#lf mask

[flm-linkedfissures]

Prologue

Next

[clowns0up-felix]

Burying vs digging

[quirkycritters]

Countdown 🌕

*stumbles out of my enclosure looking like i just lost a fight with a wild raccoon* i got possessed but dont worry about ittt :) ANYWAYSSS Art Fight attack for @clowns0up-felix’s links meet AU @flm-linkedfissures cause Mask has been hijacking my brain for months rent free- slightly different versions of the same art idea have been running circles around me for Too Long but now hes out of my head (temporarily),,, seriously had so much fun finally drawing this RAHHHHH <3 THE SILLY

(come find me on AF)

[starofthesea7]

König~ Carnivore

Very filthy with a little bit of plot xx

You overhear Konig jerking off and decide to investigate

You groan, rolling over and squeezing your eyes shut.

There it was a again.

It was faint, almost indecipherable, and initially you’d ignored it, told yourself it was in your head. The sweltering, desert heat (or ovulation) had gotten to you.

But now you were certain.

A groan, a delicious, thick groan dragging rough like barbed-wire through the thick, hazy air; rasping through makeshift walls and into your room— grating against your eardrums in a brutal taunt. You were feverish.

You’d heard König’s hoarse grunts countless times as he cleaned a fresh, gaping wound or heaved a particularly heavy load onto his colossal shoulders, but this, this was different. Under the cover of night it was different. Imagining what he was doing made it different; made your imagination run wild.

You bury your face into your old pullover, bunched up into a makeshift pillow— pulse beating deafeningly in your ear, yet you cant get the sound of him out of your head. There it was again, a strained, husky grunt. And wetness.

Oh—Fuck. So he was touching himself.

Heat diffuses across your shining cheeks at the sound. Eyes squeeze shut as your heart beat thrums. Ashamed, you strain to listen again. A moan, deep and rough as gravel, the rhythmic sound of his fist against his flesh. You were slick. Fuck.

You’re yolked to another side of yourself that keens away from the righteous path— dragged away by need and deprivation that only months of gruelling, violent work and near solitude can bring. You crave to go to him. To touch him, satisfy him. He’s been stationed here months, surrounded by grim, hardened men, surely he must be frustrated. Surely you would be a welcome sight to his lonely gaze. You ghosted over your clit, clenching at nothing but the hypothetical of him filling you up, stretching you out, pounding the air out of your lungs. Huge hands, rough and hot, groping at you in harsh, touch deprived handfuls.

You slid your finger down the split of your cunt, wetness coating your fingers, your thighs. He had no idea what he did to you — he was always so respectful, so quiet, eyes so focused on whatever work was at hand; but his reservedness only made you crave him more. Of course you desired what was out of reach — the only man who’d never made a move on you, never spat a snide suggestive remark in your direction, or blatantly stared at your ass. Typical. Man has always wanted what he can’t have, lured in by mysterious forces he can’t quite figure out. Our Achilles’ heel. You were pandora, and he was your box you were so tempted to crack open. What could be hiding inside that sibylline man?

You’re ashamed, perverse for thinking about him like this, yet you ached for more. For him. You press a finger inside, with a hot squelch, back arching. Another groan from the soldier. But his would be so much thicker. And longer. And his cock. Fuck. You know he’d stretch you so delectably…

You groan and roll over again. Slap, slap, slap… he is still going, fist to flesh— a soldiers stamina at work.

Studying a crack in the cement ceiling, you consider your options. You could lay here, and get off by yourself. Resort to imagining feeling his hand on your throat, cock in your cunt, groans in your ear… Or you could knock… with a slim, glimmer of a chance of him desiring you too, of him judging your ready cunt as a more desireable fit than his usual fist.

An unseen force dragged out of your cot, limbs heavy with nerves. Perhaps lust, adrenaline, or a mixture of the two. Spurred on by delirium from the heat, the late hour or clenching of your cunt you can’t be sure, but you somehow open the door and step out into the hallway. The moon is bright and you stare at your feet for a moment, feel them sticking to the rough wooden floorboards in the summer heat. Your heart hammers, each beat deafening. A humid waft tickles the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. Before you had a moment to mull over your decision, perhaps jot down a pros and cons list, you had knocked, knuckle and rough wood cracking dull against the silence of the empty hallway.

