#your consumer is simply there to enjoy your creation

[rene-hl-trashcan]

My unsolicited two cents tho:

While I agree it's nice to receive approvals or validation, needing kudos/approvals/validation to feel that your writing is good however, is a slow-acting poison to your writer's/artist's soul. Sooner or later, it will lead you to fall into that bottomless pit of writing/drawing what people want instead of writing/drawing what you want. It's gonna become a payless chore, especially with how rabid and entitled the consumer attitude I see in readers nowadays.

You don't follow the canon lore to a T? The lore police is there to correct your ignorant ass. You write the characters a bit OOC? Some fanatic rando gonna rain on your comment section, wanting you to write the characters the 'correct' way. You write a rarepair or some obscure crack ship? Someone gonna shit in your comment section for pairing their fav with this random character. You write some Dead Dove Don't Eat stuffs or some equally triggering themes? You bet some snowflakes gonna be triggered and cry in your comment section as if it is your choice they decided to read the whole damn thing.

It wouldn't be long when you have to banish your creativity into the depth of the abyss to please your readers for those sweet sweet kudos. You're gonna hate the very thing you once do out of the passion of your heart the moment you let other people put values over it.

So yeah, TLDR, fuck everyone's validation. Others' validation is like a drug; it's good in small amount but the more you get it the more you would end up wanting and needing it, probably losing your passion and creativity to please your dealer for that sweet sweet validation in the end. Don't let it reach that point. The only reader you should be going to hell and back to please is yourself. The others are simply lucky you decided to share your piece with them for FREE.

You don't need anyone's approval for the stories you write and the art you create. But it's also absolutely valid to want some approval from your audience. Kudos and likes don't determine your creation's worth. But it just feels amazing to receive them.

[mitfloya]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

pairings. Rafayel x gn!reader

wc. 6.8K

synopsis. He believes that by isolating you, he can protect you from the outside world and ensure your happiness together. In his twisted mind, this is his way of creating a perfect and eternal bond, you’re his muse, his statue of beauty, his own aphrodite.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hiyaaa! Thank you so much for the people that have helped me make my post manage to slip through the timeline! I kid you not I had to break my spine with this issues I kept running into (the ori yandere Zayne post is gone, I’m sorry for the inconvenience), if any of you have any suggestions on how to make my post made it into the tags please tell them on the comments section. Get ready and have some snacks and hope you enjoy reading another hc I made

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

A manchild…? you love this guy? Me being a slander and simp at the same time

To put it simply, Rafayel is always the damsel in distress and YOU are his knight shining armor. He needs your attention and protection 24/7, you don’t want him to end up dead, do you? The whole universe will miss him. 

First of all, he loves you. Second of all, he hates you. 

You’re like a goldfish, how could you not remember the vows you both made when you were just a little kid?! The mere fact that you failed to recognize his face shattered his heart into pieces, for you hold immense significance in his life.

The weight of your indifference crashed upon him like a tidal wave, leaving his emotions in ruins. It was like a tornado tearing through his soul, causing a gut-wrenching ache that seemed to consume him from within.

It creates a twisted cycle of emotions that he struggles to contain. He yearns for the love you once shared, yet despises you for not remembering the bond you had. 

Perhaps he regrets not taking action in the past to ensure he could always locate you, to have left a distinctive mark upon you as a means of tracking your whereabouts.

You should’ve recognized him at first glance. Where have you been? He thought he lost you, he doesn’t even want to wish upon your death but you make it harder for him not to.

You’ve grown so much and so many changes but you’re still the same person he met at the beach, and it makes him feels so many emotions at once, it’s the first time he has managed to put a rein over his emotions, he could’ve coax you to come to his studio and locked you up, if you were to recognize him.

His heart longed to show much he misses you yet his mind tells him to seek revenge. It’s like his body and soul is splitting. Do you know how much damage you are causing him?

You must understand, my dear, that he is determined not to repeat past mistakes. It is time for him to take drastic measures, to make a promise that will bind you to him forever. He sees you as his ultimate protector, his unwavering shield. From this moment forward, you will never leave his sight again.

In his eyes, you have always belonged to each other, from the very beginning. Your destinies intertwined, your fates entangled. He craves the security of knowing that you are by his side, guarding his every step, his every breath. No longer will he allow even the smallest sliver of distance to separate you.

From the beginning you are his as much as he is yours.

His artistic talent is both his greatest strength and his greatest weapon. Through his art, he immortalizes his love and hatred for you, capturing the complexities of his emotions with every stroke of the brush. His creations serve as a constant reminder of his twisted desires. 

Initially consumed by hatred, he concealed his love, allowing it to resurface gradually, in subtle and tender ways. 

It’s the slowest burn you could ever imagine. Painstakingly slow.

As Rafayel's hatred gradually diminished, he began to express his feelings more openly, albeit subtly, leaving significant hints about the depth of his emotions towards you. Similar to a small forest fire that grows steadily, each progression was deliberate and methodical until it consumed the entire forest, an uncontrollable blaze that can’t be extuingish.

Say goodbye to freedom and welcome to his world, now that you’re his. He will be the center of your universe.

Clinginess is an inherent trait of Rafayel's nature. He craves your presence and attention, unable to bear the thought of being separated from you even for a moment. He will go to great lengths to ensure that you never leave his side.

You've grown accustomed to his playful nature and constant need for attention, but be prepared for an amplified version, as his demands intensify. Good luck dealing with your man ♡

He is a man of pride, he immortalizes you through his art, proudly showcasing pieces dedicated to you at his exhibitions. While abstract in form, this exclusivity serves to intrigue others, leaving them pondering what makes you so special in his eyes.

Unknown to you hidden away within his personal stash, there is a gallery dedicated solely to you. Every piece of artwork revolves around your existence, capturing his obsession with meticulous detail. The walls are adorned with portraits, each stroke of the brush reflecting his twisted love for you.

But at the very least, he showers you with lots of love and affection, no more holding back.

In relationships, he presents himself as a calm and romantic partner, radiating an aura of serenity akin to the sea. He enjoys spending quality time with you, whether it be casual outings or simply sharing space in silence. With him, you will never feel alone.

But do not be deceived by the calm waters, for they possess the ability to draw you into the depths of darkness, leaving you submerged and unable to resurface. His obsession remains unpredictable, much like the ever-changing tides of the sea. 

Oh, how you've stumbled into his clutches the moment you made that fateful vow. There is no turning back, my dear. You have fallen into the siren's trap, lured by his haunting charm. You are now forever entwined in his grasp, unable to break free. You should have thought twice before crossing paths with him if you weren't planning to stay.

He has two preferred methods of dealing with nuisances. He may choose to be smug and show off his superiority, rubbing his success in their faces. He revels in flaunting his success and talents, using them as a means to intimidate and belittle those who dare to steal you away.

However, if they persist, he is unafraid to resort to physical means, utilizing violence to eliminate them from your life. He goes to extreme lengths, even shedding blood and concealing the evidence of his actions, all in the name of safeguarding your well-being and maintaining his possessive hold over you.

His possessiveness knows no bounds, his desire to claim you as his own overpowering any sense of reason. He will go to great lengths to ensure that no one else can possess you, viewing you as his ultimate masterpiece.

When faced with difficulty or resistance from you, Rafayel won't hesitate to take drastic measures. He is willing to use any means necessary, including drugs, to put you to sleep and kidnap you. He will isolate you in his studio, ensuring that you will be together forever.

His studio, the place where he creates his art, becomes both a sanctuary and prison for you. Within its walls, he controls every aspect of your existence, dictating your every move and stifling your individuality. It is a place where his obsession can flourish unchecked.

You will forever remain under his possession, as he claims you and binds you eternally.

© 2024 mitfloya — all rights reserved. kindly refrain from altering, translating, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[makingspiritualityreal]

It is ironic, that while Venus and Saturn are friends as planets, Saturn Nakshatras are the enemy of Venus Nakshatras. It is very reflective of how planets can work differently than Nakshatra rulership.

Venus Nakshatras are all about status and forming privileged inner circles of worthy people, creating alliances for oneself, looking for a certain refinement. Venus is also big on family, and belief that one’s bloodline and genetic background contributes to a quality of character. As a result, Venus Nakshatras frown upon those of “lower background”, believing them to be naturally and irreversibly inferior.

Saturn Nakshatras are the opposite of that belief, all of them being compared to the Lotus flower that blossomed in the middle of mud. Saturn Nakshatra natives defy the flaws of their genetic background and strive to improve themselves, often being experts at reaching positions far beyond their origin. That annoys Venus Nakshatra natives, who view them as impostors without proper breeding, yet can’t deny their objective qualities. As a result, they perceive them as insidious usurpers, that have unfairly reached a certain status, that in Venus Nakshatra native’s opinion should be reserved only for them and their circle. That is not fair to Saturn Nakshatra natives that work hard and go through hell to get to their desired outcome, but Venus Nakshatra natives still believe these people will never be good enough no matter what they do.

