them by slipping one of dozens of substances her parents were addicted to into the drinks of house guests.

🔪 Surprisingly, Mona isn’t that into slasher/gore/extreme horror films, she finds herself bored by them because she does things a thousand times worse than anyone at hollywood can come up with every day. Instead, she is a total slut for classic, black and white era horror and science fiction and her all time favorite film is Frankenstein. Some of her other favorites include Freaks, Fiend Without a Face, Nosferatu, Creature from the Black Lagoon and This Island Earth. With that said, there are still some gory films she greatly enjoys and even finds inspiring such as House of 1000 Corpses, the Guinea Pig series and the Terrifier series.

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x gender neutral reader (light nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Commission number two folks!

Content: Gender and body neutral reader who’s autistic deals with sensory overload while at a funfair, stimming includes rocking and pressure on the hands. Male orc offers a way out so the reader can catch their breath. Very brief mention of the orc losing a close friend in the past year, and of deciding to live more in the moment because of it. Light-ish nsfw at the end with a bit of a fade to black. 

Wordcount: 7562

Three hours ago, you’d been sure you could handle this. How could you not? It was a day out with your friends for Lily’s birthday, but of course, the orc had chosen the modern equivalent of a jousting tournament to show off her skills to her girlfriend. Still, you and Luke and Ellis had met up and made your way through town, collecting Lily and Maggie outside a gelateria, where naturally you all paused to buy the most amazing ice cream in town. With a start like that, how could things possibly go wrong?

After a leisurely walk to the fairground on the outskirts of town, you’d watched Luke win a fluffy white rabbit toy that was almost as big as he was on the coconut shy, despite the way the game was obviously rigged, but the werewolf had wagged his shaggy grey tail and howled his victory to the sky and clutched his new friend to his chest like it was his own goddamn child, and you’d clapped and cheered along with everyone else at the soppy wolf.

You hadn’t noticed the way you'd started to grip one hand with the other, squeezing tightly with finger and thumb just to give a little release to the steady buildup of pressure inside you as the atmosphere of the fanfare closed in around you. You also didn’t notice that you were gently rocking from side to side on the spot while you waited for Ellis to decide if he was going to go and say hi to the girl he’d been crushing on for a while, so when you found a teenager staring openly at you from the queue for the paintball stand, you assumed their attention was on Ellis.

Ellis usually attracted looks, not only because he was a goblin — a species that was relatively rare in your part of the world — but because his storm-grey skin was mottled all over with pale patches from vitiligo. He wasn’t bothered by the attention for the most part, but when you saw exactly where their gaze was directed instead — at your twisting hands — you felt an ugly stab of something bitter go through you. Carnivals may not offer the outdated and heartless ‘freak show’ elements anymore, but boy were you made to feel like one sometimes by other people.

“Hey, look!” Ellis exclaimed, his scratchy, reedy voice cutting through the maelstrom of noise and crush of people easily enough. “There she is! I’m gonna go see if she’s up for a ferris wheel ride. You think she’ll say yes?”

Your nod came out jerky and a bit stilted, but you mustered a smile of encouragement for your friend and he grinned back at you, all his sharp teeth glinting in the sunshine. Then something shifted in his expression and he frowned. “You ok?” he asked as his completely black eyes went a little wider with concern.

Again, you nodded and tried to look a little more convincing. After weeks of dancing around each other, he was finally going to shoot his shot, and there was no way you wanted him to miss because of you. “Fine,” you croaked. The word came out like a cat hocking up a hairball, but at least you got it out.

“Ok. Text me, alright?” he said. “Text me if you wanna go.”

You nodded. No way were you going to be the reason everyone left. If things got bad, you’d just… bail. Somehow. If you could find your way out of the crush of people without imploding first.

Glancing right, you saw Lily raise the hammer on the high striker and watched her muscles bunch and flex in her arms, shoulders and back. She was wearing a black tank top that said, ‘If lost, return Butch to Femme Fatale’ and beside her stood pint-sized Maggie in her denim hot pants and white t-shirt that read ‘Femme Fatale’. It was adorable, honestly, but as you stood there alone in the stream of people coursing and jostling down the avenue of grass between the smaller stands and side-shows, over-stimulation swamped you completely and you found yourself drowning silently.

Flashing lights, blaring funfair music, screaming, children running this way and that, rides rumbling and rattling on all sides, electronic bleeps and jingles mingling into a cacophonous mixtape in the air and reverberating in your head, cartoon pistol noises on the laser gun range sounding over and over and over, more screaming as the pendulum ride swung overhead once again…

The sensory overload raked its claws across your skin and left you with white noise in your head and cotton wool in your mouth.

The scent of candy floss grew chokingly thick in the air as you just stood there, paralysed.

Out of nowhere, a small and extremely solid lizardfolk kid barrelled into you, nearly knocking you flying. His horned head collided with your thigh and it hurt, but you didn’t cry out. His father scooped him up by the hand and apologised to you, but when he saw you rocking from side to side, he snatched his kid away and shot you another look, as if you were contagious or dangerous and not just struggling to kick start your brain again so you could get yourself the heck out of there and find somewhere safe to process everything.

Struggling to catch your breath, you gripped one hand with the other, squeezing as hard as you could but it wasn’t enough. There was just too much, inside and out, and you had nowhere to put it — nowhere to park it all until you could deal with it.

Someone ducked in front of you, their huge form blotting out the searing light of the afternoon sun.

Blinking, you looked up, still rocking, and tried to focus on their face.

He was an orc, you realised when you saw the huge, jutting tusks in his lower jaw and the expanse of sage green skin. A long, thick plait of black hair hung forward over his left shoulder, and through it ran a streak dyed a dark, vibrant red that was really attractive; it complemented the green tone of his freckled skin beautifully. Wearing a white, sleeveless tank top that had the logo of the fairground company on it, he wasn’t built like he spent every spare minute in the gym, but he looked like he could have lifted the ferris wheel right off its supports with no trouble at all.

Someone snickered nearby and you flinched, but you didn’t break the steady rocking motion of your body while mentally you tried to fend off all the unending stimuli around you. The orc’s expression darkened when he caught the sound of  laughter, and he stepped pointedly a little to the left. The movement served to block you from their sight and to refocus your attention on something that was quiet and solid and steady in front of you.

Yeah, he was solid alright. You blinked and watched the corners of his mouth twitch upwards just a little behind his colossal tusks, both of which bore silver caps over the tips to indicate that he had reached full maturity in the eyes of his culture. It probably meant that his tusks were filed to sharp points beneath the caps too. It was rare for orcs who lived in the city to stick to the older ways, but as you continued to stare up at him and move side to side while you ran your hands over your forearms, you noticed the beads in his braid of different materials: wood, copper, steel, glass, stone, and even bone. He’d lost someone close to him then at some point. Gods, now was not the time to be fishing everything you knew about orcs out of the depths of your brain.

For another few seconds, he continued to shield you from the staring judgement of the people in the queue for the nearest booth, but when you didn't seem to be able to settle, he jutted his chin to the side of the grassy avenue between the stalls.

“My name is Rhokann. You wanna step this way for a second? Catch your breath where it’s a bit quieter?” he said.

When no words came to your lips, he tilted his head just a little and then beckoned you with a big hand. “There’s a quieter spot over by that oak tree and the river. You want to come with me for a minute?”

You did. You also wanted to say thank you, but the words got glued up on their way from your brain to your mouth, so you just nodded.

He stuck out his arm and halted the flow of people for a moment to usher you between the candy floss stall and something else that was painted a thousand lurid colours so you didn’t look too long at it. Only when you saw the bole of a huge, old oak and a wide patch of un-trampled grass around it did you let out a shaky breath and turn to see him standing a little way off. A couple of people peered after you down the gap between the stalls, and he looked back at them with a very articulate and animalistic growl. That done, he stepped a little to his right, obscuring the view of you down the small alley with his body.

“Forget about them and look out over the river for a minute,” he suggested.

His dark brown eyes slid from you to the railings behind you, and you turned to see the river gushing in a white foam over the weir that controlled its flow through the city beyond. The sounds of the funfair behind you faded slowly, dissolving into the steady stream of white noise from the river, and you took a deeper breath and gradually released the death-grip you’d had on your own hands.

You let your gaze unfocus a little, but your body kept on moving as it tried to help you dissipate all the tension that had been building in your muscles and your mind ever since you’d first arrived at the fair.

A shadow moved in the corner of your vision, and you found Rhokann approaching slowly. He cast a pointed look at the metal railing to your left and said, “You mind if I join you for a moment?”

You shook your head. The word ‘no’ didn’t want to come, but he didn’t seem to take it as rudeness.

“Cheers,” he said. “Carnival gets intense, huh?”

This time, you nodded and he smiled when he saw it. You liked the way it hitched his mouth up around his tusk on the right, and it brought a twinkle to his coffee-brown eyes.

“Take your time,” he said. “You here with your friends?”

You nodded.

“They know where you were?”

You shook your head, but reached into your pocket and drew out your phone. Shaking it a little, you hoped he’d get the idea that they could contact you if they wanted to find you, or the other way around, and he smiled again in understanding. Your heart skipped a beat. He may have been seven and a half feet tall, but he had a gentle demeanour that you hadn’t really realised was possible in someone that big. He had a paunch too, which he clearly wasn’t trying to hide with his close-fitting, sleeveless top, and you could see from the scoop of the neckline that he had an attractive swirl of dark hair across his pecs that made you wonder what the rest of him looked like without clothes on; a fact that was startling enough in that moment to make you flush hot and look away.

“You want me to keep you company for a bit, or do you want some space?” he asked after another couple of minutes floated past.

You shook your head and then struggled to find the words to make him stay just a bit longer. When he saw you floundering, he smiled and asked, “Stay?”

You nodded, exhaling in relief, even as you fought off a rush of disappointment in not being able to form the words.

“You’re good,” he said with a wave of a huge hand. “Don’t stress talking.”

He took a deep, luxuriant inhale and leaned his massive forearms on the metal railing, easing his weight forward and gazing out at the river. His braid went all the way to the small of his back and it made you want to wrap it around your hand and tug just to see what kind of sound he’d make, and again, you had to look away before he caught you lusting after him. Just because you’d been rescued by a heroic stranger, didn’t mean you had to go falling in love with him in the following five minutes. It didn’t hurt that he hadn’t batted an eyelid at your stimming, or that he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you’d been rendered almost completely non-verbal by the whole experience.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket a while later and you drew it out again to see that Lily was looking for you.

‘Where are you, Titch?’ she’d texted and you smiled when you saw the nickname. The massive orc had given it to you back in college, and it had stuck ever since. Even Ellis called you ‘Titch’ sometimes, despite the fact that he was nearly a foot and a half shorter than you. ‘We turned around and you’d gone!’

Rhokann was watching you from the corners of his kind eyes, and you waggled the phone again before typing out a message to Lily. ‘Needed to step away for a second. Got rescued by a super hot orc guy. More at ten.’

Lily texted back immediately. ‘Super hot orc guy, huh? I’ll be the judge of that. Where are you?’

‘Big oak tree on the edge of the park near the river. Don’t embarrass me please.’

‘As if I’d ever…’

‘You spend every spare minute you’re not kissing Maggie trying to embarrass me and El and Luke.’

‘Fair play. We’re nearby. I can see the tree’

You locked your phone and swallowed thickly, feeling a bit more able to talk. “Friend’s coming…” you faltered. Wow. Nice and articulate, you sneered at yourself with your usual sarcasm.

“That’s good,” Rhokann smiled back. He made no move to push himself back upright from the railings though, and shifted his gaze back out to the city that sprawled over the other side of the river. He gave another sigh.

You stepped a little closer and looked up at him. “You… ok?” you asked.

“Mm,” he hummed. When he looked back down at you, his dark eyes were strangely sad. “Just… thinking,” he said with a gesture of his hand near his temple. “I’ve been working here all summer, and it’s been amazing, but I’m starting a full time job in a week. I’m just thinking about what’s coming next.”

“Doing what?” Words were starting to come back a little quicker now, but it wasn’t great.

He turned his head over his shoulder to look at you, but before he could answer your question, you heard Lily’s voice coming from behind you.

“Hey Titch!” she called, and then she eyed the other orc ostentatiously up and down.

She raised an eyebrow when she saw the beads in his braid and the cuffs around his thick tusks, and you watched Rhokann deflate a little. Lily was not a traditional orc. For one, she was dating a human, which wasn’t exactly frowned upon but humans weren’t normally seen as suitable partners for her kind, and for another, she had cut her black hair short in a style shaved close to her skull above her pointed ears and left a little longer on top. She wore no cuffs on her tusks, and she’d filed them to softly-rounded points. “As much for Maggie’s pleasure as my own damned convenience,” she’d once told you.

Lily disdained orcs who stuck to the old ways, thinking them brutish thugs stuck in the past, and she folded her arms as she stared Rhokann down. “You wanna head home?” she asked in a low growl.

You turned your attention to Rhokann and he offered you a tiny, sad smile and a shrug of his shoulder. You wanted to stay and get to know him, but you also desperately wanted to be away from the fairground now. Your body felt drained of life, like you were running on fumes, and all you wanted was the quiet of your apartment, a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and a good book.

In the end, Rhokann decided for you. He offered you a broader smile, and said, “It was nice meeting you. Take care.”

You’d never regretted your tendency to go non-verbal more than watching him walk away and not being able to say thank you.

With Lily on one side, you were joined by Luke a few minutes later, still hauling around the giant fluffy bunny he’d won, its ears flopping comically with each of his bounding steps, but you kept scanning every face for Rhokann. You saw an ogre with green skin that was a similar shade to Rhokann’s, but disappointment bit deep when you realised it wasn’t him, and when a flash of red hair up ahead drew your attention, you barely contained a sob when you saw it was a troll with multiple streaks of red in their black hair.

The walk back home passed in a daze, and you spent the rest of the day buzzing in the worst way possible.

A week later, Luke texted and asked if you wanted to grab breakfast on your way to work, and since you only had stale cereal in your cupboard, you practically leapt at the chance. ‘You mind if we drop my car off at the garage on the way?’ he asked with a subsequent text. ‘There’s an amazing little cafe just around the corner and we can get the metro from there afterwards.’

When his sputtering old deathtrap wheezed onto the garage forecourt though, your heart practically sputtered out as well. There, in oil-stained overalls, was Rhokann.