A deafening stillness. You flex your hand in apprehension. Then a rustle. Another pause. You hear him clear his throat, the creak of floorboards as he gets up from his cot, aged floor straining to support his immense frame. The blood drains from your face as your fantasy now condenses into the very real, colossal mass that is König. The door creaks open, you hold your breath. And oh, you bite the inside of your cheek as you look up at him, he looks so good.

He truly is a paradox. So enormous, yet reserved. So immense yet quiet, gentle. A man of very few words. A wave waiting to crash, or a volcano waiting to erupt. His hair is tousled from bed, curing around his damp brow, cheeks burning from what you know to be arousal. You’d only seen glimpses of his face. His features are still shrouded in shadow, but you can make out a vague picture. He’s younger than you’d imagined— and better looking. Each one of his features somehow exudes an enticing, rough crudeness, emanating true masculinity.

A large, strong nose, slightly crooked as if its been broken one too many times. Lips split, bitten and red. Inviting. A glint of teeth, an angled jaw and the whisper of stubble. A large scar slices up his prominent cheekbone towards his eyes. In contrast, soft, deep-set eyes framed with thick lashes. Effervescent, pale olive green— heavy with fatigue, they widen in surprise at the sight of you.

“Hey.” You look up at him through long lashes, chest rising with shallow breaths. You were suddenly aware of your nipples poking through a threadbare tanktop, and sleep shorts two sizes too small. You felt exposed, like meat on display before a hungry animal. There was nothing more you wanted than him to take you, but there was something holding him back from lunging.

You knew he would disregard his hunger, till starvation, until you give him assent.

He clears his throat. “Hi.” His voice is rough and deep—accent thick, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He looks sheepish, like a teenage boy caught with his uncles playboy. Like hes dirty before you— if only he knew the fantasies you conjure about him at night, awake and in dreams.

“Um, I thought I heard something… coming from this direction and I just wanted to make sure you were ok… in here.” Your voice sounds as small as you feel next to him. He was larger than life, a tower of solid muscle that could break you like a toothpick. It sounded stupid, now that it had come out of your mouth, but you reminded yourself you had the upper hand — you’d ambushed him.

A weighted pause.

“Oh, um… ja Im all good in here.” He rubbed the back of his neck— rippling arm bulging with the movement. You don’t miss the hem of his shirt rising above the waistband of his boxers. A trail of hair ghosting across taught muscle, leading down to… You quickly tore your eyes away before your imagination strayed too far, looking back up at his face. You swallowed, a click in your throat, and crossed your arms.

His eyes flickered, so fast you could’ve imagined it, to your chest, as your breasts bulge above your arms, the top you were wearing leaving little to his imagination. A welcome aid stabilizing your wavering confidence. Your heart pounded in your ears as you lean toward him slightly.

You smiled up at his nervous face, and his eyes finally yielded in meeting yours. “Sorry if I woke you, just cant sleep.”

The door gave way, just a little as he stepped away from you, as if he couldn’t let you get too close to him— or he’d be unable to keep things civil, your magnetic field too strong to resist.

You glanced at his bed: a threadbare mattress covered with tangled sheets, a book… and something… pink? It stood out harshly against the greyness of his room. You registered. Your stomach clenched. The incongruent lace among his muted bed things — your thong. You were lightheaded, thighs squeezing together. He’d been jerking off to your fucking panties.

It was dirty. Salacious. So fucking hot.

Your knees were weak as you ran your fingers through your hair. You feel his eyes studying your face, trying to make out your intention. A wave of confidence swells in your chest, playful smirk toying at the corner of your lips. “I got more if you want to start a collection.” Your fingers find the band of your sleep shorts, pausing as your pretend to pull them down.

He stutters, eyes dropping to your waist, “W-What?”

You nod towards his bed. He turns and his eyes widen, face growing hot with humiliation. “Scheisse, I am so sorry. They must have mixed up your laundry with mine—“ He grabs it from the bed, scarred fist swallowing it whole, the delicate lace almost amusingly mismatched in his cloddish grasp.

He holds them out to you, eyes glassy with shame. You don’t move.