This can also be used as an interesting example to how important it is to have friendly Tara Bala in your own chart. Any Nakshatras that are in a “best friend” position to your Moon will enhance your life. Any Nakshatras that are in “enemy” position will be a karmic drag, a major issue that you need to solve before you feel like you can progress with your life at all.

Say your Moon is in a Venus Nakshatra, but you also have an important planet in a Saturn Nakshatra somewhere in your chart. The role of Venus Nakshatras is to create and share their objects of worship and creations with the world, especially like minded individuals. The role of Saturn is to progress and build solid ground beyond one’s status of birth. So until you resolve the karma of your Saturn Nakshatra planet, you won’t be able to create freely as your Moon wants to, because you will feel drained having to prove your worth as a human being despite your difficult birth circumstances. Having to work hard for that status that is owed to your character will drain the free flowing creativity your Venus Nakshatra Moon desires.

The same principle will also apply to other difficult Tara Bala. For example, for Saturn Nakshatras Mars Nakshatras are enemies. As someone struggling a lot with that particular combination (I have a Moon - Mars conjunction in a Saturn Nakshatra and two malefic in Mars ruled Nakshatras), I can attest how conflicting the interest of these two types of Nakshatras are. Saturn Nakshatras enjoy their slow progress of due diligence, and even though they do overcome obstacles it is done more so in a colder way, where over time you simply don’t associate with individuals who don’t fit your standards and you easily cut those influences off. Mars Nakshatras, however, are about provocation and psychological manipulation. So Mars Nakshatra energy slows down and drains Saturn Nakshatra natives, because you end up being lumped in with people that have no right or no place in your life coming back to “look for shit” with you, provoke you, often out of jealousy and competition and having to handle that externally and then deal with the outcome internally is draining and consumes the energy the Saturn native should instead use for the progress of their personal path.

[galebrainrot2024]

NSFW You&Gale

Howdy y'all it has been a minute since I wrote fanfiction, however to contribute to the BG3 brain rot, enjoy this NSFW 18+ one shot.

Takes place at the Stormshore Tabernacle, post conversation with Mystra on her alter. Ahem. AFAB reader 'you.'

NSFW 18+: oral sex, restraint, mutual pining

As you paced, Shadowheart and Karlach stood awkwardly, trying to offer words of reassurance. “He’s going to do the right thing,” Karlach said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, mate.” Your brow was furrowed and despite your companions best efforts, you were unable to shake the pangs of jealousy that threatened to consume you. 

Gale was in the Astral plane, meeting with Mystra, his former lover… the goddess of magic about the crown of Karsus. You had encouraged Gale to hear her out, to simply take the time to meet with her, even though you would have rather told him to tell her politely to fuck off. Your face was hot and you felt the tension snaking through every fiber of your being, knowing you were on the verge of lashing out. “Thanks, Karlach,” you said, your voice tense, “I think maybe it would be best if you and Shadowheart met us at camp… I think I need to be alone.” 

Karlach shrugged, giving your shoulder a playful punch. “Goddess or not, Mystra has nothing on you.” Karlach gave you a cheeky grin and Shadowheart gave you a quick squeeze on the shoulder before they left. 

You weren’t sure how long you were there, pacing. It was long enough that the priest told you he was planning to lock up and which door they could exit from upon Gale’s return. As you stood in the storm shore tabernacle, the only sound echoing off the cold, lifeless statues was the sound of your erratic breath and nervous heart beat. 

You were pulling idly at a stray string of fabric on your armor when suddenly, Gale materialized, his brown eyes bright and cheeks flushed. You bit your tongue, withholding your jealousy. “I can’t believe I saw her…” Gale said, almost breathlessly, “After all this time…” the pang of envy grew within you and you gritted your teeth, staying silent so Gale could share openly. 

You averted your gaze from Gale so when you felt his strong, capable fingers lift your chin you felt a shudder course through your body. “She didn’t exactly bring me there for small talk…” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. Tav’s lips parted and she sighed, melting beneath his touch, the envy and jealousy melting away as Gale looked at you with irrevocable adoration. It made you feel weak, your stomach flipping. 

“What did she want?” Your voice was icier than intended and Gale’s lips curled into a mischievous, lopsided smirk. 

“The orb… the entire time it has been Karssus’s malignant creation...gods… how could I not see..” Gale’s voice trailed off and he pressed his forehead to yours. “I will return the crown to Mystra,” he says softly, his hot breath mingling with yours, “I promise, I will not let you down…” Gale gazed deep into your eyes and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

As Gale’s hands combed through your hair, you leaned into his touch, bringing your lips to his to brush against them. “You will always be enough for me,” you murmured, pressing your body closer to Gale. You heard him intake breath sharply, and he gripped your face in one of his hands gently, capturing your lips with his. 

The kiss was tender and slow, a soft moan escaping your lips and you felt Gale’s smirk against your lips. “Hm…” he whispered, kissing across your jaw and down the delicate skin of your neck. “It seems it’s quite empty in here… a bit more private than our lodgings…” he murmured, one of his hands snaking around the small of your back and he pulled you closer against his body. You felt the desire radiating from him, his arousal as you felt his manhood begin to stiffen. It made you smirk, and rose an eyebrow. 

“It is…” you whispered, nearly breathing the words when Gale lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist and he laid you against the alter, Mystra’s cold statue gazing down at. You gasped, laughing quietly yet can feel the desire surge through you like a tsunami. You felt superiority swell within as you envisioned the ire of Mystra as her former chosen, her former lover, rested you against the sacred shrine his intentions clear. “How would Mystra feel about this…” you teased, your eyes glinting mischievously. 

Gale’s playful smirk made your heart flutter and he chuckled softly, “Oh, she would be furious,” he whispered against your neck as his hands methodically began undoing the facets of your armor and slid it to the side, exposing your bare stomach and chest. You sighed, your fingers entwining at the back of Gale’s neck, pulling him against you. Gale’s lips brush against your skin and it feels as if a wildfire is spreading through your body, aching and begging for Gale. You bit down on your lip to control your visceral need to moan as your imagination went wild. You arched your body as if to indicate need, your body trembling with anticipation. “Be patient…” Gale pulled back to gaze at you, his eyes hungry as he brushed his hands over your body. You felt your breath hitch, your fingers tugged at his hair subconsciously. He chuckled wickedly then took your hands and put them above your head. “Hands to yourself,” he said, in an almost commanding tone. You bit your lip, eyes glinting as you nodded. 

Then Gale began deftly, leaning forward to lightly brush his lips down your neck and across your collar bone, his hands lightly grazing against your hips. You shuddered and you felt his grin against your skin. Goosebumps spread across you when Gale’s lips and tongue snake lower down your chest, down your torso so that his face is just above your lower half.

When he looks up at you, he holds you gaze and painfully slowly, hooks his fingers into your underwear and pulls them lower and off of your body. They drip with your arousal. Your hands subconsciously tried to grip his hair and Gale conjured a mage hand, restraining you. You moaned, pressing your legs together and squirming slightly, the arousal spreading and your mouth watering. “Trust me,” he whispered again, his tongue tracing your inner thigh, and he bit down gently. You twitch violently when he does this. His husky laugh only makes you more wet, more eager for what’s to come. You licked your lips expectantly and they part as you let out a soft sigh. 

Gale locked eyes with you once more before his hands deftly pushed your legs apart, his lips brushing against the apex of your pelvic bone. You are unable to breathe, your eyes fluttered back into your skull even though Gale hardly began. The warmth of his mouth on your bare skin made you writhe with pleasure, and the idea of omnipotent Mystra who has most evidently been keeping tabs on Gale, seeing your naked body splayed across the alter for her… as Gale’s tongue worked you to the heights of pleasure made your arousal all the more intense. A shaky breath fell from your lips, “Won’t she… won’t Mystra…” you had trouble composing your thoughts, your voice low and raspy. 