He didn’t spot you to start with, but when you climbed out of the passenger side and closed the door, his eyes flickered to you and then away again. Then back in a huge, obvious double-take, and his face split into a hearty grin. “Hey,” he chuckled once he’d taken the keys from Luke. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to see you again.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, and Luke shot you a look. He was in his human form this time, but he was no less intimidating than he looked as a shifted werewolf. For all that he was happy to haul a fluffy, cartoon rabbit around a funfair all day without a lick of self-consciousness, he was a dedicated gym-rat and had the body to match, but while his commitment was certainly admirable, he wasn’t your type. Rhokann, on the other hand, with his strongman physique and solid layer of fat to soften the strength that lay beneath… unfff… It was hard to look at him for long without feeling your skin start to prickle with heat.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Luke asked you and you nodded.

“He came to my rescue at the fairground last weekend while you were showing that white rabbit the time of its life,” you grinned.

At that, Luke flushed. You weren’t the only one who liked Rhokann’s build, but the orc wasn’t looking at Luke’s incredibly toned arms, which were currently being deliberately shown off to amazing advantage by his tight, black t-shirt. No, Rhokann was looking at you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen in a year, and it was enough to make a cloud of butterflies erupt in your chest.

“Damn,” Luke hissed down at you, smirking. “You weren’t kidding about the ‘super hot orc guy’ thing.”

At that, your eyes went wide with horror and you smacked him in the chest with a wild flail of your hand. “I can’t believe Lily told you I said that, but you didn’t have to fucking repeat it!” you hissed around a strangled yelp. “In front of him,” you added through gritted teeth.

Rhokann chuckled quietly from a few feet away, and you turned quickly back to look at him. He raised one thick, black eyebrow and you rolled your eyes.

Turning to Luke in desperation as a mild panic seeped across your brain, you blurted, “Didn’t you say they were super busy at breakfast? Come on, we’d better go…”

And with that, you bolted from the garage without waiting for Luke to follow.

You weren’t proud, and you were sorely disappointed in yourself for chickening out, but in your defence, your friend had just embarrassed the hell out of you in front of your hero of the day. What if Rhokann just thought you were some human with a crush now?

Luke caught up with you, looking back over his shoulder at Rhokann for a second, and then trotted down the road at your side. “Hey, wait, I’m… I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s ok,” you groaned. “I know how it feels when there’s a gorgeous guy standing there looking like… that… In your case, stupid stuff falls out of your mouth. In my case, I clam up.”

“Fair, but still,” Luke groused, holding the door of the cafe open for you and letting you step in ahead of him. “I’m sorry.”

The scent of coffee and sweet icing sugar wafted around you and you forgot your embarrassment for a bit, but the way you’d scuppered your chances haunted you for the rest of the morning at work.

By the time you got home, you were fractious and stimming and in need of some space to slough off the day on your own terms. When your phone chimed a little while later, you assumed it would be one of your friends, but it was an unknown number, and your heart skipped a beat.

‘Hey, it’s Rhokann. I hope this isn’t presumptuous of me. Your friend Luke gave me your number and said it was an apology, but he didn’t say what for. Anyway, if you’re not interested, just ignore this and block my number, but I’d love to see you again. Let me know if you’re up for that, and maybe we can figure something out soon. If not, I’m glad I met you all the same and I won’t contact you again.’

No one had ever said anything like that to you, and you stared at the text for a full five minutes.

The first person you texted though was Luke to yell at him affectionately in all caps. He called you back, and you accepted the call with a little huff that made him laugh with quiet fondness. “I’m sorry, Titch,” he said. “But I fucked up, and I figured he’d been about to ask for your number before you bolted…”

“Yeah, but I would have had the chance to say no…” you said.

“True, and I’m sorry I interfered again,” he sighed, and then after barely a beat had passed, “So are you gonna meet up?”

You rolled your eyes and flopped down onto the sofa. “I haven’t texted back. But probably.”

“Yes! He’s stunning. You saw those caps on his tusks though, right? He’s old school… He’s probably gonna go all-out to impress you…”

“So long as he doesn’t literally hunt and catch dinner for me, I don’t mind. Lily told me about orc courtship, and I am not interested in a whole fucking elk on my doorstep or something…”

“Nah, but he might challenge the chef to a death match for the honour of feeding you…”

“Oh please don’t even joke about it,” you groaned, and Luke did laugh, long and loud. “I’m hanging up now, you bastard.”

“Love you too, Titch,” he said, and hung up for you.

It took a while to figure out how to reply to Rhokann, but eventually you came up with something that you hoped didn’t sound super desperate and strange. ‘Sorry I bailed earlier like that. Luke has no shame, I swear, but I’ve told him off for going behind my back and we’re friends again now. You free this Friday evening?’

Before you could chicken out, you sent the message and sat back on the sofa, wringing your hands quietly in your lap and breathing steadily.

His reply came five minutes later. ‘If it helps, he was really awkward about broaching the topic with me when he came to collect his car. And yes I am free this Friday. What were you thinking?’

‘All on me then?’

‘I have suggestions but I wondered what you wanted. Cocktails at ‘IceCube and Henbane’? Catching that new movie they’re advertising all over town? Dinner somewhere? A walk along the river and takeaway from one of the food trucks? Any combination of those?’

Realising he was probably letting you decide on something that wouldn’t be as overstimulating as the funfair had been, you decided to keep being playful first. ‘You know henbane is poisonous to humans?’

‘They serve human-safe cocktails too, and non-alcoholic ones too that are just as good. Steer well clear of the naga-specific menu though because that shit could clean out a drain. Or strip the rust off your buddy’s car.’

You barked a laugh that echoed off the walls of your apartment. ‘I’ll tell him you said that.’

‘Go ahead, I said as much to him already.’

His texts had a cocky kind of confidence that he’d not really exuded on the day you’d met him at the fair, but then you remembered how he’d drawn himself up to his full height to shield you from those artless onlookers and flexed his shoulders just a fraction to make them back off, and you figured the two sides of him could probably sit well on his bulky frame after all.

‘Oof, I bet his ego took a hit with that. Let’s do cocktails and then maybe walk them off along the river afterwards?’

‘Sounds perfect. Shall I meet you somewhere first or meet there?’

You looked the place up online, which you probably should have done first in case it was out of your price range, and hit the map on the website to see where it was. Having arranged to meet him there, you signed off for the night and tried to get your mind to stop spinning. Somehow, despite two missed chances, the universe had thrown you a gift and a third chance in the form of Luke’s meddling.

That Friday, dressed in what you hoped would be an appropriate outfit for a cocktail bar in a swankier part of the city, you headed out with your heart in your throat.

Rhokann was impossible to miss, standing under the soft, orange light of the lamp outside the cocktail bar, and wow did he look good in black dress pants and a white shirt. His twin silver tusk-caps caught the light, and you noted that this time he had his hair tied back off his face in twin braids that melted into a single rope that hung down his spine.

He spotted you and turned to watch you walk towards him, but he didn’t make any kind of move towards you until you came to a stop in front of him and looked up into his softly smiling face.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly.

“Hi. You look gorgeous,” he added, eyeing you up and down in a way that made his gaze feel like a physical presence against your skin, and it was all you could do to repress a shiver.

You swallowed thickly. “Likewise.”

“Shall we head in?”

“Lead the way,” you said, not really wanting to walk into the unfamiliar space first. Rhokann just nodded and pushed the door open, holding it for you to enter behind him before heading into the softly-lit, wood-panelled bar.

It had the cosy, secretive air of a speakeasy, and as you wove through the tables behind the server who had looked Rhokann up and down and licked her lips in a very unsubtle display of interest, you spotted someone playing an upright piano in a far corner. Rhokann thanked the server politely and let his eyes drift back to you a moment later, the woman apparently forgotten. Something warmed in your chest and you took your seat opposite him.

He was one of those people that had real presence, and it wasn’t just his size that conjured it around him like a tangible aura. There was something about him that made people look at him, but his eyes never left you. After two menus had been set down before you, he said, “Tonight’s on me, if that’s alright?”

“You’re sure?”

Rhokann inclined his head and you caught sight of an earring dangling from his right ear. It looked like a piece of jet shaped like a small fang, polished and set in silver and dangling by a single link to a ball stud in his earlobe. He had silver rings up the line of cartilage to the pointed tips of his ears, and in the lobe of his left he had a simple silver stud. At the artfully-open neck of his white shirt, you could see the hint of an orcish tattoo and a whisper of dark hair that made something thrum through you again.

In contrast to your habit of moving around, he seemed still and calm as a monolith, and you found yourself drawn to that; drawn to his steadiness in a way you’d never experienced with anyone. Over the course of the next two hours, the two of you also talked in a way you’d never found easy with anyone. He listened, and in a measured, easy, back and forth of conversational give and take, you got to know each other.

His family was wealthy and lived in the country for the most part, and yes, they were very traditional by modern orcish standards. “You might think I’m pretty formal when it comes to orcish ways,” he said, looking self-conscious for the first time all evening, “But you should see my parents and my two older brothers…” He took a deep draw of his smoky, whisky cocktail and blew out a breath. The tip of his tongue caressed his lower lip just a little as he savoured the lingering taste, and your eyes tracked the movement hungrily.

To distract yourself, you eyed his silver tusk-caps and said, “I was going to ask about…” and tapped the side of your mouth awkwardly, not sure if you should really be asking about his orcish jewellery and personal tastes so soon.

To your relief, Rhokann smiled and brought his finger and thumb up to the right hand tusk. He lifted the cap off and turned it over in his hand for a second before handing it to you to look at. The tusk beneath gleamed beautifully in the low light, and you had been correct in guessing that his tusks were tipped with wickedly sharp points beneath them.

In your fingers, the cap was practically the size of a tiny shot glass, and you could see the orcish patterns engraved into its surface all the way around. “It’s beautiful,” you said. “My friend Lily told me a bit about orcish culture, but she doesn’t really keep to traditions, so I don’t know all that much. Just the things she personally doesn’t like. Which, to be fair, seems like a lot when you get her started on a rant.”

He laughed and delicately took the silver cap back from you when you held it out to him. He slid it easily back into place and said, “You can ask me anything you like. I figured your friend didn’t like me much when she gave me the once-over at the fairground.”

“She’s protective of the people she cares for,” you said. “It’s the one orcish trait she hasn’t abandoned. That, and showing off her muscles for her girlfriend.” The heady atmosphere and the slight rush of adrenaline that was coursing through you from being so close to him at last was making you bold, and you spoke before you’d realised you might actually be insulting him, but Rhokann only laughed.

“Ahh, those traits are etched into our DNA,” he said. “You’re gonna have to go a long way to find an orc who isn’t protective, and who doesn’t like to show off just a little bit.”

You stared pointedly at his muscles beneath the white shirt and then looked him in the eye. “If you’ve got it, why not show it off a bit.”

“Only if it works…”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Can’t you tell?”

He leaned just a fraction closer and your heart skipped a beat or two as his big, brown eyes seemed to glow softly. “I’m getting some hints,” he purred. “You slipped through my fingers twice now,” he went on, bringing his hand up onto the table and laying it knuckle-down on the wooden surface between your empty glasses. “I’m not going to let a third time pass me by without a proper answer from you.”

“What’s the question?” you asked faintly.

He smiled. “Can I see you again after tonight?”

You nodded.

“You want to get out of here yet?”

Again, you nodded.

His smile returned, and you sat back in your seat while he hailed the server and paid for your drinks. He gave her a tip generous enough to make her blush, and then stood and looked down at you. “Ready?”

A third nod was all the answer you could muster, but he didn’t seem to think you rude.

He walked behind you this time as you led the way out, and when you stepped out into the balmy, end-of-summer evening, you heard him heave a huge sigh. Glancing back over your shoulder, you found him looking at you, and you flushed. “What?”

“I’m just glad I got the chance to see you again. I thought… I thought that was it when your friend bustled you away from me.”

“Why were you working there?” you asked bluntly. You wanted to know why he was working as a mechanic at a tiny garage on the edge of town too, if his family was so well-off, but you didn’t know him well enough to ask something so direct. “At the fair, I mean.”

He smiled. “I wanted to?” he shrugged. “I’ve always been the dutiful son — I went to a good university and got a respectable degree and got a sensible job, but I felt… choked.”

Rhokann sighed again and checked the street for traffic before gesturing with his hand for you to start crossing. You walked by his side as the pair of you headed towards the river, where a long, flat promenade stretched, and you listened to him talk. His beautiful, rumbling bass carried easily on the still evening, and it made you feel steady again amid the noise of the city behind you.

“I’m not on bad terms with my family or anything, but… after a close friend of mine passed last year, I decided that I was going to live my life on my terms, and not anyone else’s. My heritage is very important to me, but it’s not everything I am. My family doesn’t understand why I quit my career and got a summer job working at the fair of all places, or why I turned my love of cars and fixing things into a job as a mechanic.”

“If you’re happier now, that’s all that matters, right?” you said.

He grinned. “I’m happy tonight, that’s for sure.”

“You’re such a charmer.”

“If it works, right?” he chuckled. You got the impression there were depths to him that would slowly unravel to you over time, and you found yourself looking forward to it already.

“Yeah, it works,” you mumbled.

You walked along the embankment together for a while until his footsteps faltered and he asked, “Would you let me hold your hand?”

“Sure,” you smiled, hoping you didn't have sweaty palms.

His hands were rough and huge, but you made it work, and it was wonderful to have a physical connection with him after clicking over chat and drinks already.

In the lea of the oldest bridge that spanned the wide river, the two of you slowed and came to a natural halt to lean against the wall in easy silence, staring out at the water as it slid past in an inky, glittering ribbon.

Rhokann turned away from the view and the movement caught your attention, drawing your gaze up to his handsome face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse murmur.

“Yes.”

Leaning down, Rhokann placed his palms on your jaw and angled your head gently upwards, but he didn’t kiss you right away. He bit his lower lip and although his eyes narrowed, you saw the way his pupils widened hungrily. “You’re stunning,” he exhaled. “I… I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“Stop talking about it then, and do it,” you teased.