He trails off as his gaze involuntarily falling to your hips, then to your thighs, back up to your hands still toying at the waistband of your tiny shorts. His tongue, blood red peeks between pink lips. A glint of a canine. So he is a carnivore. He cleared his throat, eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze vehemently.

He’s nervous, as if your are his alluring genie he rubbed into fruition, and one wrong step could ruin whatever shimmering wish you might be in the mood to grant him. He was waiting for you to lead— cautious.

He can’t read you. He shifts, studying your face.

The air is thick, and molten— time slow, coagulating around you, forcing you towards each other. The mood has changed and you both feel it, dizzy with desire yet waiting for the other to test the water first. You gazed up at him wanton through your lashes— you decided to dip your toe in. “Want them?” —your voice is sickly sweet syrup which he eagerly swallows. His adams apple bobbing in his throat, and your eyes blaze a trail along a thick pink scar, decorating the ivory column. You want to run your tongue up it.

He simply nods dumbly, a lock of dark hair falling across his heavy brow, wide chest rising with shallow breaths.

You ache for him, stepping inside as he closes the door, and you suddenly feel minuscule next to this behemoth of a man, the room far too cramped. You’d never been this close to him, or spoken more than a few words to him, he always kept his distance. His hands are brawny fists at his sides, still clenching your thong, as if he was unsure what to do with them. Veins and scars litter his knuckles. You wanted them on your neck.

You bite your lip, dying to feel his hands on you. In you.

He groans softly, as if you taunt him, merely by standing in front of him. You lick your lips, you want him to touch you: “Take them off then.”

He steps into you, hands rising to your waist, gripping you there, dwarfing your frame. The knowledge that he could bend you like a reed made you faint with desire. His fingers dig into the flesh at your ribs, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. You moan as he presses himself into you, thick cock straining against his boxers.

“You tease me.” His voice is cracked, as if your mere existence was unfair torment.

Your fingers trail up his abdomen, lightly over hard muscle, up his neck and into his hair. You ground your pelvis into his as your fingers fist his loose curls, tugging gently.

Your voice comes out a whisper. “I could hear you through the wall, König.” He grunts, blood rushing to his cheeks and his cock in both embarrassment and arousal, fingers inadvertently squeezing you tighter. Finding the swells of your ass, and he pulls the cheeks apart. You groan into him, the feeling of him splitting you open in such an unsatisfying way drives you wild. Your cunt is slick, clenching around nothing. His hips involuntarily buck softly into you and you can feel him, painfully hard. How long had he been edging. To you. Poor boy. You rise to your tip toes, open mouth kissing the ragged scar on his neck as you imagine what his cock looks like, thick and aching.

A crackled, “Please..” He trails off— its all he can muster. Unsure of what to ask for, unsure of what he wants you to do — of what he wants to do to you.

“Were you thinking about me while you touched yourself?” Your voice is an airy taunt. He looked away with a ragged breath, then back down at you, eyes searching your face, tongue wetting his lips. Then he nodded. Your stomach clenched. He smelled of smoke and musk, and you wanted to crawl inside his shirt and be skin to skin, consumed in him forever.

You rise up on your tip toes, fingers gripping his shirt to keep yourself grounded in him, and he leans down. A hair of buzzing space between your lips. Breaths raspy. His hand finds the base of your head and he pulls you towards him. Lips searing. He’s gentle, firm. You run your tongue along his lips and he opens his mouth to you. He tastes like mint and cigarettes. Intoxicating.

Your hands run over his bare stomach, muscles clenching under your light, fervent touch. Your hands find the hem of his shirt and hes pulling it off, muscles rippling below searing, scarred flesh, formed through constant use and necessity — through years of arduous work.

Your hands fall to his lower stomach and his hips buck forward. You snap the waistline of his pants and he grunts. You couldn’t get enough of his paradox. So terrifying yet gentle. Sensitive. More dangerous yet safer than any other man two heads shorter.

You find his cock, palming it through fabric, thick and aching. He raises his arm to stabilize himself against the wall behind you, as if he can barely stand. You want to make him feel good so fucking bad your mouth waters. You kneel down, and his eyes widen slightly. “You dont have—“

“Lemme make you feel good, König.” You gaze up at him lustfully, a behemoth of a man, bending at your touch. He lets out a raspy breath of air as you slide his boxers down, his hard cock slapping up against his stomach. Eager and painfully hard, he’s engorged a dark red, precum leaking from the slit, tricking down the underside, along a vein. Your cunt clenches. Fuck— hes thicker than you’ve seen before.