“Let her watch,” Gale said in a firm, husky tone laced with his intent. Slowly, his tongue traced along your inner thigh and he groaned, pushing your legs farther apart and allowed his hands to hold your inner thighs apart to give him purchase. Methodically, he flicked his tongue out between the folds of you, tasting you, and you moaned, the guttural noise echoing through the tabernacle. Gale moaned against you and the vibration mingled with the warmth of his mouth and tongue made you squirm. “Stay still..” He commanded, his tongue massaging you, flicking into you as he sucked gently, twirling his tongue around your clit, lapping hungrily as if she were his last meal. Your entire body shook, your hands fighting the mage hand and Gale’s concentration waned as he indulged on you, his primal moans as he tasted you mixed with your cries of pleasure. With your hands free, you entwined them in his hair, pushing his face between your thighs greedily and he obliged, groaning and slid two of his fingers into you as his tongue worked the outer folds. You threw your head back in pleasure, the electricity coursing through your body threatening to drown you. As Gale feasted, his warm tongue sliding against your wetness, he groaned and murmured, “I love how you taste…” and it made you squirm and moan louder, and you pulled at his hair almost roughly. Your entire body tensed, your breath shallow and quick as you got closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

Gale abruptly pulled his head back, his eyes glinting. You whimpered, trying to push his head back between your legs and his hands wrapped around your wrists. “Be patient,” he insisted, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, “I want the God’s to hear you…” he slipped his tongue between you again, his fingers pushing deeper, harder into you and you shook violently, your fingers gripping his hair desperately as your body rolled against his tongue. 

“Gale...” You cried, writhing as your moans and whimpers filled the room, your entire body trembling with waves of pleasure, your mind completely muddled and sure you would pass out. Unable to breathe, Gale thrusted so firmly, hitting your internal pleasure centers in such a way as his warm tongue massaged your folds that you cried out, your entire body trembling as you climaxed, your essence releasing into Gale’s mouth and you felt him moan as you released, as if he was desperate to taste more. He kept his fingers in you, slowing his pace as your body quaked, tasting your finale. You were still unable to think clearly as he stood over you, leaning forward to kiss you, to let you taste yourself. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, wrapping a hand around your neck lightly and he pulled back, gazing deeply into your eyes. 

“You are the only one I want to taste,” he murmured, a little sheepishly now, “no God could ever compare.” You were still breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and he ran his hands through your thick hair. The way Gale looked at you, as if you were perfection, as if he would spend every waking moment doing whatever he could to please you, it took your breath away. You pulled him into a kiss again, wanting more, needing him, and he obliged. 

[moronkombat]

Not sure if u do nsfw alphabet requests but if u do could u do it for havik :3

YES I LOVE NSFW ALPHABETS

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the rather long activities have concluded do not except hugs and cuddles. What you will find are eyes that stare at you as if the body he sees is a pure work of art. To him, it is. The cuts on your body, the blood the drips and drips...he will not wipe it away. He wants to watch it fester further. He may lick your wounds but that merely so he can taste the crimson shaded iron upon your body

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part on his partner is their back. A wonderful blank canvas to tear into and to decorate. Hails will hook into your skin and pull and pull down until his fingers are coated sticky with iron. In terms of his body, it is his chest have you seen how big his tits are wtf

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The essence of his partner is the greatest of delicacies and Havik is a filthy eater. Finishing inside, to him, can be such a waste of fun. Much rather would he cum on your face so that he may shove it in your mouth and smear it upon your skin. It is joyous to feel that slick trail of white pearls between his fingers and draw such pretty pictures down the length of your stomach. It is barbaric how much enjoyment he gets with playing with the results of your union. Perhaps, it even his favorite toy

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is the type to fondle his partner when they are asleep and he does in it a way that is subtle as to not rise his partner from their dreams

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Havik knowns his way around the bedroom and then some. He is well versed, well practiced and very eager to display this for his partner. Pain is his language and pleasure his literacy. He creates a world for his partner where both exist, they simply cannot survive without the other and he is a master at this creation

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Positions often change during sex but he finds himself favoring the positions where his partner's back is exposed. That where he bites and tears the most but he also enjoys when his partner rides his lap while tongues perform their lecherous tango

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Havik is as crazed as a rabid hound. There is no stoicism to be found. Only will there be a wild hunt of a predator who seeks to completely destroy its prey

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

To say the carpet match the drapes would be rather inaccurate. Havik keeps himself groomed. Could it be because he enjoys the razor burns? Most definitely

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Havik considers himself an expert at romance for the mere reason of how he perceives intimacy. From his eyes, the blood and pain are the most romantic gift he can give to his partner. Romance is to share pain and create pain within one and other. Why provide each other flowery gifts when he can give his partner the agonizing rush of raptor?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Masturbation is a frequent pass time for someone like Havik. His thoughts ruminate over you, drown in the memories of your last time together. How can he deny himself a reminder?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Havik is a walking kink. Violence and gore consume him and he wishes for it to consume his partner as well. Biting, as simple as it may seem, is his favorite

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom, or rather his bedroom because it has all he needs to make the sex rather...entertaining. He also enjoys the carnal embrace when surrounded by the viscera he's created

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Injuries and the pain of himself and others. To feel a blade cut his skin, to hear the scream as he rips open the chest of an oppressor, there no better erotic elixir

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that is considered too vanilla or soft. He is not interested in the conventional love making where there are kisses and whispered nothing. No, that is far too dull for him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Enjoys both but really prefers to give. He enjoys using his tongue on his partner. The sounds he forces from your throat having him laughing against your heat. As much as it is a delight to see his partner's mouth stuffed full, he cannot hear the sounds of you as clearly as when he is wielding his tongue to a place most defenseless

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough. Havik is a frenzy and a torrid storm that slows for nothing. He gets so lost in the moment of raptor that his body simply cannot control itself

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Havik enjoys taking his time with his partner. While his pace is fast, the entire performance is tantalizingly drawn out. Do not be fooled, however, he knows how to enjoy a shorter moment. When he is experiencing that call to the euphoria, he does not resist it and so quickies can become rather regular

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If there aren't risks or experimentations happening then something is wrong. Havik craves the thrill of the what ifs. He wants to get as close to the edge as he possibly can and he will

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

When having sex with Havik, expect it to bee quite the time consuming fun. He can last until the sun rises again having his fun with his partner

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys are a favorite of Havik to bring into the bedroom. He owns a variety that is as vast as the sky and he will put them to good use

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is the biggest tease during oral. To hear you mewl and ache while his tongue laps at you like a cat with milk riles him up. It not only his tongue that teases but his words. Those he utilizes frequently

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud and blaring. He would never hide the sounds you bring from him. He begs for more. He speaks to you such wicked things that have your mind warping and twisting

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Havik is an obsessive lover down to his very core. Love is unknown to him only the twisted desires of having someone and never letting them go

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Large, thick and uncut. Veins run along it and curve in patterns that sensitive to trace. He is a shower, not a grower but is rather indifferent to the size he carries between his legs. His partner is most definitely not indifferent

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Exceptionally high. He seeks out sex frequently with his partner

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Does not fall asleep after sex. He wants to drink the sight of what both you and him have created

[rosesloveletters]

The Flowers You Gave Me.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 3,080

Warnings: no major content warnings apply.

Summary: Reader has a food allergy/intolerance and has to carefully monitor everything that they consume. They are unable to eat anything inside of Wonka's original Chocolate Room and, therefore, he takes it upon himself to create an entirely separate Chocolate Room for their enjoyment and pleasure with foods which are completely safe for them to eat and free from any cross-contamination.

Author's Note: this fic is incredibly special to me, as Wonka's Chocolate Room is my absolute FAVORITE room inside his factory, but I would likely be able to eat almost nothing in there. At least, the chocolate would be off limits to me. I like to think Wonka would want everyone to be able to enjoy his chocolate and sweets, regardless of allergies and/or intolerances and, as we all know quite well, he goes above and beyond with extravagance.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The chocolate factory was a symphony of sights, sounds and smells.

The aroma of melted chocolate that filled the air was impossible to resist. Its rich, saccharine scent was intoxicating and sensual, making your mouth water in anticipation of the delicious treats that lied ahead. The sound of machines grinding and churning echoed in hypnotic rhythm throughout the halls while the incandescent lights shone down in poor, artificial substitution for real sunlight. 

Anyone else might have run off to taste-test as much product as they could get their hands on, but you had to be vigilant of everything you put into your mouth, scrutinize every ingredient to make absolute certain that there was nothing used in the production of what you were about to eat that could potentially make you sick. 

You were a bit resentful that you could not simply indulge in whatever you pleased, but this was your reality and you chose to make the best of it rather than let it control you. 

“I still don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what new product you’ve made, Willy,” your voice was terse, strained as if it pained you to remain cordial when he unwittingly teased you with treats you would not be able to sample, “why do I have to see it?”

It was not his fault, you reminded yourself. He knew your system could not tolerate certain foods, yet it was still understandable that time to time he might forget, although it was unlikely, considering his high intelligence, attention to detail and information retention. 

It was not that you were disinterested in his work; you wanted to share his excitement, but you could only do so much. 