His eyes flashed and he closed the distance between you, hunching over and pressing his mouth against yours. His tusks framed your mouth beautifully, the silver caps nudging into your cheeks a little as he kissed you senseless. You’d never been kissed like that. His hands left your face and wandered down to your waist, where he tightened his grip and picked you up, setting you down on the wide, stone wall that bordered the river. At that height, it was much easier for him to reach you, and he stepped closer, parting your knees to stand even nearer to you. You hooked your lower legs around his hips and let him kiss you over and over until your body felt like it was on fire.

Your fingers found the intricate plait of the braids on the side of his head and he moaned when you ran your fingertips over the pattern. “I want you,” he said. “Not tonight if you don’t want it, but I need you to know I want you. However you’d like…”

“I want you too,” you breathed back in the scant space between you, foreheads touching. It felt more intimate than any words you’d ever spoken, but it also felt true.

Your hands moved to grip his huge, rounded shoulders and you squeezed before running your palms across his pecs. His chest heaved and he sounded out of breath when he said, “My place isn’t far from here. You want to come back to mine?”

You nodded.

He lifted you down and took a moment with his eyes closed to breathe carefully. In the light of a nearby street lamp, you could see the impressive tent in his trousers, and you bit back a smile.

“Told you I want you,” he said when he caught you looking. “Come on.”

Flattered and a little intimidated, you walked with him back to his apartment. It wasn’t anything showy like a penthouse overlooking the city, but it was in a nice part of town, and it felt secure and homely as you followed him into the lift. In a small rush of bravery, you placed your hand at the small of his back and you felt as much as heard the groan of pleasure he let out in the small confines of the elevator. His skin radiated heat through the fabric, and you splayed your fingers, feeling the solid muscle and the slight softness there too that made you ache inside and out for him.

By the time you got to his front door, he was taking deliberately steady breaths, but the moment you were inside, he lost a little of that composure. “I’d offer you a drink, or —” You silenced him by reaching up and pressing your thumb along his lip before drawing him down to kiss you again. Part of you wanted him to take you right there in the hallway, but you had hoped for something a little more comfortable.

Rhokann undressed you carefully but insistently, and between the front door and his stylish, modern bedroom you left a trail of your clothes and his, until you were both in only your underwear by the time you were standing beside his massive bed.

Dark sheets stretched neatly across its huge expanse, and he let you push him down to sit on the edge of the mattress, gazing up at you with his hands resting at your hips, thumbs drawing idle lines across the fabric of your underwear. The evidence of his arousal was obvious, and a darker wet patch had started to seep into the material at the tip of his cock.

His body was soft but strong in the kind of way that you’d always adored. His paunch was evident, but his arms were like anchor cables, and while he might not have had the lean look of a social media gym-junkie, he could outlast any of them in a show of strength.

“I never thanked you,” you said, reaching around to the back of his head for the plait that you’d wanted to feel in your hands since the first time you’d seen him.

“For what?” he asked breathlessly. His pupils were huge and the light reflected in his warm eyes like a cat’s in the dark. Desire swept through you in a heady rush.

Slowly, taking your time about it, you straddled his lap and sank yourself down to grind your hips decadently against his, and when his hard cock moved against your body, he let out a long, broken moan.

You tightened your hold on his braid and the sound he made would stay with you forever. The deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest and his eyes rolled back behind fluttering eyelids. Beneath you, you felt his cock twitch.

“Please,” he gasped. His grip tightened on your hips and he shuddered like he was losing control of all his strength, fighting to keep from having his way with you. The jet earring dangling from his right ear glinted softly as it swayed like a tiny pendulum in the void between his earlobe and his shoulder.

“I never thanked you for taking such good care of me,” you said.

The orc responded exactly as you’d expected he would, and gave a throaty hum of pleasure.

“When I needed you, you protected me… got me out of there…”

You’d chosen your words very carefully, and Rhokann arched his spine, jutting his hips up and practically begging to fuck you without uttering a word.

You twisted his braid around your hand one more time and he tipped his head back, following the direction of the force you put on his head. The lick of red in his forelock looked perfect in the warm light of his bedroom, and you had been right about the orcish tattoos that covered his chest, right down to his hips. He also had the most delicious chest hair and the dark trail that ran down from his navel to the waistband of his tight boxer-briefs was gradually making you lose your mind.

“You were patient and understanding, and you didn’t mind that I didn’t have my words then,” you went on. “But I have them now, don’t I?”

“You do,” he choked. “You do. Please… Please…”

“Let me thank you properly then,” you said, and climbed carefully off his lap. You looked pointedly at his underwear and said, “Off.”

“Only if you do to,” he said, and you knew you’d met your counterpart in him.

He gave and took in equal measure, and as the two of you lost yourselves tangled in his sheets that night, you knew he was going to be the best thing that could have happened to you. The two of you moved in perfect synchrony, and you came apart within a heartbeat of each other. Rhokann made a mess of the sheets and you made more noise than you’d ever made coming in your life, and when the two of you lay back, sweaty and satiated at last, he wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered.

“Thank the gods for third chances,” you smiled and he laughed quietly. “And meddling werewolves.”

“Indeed. Come here.” He tugged you against his body so that you were lying half-propped against him, with one arm draped over his soft middle, and you trailed your fingers up the centre of his chest. “You staying the night?”

You nodded, and hoped it would be the first of many.

__

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[jovial-thunder]

Lancer Tactics devlog

I'm gonna try out posting my ~monthly devlog roundup here as well. These suckers are glorified changelogs with anecdotes and gifs galore. Let me know if this is something you like seeing show up on your dash?

Map Editor

Got units able to be placed/deleted/moved in the mission editor

Can paint/remove command zones in the editor

Can paint minecraft-like terrain blocks in the editor

Can paint/rotate multi-tile props in the editor

Can edit unit character sheets and portrait via the editor

3D maps

Did a bunch of art tests with 3D mech models, provided by GeneralChaos, which we ended up deciding not to go with to keep things simple.

To avoid the can of worms that is animation, we'd have to lean into a static "tabletop minatures" aesthetic which we decided is not a style we want to be stuck with. By sticking with 2D sprites, we avoid falling into a sort of uncanny valley; it's easier to get away with not animating a 2D sprite than it is for a 3D model.

 We also experimented with 3D terrain. We decided to make a rule that the visual style for a piece of terrain should match its mechanical effect: obstructing terrain that you can't move through, such as rocks or buildings, will be in 3D, while non-obstructing terrain like trees will stick with 2D sprites.

Hooking up the 3D camera to follow events like movement and attacks did a LOT for making it starting to feel like it's cohering into an Actual Game™

Implemented cover! And an attack preview! Cover works by aiming a ray from the target to the originator (technically to and from each voxel of each, respectively, to handle size 2s shooting above size 1 cover) and tracking all the terrain blocks it hits (how we'll handle non-terrain hard cover TBD). I think I have it working according to Perijove's cover rules manual, but I'm sure there'll be edge cases to work out. This is a case where things are significantly simplified by working in squares instead of hexes; hexes have a lot more possible weird angles you have to deal with.

Re-added what I'm stubbornly calling Combat Popcorn; little bits of text that pop out when you use abilities and attacks.

UI & game screens

Added ability for the engine to show UI that's anchored to the game world via a little word bubble line but also stay on screen as the camera moves around.

Got word bubbles working; you can now write dialogue in the mission editor, hit playtest, and see it work in a mission! (it does actually translate correctly now; this gif is just from a bug I thought was funny)

Got ability effects mostly behaving appropriately again, including muzzle flashes. The easiest way to handle them ended up being NOT billboarding them so they always face the camera (like all other 2D sprites in the game); instead, I put them on a plane parallel with the ground and just spin them around the unit to point at wherever their target is.

Did some work ironing out our tooltip system. The standard in CRPGs these days is this kind of nested labyrinth of tooltops that you see in Baldur's Gate 3:

I Did Not Want to try and figure out how to wrangle that much UI, so we're instead opting to cap the nested tooltips at the second layer. You can lock a general tooltip for e.g. an action and then mouseover various items within that tooltip to get glossary definitions...

...and then instead of having those glossary tips be lockable/mouse-overable themselves, I collect all related terms to that glossary definition and let you tab through them.

Added skin overlay functionality to the portrait maker, enabling textures like scars, tattoos, stubble, and vitiligo to be applied to just the skin and not extend off into space.

Midway through writing this update, Carpenter sent me this gif of the randomization button working! There's a still a bunch of skintones/assets missing and a few are a bit janky, but it was exciting to start seeing the range of these lil freaks (affectionate) that this editor can create.

Mourning cloak license!

This is the one I'm probably most excited about: I did a bit of a content dive and implemented a basic character sheet + all Mourning Cloak traits and equipment. They don't have fancy graphics yet, but the weapons and systems can be added via the character sheet and used in-game.

It took a little under a day, including adding soon-to-be common mechanisms like bonus damage. This is great news in that it means the engine we've been building for so long in the abstract seems to do a great job in handling comprehensive actual game content, and that it looks like we've set ourselves up for success when it comes time to buckle down on churning that out.

I'm sure other licenses will come with unique difficulties (I fear the day it comes time to do the Mule Harness // Goblin CP) but I'm feeling good about it!

Vertical slice?

Taking a step back, the pressing question on my mind has been "when will we have a playable early access build?"

I was originally hoping for Feb/March, but what we've internally been referring to as the "3D cataclysm" has pushed everything back by at least three months, so the target for the first alpha build is now in May. So, ah, thanks for your patience! Seeing things come together, I've become more and more convinced that moving to 3D was the right call.

[avkizi]

MARAUDERS ERA DR INTRO !!

BASICS ���ৎ-----------------------------------------------------------------

||*.name: venus mayumi

||*.nicknames: rings, vee

||*.birthday: 06/04 (11)

||*.pronouns: she/her

||*.occupation: student @ hogwarts

||*.ethnicity: filipino/japanese/german

||*.blood status: half-blood

APPEARENCE + MOODBOARD

⋆.˚ lil blurb: i have vitiligo, which affects my eye, skin in some smaller patches, and the front bits of my hair, making them lighter ⋆.˚

SCHOOL/SOCIAL ౨ৎ-----------------------------------------------------

||*.house: gryffindor

||*.friends: marauders & valkyries, + regulus black (♡), dorcas meadows, pandora rosier, kingsley shacklebolt, & emmeline vance (civil w/ the skittles/emeralds bc of reg)

||*.animagus form: raccoon

||*.personality/social life: lowkey a little loud, def more similar to james & sirius than remus & peter, but i actually know when to shut tf up, and i'm generally well-liked. there isn't as much hatred of other houses, and a lot of the death eater/pureblood stuff is way less prevelant, so friendly rivalries are common, but no all-out hatred. me n sirius are beaters for the gryffindor quidditch team (i'm also lowkey ripped asf hehehe), but i end up having to drop out mid fifth year from an injury, so me n lily end up commentating (lmao).

||*.hobbies:

muggle volleyball thrifting, crocheting, embroidery, & sewing singing + playing electric guitar jewlery making rock, fossil, and bone collecting/foraging parkour roller skating quidditch

WORLD STUFF ౨ৎ--------------------------------------------------------

||* uniforms arent as strictly enforced, fridays, weekends, and non-school days like holidays you can wear regular clothes undr your robes, accessories are always allowed (jewelry, belts, hair shit, etc.)

||* there are a bunch of extra curriculars available like different clubs, etc. and theyre lowkey super fun theres like baking club, art club, care of magical creatures, its so sick.

||* they do so many fancy events theres a halloween masquerade ball, easter ball, valentines day dance, autumn/spring equinox events, etc. also the triwizard tournament didn't get banned and there was one in my fourth year bc i said so

||* it's genrally recognized that students within the same house arent all the same sow hile friendly competition is encouraged, it's also common for students to have friends from other houses, and ppl are allowed in other house's dorms & common rooms if they're invited

||* there is a bioluminescent cave pool under the castle and its so fun to hang out in oh my god its not cold or anything its just soso cool

||*voldemorts downfall happens the year after we graduate (aka the order destroys all the horcruxes), and nobody i know well dies so none of the betrayal happens, but regulus does end up taking the mark but dosen't believe in all that shit & works as a spy (snape could NEVER) for the order, and still destroys the horcrux but survives and fully leaves his family (suck it walburga and orion)

MISC/TRIVIA ౨ৎ-----------------------------------------------------------

has three pets, two cats and an owl, whos names are mocha, shinya, & ghost, (the cats r technially communal between me n the valkyries bc they live in the dorms w us, but idc)

bands/music artists and slang r all the same as they are now, but technology etc is all 70s (w/o the homophobia racism etc)

i shift in the day before i get my hogwarts letter

sirius and reg are irish twins so while reg is still younger hes in our year (along w the rest of the skittles/emeralds its for simplicity)

there is a creek/river system in the forest and its so cool to hangout near theres like fossils and bones and cool rocks and shit EVERYWHERE i love it

the lake is swimmable (unless you can't swim cough cough regulus black) and its super fun theres a dock and floating platforms and stuff its amazing when its hot out

the dr follows kind of an atyd type timeline of events w exceptions

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that's all pretty much!!! thats a long one lmao sorry abt that but also if y'all knw any younger raspier british fem voiceclaims pls tell me im in the trenches rn trying to find a british vc that dosent sound like shes in bridgerton lmao ok byeeee love u

[mjwhisperer]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚍

1995

Neverland Ranch

Word Count: 13.1k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Dom!Michael, Light BDSM, Wet & Messy, Boss/Employee Relationship, Creampie, Large PP, Vitiligo PP, Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Spanking.

Full story

For seven years, you had been the perfect maid. His perfect maid, at least. Seven long years spent adhering to Mr. Jackson’s strict, almost suffocating rules. Every single member of staff was held to his exacting standards—no exceptions. Speak only when spoken to, never step foot in his room without explicit permission, the library was off-limits unless granted entry, and his private quarters were sacred ground. Mondays? A day of silence. On those days, he wouldn’t speak, and you weren’t to say a word. When you did address him, you were to meet his gaze directly. Appearances, too, had to meet his meticulous approval—flawless and professional at all times.

But something shifted about four years ago. The rules, those ironclad restrictions, began to change—but only for you. It started with a single encounter that redefined everything. That day, it was just the two of you. No staff. No distractions. Just you and the boss, Mr. Jackson.

He had returned from a meeting, tension radiating from him in waves. He was livid, something entirely unlike his composed day-to-day demeanor. You were in the kitchen, methodically cleaning when you felt his eyes on you—burning, intense.