You lick a stripe up his length, along the vein bulging on the underside, soft skin. He bites his fist. Wrapping your lips around his mushroom head, a briny bitterness bites at you and you instinctively want to shove down your throat. It goes right to your head.

You take him deeper, hands gripping his thighs, solid and hot. Deeper, bobbing your head. A small whimper from above as his head drops forward; you can tell hes doing his best to keep from bucking into you, shoving himself down your throat, pale fingers digging into his palm. You looked up at him and he grunts— youre a vision gazing up at him, lashes clumped together with glistening tears.

His hand finds the back of your head, hand so large it palms your crown, swallowing you whole. Fingers softly intertwine with strands of hair. The sounds of you choking on him pornographic against the quiet of night, your cunt clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs, onto your heels for want of attention. All you wanted to do was take him deeper, bob harder, choke louder. His hand reflexively pushes your head down onto him, bobbing you faster. Faster, deeper. His caution gave way to brainless need— and you loved it. You sputter, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, jaw aching to accommodate him.

Hes grunting—“Im f-fuck, sorry—” His eyes were glassy, brows knitted with pleasure. Your cunt clenched as you looked up at him. One of your tits was bouncing out from the neckline of your top and his eyes flicked down to it, fingers tightening sharply at your hair, then back up to your shining, drool covered face. You an his angel, his nymph. The answer to a desperate, agonizing prayer.

He suddenly groans, pulling you harshly off his cock to keep from spilling down your throat. His heavy cock twitches above your face— a spurt of precum landing on your rosy cheek. He lets out a strangled sound, pornographic, he has to tear his eyes away, embarrassed, as you smile up at him. All you want to do was submit. Let him use you how ever he wanted, bend you like a reed in any which way he wanted. Stretch you to your limit, ruin you for any other man.

Hes breathing heavily as he smears it off with his thumb. You clutched his brawny hand, bringing it to your mouth. You suck the cum off his thumb and his cock jerks again at the sight of your delicate lips sucking his tanned, scarred finger.

Your voice is hoarse, throat raw, “I want you to use me Konig— however you want.” He looks down at you, expression pained and needy. “Can you do that for me.” He lowered his chin in a fucked out, decisive nod. You rose, and blushing as he tugs your shirt down reflexively, your other tit bobbing out. His eyes are glued to your chest, calloused hands dwarfing you as he gropes at them. Yyou whine as he squeezes them tight, his strength has you teetering deliciously on the precipice from pleasure to pain. You love it.

You tug your shorts down and he groans at the sight of you bare before him, at your smeared, puffy cunt. His hand instinctively drops to your slit. He drags a rough forefinger up and down it, watching in admiration as you buck when he catches on the split of your clit. Your head falls back against the wall, shallow moans in the quiet air.

His voice is quiet, “So wet. So wet for me.” Half question half statement. As if he is unsure whether this was simply a dream. Two of his fingers suddenly split you open and you keel into him, moaning at the divine stretch. Hell, two of his were four of yours.

He made no move to wait for you to adjust. Not because he was cruel but because he didn’t understand the extent of his size, didn’t realize how he stretched you. So thick, larger than life, gummy walls spasming as they attempt to take all of him in, be good for him.

“Fuck, so big, König.” His eyes were fixed on your face, as he slowly thrusts in and out, the obscene squelch making you dizzy. Your hands find his broad shoulders, nails gripping onto him to steady yourself— he hisses at the sharpness. He reaches in further, past the knuckle, pumping in and out. You angle your hips instinctively towards him and he brushes that spongey spot deep inside you. He smiled crookedly at a loud, airy moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders. His mouth fell open, mirroring your slack jaw.

Suddenly, another finger. Hes three fingers in and you would’ve died at the sounds you were making if you weren’t so fucked out. His name a chant on your lips.