You couldn’t taste anything inside of the chocolate factory until he gave you the ‘all clear’. You had to have confirmation and extensive reassurance that you were not ingesting anything toxic to your system and that nothing you put into your body was contaminated in any way. It was of the utmost importance that Wonka took the necessary steps and food safety precautions before offering you anything to eat. 

“Because to believe is to see, my dear, and you believe in me, do you not?” the smart curve of his lips as he smirked at you and the twinkle in his eyes betrayed little, but you felt like he was tempting you despite his words not making much sense, “I can see the worry lines forming, but please don’t be alarmed. You have tried so many of my creations and I haven’t poisoned you yet.” 

His words were meant to be comforting, but the added ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence filled you with apprehension. You knew that Willy would never intentionally give you something that would make you sick. He was not that cruel or uncaring. His words were playful and innocent and meant only to calm you down.  

Your cheeks were warm with embarrassment as you followed along beside him, however he stayed a pace or two ahead, traveling at a rather brisk clip. 

“I know. You’re right and I didn’t mean to imply that you would do something like that,” you tried to explain yourself, but Willy did not want to hear it. 

He held his hand up to silence you long enough for him to interject, “no need to explain anything away. I understand your concern, my dear, and am very sympathetic to your condition. Nevertheless, I simply must show you this.”

There was no getting around it. Whatever it was that Willy Wonka had to share, he was going to show it to you. At this point, your curiosity was starting to get the best of you and you increased your pace to keep up with him as he led you down a long hallway that you had never been on before.  

You were in the wing of the factory which housed Wonka’s beloved Chocolate Room. 

The sweet fragrance of melted chocolate wafted into your nostrils and you could practically taste it on your tongue. 

There was a lot which was unsafe for you to eat inside that room and it piqued your curiosity of why he would bring you to this part of the factory, but you remained silent as he led you on down the hall. 

Willy stopped in front of a door not unlike the one which led to the Chocolate Room. The wood itself was the same rich brown, carved to resemble a chocolate bar, except this one had an intricate gold inlay to set it apart from the others and indicate a very clear distinction between this room and the Chocolate Room. 

You would have noticed this door if you had chosen not to avoid this part of the factory and now as you stood outside the wonders held within the room beyond, you could not help yourself from asking, “what are we doing here?”  

He did not answer your question, but there was a knowing look in his eyes and that was one which you were highly familiar with. 

Willy Wonka was always up to something, but whether you wanted to know what it was were you uncertain. He had a penchant for hijinks and was known for being a bit of a trickster; you never quite knew if you could trust what he was saying or doing. He had created an aura of mystery and crafted the illusion that things happened inside the factory that were beyond his control, but you knew better. You had wised up to his antics and knew that nothing that happened here was without his approval, knowledge or doing. He was very much in control of what went on inside of his chocolate factory, regardless of what he might have let others believe.

His laissez-faire attitude added to the magic, but it was all a façade; this was his chocolate factory and he was the mastermind. 

“This is my most recent masterpiece,” he informed you, “the latest and greatest in chocolate confectionery that was as much of a challenge as it was a labor of love and artistry.”

He was proud of what he had created here, that was for certain. He was often humble about his work, even though you would have sung his praises to the moon and beyond. 

You did not know what to expect and so you eagerly awaited the unveiling with bated breath and hoped that whatever lied behind that door was edible and safe for you to consume. 

Wonka practically read your thoughts, “don’t get over-excited, my dear. Take it all in stride and appreciate what considerable effort went into it.”

His overreaching statements were as wild in sentiment as his hair was in texture and volume. 

You watched with wonder as one of the panels on the door flipped down to reveal a small piano lock, just like the one he had installed to keep the Chocolate Room off limits and protected. He played a few notes, which had a lower cadence and was played at a considerably slower pace than that of the overture of Mozart’s Marriage of figaro. 

Wonka deftly tapped the keys in smooth succession and you recognized the opening notes of Claude Debussy’s Clair de lune as the door unlocked itself. 

A wave of conscious relaxation washed over you like the calm, undulating ripples of the sun-warmed sea. 

He had wanted to surprise you, but this came as a shock. Clair de lune was your favorite piece and you vaguely recalled telling him this long ago; somehow, he had remembered. 

Willy Wonka didn’t acknowledge your surprise but was grinning from ear to ear as he pushed the door open. 

You remained where you stood, rooted to the spot. 

He had…remembered?

Why did he choose to use such a specific piece for this lock?

What was going on?

You felt like there was some giant secret that everyone was in on except for you, which was often the case with him, even if it would have been merely your perception with anyone else. 

You decided better than to ask him about it, knowing he did not like to be questioned and would therefore make up a silly excuse not to answer. Perhaps it was better that way, to simply enjoy these little surprises for what they were and to not look a gift horse in the mouth. 

A little smile lit up your expression and Wonka glanced over his shoulder to admire the look on your face. 

The soft light in his cornflower eyes made him seem almost ethereal. 

His gaze shifted skyward and his smirk grew.

He refrained from divulging that he had learned Clair de lune in its entirety; perhaps he would share this with you after dinner, when he might idly choose to sit at the piano and play, giving you yet another little surprise like tiny morsels spread throughout the day so that you could have a taste of sweetness each time you had a craving. 

What use was it to devour it all at once, rather than savor everything he had to offer?

Willy Wonka had so many secrets to share, but he wanted to take his time. 

Luckily, you would have willingly spent a lifetime just to learn his name, not to mention everything else in his head, which was an even more beautiful place than any one of the seven wonders of the world. 

Wonka gestured for you to enter, holding the door open for you. 

After you had recovered, your legs felt like jelly, but were steady enough to carry you over the threshold and onto the landing inside the room.

The sight that greeted you was so overwhelming that you did not notice Wonka enter and close the door behind you. 

He was still smiling, his eyes raking over you as he assessed your reaction to determine whether you were pleased. 

You covered your gaping mouth as your eyes were drawn to an array of vibrant colors and abstract shapes, candy-coated woodland scenery inside of a sugar-inducing wonderland.

It was all too reminiscent of his original Chocolate Room, except for the lack of a chocolate waterfall, but you were not about to complain. 

He had brought this vision to life straight out of his storybook mind and everything that your eyes gazed upon was something Wonka had envisioned and created with his own two hands. It was miraculous and beautiful, swirling and twisting delicacies that grew on trees and from the ground like real living plants and flowers. 

Your mouth watered and your stomach rumbled with hunger. You were literally a kid in a candy store; even your actual age couldn’t call you otherwise. 

However, as quickly as your excitement had built, it soon faded twice as fast. 

You could not eat any of it. 

“Oh, Willy…” your voice came out in a soft, halting whine, desperate to fill your mouth and stomach with sweets you knew you could not have, “it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“It’s for you.”

His words did not resonate with you at first; you did not even acknowledge them.

How could all of this be for you?

You did not understand and Willy did not clarify. 

He took your hand and tucked it under his arm as he led you down the steps and along one of the little paths. The small pathway curved into a small clearing filled with chocolate flowers and giant mushrooms with red licorice caps and frosting-filled spots. Your eyes did not deceive you when you thought you saw the very same edible flower teacups that grew in his original Chocolate Room. They were even the same color!

You bent down to admire them as they blossomed in buttery yellow splendor, a pleasant smile blooming across your features. 

These ones were somewhat different, shimmering as if they had been sprinkled with pixie dust; Wonka’s factory was nothing short of a fairy tale and you wondered what they were made of. 

“Give one a try,” Willy urged you, “I know you’ve always wanted to.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the glint in Wonka’s eye made you pause. 

What was he not telling you?

You were beginning to put the pieces together and suddenly it clicked in your mind.

“You did all this…for me?”

Wonka nodded humbly, “of course. I can’t have you missing out on any of my confections, now, can I? Everything in this room is safe for you to eat and the only ones who have access to it are a select few Oompa-Loompas I have chosen specifically for their expertise in cross-contamination prevention who have been made aware of your dietary restrictions, you and myself.”

You did not know what to say. No amount of thanks would ever be enough compensation for all the work he had done to provide you with the safety and comfort that everything that you consumed inside this room was perfectly safe for you to eat. You would never have been able to repay such a grand gesture, but Willy did not ask you to. He simply wanted you to be able to enjoy these delicacies despite your restrictions and since he was the most masterful chocolatier in the world, he was more than capable of giving you that. 

“I don’t know what to say…,” but soon, you blurted out, “thank you, Willy!”

Tears pricked your eyes like sharp glass droplets and Willy’s expression softened. He extended his arms, offering you a hug which you gladly accepted. 

His arms enveloped you in a tight embrace and you burrowed in against his chest. He smelled of cocoa and understated tones of autumn earth and candied maple drizzle with brown sugar nectar. 