You had always found him attractive—who wouldn’t? His presence commanded attention, and every woman in the house, perhaps even in the world, knew it. But this time, there was something different. His stare was sharper, hungrier. Slowly, he approached, each footstep echoing in the quiet room. His breath was hot against the nape of your neck, ragged with frustration. Then, his hands—those large, capable hands—gripped your waist, the force of his touch pulling you closer to his solid frame. You could feel him, every inch of his body pressing against yours, heat radiating off him like a furnace.

“Lift your dress, doll,” he had whispered, his voice rough with an edge of command.

Without hesitation, you obeyed, the fabric of your dress sliding up, exposing yourself to him. He pressed even harder against you, his erection straining against his trousers, making you breathless. He was so hard it almost seemed impossible.

“Do you want me?” His whisper brushed against your ear like a dark promise.

Those words stayed with you long after that moment. In the kitchen, under the dim lights, he took you. Raw. Every inch of him plunged into you, again and again, relentless in his need to release his pent-up fury. He was rough—nothing like the gentle, composed man the world thought they knew. His hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you, forcing every last drop of stress from his body into yours. When he finally came, his hot seed flooded you, pouring out of you and onto the cold hardwood floor. And just like that, he left. Not a single word as he walked away, leaving you trembling and leaking his warmth behind him.

From that night on, things between you and him were different. Whenever the house was empty, you’d find small, quiet ways to tease him. Sometimes while you were cleaning, you’d lift the hem of your maid’s uniform, revealing the soft bareness beneath, knowing his eyes were on you. Other nights, when you worked late, you’d sneak into his room with his permission. When you were sure he wouldn’t return until late, you’d go to his closet, find one of his thick varsity jackets, and strip down, leaving only your lace panties. You’d slip on the jacket, its warmth enveloping you as you lay in his bed, waiting for his return.

There were nights when you stayed under the guise of “extra work,” but the truth was far more intimate. It was for him. To let him relieve the weight of the day. His body, slick with sweat, would press into yours, his rough hands guiding your hips, his thick shaft stretching you inch by inch. His breath would be hot against your skin, his grunts low and primal. In those moments, you weren’t just the maid. You were his release. His perfect girl.

His perfect maid.

It was a cold December evening, the kind where the chill seeped into your bones and lingered. The sun had already begun its descent, casting a golden hue over the Santa Ynez mountains, leaving long, jagged shadows over Neverland Ranch. The ranch, typically bustling with life, had quieted as staff members trickled out, their shifts coming to an end. You were alone in the living room, methodically cleaning the delicate piano, carefully wiping down the statues and cartoon collectibles that littered the house—a constant reminder of Mr. Jackson’s childlike spirit. It was odd, the juxtaposition between these innocent trinkets and the man himself, a man who could shift from gentle to commanding in the blink of an eye.

Mr. Jackson had spent the entire day locked in his room, resting. None of you questioned it; there were often days where he’d disappear for hours or even days on end. Sometimes, he was at the studio or abroad, and other times he’d remain behind closed doors, dealing with matters only he knew. His presence, though felt, was scarce—a distant but ever-watchful figure.

The large, ornate clock on the wall chimed softly, signaling that it was seven o’clock. The final staff member was meant to leave by now, but you had been anticipating staying longer, as you usually did. Most nights, Mr. Jackson preferred you to linger after everyone else had gone, though today, he hadn’t said a word. It was Monday, after all—his day of silence.

“Hey,” a voice broke the stillness. Mary, one of the other maids, walked up to you, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. “Mind walking me out?”

You placed the duster down on the piano bench, stretching your arms out. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” The two of you walked out of the living room, the sharp click of your heels on the hardwood floor breaking the eerie quiet. As you approached the front door, your eyes darted to the hallway to your left, where those massive double doors to Mr. Jackson’s bedroom stood ominously. For a moment, you hesitated, staring at them, wondering what lay behind them tonight. You quickly looked away before Mary could notice.

“What time do you leave?” she asked casually. “You’re always the last one here.”

You shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “To be honest, I don’t know. Mr. Jackson always lets me know when it’s time to go. Most nights, I don’t leave until nine.” You lied, slipping the words out easily, masking the truth behind the routine.

“Nine?” she repeated, her eyes widening in surprise as she pulled her coat on. “What on earth does he have you doing? Cleaning out the fireplaces?” she teased, but her curiosity was evident.

You shook your head, keeping your expression neutral. “I just do what I can. I need the extra money.” Another lie, but one you had perfected over the years.

Mary chuckled softly, her tone light but laced with something more. “Sure, it’s nothing else? I’ve seen the way Mr. Jackson looks at you, especially on Mondays.”

You shrugged again, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m just here to work and earn my check, that’s all.” You paused, your voice lowering slightly. “And didn’t he tell us not to gossip about him? You know he hears everything.”

Mary’s eyes widened, and she nodded, suddenly nervous. “You’re right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Be safe getting home,” she said as she hurried out the door.

“You too,” you called after her, watching as she disappeared down the front steps and into the night. Once she was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The lock turned with a firm snap, the sound echoing in the now-empty house.

You barely had a moment to breathe before you turned and froze. Standing directly in front of you, as if he had materialized from the shadows, was Mr. Jackson. Dressed in all black, from the tailored button up to the perfectly pressed pants, his presence was both startling and magnetic. His curly hair was pulled back into a low bun, framing his face, while his reading glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the dim light. But it was his gold chain that caught your eye, glinting softly against his dark attire.

He had moved so silently, you hadn’t heard a single footstep. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt thick, electric. He didn’t speak—of course, it was Monday—but his gaze spoke volumes, a silent command that made your pulse quicken. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you took him in, every inch of his form radiating an intensity that set your nerves alight.

He didn’t need words to communicate what he wanted. You had always known, from the subtle way he moved to the intensity of his gaze. His body spoke a language only you could understand, a language of desire, control, and need.

Slowly, he extended his hand toward you, his large palm a commanding presence. That hand had become your anchor, the connection between you two—physical, emotional, and everything in between. The mere sight of it sent a jolt through your body, a surge of anticipation that left your skin tingling. When your hand slipped into his, you felt the familiar softness of his skin, the velvety texture against your fingertips. His touch was always electric, like a live wire crackling beneath your skin. Over the years, you had watched the pigment of his skin fade with his vitiligo, but it had never changed the way you felt about him. If anything, it made him more beautiful in your eyes—his fragility matched with a quiet strength that captivated you entirely.

In a smooth motion, he reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. The living room and front entrance dissolved into shadows, but the absence of light only heightened your awareness of him—his presence was all-consuming. Together, you moved down the long hallway toward his bedroom, the sound of your heels clicking against the polished hardwood in sync with the soft shuffle of his sleek penny loafers. Every step brought you closer to what you both knew was inevitable, the tension thick between you.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, he pushed it open with deliberate force, pulling you inside as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was warm, illuminated by the soft flicker of flames in the fireplace, casting golden shadows that danced along the walls. His record player spun slowly in the corner, a sensual jazz melody filling the space with its slow, hypnotic rhythm. The music wasn’t loud; it played like a soft whisper, adding to the intimacy of the room.

Michael stood there, watching you—no, devouring you with his eyes. His gaze was sharp, cutting, as though he could see straight through you to the core of who you were. He always looked at you like this, with a focus that made you feel like the only person in the world, like you were the center of his universe. His stare held you captive, your breath catching in your throat. It was a gaze you could never escape, and you didn’t want to. You thrived under his attention, knowing it was yours and yours alone.

“What?” you whispered, your voice soft, sultry, the tone meant only for him. Your lips curled slightly into a teasing smile as you stepped closer, closing the small distance between your bodies. You grabbed his other hand, holding it gently in yours, feeling the strength in his fingers. His silence was deliberate. It was Monday, and he never broke his rule of silence on these days. But you knew the second the clock struck midnight, he’d unleash everything he held back, his words flowing freely as he spoke with a passion that matched his intensity.

Releasing his hands, you reached up, placing your palms on his broad shoulders, feeling the firm muscles beneath the smooth fabric of his black button-up. The material was soft but did nothing to hide the tension in his body, the coiled energy waiting to be released. Your thumbs brushed over the cool metal of his gold chain, a glint of it catching the firelight as your hands slid higher, skimming up the column of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the pulse in his throat strong, steady. You felt the slight rasp of stubble beneath your thumb as it grazed his Adam’s apple, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly, surrendering to your touch.

He loved this—loved the way your hands felt against him, the way you touched him with such care and reverence. You could see it in the way his breath hitched, in the way his body leaned into yours, giving in to the sensation. His silence wasn’t cold; it was deliberate, a game of restraint. But even in his quiet, his need for you was undeniable, the weight of it heavy in the air.

His gaze never left yours, those dark eyes smoldering with a quiet hunger that mirrored the fire building inside of you. It was like a pressure rising between you, a tension so thick it felt like it might snap at any moment. He didn’t need words. His body, every subtle movement, every breath, spoke volumes. His desires were laid bare in the way his chest rose and fell a little quicker, the way his hands lingered just a second longer against your skin.

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding to your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles beneath making your pulse quicken. Why did he always make you feel like this? That sweet, overwhelming sensation, hot and bothered in the most exquisite way. His presence alone was enough to unravel you, and he knew it.

Your hands slid from his neck, fingertips brushing along his throat, tracing the line of his collarbone as you began to undo the buttons of his black shirt. One by one, the fabric parted under your touch, exposing more of him to you. Your eyes never left his as you worked, and in return, his gaze stayed fixed on you, watching every move you made with a kind of silent anticipation. As you undid the buttons, his other hand came up to your face, cradling your cheek with a tenderness that belied the tension in the room. His thumb traced the line of your bottom lip, tugging it down gently, his touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine.

Instinctively, your lips parted, and he slipped his thumb into your mouth. The soft pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue, and you began to suck slowly, your eyes locked on his the whole time. The way he licked his lips as he watched you made your stomach flip, that familiar look of control in his eyes. You already knew what he was thinking. “You love sucking on anything I give you,” he would have said, and he wouldn’t be wrong. There was something so intoxicating about this exchange, the way he gave and you took, the way it bound you to him.

You rolled your tongue slowly around his thumb, savoring the sensation, the warmth of him against your lips. The only sound between you was the soft, wet noise of your mouth working around his finger, teasing him. His thumb grazed against your teeth, and you took more of it in, sucking just a little harder, daring him to respond. But Michael was never one to be undone by teasing. His teasing was designed to push you right to the edge, to make you crumble under the weight of it.

Slowly, he withdrew his thumb from your mouth, the tip glistening as he brushed it over your lips, leaving them wet and parted. You could feel your breath coming quicker now, the anticipation thick between you.

Without a word, you pushed him gently, backing him up against the door. The thud of his body against the wood was soft, but it felt final, like you’d crossed an invisible line. You finished unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the toned planes of his chest, your fingers tracing the patterns of vitiligo that dotted his skin. It was beautiful, the way the light from the fire cast shadows over his bare torso, highlighting every dip and curve, every patch of pale skin that marked him. He shrugged off the shirt and tossed it aside, his chest now fully on display, and your hands moved without thinking, exploring him, touching him.

His hand came up, tilting your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes bored into yours, dark and full of intent. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the anticipation coiling tighter. “Yes, sir?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with need.

He didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that started slow, but quickly became something more—something raw, something desperate. His lips were soft, but his kiss was anything but. It was aggressive, his tongue pushing into your mouth, fighting for dominance. There was nothing gentle in the way he kissed you now, his need overpowering, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer.

His lips tasted sweet, familiar, like they belonged on yours, but the way his tongue moved… God, he knew exactly what he was doing. Every kiss felt deliberate, like a claim. In this moment, he didn’t just have you—he owned you. Your body melted into him, surrendering completely, every nerve electrified by the fire he was fanning inside you. His tongue tangled with yours, each kiss growing sloppy, heated, as both of you gave in to the spiraling desire. You could feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your lower lip, the hot, ragged breath from his lungs mingling with yours, intoxicating you even more. The way he took control—his hands, his mouth, the way his body pressed into yours—it consumed you.

He didn’t waste time as he pushed off the door, each step deliberate, forcing you to move back with him, his hold never loosening. His large hands gripped you tighter, guiding you backward until your body hit the cold wall beside his bed. The contrast between the chilled surface and the heat of him pressing into you made you gasp. His lips didn’t falter, trailing down from your mouth, leaving wet, possessive kisses along your jaw. His teeth scraped against your skin as he sucked harder, pulling a breathless whisper from your lips.

“Harder…” you breathed, barely able to form the word as the need for his rough touch consumed you. You craved the edge of him, the rawness he always gave you, that controlled chaos that left you breathless and aching.

Without hesitation, his hand shot up, wrapping around your throat, his grip firm but not painful. The sensation made you shiver, your pulse pounding beneath his thumb as his other hand held you in place. His lips moved with an animalistic hunger, kissing, sucking, marking you as his. Each kiss sent waves of heat through your body, his lips hot and wet against your jaw and then down to the tender spot behind your ear. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he kissed and sucked at your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

“Fuck yes…” you moaned, your head tilting back, giving him full access as his lips latched onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. His thumb pressed just a bit harder against your pulse point, making your heartbeat race beneath his fingers. The feeling of him choking you while sucking on your neck made your knees go weak, your legs trembling as he pressed his body harder into yours.

He didn’t speak a word—of course he wouldn’t. Not tonight. You knew his rule, and no matter how intense things got, he wouldn’t break it for anything, not even for the fiery hunger between you. His silence only heightened everything, making each breath, each moan, louder in the quiet, darkened room.

He pressed himself into you harder, letting you feel all of him, his body hot and ready against yours. The pressure of him, the heat radiating from his skin, made your body ache with need. You knew he could keep this up all night, teasing you with the promise of more but never quite giving it to you. His lips trailed lower, finding your neck, kissing and sucking harder, leaving dark marks in his wake. Every touch sent shivers through you, your body reacting to every move he made.

You reached out, your hands blindly gripping at the wall behind you, trying to find something to hold onto, but the way he was working your body made it impossible to focus. Your mind began to drift, memories flooding back of the time in his library, how effortlessly he had taken you. You had been cleaning, completely unaware of him watching you until his hands were on you. He had lifted your skirt like it meant nothing, pulled your panties to the side, and without a word, had slipped inside you. The memory made you shudder.