He grunts at your clench around him, imagining it around his cock. “Schleib— so tight… and h-hot inside.” Heavy lidded eyes study yours, brows furrowed as he hits that spot, deep inside you. His rough, calloused thumb finds your clit and you jerked away in over stimulation, breasts press against his hard chest, hard nipples grazing his chest hairs. His other hand gropes your ass, pulling the cheeks apart as he works your puffy, sensitive cunt. Your embarrassingly wet, leaking down his wrist.

Your moans increase, “Have to be quiet Liebling,” his tone serious. You ignore him, mouth agape, sounds uncontrollable. Every rut of his fingers, every bounce of your chest forced the air out of your lungs.

You whine. Salty, cum stained fabric is shoved in your mouth. Your eyes widen.

Your thong. So he’d cum to you already, into your panties. It was disgusting, perverse. There is jest in his expression, eyes shining with a tease that has you clenching down on his fingers.

Your name, soft, tugs you back towards earth, your glassy vacant stare struggles to focus on him. You must’ve looked a mess. Hair mussed, tits hanging out from your top, thong stuffed into your mouth, but he looks down at you with a furrowed, ardent need. Below him you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You were his. His pupils were blown wide, drinking your glowing vision in like a man parched.

His voice comes out strained and hoarse, adams apply bobbing against his thick, scarred neck. “Please…” he trailed off. He wanted to take you, fill you, fuck you. His cock stood tall and waiting eagerly. But he didn’t know how to ask. His brows furrowed, breath ragged, “Please… let me.” His hands tighten painfully at your waist, as if clutching you making sure you stayed here, with him.

You wanted to hear him say it. You furrowed your brows in question, his makeshift gag keeping you from speaking. You brushed his cock, painfully hard with your hand. He bucked forward, the touch pushed him over the edge— “Let me have you.” His voice was rough, strained, as if there was a chance you’d say no. You shivered at his choice of words. Let me have you. Give yourself to me.

Gladly.

You nod up at him, eyes sparkling. You could have easily taken the thong out of your mouth but you hated to admit it turned you on— his attempt at dominance, calling instead of forcing your submission. He tugged your shirt over your head. He leans back, staring with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide, his gaze trailing down over your figure. His mouth parts as he if he is literally drinking you in. Normally you’d feel insecure at being so bare infront of a man but his expression is pure adoration, it makes you want to further expose yourself to him. Your insides crave his stare, his touch, his consumation.

Huge, hard, rippling muscle looms over you. His hardness exaggerates your softness. His immensity making you feel small, although you weren’t particularily so. And yet he feels safe. A shield from all outside forces lurking, waiting to pounce on you. His broad shoulders blocking out danger, bullets, peering eyes— the rest of the world. Here it was only him and you.

He gripped your waist, and lowered you to the bed. You were a rag doll in his iron grasp, pliable clay. Your only desire was to do his will. Make him feel good, let him revert to carnal impulse.

A halo of hair encircles your face on the hard mattress, cheeks glowing, eyes shining with desire. You are a vision. His vision. Splayed bare before him. You trust him fully, a killer to all but you. He suddenly feels as if you didn’t belong here. In his room, surrounded by cement, and rusty metal and dirty roughness. He wants to protect you, take you away, devour you whole.

Your thighs part instinctually, pussy bare and sopping for him. Your hand falls to your cunt, parting your lips for him in a V. His eyes are glued to your hole, drinking in your display. He tears his eyes away, as if to keep from orgasming right there, at sight of you, spread open for only him.

He guides his cock, painfully hard, to your aching hole, gently pressing it against the split. You moan with needy anticipation. He slides the mushroom head up, precum smearing across your lips. He groans incoherent german, “I’ve waiting so long for you Schatz… wanted you so bad… think about you all the time.” Your heart jolted at his words— his head caught on your clit and you groaned around your gag. His eyes were glued to your pretty little cunt, and he pressed into you, your thighs instinctively moved together at the feeling, his massive torso forced you open.

He grunts, forcing his way in. Hes big, bigger than you’d ever taken. And the stretch, the sharpness of the pain made the pleasure all that much better. Another inch. Another. You squirm, fingers clutching at the sheets. An airy moan, your torso keens upward. Another inch, you spasm around him— when he finally pressed himself all the way in, the air was knocked out of you. The hair at the base of his cock tickled your clit, you clench hard around him— he jolts with a barbed grunt.