You inhaled, your head swimming with the intoxicating smell of him as he held you. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, craning his neck to look down at you. 

His eyes chased yours as you seemed somewhat afraid to make eye contact with him now; he wanted you to see the gentle look on his face and know that you were always safe here with him.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, “it’s just…no one has ever gone to so much trouble for me before.”

“What trouble?” he asked with a slight frown on his face, “putting this together for you was a delight.”

“You know what I meant.”

Of course, he did. 

This was a massive undertaking for him alongside his usual work and to keep such a secret right under your nose would have been impossible if he hadn’t been Willy Wonka.

He heard everything that you were trying to say and it warmed his heart that you had such difficulty communicating it to him verbally. It meant more to him to see that satisfaction on your face rather than coming out of your mouth. 

Actions were stronger than words and this you and Wonka agreed upon. 

You gave him another little nuzzle and he patted your back in a comforting gesture. 

“Now, you can have whatever you like with no worry that it might be contaminated,” he assured you, his gentle voice like a sweetly sung melody, “but I don’t want you in here filling your belly unattended. A little bit of sugar goes a long way, so…I suggest we enjoy such things in moderation.”

You nodded, but then a thought came to you, “I think I’m far more at risk for sugar sickness from all your sweet words and kindnesses than from a little chocolate.”

“This isn’t your way of telling me to be unkind to you, is it?”

His teasing lilt made you laugh. 

“Absolutely not!” you replied, chuckling as he let go of you, “and all jokes aside, I really, really appreciate this, Willy. You have no idea…”

“Oh, I do,” he laughed with you.

He bent down and plucked one of the flower teacups and passed it to you, which you gratefully took from him. 

It was true; you had been longing to take a bite out of one of these since you had laid eyes on them, but thought it was never meant to be. Now, holding one in your hands, you were faced with the very real idea that you were as much a part of Wonka’s world as he was. 

You were as important to him as the cocoa bean was to the creation of chocolate. 

Everything that he did was now done with you in mind. 

It had taken some time to get to this point with him, but every step you took was another one which kept you by his side and you were ready and willing to carry on like this with him for the rest of your life. You wanted to coexist with him, to enjoy this wonderful world of candy that only he could create and now your fears seemed so far away.

Fear that had once convinced you that your limitations might cause resentment. 

Willy Wonka wanted you to know that no matter whether you could eat all his chocolate or none of it, that it did not determine how he felt about you. 

You were what was special and important to him and your impediments were not a disincentive. 

He would find a way around those because you deserved as much consideration and care as anyone else and he was determined to show you that. 

Willy knew how much it bothered you that you couldn’t just eat without worry and therefore he also knew just how much this meant to you that he cared enough for you that he would spend his free time putting together a Chocolate Room specifically designed to cater to your dietary needs and restrictions. 

He knew all this, and more, as he watched you take your first bite of the yellow flower teacup that had caught your fancy so much time ago. 

Your face twisted in delight and you hummed appreciatively as the taste of sweet crystal cream coated your taste buds. 

Knowing that he had finally been able to give you a gift that allowed you to enjoy his sweets uninhibited filled him with joy and even though he also knew you would be thanking him until the end of time, you didn’t need to. 

He had done this for no other reason than for your own enjoyment and pleasure and he knew how much you appreciated him. 

He knew more than you ever would have thought.  

Willy Wonka even knew that you loved him. 

[solitaryearthperson]

Favorite

Summary: The reader asks Morpheus questions about himself and the Dreaming.

(The reader is gender-neutral and uses they/them pronouns. The ethnicity/race is any.)

(Sorry it's kinda short.)

"So you created all of this,” (Y/N) asked Morpheus, sitting back enjoying the breeze that blew over Fiddler’s Green. They closed their eyes in enjoyment, not noticing the Endless' blue gaze staring at them in fascination.

��Yes, the Dreaming is all of my creation,” he told them, his eyes roaming over their body, wondering how in so long he got so lucky to have them.

"So," they began running their fingers through Fiddler's Green's freshly cut, green grass, "Every blade of grass, every cloud in the sky,...even the wind, you create created all of this? Like God?"

He smiled at their question and comparison to God. Even after being with him for so long, they still had so many questions for him and so many things they simply couldn't wrap their heads around. He found it amusing and strangely relaxing how the questions they always had for him seemed to never stop and appeared at the strangest of times.

"Yes, my love. Like God." He laid his hand on top of theirs, relaxing at the warmth of it. "Every creature and every feature of the Dreaming. Every mortal's dream and nightmare. All of my creations."

"Did you just rhyme?"

"I think I did, love," he chuckled.

"What's your favorite?"

"Favorite," he asked, confused.

"Your favorite creation," they clarified, turning to him and scooting closer, their shoulders touching each other. "You must have a favorite."

"No, I love them all. Equally."

"Even nightmares?"

"Yes, even them. They are and always will be a part of me, so I will always love them."

They were quiet for a while after that, thinking his answer over in their head, curious as to if he was telling the truth or not. While they thought over his answer, Morpheus continued to look at them with combined fascination and amusement. Like always after he answered one of their questions, he could see them mulling the answer over in their head. And like always, they were gonna ask another question that would catch him off guard.

"Well...if you don't have a favorite creation..." they began and he waited in amused anticipation as to what they were gonna ask next. "...what's your favorite thing?"

"Thing?"

"Thing like...food, drink, animal...,"they paused to choose their next word carefully. "...person?" They added, shyly.

A grin appeared on his face, and he picked up their hand, lifted it to his lips, and placed a kiss on the back of it, before answering. "I don't believe I have a favorite animal, and I have no need to consume food, but you should know who my favorite person is."

(Y/N) smiled bashfully, and looked away in shyness. "Is it me?"

He grabbed their chin and turned their head towards him, laying a small, but lovely kiss upon their lips. "Of course it's you, my love."

"Only me?"

"Only you," he replied, laying another, but deeper kiss upon their lips.

[koukaaa-descent]

sits politely in your inbox. saw your post about jester lifecycles and wanted to ask if you have ideas for masked lifecycles. to me the dramatic masks you find as scrap used to be maskeds before, the hosts bodies simply ran out of "juice" and weren't useful anymore so the mask dropped off (the remaining corpse is scavenged by other creatures).

okay long post time!! I’m glad people like what I drag from my brain. (This is very long)

This post will cover topics such as; decay, insects (not in detail) and body horror. If you’re sensitive to things like that, I recommend looking the other way. Otherwise, enjoy however many words of my brainrot! :]

I like to think that the Masks themselves were made rather than born, albeit still organic. I’ve always been a fan of horrifying grotesque body horror scenarios. (User Pangolin-404 and their masked having webs of nerves that root inside of a host’s body, which is so fucking cool by the way, reminded me of this. I realize after writing this whole thing that my brain likes that more than expected.)

Honestly.,, I have a feeling that the masks themselves have been around for a very very long time, and new ones only ever appear when someone unfortunate is converted. There was a war (ingame lore!) roughly 500 years ago which may or may not have facilitated their creation.

In my eyes, Comedy masks are the ones that’ve naturally spawned (I.e, already with a host or otherwise lying on the ground.) I like to believe that the comedy masks are the ‘first’ of the masks to exist, which have been around since the beginning. The ‘first generation’, per se.

I also like to think that the Tragedy masks are made when someone is converted. They’re basically the supposed ‘second’ generation of masks. It goes like this; comedy masked converts someone, they become a tragedy masked. That tragedy masked converts someone else, and then, well... thus begins a cycle. (Ex. Comedy gen 1>Tragedy>TragedyG1>TragedyG2> etc etc..)

There are a relatively smaller amount of Comedy masked as a result of this, but their quantity is still very much immense. (Ex. For every 10 Tragedies, there is 7 Comedies). The reason for this is that, despite how well they can trick and capture prey, they are still oftentimes rotting and weakened from extended periods of isolation without access to new hosts. There is henceforth a greater number of Masks than there is the Masked. Comedy Masks tend to have a greater lifespan with their hosts, as they are very, very experienced and have gathered a significantly larger amount of knowledge. (They are still not entirely sentient, no matter how deeply convincing it may be. They have a measure of sentience, but not enough. This only ever occurs within Comedy Masks.)

I doubt that they ever actually die unless the mask itself is utterly destroyed, shattered or rendered otherwise unusable.

After this point is where more visceral topics are covered. However; with a host, that specific lifetime is pretty simple, I think. In the beginning, the corpse is fresh, probably still warm (and kept warm by presumably boiling blood) and likely behaves the same as any other human body. Even has a heartbeat and continues to breathe. Vocalizing is possible although usually incomprehensible (typically just a weird slurry of sounds). Finer control is possible, down to curling its toes or flexing individual muscles, along with blinking, moving its tongue, or focusing and unfocusing its eyes. (Please note; a majority of those features tend to be entirely lost during possession, either melted from the host’s body or simply consumed during the process of conversion.)