His hand had been wrapped tight in your hair, pulling your head back, making you arch into him as he pounded into you without mercy. His other hand had clamped over your mouth, silencing your cries because there were others in the house, just a room away. The filthy, vulgar words that had spilled from his lips that day still echoed in your mind.

“You’re my pretty little slut,” he had whispered in your ear, his voice thick with lust, every word dripping with possessiveness. “Taking me so fucking well… You’re perfect.”

His words had burned through you like wildfire, each filthy praise igniting something deep inside, making you feel like you were unraveling under his touch. “Such a good girl, taking all of me… every inch.” The memory echoed in your mind, and it still made your skin flush. He had been relentless—thick, almost too big for someone with his slender frame—and yet, he filled you like he was carved for you alone. The way he stretched you, claimed you, made your legs tremble as if you were on the brink of collapse.

Even now, as his lips trailed down your neck, each kiss a slow, teasing reminder of that day, you could feel the lingering ghost of how perfect it had felt. Too perfect, like he’d broken something inside you and left you craving him in ways you couldn’t understand.

His lips hovered just above your collarbone, his hot breath washing over your skin. He paused, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your throat, sending a sharp thrill through your body. His fingers dug into your pulse, making your heart pound harder as he leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear. “You thinkin’ about the library?” His voice was low, rough, a taunt that made your stomach coil with need.

You whimpered, barely able to catch your breath. Your nails dug into the wall behind you, scraping against the cool surface, trying to ground yourself. Your hips pressed into him instinctively, seeking more of that intoxicating heat. “How could I not?” you whispered, your voice a trembling confession.

His dark eyes flashed with something primal, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he pressed his body harder against yours. You could feel every hard inch of him, throbbing through the thin fabric between you. “I remember it like it was yesterday,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You looked so good bent over for me. Took me like you were made for it.”

A shudder rippled through you at his words, your body reacting without thought. Heat pooled low in your belly, your knees weakening beneath the weight of his body pressed into yours. “Michael…” you whimpered, barely able to form his name as the room seemed to blur around you.

His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make you dizzy, the pressure sending a rush of blood to your head. He chuckled, a dark sound that vibrated against your skin, and then his lips trailed lower, kissing down to your collarbone. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, the heat of it making you gasp. “You love it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shockwaves of arousal coursing through you.

All you could manage was a shaky nod, your breath catching in your throat as his lips continued their assault on your neck. Each kiss, each bite, each flick of his tongue felt like a brand, marking you as his, consuming you until there was nothing left but the burning desire he had stoked inside you.

“Good,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your skin, tugging just enough to make you whimper. His hand loosened around your throat as he pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and intense. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart was pounding in your chest. You met his gaze, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke, “You broke your rule…”

His brow arched slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Rules are meant to be broken.” He shrugged casually, but there was a glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “Why? Do you prefer me quiet while I’m fucking you? Hmm? Is that what you want, doll?” His grip on your throat tightened once again, just enough to make you gasp.

He moved even closer, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you, teasing. “Or do you want to hear me praise you? Tell you how good you are for me, how tight you are around my dick? Tell you how fucking pretty your moans sound when I’m deep inside you?”

Your lip quivered as you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as the intensity of his gaze held you captive.

“Speak, slut,” he growled, his voice low and commanding as his hand tightened around your neck, choking you just a little harder. The pressure made your head spin, but it was his roughness, his dominance, that made your body tremble with desire. You whimpered softly, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of arousal that was threatening to drown you, but God, the way he handled you… it was too much, too good.

“What do you want, doll?” he purred, his voice a teasing whisper as his lips hovered just above yours. “Want me to speak? Or do you want me to shut my mouth? Say yes, and I won’t hold back.”

The weight of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the fire in your belly, you barely managed to breathe out, “Yes.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours, but you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Don’t talk,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to steady yourself. “Just… don’t talk.”

The command came out soft, but firm, and for a moment, his eyes darkened with something deeper—something more dangerous. He didn’t need words, didn’t need to speak. You loved his voice, the way it could make your pulse quicken with just a few whispered words, but when he was silent, when he let his body do the talking… that’s when he truly unraveled you.

His smirk deepened into something more primal, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable as he leaned in closer. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, making your lips tingle with anticipation. His gaze was intense, those dark eyes speaking volumes without a word, and the weight of his presence pressed against you like a slow, suffocating heat. The way he looked at you—possessive, commanding—made your stomach flip and your knees weak, as though you were already drowning in him before he even touched you.

His hands found your shoulders, firm yet gentle as he guided you downward. Your body obeyed him effortlessly, sinking to your knees before him. You knelt there, your eyes never leaving his, captivated by the piercing look he gave you through his reading glasses, the subtle glint of control lurking beneath them. The sight of him towering over you, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, made your pulse quicken, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Slowly, your gaze dropped, following the lines of his body as you drank in every inch of him. The rough texture of his black jeans beneath your fingertips sent a thrill through you as your hands traveled up his thighs, feeling the firmness of his muscles, sculpted from years of dancing. As your fingers found the waistband, the heat between your legs grew unbearable. You worked with eager hands, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans with a deftness that came from both familiarity and desperation.

He remained silent, his fingers lazily threading through your hair as he watched you, his chest heaving slightly in anticipation. The tension was palpable, the heat in his gaze making you ache even more for him. When you pulled his jeans down, revealing his toned, muscled thighs, you let out a soft, barely audible sigh. His dancer’s legs were strong, defined, and utterly perfect, and you could feel your mouth going dry as you stared at him. I’ll never get tired of this, you thought to yourself, lost in the moment as he stepped out of his loafers and kicked his jeans aside.

Now he stood before you in just his briefs, and your breath caught in your throat. The outline of his arousal strained against the white fabric, impossibly thick and big, so evident that it sent a shudder through you. You bit your lip, unable to hold back the surge of excitement that shot through your body. The sight of him like this, raw and ready, was overwhelming, the desire burning inside you becoming almost unbearable.

Slowly, deliberately, you gripped the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down with agonizing slowness. His length was revealed inch by inch, thick and heavy, his shaft springing free as you lowered the fabric down his legs. He was magnificent, and the sight of him made your core throb with need. His length was adorned with the beautiful patchwork of his vitiligo, the blend of brown, pink, and white skin a testament to his uniqueness, and it only made you want him more.

You couldn’t help but murmur, “Look at that,” your voice dripping with admiration and lust as you stared up at him, your gaze flicking between his face and the sight of his arousal. The heat between your legs grew even more intense, your own need becoming almost painful as you took in the beauty of him.

Your hand reached out, trembling slightly with desire as you gently wrapped it around his shaft. Even with your fingers spread wide, you couldn’t fully wrap your hand around him—he was too thick, and it sent a rush of arousal through you that made you shiver. “So thick,” you whispered in awe, your voice barely audible as you began to stroke him slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand. His foreskin moved with each stroke, sliding back to reveal the flushed pink tip, glistening with precum, the sight of it making your mouth water in anticipation.

You looked up at him again, meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning through you. You couldn’t wait to taste him, to feel him inside your mouth, every inch of his thickness filling you. Your lips parted slightly as you leaned in closer, the scent of him invading your senses, and your body ached for him, ready to give in to the hunger that had been building inside you from the moment he touched you.

You took your time, savoring every ridge and vein along his length as you stroked him, feeling the weight and heat of him in your hand. Your touch was slow and teasing, drawing out the tension between you both, letting it simmer just beneath the surface. His body responded to every flick of your wrist, every light squeeze, and the way his breath hitched sent shivers down your spine. You wanted him—every inch of him—and you knew he was more than willing to take you there, to push you past the brink until you were begging for him.

But you were in control, at least for now.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you flicked your tongue out, grazing the head of his length, tasting the salty tang of his precum mixed with a sweetness that made you hum with satisfaction. “Taste so good,” you murmured with a mischievous smile, your lips curving as you looked up at him, watching the way his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, primal way.

He didn’t respond, not verbally, but his silence only added to the intensity. His gaze was unreadable, but his fingers tightening in your hair told you everything. He was close to losing control, and that excited you even more.

You pressed your lips against his tip again, feeling the sticky wetness of his precum cling to your lips with each kiss, your tongue tracing the line where the head met his shaft, flicking over the sensitive underside with a teasing slowness. His body trembled in response, the muscles in his thighs tightening as you continued to taunt him with each delicate touch.

“You like that, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice sultry and low as you ran your tongue along the underside of his length, letting it glide down to his sack, teasing him there before trailing back up again.

His answer came in the form of a firm hand pushing your head down, guiding you to take him deeper. You didn’t resist, instead relishing the control he exerted as your tongue continued to trace his length, teasing the sensitive spots along his shaft. You felt his whole body shudder when your tongue swept over his sack, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

He let out a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as you took the head of his length into your mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly, just enough to drive him wild. His fingers tightened even more in your hair, pulling slightly as you swirled your tongue around his tip, your eyes meeting his. Those dark, intense eyes bore down into yours, and there was nothing innocent about the way you stared back at him, wide-eyed and full of lust.

You began to bob your head, your lips stretched tight around him as you took him in halfway, your tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. You could feel the way his veins pulsed against your lips, every inch of him filling your mouth as you moved, slow and deliberate, drawing out his pleasure with each stroke. His body tensed, his breathing growing ragged as you worked him, your lips sliding along the slick, spotted skin of his length.

Then, with a swift motion, he backed you up into the wall, his control snapping as he took over. His hips began to thrust, slow at first, his length sliding in and out of your mouth with a smooth rhythm. You could taste him more now, the salty sweetness coating your tongue as his length filled your mouth with each thrust, the sensation overwhelming your senses.

He straightened, his body hovering over you, his mouth slightly open as he let out a low groan, his hand cupping the back of your head. His saliva dripped onto his shaft, slicking it as he thrust deeper, pushing himself further into your mouth. The taste of him, the weight of him, it all sent a fire coursing through your veins, the heat pooling low in your belly as you moaned around his length, the vibrations from your throat driving him wild.

His breathing became heavier, his chest heaving as he watched you, his eyes dark with desire. His hand pressed harder against your forehead, holding you in place as his hips rocked forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, each thrust sending a new wave of arousal coursing through you. The slick sounds of your mouth working him filled the room, mixing with his low, guttural groans.

You reached beneath your dress, slipping your hand into your lace panties, your fingers finding your swollen folds. You were soaked, your body responding to every thrust, every sound, every look he gave you. Your fingers brushed over your clit, and you moaned around his length, the vibrations making him groan even louder.

His eyes flicked down, watching as you pleasured yourself, his arousal spiking at the sight. He thrust harder, faster, his hand tightening its grip on your head as he drove himself into your mouth, pushing deeper until his length hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered, but the sensation only heightened the pleasure, your throat tightening around him as he held you there, his length throbbing against your lips.

He gave you short, fast thrusts, each one sending your head back against the wall as he fucked your mouth with abandon. The wet, slick sounds of your mouth around him, the thick saliva dripping down his shaft and onto the hardwood floor, only seemed to drive him further. He was relentless now, his other hand gripping the back of your head, forcing you to take him deeper, harder, your gag reflex barely holding as you moaned and choked around him.

You couldn’t stop yourself, your fingers working faster between your legs as his pace quickened, your moans and gags mixing with the sound of his thrusts. You were so close, so close to unraveling beneath him as he used your mouth, the roughness of it pushing you closer to the edge. And God, the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on yours, the primal hunger in them making you want to give him everything.

Your fingers pressed harder against your clit, each circle driving you closer to that edge, your body trembling with anticipation. His length still filled your mouth, every inch of him sliding in and out with the raw intensity of his thrusts. You could feel the heat building, an overwhelming pressure growing in your core, ready to explode.

His movements became more primal, each thrust harder, your head thumping against the wall until his hand moved swiftly to cradle your head. A strange tenderness amidst the storm. But there was nothing gentle about the way he moved his hips, his groans growing louder, deep and guttural, as he pounded relentlessly into your mouth. The soft jazz in the background was barely audible now over the wet sounds of your mouth and his deep, ragged breaths.

With each thrust, his base brushed firmly against your lips, the roughness of his stubble teasing the delicate skin of your mouth. His sack, heavy and full, slapped rhythmically against your chin, over and over, wet with your spit, the mixture dripping down, pooling onto his loafers in a mess that neither of you cared about. You could feel him twitch, the hard, pulsing length of him filling every inch of your throat, making you gag slightly. He was close, you could see it in his eyes—darker now, wild with lust, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, biting down hard.

His hand moved to your neck, wrapping around it possessively, and you could feel his length bulging beneath your skin as it slid in and out of your throat. He grunted, his voice deep and raw, throwing his head back in a moment of pure pleasure. His breathing became more labored, each thrust more intense, your tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft, feeling every ridge, every pulse.

The heat in your belly intensified, your fingers working furiously over your clit now, circling faster, slick with your own arousal as you teetered on the brink. You were so close, the pleasure nearly unbearable, your legs shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps around his length . And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Michael pulled out, his shaft wet and throbbing, and slapped it hard against your cheek.

The sound echoed through the room, sharp, followed by the sensation of him ramming himself back inside your mouth, thrusting with renewed force, his face contorting as he chased his release. You whimpered around his length, feeling the thick tension in the air as your fingers continued to work your clit, each movement sending you spiraling closer.

Your toes curled in your heels, your brows furrowing as your entire body tightened with the building pleasure. His length twitched again, and you knew he was on the edge, his face a mask of raw need, his hand tightening in your hair as he grunted deeply. And then it happened—he groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, and you felt the first hot spurt of his release, his thick, salty seed filling your mouth.

He kept thrusting, slow now but deep, each pulse sending more of his warmth spilling over your tongue. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned deeply around him, your own release hitting you hard as your fingers worked your clit in desperate circles. Your entire body trembled as you came, your thighs shaking, your folds swollen and slick with your release.

His seed spilled from your mouth, thick and warm, dripping down your chin and onto your dress, mixing with the mess already made. You swallowed what you could, the rest running down your lips as Michael groaned, his gaze locked on yours. He watched every moment, his eyes dark and hungry, taking in the sight of you—your fingers glistening with your release, your lips swollen and wet, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

Slowly, he pulled out, his length even harder than before, standing tall as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with satisfaction, but that primal hunger still lingered. His thick, salty release coated your mouth, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm. You swallowed again, your throat sore from the roughness of it, and yet you craved more.