Stuffed so full, stretched so deliciously— you feel wild.

He stayed there for a moment as you spasm around him, muscles straining to accommodate him— his hair fell over his forhead, mouth agape, breaths rough— desperate to ravage you, pound into you, put your furrowed brows and brimming tears hold him back. He stares at the connection. The way your skin stretches tight around him, taking him so well.

He pulls out slightly, your cunt clutching at him, unwilling to let him go. He begins rocking back and forth.

“So tight maus—Scheiße, so hot inside.” His gaze still on your little cunt, stretched so wide for him, straining to suck him back in. His eyes flicked to your breasts, watching them bounce lightly with each gentle thrust. Desperate for more, his pace quickens. He grunts at the bounce of your breasts.

Harder, faster.

His hard pelvis ruts into you. The wet slap is obscene, hips recoiling with each thrust. Your nails scratch as his back, mimicking the sting of your stretched cunt, straining to take him.

Deep grunts join your airy moans, and your head is light. No thoughts plague your mind, just pleasure, stretch, fullness. His pace was getting rougher, more needy.

You feel your orgasm building deep in your stomach, an iron hot clench waiting to uncoil. He presses your knees down, folding you in half, totally helpless against his bludgeoning into you. You are a ragdoll to his whims, a hole for his use. He’s gotten a taste and now he can’t seem to stop.

Your legs rise, knees bending against his chest— spreading you open embarrassingly wide. Your drooling. He’s impossibly deep— you feel him behind your ribcage, forcefully bludgeoning at your sternum. His hand falls to your lower stomach and he lets out a strangled sound at the feeling of his cock pressing up into his hand.

He’s repulsed at the roughness with which he pounds you, but he can’t seem to stop. “I’m so sorry, you’re so good for me liebling, i’m hurting you, i’m - ah!- so sorry.” His breaths become airier, more pathetic as his release nears.

You clench, pulling him down into you with grasping hands.

Closer. Deeper. More.

The sound of skin slapping together was wet, obscene. Disgusting. You’re close, hurtling towards a precipice. He grunts loudly.

From you, a muffled string of incoherent “Gonna come,”— it sounded distant, far away.

He pounds into you rasping a shamble of german and english, how you’re so small, so tight, stretched so wide, stuffed so full. He’s fucking drooling.

He’s hitting that spongey spot over and over again. Bludgeoning pleasure into you so forcefully you can’t help but take it. Engorged head pushing relentlessly towards the entrance of your cervix, so deep youd never felt anyone there before—cunt stretched so wide he’s splitting you in half with every thrust, breasts bouncing painfully with every rut.

It crashes over you like a wave, cunt spasming irregularly around him, breathy whines— impossibly tight. You writhe beneath him, pushing him away instinctively at the pleasure, but he barely feels it, his arms caging you beneath him as you ride out your orgasm.

You are a ragdoll, limbs spread, nails scratching blindly, a hole as he ruts into you, faster, jerkier, more erratic, still shaking with your orgasm, his colossal frame curling around you. He grunts, at the feeling of you tightening around him. You feel him twitch inside you. His breaths become airier, more pathetic as his release nears. Your wetness coats his pale lower stomach and rippling thighs. Brawny arms wrap around your body, holding you so fucking tight.

“So, -ah, so close- scheiße.” He lets out a pitiful groan as he stuffs himself into you with a final thrust, holding your pelvises flush as his cock lurches, mushroom head notching deep inside you. Your walls stutter around him, “C- cumming.” His voice cracks, cock jumping, spurting inside of you pitifully, impossibly deep— so deep you feel it in your guts, so deep it would be dribbling out for days. Hot sticky ropes pump into you, his hips stuttering against yours. Hes grunting into your neck, brows furrowed, eyes brimming with the tears of pleasure that mix with sweat. You fall limp, stuffed, belly full and warm with him, you sob at the delicious pressure.

He stills, shuddering slightly as your cunt clenches, the squelch making you blush. Its quiet, breaths against stillness.

Hes relaxed above you, your body still bent in half, cunt pressed up against his pelvis still agape, sucking him in. He rises, eyes soft and fucked out fall to your mouth, still stuffed with your panties. He groans at the look you give him, and pulls the panties out of your mouth.