After a day or so, natural body functions begin to slowly and steadily cease as, despite the Mask’s support, the body has finally lost enough of its own blood and thus slowly shuts down. The Mask’s replacement blood—the substance rendered eternally boiling—is not a suitable replacement despite its apparent compatibility with regular humanoid blood regardless of the type. It carries too little oxygen and remains too thick to move properly through the veins without its host’s own biological assistance. Rigor mortis sets in to the majority of the body by the end of the second day, and the mask has to relearn how to use the body as it has new limitations and requires different efforts in order to move as it used to. Movements become clumsier (not just from the disorientation of change) and the fine control it once had is now unable to be achieved again without outside assistance. Vocalizations are now completely incomprehensible as the entity can no longer fine-tune the required muscles in order to produce the vaguest notion of words. (Not that it was able to speak beforehand.)

The body remains this way for about a week total before further decay begins to set in. The nature of the planet that the host was on beforehand does matter; if it was on Offense during this phase, it would proceed much faster in comparison to Dine or Rend. Temperature affects decay times. Masked typically tend to avoid hotter areas for this reason during this period of its host’s ‘lifetime’ (if it cares for or understands what is happening.)

By the third phase of its ‘lifetime’, the body begins to rot. Fortunately, no insects or decomposers infest the body; the natural heat that the Masked’s blood produces keeps anything untoward away, up to and including foreign materials, unwanted substances and undesirable parasites. Most biological poisons have no effect on Masked in general, typically being denatured on contact with its blood. Artificial poisons, venoms and other toxic substances do occasionally effect a Masked, although usually only in the region that it first made contact in. They do not have very good blood circulation.

The skin of the host cools down rather than remaining at the warm temperature it previously had, which is likely an instinctive response from the Masked as it senses the decay. By this point, points that usually chafe or experience too much friction begin to slowly rub away from the flesh and bone, scraping skin and viscera away with it. The Masked does not experience pain, only discomfort.

At the very end of its current lifetime, true rot begins. If the host is using an entirely sealed suit, blood begins to fill the inside. The corpse begins to slowly, steadily, achingly liquify. At one point it will start to drip from the helmet’s filters, pushed outward with every movement. The Masked can no longer run, as doing so will simply worsen its condition. It is now at risk of abandoning its host and awaiting the next.

If its current host is wearing an unsealed suit, flesh simply sloughs off and out of it as the body weakens. During this state, the Masked first feels pain. (It does not recognize the feeling, and does not usually react. There are cases wherein first or second generation Tragedy masks attempt to cry or otherwise vocalize with screams, keens, gasps or sobs, further obliterating their remaining throat. The third generations and those afterward display no such behaviors, however.)

At the very end of its host’s lifetime (where it is left as merely bone, softened flesh and tendon), the Mask finds a very quiet place. Oddly enough, they seek out small and warm areas, usually dry in nature. It is not uncommon for a Masked to give itself to a member of its Masquerade (a term used for groups of Masked, taken from another researcher (Pangolin-404!)) or to another entity that it has taken a liking to. Albeit, this ‘fondness’ is based upon the creature’s unwillingness to kill it, and its own lack of desire to kill the creature. Several cases have been documented wherein Masked have given themselves to a varying assortment of creatures; other Masked, Hoarding Bugs, Spore Lizards, Nutcrackers (which is a very peculiar interaction), Jesters (thought to be out of malice, seeing as Masks can devour a grown Jester if it is attached for a length of time), Coil-heads (incredibly strange), and Brackens, who occasionally partake in attaching the Masks to their bodies in return for the Mask’s boiling blood, forming a symbiotic relationship with as many as three at a time.

In the process of placing itself somewhere or giving itself to another entity, the Masked takes itself off of its host. The body remains beneath its control for a very short amount of time afterward, as its disconnected span of vein-like ‘roots’ within the body act upon its last commands. Shortly afterward, the body collapses and becomes entirely harmless, likely having placed the Mask somewhere, or having handed it to another entity.

After that, the Mask returns to dormancy, awaiting a host. (I imagine that they place themselves in a warm area as to facilitate “good dreams”. I suppose that staying in a cold, lonely place would be rather unfortunate when one is in a state of dormancy, unable to wake and move by one’s own terms. This is just a theory, however.)

Notes; 1 Masks are typically made out of a material similar to bone. Comedy Masks resemble porcelain, retaining a certain shine rather than the dull white that most Tragedy masks have. 2 Masked tend to place their Masks nearby fireplaces or Hoarder Bug hives at the end of their host’s lifetime, as they both retain a great amount of heat. 3 It is thought that the symbiotic relationship that a Mask can create with a Bracken is entirely beneficial to both parties—hence symbiosis. The Mask typically partakes in any form of possession with parasitism, and it is unknown if it chooses to leave the Bracken’s bodily functions alone because of an inability to control it or because of its supposed lack of desire to do so.

Thankyou for reading ,,, my brain likes to rattle around a lot and. I am entirely normal about the masks and I can be trusted to speak a normal amount about them. I’m like 12% sure I answered your question

[im-an-anthusiast]

Discuss your OCs. Now 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

Ok so here is Thomas. Or well was. Here lies Thomas. Because while I wasn't looking he transed his gender. Or well. Gendher. This is the second OC this has happened to! Although, to be fair, Albion transed his gender retroactively - as in he was always male, he just swapped his AGAB. So, Tommy (?) here uh. Well. I haven't really written anything (good) about her. (I wrote two fluff romance pieces about her and Santi, her love interest, an OC whom I actually have written about!) I am in fact sitting on a half-finished familial trauma (my beloved) piece for Tommy. I keep getting stuck on a single word and closing the piece for another month.

So, what's up with Tommy? She's a very tall, for one. Has shaggy, dark grey hair, and is about 200 years old? 225 if I recall correctly? I might be getting that wrong. Her most prominent feature are her unnaturally bright - glowing, emerald green eyes. This is due to a part of one of my Magic Systems! She has a so-called Remnant Signature, which doesn't affect her Magic but affects her body. The special girl that she is, however, she also has another Signature. This one, however, is a regular Signature, and thusly affects her Magic. However, it borders on a Blank Signature with how large it's Stature is, meaning using Magic causes significant Maogic Recoil (better name pending). This is not at all helped with how she was forced into training Magic since young! This huge amount of Magic Recoil has given her the Magic-induced equivalent of very bad asthma (and other respiratory issues). Because I can't write a non-disabled character! I am also thinking about her having trouble seeing due to her own eyes projecting light... I think I love torturing my characters a bit too much. Oh also she's fucking BUILT.

Anyway, due to her respiratory issues, she has to use Magic Drugs. Which she deals, by the way. She controls a good ⅓ of the Magic Drug market. She, in particular, uses the inhaler form of a strong mix of Pollen Breaths, a kind of healing Drug(s) called Floral(s), which is/are made from the processed Flesh and Blood of Hexstarveds. In addition, it provides immediate respite from the effects of mind-affecting/altering Magic, which can be quite handy when striking deals with other Magi (plural of Magus, the colloquial name for a Mageblood Magic Channeller).

But that is neither here nor there. She also carries around a notebook simply for the sake of reading out Fun Facts™️ when none immediately come to mind. She also likes to take up regular professions, for the combined sake of enjoying studying, helping people, and needing a cover story for insane income and occupation. She's currently posing as a doctor, and let me tell you, she absolutely kills it in a labcoat! She also wears a lower-face gas mask (which is also her Tether (a tool for safer Magic channelling)) sometimes, though it is usually hanging off of her neck. This is because I cannot write a character without giving them an option/reason to cover up their face her second Signature, which I've already mentioned but not named, White Smoke, with the combination of the Discipline and Branch of Magic she uses - Creation Manifesting Magic - allows her to create smoke around herself. Which uh. Not only causes her respiratory issues, also worsens them. Obviously.

She is the daughter to two important Magic families, though I'd perhaps rather leave that to the piece which I want to sink my teeth deeper into that.

In addition, it is interesting to consider that Magebloods do not have extraordinary lifespans unless they have consumed raw Halfblood (A Mix of Mageblood and Hexstarved, often also referred to as an Unsated Mageblood) Flesh, or being hopelessly addicted and dependant on Iðuns, a special, extremely rare, insanely addictive and body destroying type of several Magic Drugs that slows the aging of or rejuvenates its victims consumers.