Michael’s seed filled your mouth, warm and thick, coating your throat and tongue. You swallowed what you could, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the slow trickle that would follow, the evidence of his dominance leaking from your body long after he was done. The mere thought of it had your thighs pressing together, your body trembling with need, craving more even as his taste lingered on your lips.

He looked down at you, still kneeling before him, a wicked gleam in his eyes as his hand reached out and wrapped firmly around your throat. His grip was possessive, fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that made your pulse quicken, your breath hitching. You loved the way he could control you with a single touch, the roughness of his dominance always leaving you on edge, desperate for more. A sly grin spread across his face as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips back to his.

The kiss was punishing, deep and rough, his mouth claiming yours with a force that left you breathless. You could taste the remnants of him on your lips, his seed still warm as it mixed with the wet heat of his tongue. His grip tightened on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you dizzy, your moans vibrating against his mouth as he devoured you completely. Every kiss was a reminder that you were his, that he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And you loved it. The intensity of his control only made you crave him more.

When he finally pulled away, leaving both of you panting, his eyes locked onto yours. The dark, commanding look in them told you everything you needed to know—he wasn’t finished with you yet. You knew what he expected, what he always wanted. Without a word, you stood up and began to strip out of your dress, your fingers trembling slightly as you pulled the fabric over your head and let it fall in a pool at your feet. You stood there, bare except for your heels, the black lace of your panties and bra the only thing left between his gaze and your skin.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of your exposed body. Then, with a sudden, forceful movement, he turned you around and bent you over the edge of his bed, your hands gripping the sheets for balance. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you heard the drawer of the nightstand open, the familiar sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. You knew exactly what he was reaching for.

The wooden paddle, reserved for nights like this when he wanted to make sure you felt everything, was cool as he dragged it slowly down your back, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. He took his time, letting the paddle trace the curves of your ass, down to your thighs, and then back up again, the anticipation building with every second.

And then, without warning, he brought it down hard against your ass, the sharp smack reverberating through the room as your skin instantly stung with the force of the blow. “Fuck,” you gasped, your body jolting forward from the impact, the pain mixing with a surge of pleasure that left you breathless.

His chuckle was low, dark, as he lifted the paddle again, bringing it down even harder this time. The crack of it against your flesh made you moan, your head dropping into the covers as your body responded to his punishment with a heat that spread through your core. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice muffled as the sting from the paddle intensified, your ass burning with the delicious pain he was inflicting.

He didn’t stop there, though. His eyes were focused, watching your every reaction, the way your body trembled and arched for him, the way you couldn’t help but push your hips back, silently begging for more. The paddle slid down again, this time over the slick, swollen folds between your legs, teasing your already throbbing clit with its hard surface.

You moaned loudly, unable to control the sounds that escaped you as the wood dragged over your wetness, the sensation almost too much to bear.

He lifted the paddle and brought it down on your folds, the sharp smack sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you, your body arching off the bed as you cried out into the sheets. The sting was intense, but the way it mixed with the throbbing between your legs only made you want him more.

He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His silence spoke volumes, the way he handled you, the way he controlled every inch of your body, leaving no doubt in your mind who was in charge. And you loved it. You loved the way he dominated you, the way he pushed you to the edge over and over again, making you crave his roughness, his intensity.

The paddle came down with brutal precision, the impact sending shockwaves through your trembling body, pleasure and pain mingling into an intoxicating sensation that threatened to undo you. Each smack left your skin ablaze, the sting intensifying as your folds grew wetter, slick with arousal. You moaned, breathless, the sound escaping your lips as a broken, desperate plea.

“Mr. Jackson,” you gasped, your voice muffled by the sheets, barely able to hold back the raw pleasure coursing through you.

He smirked at the sound of his name on your lips, the power it gave him over you. Without a word, he threw the paddle to the floor, the wooden thud echoing in the room. His hand traced up your spine, teasing and possessive, each stroke sending shivers down your body. With a quick, practiced flick, he unclasped your bra, letting it fall away, leaving you exposed to him. His fingers slid through your hair, wrapping it tightly around his hand before pulling you upright, forcing your back into a perfect arch as your body submitted to his control.

Tears of pleasure welled in your eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips despite the intensity of it all. You knew exactly what he wanted, what he always took from you in these moments. Your mouth opened for him, willing, waiting. His other hand came to your face, gripping your jaw with a firm, almost possessive hold as he let a thick drop of saliva fall from his lips into your open mouth. His gaze was dark, intense, as he watched you obediently swallow.

“I love it when you do that,” you murmured, your voice soft yet laced with mischief as you leaned closer, teasing your tongue against his lips. Your breath mingled with his, the air between you charged as his lips parted in response. You took the opportunity to spit playfully into his mouth, the action bold and unapologetic, knowing he loved it just as much. But before you could pull back, he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss, both of you sharing in the heat, the saliva mixing between your tongues as the kiss grew rougher, more desperate.

Michael was no longer the shy man most knew him to be. Here, in the bedroom, he dropped the pretense, revealing the dominant, demanding lover he truly was. He spat into your mouth again, watching with dark satisfaction as you swallowed, the act primal, a testament to how fully you belonged to him in these moments. When you pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connected your lips to his, a physical reminder of the mess you both loved to make together. You flicked your tongue out, breaking the string with a teasing smirk.

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Without warning, he pushed you back onto the bed, forcing you onto all fours as you quickly positioned yourself. Your eyes flicked to the clock—eleven p.m. Only an hour until he could finally speak, though he had already broken his rule for you tonight.

You felt the sudden tug at your panties, the fabric stretching before tearing completely as he ripped them from your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that still adorned your feet. You glanced back at him, a smirk dancing on your lips. “Someone’s been angry,” you teased, but the playful glint in your eyes quickly faded as his palm came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack making you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

He arched your back with one firm press of his hand against the small of it, his control absolute as he pushed you into the perfect position. He loved you like this—open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Even though he knew every inch of your body, knew how tight and wet you would be for him, every time he entered you, it was a struggle for your walls to accommodate his thick length, the way he stretched you inch by inch. His length , spotted with vitiligo, was a beautiful contradiction—soft in appearance yet unforgiving in size, a sight you had never grown tired of after all these years.

With one hand gripping your waist, he guided his length to your entrance, teasing you with the head of it, slicking himself with the wetness already dripping from you. The sensation of him pressing against you, the tip just barely entering, was maddening. Your breath hitched as you pushed back slightly, desperate for more, but he held you in place, not letting you take him fully just yet.

“Michael,” you whimpered, your voice strained with need, every nerve in your body screaming for him to give in, to fuck you the way you craved.

Michael’s smirk deepened as he watched your body struggle to accommodate his thickness, taking a sadistic pleasure in how slow and agonizing it was for you. His length slid in inch by inch, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive walls, stretching you to your limit. The tension between pain and pleasure electrified the air, your gasp barely escaping your lips as he bottomed out, hips pressed firmly against your backside. You could feel every throb, every twitch as he filled you completely.

“You’re so deep,” you moaned, voice trembling as you tried to adjust, the fullness almost unbearable. His hips moved with deliberate slowness, drawing back only to thrust forward again with a steady, torturous rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. He watched intently, eyes fixed on the sight of his length disappearing into you, mesmerized by how your body stretched to take him.

With a low, guttural groan, he spat onto his length, adding more slickness as he continued to thrust, his movements becoming more fluid, more demanding. You glanced back at him, catching the glint in his eyes behind his reading glasses—those piercing eyes that made you feel even more powerless beneath him. He smirked as he pushed your head down roughly into the mattress, forcing your back into a deeper arch, making you open wider for him.

Then he shifted, lifting his left leg onto the bed for better leverage, driving himself into you from a new angle. His hands roamed possessively over your sides, squeezing and gripping in all the right places. His length gleamed with your arousal, highlighting the contours of every thick vein and pigment. You could hear the obscene sounds of your slickness with every deep thrust, his pace quickening as he pushed deeper, his growls rumbling from deep within his chest. The sensation of him filling you completely, over and over, was overwhelming, your body shaking with each rough stroke.

Needing more, you instinctively began to push back against him, trying to take control. But Michael wasn’t having it. In an instant, he pulled out and delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sting so intense that you gasped. Before you could catch your breath, his hand was in your hair, yanking you up. He slapped you lightly across the face, his dark eyes locking onto yours, sending a clear message—you were not in charge here. He was.

“Then fuck me,” you spat defiantly, glancing at him through lust-filled eyes, your gaze momentarily fixating on the glint of his chain.

Without a word, he grabbed you aggressively, flipping you onto your back with ease. His hands were rough as he pinned your legs back against your chest, your toes pointed helplessly as he teased your slick folds with the tip of his length, dragging it slowly, deliberately, along your entrance. The teasing lasted only a second before he slammed into you, hard and fast, knocking the air from your lungs as your body jolted with the force of it.

“Oh god!” you cried out, your voice high and desperate as he began to pound into you with an unrelenting pace. His eyes never left you, watching intently as his length stretched you wide with each brutal thrust, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. You could barely breathe, barely think, the overwhelming sensation of him inside you consuming every part of your mind. You looked down, watching in awe as his thick shaft disappeared into your swollen, dripping cunt, stretching you open in a way that left you trembling.

Your moans were loud, desperate, as his thick tip grazed your cervix with every thrust, sending shockwaves through your body. Your legs quivered under his touch, your muscles weakening as the pleasure built to an unbearable intensity.

“Harder…” you whimpered, your voice barely a breath, your body craving more, needing more.

Michael’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he drove into you with even more ferocity. The bed groaned beneath the brutal force of his thrusts, each one harder, more punishing than the last. The slap of your bodies echoed through the room, wet and raw, every stroke sending waves of your arousal splashing across his thighs and base. He didn’t slow down. If anything, the sound of your sobbing moans only spurred him on, the ruthless rhythm pushing you to the brink of breaking.

His length was coated in your arousal, thick and creamy, the evidence of your pleasure smeared across his length as it drove deeper, stretching you to your limits. You could feel every inch of him, the veins pulsing against your walls, the fullness so overwhelming that it sent shudders through your body. Your fingers found your clit, rubbing desperately as he fucked you harder, his hips slamming into you with a relentless force that had your back arching and your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The bed creaked beneath the weight of his thrusts, your vision blurring as he pounded into you. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice hoarse, barely recognizable as you begged for more. The sight of his length disappearing inside you again and again, glistening with your slick, drove you wild. Each thrust was rougher, deeper, like he wanted to own every inch of you.

Your fingers became slick and sticky from the creamy arousal coating them, every touch sending electric jolts through your body. But it wasn’t enough—you needed more. And Michael, with his dark, silent fury, was giving it to you. He shifted slightly, changing his angle just enough to find that perfect spot inside you. The second he hit it, your body jolted, your walls clamping down hard around him.

“Right there, oh fuck, right there,” you blurted out, head falling back as the pleasure hit like a wave crashing over you. Your body shook, every nerve screaming as he hammered into the sweet spot with ruthless precision. His length twitched inside of you, every pulse sending you closer to the edge. The burn of the stretch only heightened the intensity, making your toes curl as you clung to the bed for dear life.

Without warning, Michael’s hand shot out, releasing your ankle and gripping your throat in one swift motion. His fingers tightened, squeezing hard, cutting off your air as he thrust harder, rougher, more brutal than before. The pressure on your neck blurred your vision, stars dancing across your eyes as your head spun. But through the haze, you smiled, loving every second of it.

His hand on your throat told you everything. He didn’t need words. The way he choked you, the way his length slammed into you without mercy, said more than any words ever could. He was releasing everything, pouring his anger, his lust, his possessiveness into every brutal thrust. And you welcomed it, loving the roughness, craving the way he lost control with you.

Your walls clenched around him, throbbing as he pounded you with relentless force, your body shaking beneath him as the intensity built higher and higher. Every thrust hit deeper, stretching you further, the burning pleasure twisting into something almost unbearable. His grip on your neck tightened, and you could feel the bruising already forming, but it only drove you closer to the brink.

Your vision swam in and out of focus, each rough thrust sending shockwaves through your body. The room around you seemed to blur into nothing, the only thing you could focus on was the relentless force of Michael’s body against yours, his hands gripping you with such intensity that you could feel his frustration radiating through every inch of him. His chain, cool and biting against your heated skin, contrasted with the searing heat between you, the weight of his chest pressing down on you as he held you under him, completely at his mercy. Your hand rested on his stomach, feeling the taut muscles rippling beneath your palm as he moved inside you, the power behind every thrust sending you spiraling into oblivion.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was just as punishing, his lips devouring yours with a force that took your breath away, literally. His grip around your throat tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make you gasp, the thrill of it coursing through you like fire. His groans rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your lips as his tongue teased yours, every movement calculated, deliberate. You whimpered softly, your breaths shallow, your body trembling as he plunged in and out of you with unyielding precision.

The clock struck midnight, the sound barely audible over the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies colliding and the jazz music playing softly in the background. Michael’s lips twisted into a dark smirk as he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a dangerous intensity. “Want me to talk now, hmm?” His voice was a low growl, dripping with smug satisfaction as he drove deeper into you, your walls stretching around his length.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as he continued to pound into you, your body jerking with each powerful thrust. He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to suck in a desperate breath, but his hand stayed firmly in place, a constant reminder of who was in control. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance. “Look how good you’re taking me, pretty girl. So wet, so creamy.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his praise, your moans turning into soft, desperate pleas. “Michael, please…”

“Please what?” he mocked, his thrusts growing more brutal, each one slamming into you so hard that it left you breathless. “You want it harder?”

Without waiting for an answer, he gave it to you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. Each thrust was deeper, rougher, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, the bed creaking under the violent rhythm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his body claiming yours completely.

“Take it, baby. Take all of me,” he whispered harshly, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he drove into you with renewed intensity.

You moaned helplessly, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, biting down hard enough to leave marks, each one a reminder of his dominance over you. “Why do you fuck me like this?” you gasped, your head falling back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

He growled, flicking his tongue along the side of your neck before trailing it up to your ear. “Because you’re my pretty little slut,” he murmured darkly, his voice sending a jolt straight to your core.