He slowly fucks into you, a crackled groan at the feeling of shoving his cum back into you as you squirm— cunt clenching, spasming around him, always so willing, so good for him. His brows furrow as he pulls out, as if it pains him leave you. Your hole is gaping at the loss of him. Cum oozes from your red, abused slit, down towards the split of your ass. He stares, watching his cum spill out of you, committing the picture to memory, in case this is a one time thing. His face is flushed and sweaty, lips parted in focus. The image making him lightheaded.

He looks back up at your face, eyes heavy with pleasure. Fucked out, spread a mess before him, you look more beautiful than you ever had. You bring your legs together, more cum spilling out with a squelch.

Your voice was a hoarse whisper. “You can keep my thong.”

[capricioussun]

Some recent doodle for you all

ft Wraith, @fluo-skeletons ‘s outerfell Papyrus ❄️🪼

[flm-linkedfissures]

Oh my goddd!!! Thank you so much for drawing him he looks so sweet !!!! I love the way you drew the hair ^_^ 🧡

I was soooo having fun to draw

But then I saw Mask a beautiful character from

@flm-linkedfissures

So here is the draw I made of his Characters named Mask in my shading style

With Background

Without Background

I hope you like it

[zestest-lemon]

Wahhe forget today was posting day here's a sketch of my trollsona

He's a vanpire idc if the Taurus can't do that or whatever he is + I haven't finished Homestuck yet so you can't critic him

[flm-linkedfissures]

Prologue Pt. 2

Previous Next Start

[clowns0up-felix]

Hero of time

Stained glass on its own under the cut bc I like how it turned out ^.^

[ahamkara-apologist]

Happy beyond belief that we got Actual Serious Cayde for once in this trailer. Despite him being the closest thing to a most hated character I got, I actually genuinely really want to like him, it's just his fakeass front that I can't put up with (that and his rlly annoying fans but I've been there in other fandoms too. So)

[pup-pee]

i wonder how those cameras even caught him,,,

blood pack ((1995)) issue #1

[quantomeno]

Professor Layton and Pandora's Box

I love this game. This game has what I would say is the most pure Professor Layton experience. It fulfils all the requirements of a good Layton game and has all the elegance and charm you could ask for, topped with a haunting atmosphere in the third act and an ending that will make you weep. It's also set largely on a train.

Yet it is not my favourite game in the series because I am a sucker for the dramatic finale that is Lost Future. And that ending makes me cry even harder.

Spoilers for the game series below. It's over 15 years old now, though so why haven't you played it yet? If you have not played it, play it now. If you are not convinced it's worth playing, then go ahead and read.

It's 2009. Two years after Curious Village (which I don't think I finished at that stage, but my sibling did), a game that changed my life and satisfied my love of puzzles and mystery. I still remember the trailers and the clip of Anton and Layton sword fighting. Give me a moment to savour that excitement...

And the game lived up to the hype. The puzzles! Gone were the awkward riddles of CV and now so many of them actually related to the story. They still had their difficult moments, but nothing like the terrible 'The Chocolate Code' (puzzle 67, which wasn't used in the European release). And let's not forget the train ticket puzzle you solved with a real ticket included with the game. And the graphics and the sound! It was all so much cleaner and more varied. AND A MEMO FUNCTION!!! I was so happy about that.

Quality of life features, graphics and music, these things are just icing on the cake. What really matters, and where Pandora's Box shines best, is in the story and atmosphere.

The Plot:

You know the drill: Layton receives a letter from an old friend who asks him to help with a mysterious item which leads to him ending up in a mysterious town. It's classic Layton and it sets the pattern later games would continue (with some variations). I actually love that they all start similarly, because it creates a sense of comfort: you know you're in for another adventure when Layton pulls out a letter.

The thing is though, despite the apparent repetition, I don't think many of the games adhere to it as tightly as the first two. Lost Future is exciting partly because it upends the script: there's no mysterious artefact (the time machine is probably the closest), there's no mysterious town (other than future London) and it feels less like Layton going to help solve a mystery as it does Layton going to save the future.