This has been yours truly, Felix Adustus, ranting about yet another OC. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did

[ghost-infestation]

I fear I may have birthed something into the world. Something horrendous, incomprehensible, and eldritch.

Here's how it began.

The other day, my good good friend @my-ceiling-is-tilted blessed us with a discovery he made on Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia that anyone can edit. You see, he ventured on there in search of information on a specific type of cocktail: The Gin Fizz. We can hardly recall to what end this original investigation was directed, for what he found by complete accident overshadows the expedition's original goal like a looming elder monolith.

You see, there in the section so innocently titled "Less common gin Fizzes", something caught his eye.

Now do you notice anything wrong with this image?

No, it's not the "Spezi"; that is simply the name of a German brand of orange cola. That in itself is a respectable pick for fizz additive, though perhaps somewhat locationally limiting.

The pickle. Why the pickle?

Because, you see, for starters, you cannot freeze a dill pickle. Not with standard household means, at any rate. There's all sorts of chemical bullshit preventing this eventuality. And more to the point, what kind of bar, in any part of the world, would just have frozen dill pickles on standby in case anyone orders a Tillhammer?!

And that's the thing, friends. That's the horrifying truth that has spurred Mr. Ceiling to pass on this eldritch knowledge to us.

The Tillhammer does not exist.

We went looking, and we went looking hard, in both international and German webspace. And we found not a single mention of the Tillhammer anywhere safe for this wikipedia page. There is no evidence that anyone, at any time in human history, has ever sat down to enjoy a nice, cool, pickly Tillhammer.

Until now.

Mr. Ceiling has tried desperatley to dissuade me from my path. He begged and pleaded on his little knees that I do not manifest this... thing into existence.

Unfortunately for him, I'm not a little bitch.

So behold: My infernal creation! Mothers and fuckers of the jury, I present to you, for perhaps the first time in history:

The Tillhammer!

The Tillhammer is a popular drink originating in the city of Luxhaven, Rhode Island in the 1920s. Allegedly first served in the Wanderlust Hotel to expel a rowdy visitor in the night, it has since grown popular all across the globe... if you know where to look.

The Tillhammer gin fizz packs quite a punch, though it is a quick-footed fighter and won't hit you where you were expecting.

Total Time: 5 minutes mins

Equipment

some form of liquid container (glass preferable)

a mechanism by which you might induce a pickle into a state that could charitably be described as "frozen"

Ingredients 

a quantity of gin, as yet unhaunted by the unholy spirits

a fizzy German beverage that proclaims itself to be your friend, but don't trust it DON'T YOU DARE TRUST IT

a pickled cucumber, petite yet potent, brought as close to a state of frosty solidity as your equipment permits

Instructions 

Pour your desired quantity of gin into your container of choice. No need to fuss, you are out to impress absolutely no-one. Just do how much you feel.

Add a little bit of bubbly joy by pouring your liquified orange-tinged friend to mingle with the gin.

Brace yourself for what comes next.

Insert your frozen pickle while chanting ritualistically; if not with your tongue, then at least with your faltering mind.

Consume.

And, lest anyone accuse me for spurring my pickle-adding responsibilities:

And it is done.

I know not what I have unleashed into the world by bringing this potion into existence. Have I broken the chains of something long buried, forgotten for a reason? Or perhaps, more realistically, I have simply played into the hands of an unusually conniving miscreant roaming the wikipedian plains.

All in all, it just kinda tastes of gin and cola.

[vroombeams]

amazing oscarmark fic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 ive been well fed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! do you have any tips on writing and getting work done? ive been in SUCH a fanfic writing burnout and i've been wanting to start with rpf writing but im SO scared to get any inaccuracies etc etc. your stuff is super inspiring and you're literally carrying oscarmark rn and ill be joining the train soon bc we need more commitment to this pairing.

hope your summer went well:) -that one oscarmark anon thats cheering you on always

AH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! so glad you've enjoyed your meal :')!!

tips-wise!! burnout fuckin stinks but it's important i think to let your brain chill when it happens. like if you're sitting there staring at a doc and no words are coming out or feeling good/right and all you feel is Miserable it's massively important to take a step back from it. it's so hard to have a healthy relationship with fandom creation. but remember we are here to have FUN this is a hobby, we're not getting paid, we're not on a time crunch and we don't have deadlines we are just simply mashing the blorbos together and GOING!

i think it's also hugely beneficial to consume as much non-fandom content as possible? watch a series or a movie play a video game read BOOKS i can not overemphasize the importance of putting words in your eyes!!

re: inaccuracies!! again this is fandom, so trying not to take it super seriously is helpful. but as far as accuracy goes, all you can do is focus on your own perception of the characters? everyone's going to have a different opinion on how each character should be handled and more often than not those opinions won't all 100% line up, so really just find what feels right to you!! watch interviews, read other fic of the characters that you want to write, figure out what bits of them feel Correct to you and incorporate it!!

on the productivity front i do want to note that like. i personally have popped out a pretty large amount of fic lately, which is an exception and not a rule. i'm not always going to be hammering out minifics, i will definitely dip in and out of inspiration and burnout myself. i want to make sure that what i've been doing isn't setting any sort of standard? everyone works at their own pace and sometimes you'll have a rocket-boost of inspo and sometimes you won't and both of those things are okay!!

tl;dr, try not to take it too seriously, remember to take breaks, eat a balanced media diet, remember to have FUN!!

i hope that some of this is at least a little bit helpful!! thank you for asking and thank you for cheering and i'm looking forward to having more little freaks in the oscarmark tag :]

[arbiterofsecrets]

a little fun fact about me is that i bathe in religious imagery and motifs, and i will eat them up in every media as long as portrayed properly. this is a quote from the novel and a verse from the bible itself that i put against each other for the sake of compare and contrasting for the people. if you dislike this content, simply leave :)

warning(s): UNDER THE CUT IS A SPOILER FOR ORV, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, bible verse, religious motifs, WORDS, introspection, a reader's viewpoint :)

[There are three ways to survive in a ruined world. Now, I have forgotten a few, but one thing is certain. The fact that you who are reading these words will survive for sure. ] —Chapter 1: Prologue, Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

Revelation 1:3 NIV (New International Version)

Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near.

-

i find it so fascinating to see a lot of chapters from the bible presented through media in forms of religious imagery and motifs is still present to this day. maybe its because its intimate to reference back to the day of creation and the day of doom, in some way people can also relieve religious trauma one might've experienced, maybe i'm even looking into this too much making it farfetched and its just the predictability of humans creating and writing similar stories.

still, i like to find references in the different media i consume. its not just fun to compare and contrast ideas, it helps sparks curiousity within me and make a possible study case. y'know, the fickle nature of humans and filling their curiosity to the brim, needing to find an answer deeper than things just being simple !

anyways, this is just a drabble or what i'd like to call a reader's viewpoint.

hoped you enjoyed this silly read :)

[fictive-culture]

(Not fictive culture ask) What rant did ypu wanna go on about fictives from problematic sources? /genq

!!!!

Okay SO! When it comes to fictives problematic sources basically don't fucking matter. Like if someone is an avid harry potter fan yea that is shitty. However if someone has a harry potter introject and that is the only information you have you can not assume the same of them as you would a harry potter fan.

They could have been a fan when they were a kid and either introjected them then, or since the memory exists within them, they can't just forget everything about the source. The brain decided to introject them later. Even if they are non traumagenic you don't know how or when they got introjected and if they are still a fan of that source today.

By all means, if a source is triggering to you or makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to interact with them, but you can't make it their problem. Simply block them because unless you can easily see they are still a fan of and support the source, the only way to figure out how they got a fictive is to ask incredibly invasive questions and make people defend themselves by talking about their trauma or their past self which no one is entitled to.

Also, this isn't fictive specific, but liking a source doesn't even always automatically mean they're a horrible person. Jk bitch has irreversibly ruined her books but if the books were really important to someones childhood and they just talk about it amongst friends or keep a couple pieces of merch they bought before they learned she was awful to hold on to the good memories. They aren't a bad person? Burning or throwing their merch away isn't going to take the money back from her. If they don't support her and don't buy the merch, don't watch the movies they aren't really doing anything wrong. If you do throw your stuff out because it makes you uncomfortable, that's valid but if you put on a big show of it it's kind of just performative hating the show more than showing care and support for all the people she is against. Just don't be a clown and put your hogwarts house in your description, or people are gonna assume you support her.

People still read and enjoy the various stories by Lovecraft and he was awful. People still watch marvel movies when so much is wrong with various directors and actors.