Your walls clenched around him, the tightness driving him even deeper, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the need to release. But he wasn’t finished. His hand tightened around your throat once more, choking you harder as he rammed into you with brutal, unrelenting force. Each thrust shifted the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall as his pace grew more violent, driven by some unspoken fury that had him fucking you like he never had before.

The darkness in Michael’s gaze was unlike anything you had ever seen before, an almost feral edge that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His thrusts were savage, each one tearing a guttural moan from your throat, the force of his body slamming into yours leaving you gasping for breath. The intensity of his movements left no room for tenderness—this was raw, unfiltered need, anger poured into every powerful stroke. He wasn’t holding back, and you could feel it in the way his hips snapped forward, the thick length of him filling you with a ruthless determination that made your entire body tremble.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, sliding down his chest and mingling with yours as he leaned over you, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “You want them all to see, don’t you?” he growled, his voice rough, edged with a dangerous kind of heat. His eyes flicked downward, watching the way his length moved in and out of you with a slick, obscene sound. “See how good I fuck you? See how you take me like you were made for it? Look at how you’re squeezing me, so damn tight.”

You could barely respond, your head spinning as the pressure coiled tighter inside you. His words made your core clench around him, the tension building to an unbearable peak. You tried to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escaped was a broken moan, your lips trembling as your body shook beneath him. Words weren’t possible; the overwhelming sensations, the heat, the pressure, his brutal pace—it was all too much.

Michael’s hand shot out, cupping your face roughly, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. The intensity in his dark eyes was like a physical force, pinning you in place. He was still wearing his reading glasses, the thin frames sliding down the bridge of his nose, but the fury in his gaze never faltered. His chain dangled from his neck, swinging back and forth in time with his thrusts, brushing lightly against your skin. Every movement sent a shockwave through your body, the tension in your belly burning hotter with each passing second.

“You’re drunk on this, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. His hips didn’t slow, didn’t waver—each thrust was hard, precise, pushing you closer to the edge. “So drunk on the way I fuck you, on the way I own you. You like that, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your body arching against his, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you fought to hold on, the slick sound of your bodies colliding filling the air. You glanced down, unable to stop yourself from watching where you were joined, mesmerized by the sight of his length sliding in and out of you, the thickness of him stretching you, filling you completely.

“I can feel how close you are,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. His hips never faltered, his pace relentless as he drove himself into you again and again, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. “I know you want to cum. Just let it go, baby girl. Let it all out for me.”

You were trembling now, your thighs quivering with the effort to hold on, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold back the wave of pleasure that was crashing through you. “Michael, I… I can’t—” Your voice broke off, your body seizing as your orgasm tore through you, violent and all-consuming.

He watched you intently, his gaze never leaving your face as you came undone beneath him, your walls clenching and pulsing around him like a vice. The room seemed to spin around you, the sound of your moans echoing in your ears as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your body, leaving you breathless and shaking.

“Fuck,” Michael growled, his own control slipping as he felt your cunt tighten around him. His teeth gritted together, his jaw clenched as he pounded into you harder, chasing his own release. “God, you feel so damn good. So tight, so perfect.”

His thrusts grew erratic, the muscles in his arms and chest straining as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel him swelling, twitching, his length throbbing as he neared his breaking point. A guttural groan escaped his lips as he slammed into you one final time, his entire body tensing as he spilled his hot, thick seed deep inside you.

“Shit!” he snarled, his body shaking as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he emptied himself into you, his release filling you, warm and thick. He didn’t move for a moment, just stayed there, buried deep inside you as his length twitched and pulsed, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Your body was spent, trembling from the intensity of the moment, but even as your legs shook and your muscles screamed in exhaustion, there was a deep, primal satisfaction in the way he filled you. The wet, sticky mess of your combined release seeped out of you, trickling down your thighs and staining the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and you could feel the steady thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Michael slowly withdrew from you, his length slipping out of your slick heat with a wet sound that made you whimper. You felt empty without him, your body aching from the loss of him, but the sharp sting of your sensitivity kept you grounded. He glanced down at the mess between your legs, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched his seed spill from you.

Without breaking eye contact, Michael slipped out of bed, leaving you sprawled across the sheets, trembling in the aftermath of his touch. You could hear the soft sound of running water from the bathroom, the low hum of the shower creating a soothing background. The ache between your thighs served as a reminder of his power over you—of the way he’d pushed you to your limits, leaving you breathless and wanting, yet utterly satisfied.

Moments later, he returned, a damp washcloth in his hand. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intent as he approached the bed. Kneeling beside you, he parted your legs, his movements slow and deliberate. The cool touch of the cloth against your heated skin made you flinch, a shiver running down your spine. Despite the tenderness of his actions, there was an unmistakable dominance in the way he took care of you—an unspoken declaration that you were his.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “I need to clean you up. Don’t move.”

You swallowed, trying to steady the trembling in your limbs. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His eyes held yours as his hands moved with a precision that was both gentle and possessive. He wiped away the traces of your shared pleasure, his fingers brushing over your oversensitive folds. You whimpered, your body jerking involuntarily at the contact, still so raw from the intensity of the night.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety growl. “All soft and vulnerable. Just the way I like you. So fragile after I’ve had my way with you.” He paused, his lips curving into a smirk as he watched you. “But you took it all, didn’t you? My good girl.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, your heart pounding at his words.

His gaze darkened, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He set the washcloth aside and reached for your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt.

“To you, sir,” you answered, the words slipping out without hesitation.

“That’s right.” His voice was a soft growl, possessive and undeniably sensual. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours—a kiss that was slow and deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who was in control. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, demanding entrance, and you parted them for him willingly. The kiss deepened, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place as he tasted you, dominated you.

When he finally pulled away, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You taste like surrender,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “My perfect girl.”

He stood, his arms slipping around you as he pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, and he held you close, supporting your weight as he guided you toward the bathroom. The steam enveloped you as you stepped inside, the warmth of the shower wrapping around you like a blanket. Michael sat down on the shower bench, pulling you onto his lap. His arms encircled your waist, holding you against him, his chest firm against your back.

“You did well tonight,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and intimate. “Took everything I gave you. But you know I’m not done with you, don’t you?”

A weak smile tugged at your lips as you rested back against him, your head nestled into the crook of his neck. “What set you off tonight, sir?” you asked, your voice soft, a hint of teasing there despite your exhaustion.

He sighed, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice darkening. “Lisa. She’s done. Out of my life.” His hand moved, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “But you need to understand something, sweetheart—what we have is not just about my anger. It’s about you and me. You belong to me. Every inch of you.”

A shiver coursed through you at his words, your breath hitching as his fingers teased your sensitive skin. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and excitement.

“She doesn’t know about us,” he continued, his tone dripping with possessiveness. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re mine, regardless of who knows. No one else will touch you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Only you,” you breathed, the weight of his claim sinking into your very being.

A satisfied sound rumbled deep in his chest, his mouth trailing along the side of your neck, his lips hot against your skin. “That’s my girl. You’ve been teasing me all week, haven’t you? Trying to provoke me?” His voice was dark, dangerous, filled with a promise that made your heart pound.

You felt a sly smile tug at your lips, despite the blush creeping across your cheeks. “I wanted your attention, sir.”

Michael let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “Well, you got it,” he murmured, his fingers moving down between your legs, brushing against your core. You gasped, your body arching into him, even as the ache from earlier still lingered. “But teasing me comes at a price, sweetheart. You know that.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered, feeling your body responding to his touch, the heat building again despite your exhaustion.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to remind you of that every chance I get.”

“Yes, sir. I belong to you,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your heart pounding as his fingers teased you, keeping you right at the edge without letting you fall over.

He turned your face toward the warm spray of the shower, his lips brushing a kiss to your temple. “Let the heat relax you. I need you ready for me, whenever I decide it’s time again.”

You let yourself melt into his touch, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back, the water cascading down, soothing the soreness in your body. His hands moved up to your hair, undoing the knots, each touch a reminder of his claim over you.

“Who knew having an affair with your boss would lead to this,” you murmured, a wry smile playing on your lips, your eyes fluttering closed.

Michael’s hand moved to grip your jaw, tilting your head back so you met his eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with a fire that made your breath catch in your throat. “This is not just an affair,” he growled, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered dominance. “You are mine. Completely. Body, mind, and soul.”

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was searing, possessive—one that left you breathless, a reminder of his control over you.

When he pulled back, his voice was a low rumble, each word laced with intent. “I won’t let you forget that. Not now, not ever. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you remember that every time I touch you.”

Your eyes closed as his words sank in, the weight of them wrapping around you like a blanket. “I won’t forget, sir. I promise.”

He let out a satisfied hum, his fingers trailing down your throat, resting just above your collarbone. “That’s my girl. Always so obedient. Now hush and relax. Tonight, you’re going to rest, and when you wake up, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And next time, sweetheart, when I decide to take you again, I’ll remind you just how much you need me. Just how much you crave every touch, every command. You’ll beg for it, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation and submission.

“That’s right,” he growled softly, his lips pressing against your neck, marking you with gentle kisses that promised both pleasure and possession. “You’re my good girl. And I take care of what’s mine.”

You nodded, resting against him as the warmth of the water washed over you, feeling his arms around you—a shelter, a cage, and a sanctuary, all at once. And as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your skin, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[v1sexual]

if u don't mind me asking, what are your current wips 👁👁

hi anon ! i’ve got a like 9 wips on the way 🌝 8 of them are vi fanfics (which shouldn’t be a surprise at this point) and one is a viktor fic hehe. the first and last wip were something i came up with and the rest are all reqs hehe. as a treat, here are my wips, their synopsis, and when will i post them :>

allie’s wips :

01 . casual ; vi (headcanons)

- headcanons of your casual situationship with vi ! this is one is self indulgent and heavily inspired by my current wlw situationship :/

will be posting this one in a couple of hours !

02. my lips, your lips ; vi (oneshot)

- requested by anon !

- bar night with pit fighter vi ends up with you two getting a bit frisky

will be posting tomorrow ! (hopefully)

03. i love you so ; vi (headcanon)

- requested by anon

- headcanons of vi comforting emotional/sensitive reader after a big incident!

will be posting probably around tomorrow as well !

04. mr. loverman ; vi (oneshot)

- requested by anon

- in which the reader and vi are childhood lovers that got separated after vander died and silco took over zaun. they reunite but the reader isn’t too thrilled with how close vi and their new enforcer friend are. as much as she wants to avoid them she can’t, her help was needed to fight jinx alongside them.

will be posting in two days!

05. save a horse, ride a cowgirl ; vi (oneshot)

- requested by anon

- cowgirl vi. no further comments.

will be posting in two days! (hopefully)

06. untitled ; vi (oneshot/headcanon)

- requested by anon

- actor au where they're filming s2 ep7 and the actor for teen! Vi keeps corpsing when she's trying to play dead

will be posting in two-three days

07. eternal sunshine ; vi (arcane)

- requested by anon

- in which vi and her girlfriend stumbles upon one of her exes, cait. despite being with vi, you can’t help but feel a little bit self conscious. luckily for you, vi is more than happy to give you reassurance.

will be posting in three to four days!

08. untitled; vi (headcanons)

- requested by anon

- headcanons of vi x fem reader with vitiligo !

will be posting soon (in a couple of hours maybe)

09. as the world caves in ; viktor (series)

- modern au ! chronically ill viktor x healthcare worker reader. angst. pure angst.

currently in the works ! idk when it’ll be posted

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Pondering a new character…. (some of this has the potential to change since I thought of him like 2 days ago)

Agamemnon Pallas, a Reserved Tutor (subject to change), is a Greek man in his mid-50s who fled to the Neath over 20 years ago in an attempt to escape the grief of losing his wife. He still keeps elements of her with him, as she absolutely adored flowers. He’s a well-studied anthropologist, but only uses his knowledge to do his own projects and tutor students at both Benthic and Summerset (while occasionally stealing cool artifacts from the latter). After falling into the world of Revolutionaries for awhile in his younger days, getting shrapnel blown into his face from a bomb mishap led him to taking a step back- he still agrees with the cause, he’s just far less active. He tends to speak both quickly and quietly, with a Greek accent, and refers to every friend/acquaintance he perceives to be <35 as “kiddo”. He has shit vision, ADHD, vitiligo, and sectoral heterochromia (gray/brown) in one eye. Betrothed to @torturingpeople ‘s Dr. Harper by us, but doesn’t know it yet.

Some more random details: he has a scar from getting shivved in a fight with a phrenologist . he’s an incredible cellist . he has the weakest alcohol tolerance you’ll ever see . he runs cold

For the moment he’s an NPC; that may or may not change.

[chaoticace2005]

Reasons Angel has stripes/hearts/spots:

1. The spots are from freckles he had while alive, the stripes/hearts are there for another reason

2. He had vitiligo while alive and the marks resemble his skin

3. Scars from when he was alive

4. Scars from when his time in hell, the fur grows back different if there is enough damage.

5. He got tattoos/fur dyed in Hell

6. Could be Val’s way of branding him

7. Could be that he chose to do it if his own volition

8. Could be that he got high and went to a tattoo parlor

9. He got a tattoos while alive that transferred over in Hell

10. He just arrived in Hell with markings because of his past/sins, rather than it being carried over from his body in life.

11. The red stuff Valentino produces dyed him

12. Those aren’t his markings, that’s actually another layer of clothes he wears underneath his clothes

13. He wore his blazer so much that the lines just stained onto his skin

14. He got the stripes when he was placed on a BBQ grill

15. He got the stipes when Arackniss ran him over with a tricycle when they were little.

16. He got the stripes so people can’t tell if he’s wearing clothes or not

17. Got washed in a dryer with red clothes

18. It was the red wine bath

19. He banged the Kool Aid man

20. Some kid drew on him while he was sleeping

21. He’s sponsored by Valentine’s Day, so he needs to advertise for them 247 by representing them

22. Was blessed by Asmodeus, king of Lust

23. It’s not his skin, it’s another spiders that he picked up after their shed and put on

24. It’s makeup he puts on daily

25. Died when his heart gave out on him during an overdose, the world has a shitty sense of humor.

26. Tie dye group activity gone wrong

27. Was told nobody would ever love him so he got hearts in a twisted sense of irony

28. The universe shipped Huskerdust so hard they gave them both hearts in their demon forms

29. All the spots are his eyes. He has many.

[cheriladycl01]

Quirk #5

Here is my fifth quirk idea! Feel free to use this in your fanfics (just give me credit if you directly got it from me) obviously I know however I’m not the only creative person in the world and that some people may have also had these ideas before me!

Quirk: Scan

She can scan anything and know about it and learn it to memory

This entails:

- Can scan a person by looking at them and will immediately know everything about them, age name, quirk, weaknesses, likes and dislikes, status in hero society etc

- Enhanced Memory

- Adaptive Muscle Memory

- Enhanced Intelligence

Weaknesses

- Will ‘forget’ people they’ve scanned if they haven’t interacted with them in a certain period of time

- If somethings she’s ’scanned’ say the art of martial arts for example if she doesn’t keep on top of that muscle memory aspect of it she will forget it.

- she gets headaches when scanning lots, so when she crams for exams she finds it difficult and will sometimes have brain fry or burnt out.

- Not a strong quirk when it comes to brute force or anything so she’s often pretty vulnerable to quirks like Kirishimas or Bakugos who are storage or release type quirks.

Strengths

- She’s great when it comes to anticipating things, there isn’t a lot that will shock her as she is able to scan you and see pretty much everything about you in one look.

- She consumes information far too quickly and therefore when it comes to learning combat art styles to use alongside her quirk, she’s very strong alongside her quirk like Aizawa.

- It’s more like Jirous quirk where she’d be incredible at recon and helping out when it comes information gathering and I can see her as more of a Hawks - Aizawa hero where she’d go undercover a lot to get intel on certain people rather than facing the villains head on.

Hero Name:

The All Knowing Hero: Encylo

Zodiac: Aquarius

Ethnic Background: Irish / Japanese

Height: 5ft 5

Weight: 126ibs

Style: Chic

Physical Traits: Vitiligo

Mannerisms: She has hero and villain books like Deku and whenever she does a scan of someone even thought most of the time she retains the information she’ll write down everyone she encounters and the date in case she ever needs it in the future.

Favourite:

Food: Teriyaki Chicken

Drink: Cranberry Juice and Soda Water

Colour: Yellow

Weather: Snow

Possession: Her multiple notebooks on hero’s (she’d crash out if Bakugo ever pulled that stunt on her)

Morning Routine:

She’ll like to do her ritual of Jujitsu and Karate forms she’s shown in a certain order to keep that information retained before reading the latest news of the day.

Hobbies:

Shopping and Skiing

Special Skills:

She doesn’t consider any of her skills special because her quirks help her out with a lot of things like this.

Pet Peeves:

Sarcasm, she just doesn’t get it bless her.

Bad At:

Telling people she thinks they’re not in the right.

Biggest Fear:

Spiders

Greatest Flaw:

She’s too nice, to the point it would and will get her hurt one day beucase it makes her oblivious and vulnerable. She isn’t very observant.

Goals:

To be a kind hero that people look at in crisis and feels calm.

Who I see them with:

Guys - KAMINARI, Present Mic

Girls - Nejire, PIXIE-BOB

[penkura]

Your daughter really notices Law’s vitiligo spots for the first time after her baby brother is born, with a little birthmark on the right side of his face. It's not anything spectacular or to worry about, just a small, slightly lighter spot that almost mirrors one Law has on his face. She doesn't ask about it the day she meets her brother, instead more focused on him than anything else once Law hands the baby boy to her.

A few months later, you catch her standing on a stool in the bathroom and staring at her own face in the mirror, frowning at herself. You say she's a carbon copy of Law, with her dark hair and golden eyes that match his perfectly, but he swears she has your face.

"Cora, what are you doing, sweetheart?"

"Why don't I look like daddy and Rosi?"

You tilt your head, before going to stand behind her and looking in the mirror too. Cora is looking over her face, like the five-year-old is scrutinizing her own appearance. All you can ever see when you look at her is Law, she's practically his twin, you swear.

"What do you mean? You're your daddy’s twin! You've got his hair and eyes--"

"I don't have spots like daddy or Rosi."

Oh.

Oh, that's what she means.

You thought you and Law would have more time to worry about how to explain it to Cora, but since baby Rosi had developed a few more spots himself in the past couple of months, your daughter must be wondering why you and her don't have those same spots. She must be worried, maybe she thinks Law and Rosi are sick or it's something wrong with her instead, even though it's nothing she can control.

"Cora," you smooth our her hair and kiss the top of her head before hugging her, "Don't worry about daddy and Rosi's spots, okay? Nothing's wrong with them, I promise."

She still pouts, looking at you in the mirror. "I want spots too though..."

You laugh at how now she wants to have spots to match them, and you get an idea that might help at least for the day. You leave Cora in the bathroom long enough to find Ikkaku and borrow a light foundation from her, going back to your daughter and to start your little project.

When you're done, Cora checks your work in the mirror before running to find Law, almost giving him a panic attack when he sees the light blotches on her face even though she's practically beaming at him. The spots are a near perfect match to his own, she isn't developing white lead disease is she??

He's terrified at first that, somehow, in the last few hours she's started to develop either white lead disease or vitiligo, which he knows is impossible, until he gently rubs his thumb over the spot on her forehead and finds it's just foundation, leaving him relieved.

"Cora, what--"

"I look like you and Rosi now, daddy! Mommy helped me!"

He looks past her to see you in the doorway with your four month old son in your arms, giving him a smile while Cora throws her little arms around his neck in a hug. It takes Law a moment to really work out what the deal is, before he returns her hug even tighter than the one she gave him.

"She wanted to match her favorite person in the whole world. How could I not help her?"

He'll tell her one day, about everything, but for now, seeing how happy she is to look exactly like him, it makes Law accept his own spots a little a bit more.

[buff-muffin]

I like many people love to imagine law still has marks from the amber lead though I’ve always imagined it as almost like scars rather then vitiligo. It’s a little hard to explain and I KNOW this isn’t exactly how skin works. But I prefer the idea that law still has patches of white skin that have faded slightly into more of a skin tone but unlike the rest of his skin. Doesn’t tan almost like scar tissue. So in his stay in the north he remained rather pale and it was almost unnoticeable. But when he hit the grandline and more tropical environments he started getting quite the tan that made them REAL obvious.

By Sabaody it was clear as day, though I like to imagine that he lost a bit of his tan with his stay on punk hazard and Luffy very bluntly asked “where’s your spots :(?”

Here’s a visual for what I mean

Amber lead patches remain the same tone no matter what. Though when the mineral was still in his blood stream the patches were a much more violent and sickly white. Think of it maybe like skin bleaching if that makes sense? Idk I like the idea of Law being blessed with the worlds best tanning gene and all it does is make his spots more obvious.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

nap time - k. leona

summary; being sent into this world wasn't so bad. at least you found people like you.

genre/extra tags; jaguar hybrid! reader, reader is mc but not really???, grim is their child and reader refuses to accept it, cat habits instilled into humans, fluff, comedy, consensual violence as affection, reader has vitiligo that looks like jaguar spots but i never address it in the story, reader is referred to as mc and prefect

word count; 1.07k

[gender neutral reader] [can be romantic or platonic? idk]

a/n; hey lol, i write for twst now ig. i wont do it often bc i think i havent grasped some of the characters well enough. but i'll take some requests

and im also on a stardew valley grind for this month so... not really playing twst often. but nonetheless, hope you enjoy. i wrote this thinking abt tank the jaguar. love that big cat fr.

anyways insert obligatory leona nap time fanfic.

you were quite glad that you landed in a different world where beastmen/hybrids were just common occurance. it's not like you didn't have them before you got here, they were just not as common in your past home. though, you've been here for a while, can you even call your old world, home?

if you were being honest, you found a new home with the savanaclaw dorm. despite being a more solitary animai, you found some comfort in the other beastman. though ruggie liked to annoy you in your times of silence, you consider him a good friend. jack was nice, he was awkward at times but he meant well. but you were much more interested in leona.

something about being so similar yet so different attracted you to him. and also the fact that grim was more than willing to let you be friends with leona if it meant free cans of tuna and money.

but you really like the moments you had with leona.

it was an unlucky day really. having to wake up to attend class, terrible. having to drag grim by the scruff to wake up, little brat gets an extra 5 minutes while you have to actually get ready. and then losing grim because... why would he listen to you for more than 5 minutes? sounded more like a normal day than you liked to admit.

"hey. herbivore." he chuffs. while it's typically a nice greeting between your shared kind with leona, you can't help but think it's more teasing than usual.

"i'm in the same family and genus as you. who are you calling herbivore?" you grunted. you bat at his arm once, causing the male to snicker.

"i believe you're looking for an annoying little cat?"

"myah! i'm not a cat!" you hear the familiar squeal of your tiny companion. "i don't want to go to class!" he's hanging by his scruff and being held by leona who's looking over at you in amusement.

"well, you cost us half an attendance mark!" you swipe him from leona's grip, pressing a hand against his cheek. "you can't just do what you please all the time! if i could, i would be sleeping right now!" you huffed. you turn to leona, who was watching you as if it was an interesting tv show, "thanks for finding him. i'm getting sick of chasing him all the time."

"ironic for a jaguar. don't you like the chase, being fast and all?" leona chuckles as you give him a pointed glare.

your arms soon cradle grim properly while your hand stays against the back of grim's neck. the loud cat yowls, "stop grabbing me there! myah!"

you ignore the small cat to answer the big cat, "i'm not that fast!"

he gives you a look, "jack thinks otherwise."

"jack is a wolf, completely different species!" you two bicker. but there's a growing grin on leona's face as you both start walking, grim wrapped up in your arms. "you better not leave this time, grim." he grumbles, eventually stopping his twisting and turning and gets comfortable in your arms. "as i said before, we're from the same genus, so naturally, we're gonna be built similar. but you're a big lazy cat who naps all day. of course you're gonna be slower than me!"

"for someone who is a solitary animal, you sure yap a lot. maybe you should be a chihuahua instead." his pointer and middle finger move to pinch your cheek for a second. "you like to scold me a lot. you're starting to sound like ruggie."

"you like being just as troublesome as grim." with a free hand, you push the side of leona's head.

"hey!" the cat shouts, offended.

"you need to relax a bit. i'm sure you're stressed out, right? grim doesn't really do much to help."

"so mean! and why does my henchman get to rest but i can't?!" grim whines. you shake your head.

"i'm not resting anytime soon. i have a lot to do. mostly just keeping grim in line but... no rest for me yet." you give a weary smile. "maybe later, i'll come by the gardens to see you." you hummed.

he huffs, "get someone else to care for grim. you need rest." you can't even say hi to your friends as leona grabs grim and tosses him to your friends, who are just as confused as you are.

"you didn't have to toss grim like that!" you slap the back of leona's head, "and i'll be fine!" you walk over to the adeuce duo, only to get tugged away again. you're tempted to throw hands as leona continues to have the audacity to try to get you to rest.

"the teachers like you anyways, you can skip one class to rest. we all know how biased crewel is when it comes to you." with enough bickering between you two, you make it to the gardens. the sun is warm against your skin as you huffed.

"do i really need to rest during classes?! i could just sleep after school!"

"do you really want to nap in your dorm, prefect?" he's already laying down on a comfortable spot. you stare at the already sleepy beastman, who only stares back as if to challenge you. it takes about two minutes for you to fold. might as well as this point. you grovel over in defeat as leona smiles smugly at your behavior.

you sort of force your way into his arms and rest your back against his chest, to which he presses his face to your neck. you can hear him chuffing. you can't help but comment, "you're chuffing an awful lot. sounds like you care for me. ack-!" his hand reaches over to your face, pressing his palm under your chin to tilt your head up.

"talking too much for a jaguar." your eyes are forced to stare into his own for a moment before he lets go and gets comfy. "just sleep." his face is buried against your head as he starts to fall asleep.

"well, you never denied it." you snicker as you turn to face him. "i don't know much about lions but something tells me you like me." he opens one eye to look at your cheeky smile.

"yeah, i do." he moves to kiss your forehead, "you're stupider than i thought, you should've figured it out sooner."

you can feel blood rushing to your face as you stammer, "y-you can't just drop that out of nowhere!" it's too late to scold him as he's already asleep.

[feathersandblue]

Veilguard 3/?

slowly, slowly, I'm getting better at combat

it is, however, a bad idea to start with ranged attack companions only and have the melee companions enter the stage much later - the way the enemies focus solely on Rook make playing a ranged character really, really frustrating, especially at an early stage. DODGE DODGE DODGE DODGE attack DODGE DODGE DODGE

the lack of respect for previous established lore and worldbuilding actually makes me appreciate Inquisition more

which is strange because I always thought that DAI was the weakest game, writing-wise (though I've spent a looooot of time playing it)

Inquisition was very chantry-focused, but that actually tied in very neatly with the back story. In retrospect, it gave the game some much-needed direction

the companions are all palatable but bland. They were a bit overdone in DAO, extremely but gloriously extra in DA2, and interesting and distinctive (and partly divisive) in DAI

same goes for Rook. The inquisitor was also lacking a personality and was heavily criticized for it, which was why I had actually been hoping for a prologue much like the one the Warden got (or Hawke). Does Rook even have a family? Who the fuck knows. Makes it even harder to develop an emotional tie to them

the Lighthouse feels lifeless, Skyhold was much more interesting

in short, there are very few aspects where I feel that DAV actually comes out on top of the list. Ask again later

for all the diverse options in the character creator, they somehow didn't manage to include a cup size larger than B. I imagine they probably thought of it like a fuck you to that part of the gamer crowd that so loves to objectify female characters in video games, like they tried hard to be the antithesis to the male gaze, but as a big-breasted woman, i feel it's fairly ridiculous that you can add vitiligo to your skin and have six varieties of freckles, bulges, and top surgery scars, but limit the breast size. FYI: A lot more women in Europe and the US have a C, D, or E cup respectively (European sizes) than A.

I get that they chose to only include characters from previous games whose fate was unchangeable through player choice, like Dorian or Isabella, but it feels like such a waste to just have the rest of them fade into obscurity. It creates a void. I think they should have taken the risk of making Veilguard less independent and more like a follow-up to the rest of the franchise. Then again, they did what they thought would create the biggest sales. BUT it would have raised the replayability score for sure because you would have played a different rook for each of your Dragon Age Keep world states.