For a lot but not all things you have to learn how to consume things critically, or you are going to end up being unable to watch anything because at least one person in it's creation was awful or at least one part was kind of problematic. And if it's all or nothing it's going to be so hard for you to tell apart good and bad people. There are probably moms out there that go to pride give out water bottles, free mom hugs and supports her queer kids to the moon and back but obsesses over hp and knits inspired blankets. She's not a bad person she's probably just confused and old.

I hope even like half of this makes sense and I just used HP since basically everyone knows what it is I thought it was neat for like half a year when I was 15

TLDR: Fictives ≠ supporting the source and they don't owe you how they formed. Problematic sources are 98% of the time not even worth 100% canceling you just need to learn to consume things critically.

[littlelordalphinaud]

now i wanna know more about valentina the galvus family makes me go crazy

Valentina is Zenos' eldest daughter!

She was based on the idea of Varis realising that the way he'd treated Zenos had kinda ended the family line by virtue of his son being the perfect warrior but with 0 interest in anything, or anyone, else.

So finds a noble woman of good breeding and arranges a marriage and makes it clear to Zenos that you do your husbandly duty once a week until you have a son.

And so along came Valentina!

And then her two younger sisters and then finally her brother, the actual heir.

Valentina desperately wants her father's love and attention. So she taught herself SAM swordsmanship from watching him, to try and impress him, despite it not being "A ladies place" to do so.

Again, when Solus dies she leaves Garlemald to go to Eorzea, but her drive is that she still wants her Father's attention and care and affection and believes that proving herself a great warrior will earn that for her. And she's aware of Rhan Dei-Ijla, the Warrior of Light who defeated Gaius (who again belongs to @instantbee . We both have character creation problems and enjoy enabling one another)

So up she shows and asks Rhan if she can help!

Valentina has no great love for Garlemald but that's not on any particular moral grounds. It's more simply that her Father is the only person she's ever really cared about, and since he has very little interest in the empire, neither does she.

During Heavensward, while helping Rhan with Bismark, she is reunited with her grandfather, Varis. She's quite excited to see him, while he immediately disowns her and names her 'vaitor', stripping her of her 'wir'. Valentina is surprisingly upset by this, while Rhan and Alphinaud both agreed to keep her identity as the former princess a secret.

Stormblood was incredibly difficult for Valentina. She was excited to see her Father again, only for him to dismiss her, attack her friends, send her flying, and try and kill Rhan. She spent a lot of that expansion in something of a fugue state as even with her disowning, she held out hope that her Father would care about her if she proved herself strong enough, and it just... Never happened.

She does manage to pull out of it, thankfully, and firmly places herself on Rhans side of things, as Rhan and the Scions actually care about her.

Other things about Valentina:

She ends up an Omnicrafter as she finds herself fascinated by how everything is made. She genuinely stumbled into it but it got put into hyperdrive during her 3 years in the First, as she worked at the Crystalline Mean in between helping the guard in Lakeland

Rhan is the reason she figured out she was gay. It took a concerningly long time because she'd never been particularly told it was an option so assumed this was just how people felt about their friends.

Her mother, two sisters, and younger brother all got tempered during Endwalker. Valentina does not know their ultimate fate. She's too afraid to go home and find out.

She was only 19 when she went to Eorzea.

On the boat to Doma, in a somewhat desperate attempt to bring her out of the soul deep depression that was consuming her, Lyse started teaching Valentina to be a MNK. At this point in the game, she's a VPR but still maintains her MNK training to help herself stay on an even keel.

After Stormblood, but before she gets pulled to the First, Valentina starts actually looking into the Garlean Empire properly, and privately vows to do what she helped to do in Doma and Ala Mhigo in every place they conquered.

She's a big part of the Bozja storyline, working tirelessly to help them, never expecting them to warm to her existence but wanting to help them anyway.

Because of her upbringing, Valentina can read music, sew, sing and dance. These are not skills many know she possesses.

Despite the disowning, the Anima fight in Endwalker was a difficult one for Valentina. Unfortunately, with literally everything else that was going on in Endwalker, she didn't really get the chance to process it for quite some time

There we go, that's Valentina, the sweetest princess ever raised by a nation of warmongers!

[die-rosastrasse]

Sometimes, when we create we have to let go of the reception of what we have created.

I write fanfiction. 10-20 years ago, people would always review/comment. It was instant gratification. Lately, if I can ger one comment for a chapter of 10'00-2 000 words, I am grateful. People's behaviour with "free" or eas of access art has deteriorated. It's too much effort to show appreciation even if we feel it.

I focus on my joy of writing. Hoping that someone will be moved by my words but focusing on my own pleasure of wroting exactly what I want to read. If someone likes it : great. If not, well I'm enjoying my own writing.

I hope you find equal joy and satisfaction in the act of creation.

You create a lot of beauty and dreams... may you never stop.

Hi! First of all, thank you for reaching out. People never do, which is part of why I feel so resented by the world. Thank you for your kind words and a very well articulated message, which I absolutely agree with. I'm glad I'm not the only one who is noticing how beauty, photographs and creations have become quick, mass produced, single-use and lost in a sea of thousand new posts coming every second. I see that this is where the world is heading more and more, with AI "art", reposting stolen pictures or rewriting yourself to fit some aesthetic, and that makes me so scared for the future. And also, makes me even more motivated to spend more time on creating than on consuming, and being very peculiar about what I consume and how much. I understand your words about focusing on the joy and satisfaction of creating itself, it's the most important thing for me too, even it sounded like it's not. It's my favorite feeling right now: the need to create, paint, write, collage, take every single piece of myself and make something out of it with my hands. It's so beautiful and gratifying in itself and I'm at a point in my life when it's really all I want to do with my time. And I'm proud of my works anyway, I know I'm getting better for myself, I love the feeling of inspiration and I try to keep myself in this state as long as I can. The joy of making something is why I do what I do, nothing else is necessary and my private world is complete without approval of anyone else. But every once in a while, I remember that maybe if we put ourselves out there, someone will listen and sharing the beauty that we found or that we tried to make is the most normal, valid human emotion. And this, showing my precious pieces I made with adoration, and meeting not with hate, not love, but indifference, makes me want to throw up, go inside a hole and never go out. Why is that so hard? Why was I perfectly content with my work when it was just mine, but sharing it with others suddenly makes me hate it, no matter if it was well received or not? I will forever be creative because that's who I am in the depths of my soul and honestly I don't want to share my life with anybody now. But this feeling will always come again, the need to leave something after me, have some kind of legacy. Or simply inspire somebody and receive the same energy that I put in the world, or meet a single person who would give it some time, consciousness, curiosity. I don't know how to balance between hiding my world just for myself and the need to scream about it to everyone who would listen. I don't think there is a balance, just the terrible feeling of missing something on both sides. The inability to have it all is the reason for my crisis.

[nandorelentlessdelacruz]

I FINALLY built the Staten Island vampire's residence in TS4.

Versão em Português aqui

WOW, this house is a MONSTER! Literally consumed almost a month and a lot of research! I did projects in college that demanding way less of me LOL

What can I say? So many lamps and so, so many candles! A huge property. Now I'm pretty sure Colin Robinson's adoptive family was filthy rich.

I tried to make it realistic, however, make no mistake: I don't have the complete plan, I built it from looking to photos and my own interpretation of the scenery in the scenes, so I took a lot of poetic freedom when building it and it's soooo far from identical to the set.

More pictures and house plan

Same goes for the sims, TS4 just doesn't have enough tools to do the actors' faces justice, so be kind, OK?

I hope it's close enough for you to enjoy it. You can download here and play, but pay attention to the warnings below.

Warnings:

-The folders were previously scanned by antivirus and are free from malware;

-If you already have a save named "Slot_00000007", renumber mine so that yours do not be replaced during the transfer;

-Transfer the cc files to your mods folder;

-My folder contains Wicked Whims (version v176f dated July 24th) so vampires can have the polyamorous trait and can throw orgy parties. But be aware if at the time of your download the version is up to date. If necessary, delete the two files that start with "turbodriver", then go to the Wicked website, download the new version and replace! If you prefer a non-explicit version, you can simply delete the files I mentioned, in which case it's best to you have at least Wonderful Whims or that trio will be disastrous.

-This residence was built with A LOT of cheats, make sure to turn “bb.moveobjects on” before editing the house to ensure that some objects don't end up in your houses inventory;

-If you wantto sims to die drained like in the series, you need to add Extreme Violence mod, which is not included;

-Don't put my creations in the gallery without my consent.

OBSERVED ERRORS

When you spend 1 month on a single build, naturally some bugs start to appear. Anyway, TS4 is a mess now due to the horse expansion bugs, so it's possible that this will go away in the EA's next updates:

-Curved room ceiling not accepting the use of the new tool;

-Whatever-this-is that appears in some angles when the camera is far away:

That's all