I want more of these games in the style of the first two. No mechas or Loch Ness monsters: I want British gentleman and his snarky apprentice pottering about in eccentric hamlets and peculiar townships, stumbling onto bizarre mysteries (the prequel games are not as bad as I make them seem in this regard, but I do feel they lack the quaintness at key points, even in Last Specter/Spectre's Call). I feel the series could have gone on for a long time before we got to the wildness of LF. I love the wildness, but I love it because it's special: it should never be the norm.

But these games were planned to be a trilogy, and what we got was a glorious trilogy so I would never wish that away.

PB suffers from the same flaw CV has of feeling like a little too much of pottering around doing unnecessary tasks with no clear goal: you find Dr Schrader's lifeless body, get on a train because he had a train ticket (so far so good), find a lost dog (I just realise we had to find a cat in the first game at this same point in time), meet the other member of our team who we left at home but followed along (flora deserves better), stop off at a country town (and ask around because we have no better leads on our mysterious box), sneak into the first class cabin, end up in a weird town and then ask around here (because, again, we have no solid leads so why not), discover our teammate is being impersonated by the guy who tried to kill us the previous game, then go visit the local vampire (because he used to own the box, finally a lead), and then reveal he and everyone else is actually 50 years older than they think they are and everyone was just high this whole time.

It doesn't really feel like a mystery, does it? It just feels like a lot of stumbling onto the truth and fortuitous circumstances.

Yet I did not feel this when I first played it, because it felt natural. It made sense to check out Dropstone because the train stops there. The fact it is related to the story in the end is actually rather impressive and quite well foreshadowed.

The story of Sophia and Anton (I am literally crying thinking about this I cannot believe how much it affects me); this is the high point. It is barely addressed in the game proper until the very end, but the diary entries give enough detail that it doesn't come out of absolutely nowhere. And it is the full cast that adds to this story: all the characters who left or stayed in Folsense show the effects of the 'curse' of the town.

I will not criticise the love story. I can't. I am too moved by it that I can forgive anything. But even the common complaints people have ('why didn't Sophia just say she was pregant?') are easy enough to dismiss (she didn't want Anton to have to choose between her and the town).

The story works. It is not faultless and could do with a bit more momentum and less filler, but the puzzles keep you entertained when the story lags, so I don't mind. Boredom is rarely a terminal issue in a Layton game (unless the puzzles are bad, naming no names i.e. LMJ). It's the emotion that counts, and PB has emotion in spades.

The Atmosphere

Before we begin, I would like to define a genre: the Fantastic.

In a story, we can be presented with things that seem to happen which do not align with our view of the way the world works. In some cases, this is accepted because the story takes place in a world where our rules don't apply (this is called the Marvellous); in others, these 'magical' events are revealed to be just misunderstandings or failures of our perceptions, and the laws of Nature as we know them are unchallenged (this is termed the Uncanny).

On the border of these is the genre known as the Fantastic. This is when the reader is not able to work out whether the 'magic' observed is true magic or if there's a logical explanation for it. It is rare (incredibly rare) for a work to be situated entirely within the Fantastic. Instead, works tend to start from the Fantastic and end up in either the Marvellous (the magic is revealed to be true) or the Uncanny (it's revealed to be false). The point of the Fantastic is that the reader is reminded of the fallibility of their perceptions. One believes that the world is so, but one also knows that there is much we don't know (e.g. quantum mechanics and relativity). This leads to a painful sense of uncertainty as objectivity cannot be readily assumed (again, relativity).

The upshot is that if the story is sufficiently real, and there is the appearance of verisimilitude, the reader will be tempted to believe that the magical aspects of the story could be true, but they also instinctively cling to rational explanations that would do away with it.

I believe that Professor Layton is a stellar example of this genre, not just the individual games, but the series as a whole.

The games present a premise with an aspect of magic ― in this case a box that kills whoever opens it — and gives us strong proof that it is true (a dead body), yet the games are set in modern day London, and Layton is a man of science: he never seems convinced in the powers of the Elysian Box. The rest of the game is also incredibly mundane until we get to Folsense.

And it is in Folsense that things change.

This is where the atmosphere has its most potent effect.

The whole game has a gorgeous warmth, from the luxury of the Molentary Express to the bucolic charm of Dropstone. When we first enter Folsense, the cast are subjected to a mysterious circumstance where the town suddenly lights up as they walk through the train station. The music is unsettling, a far cry from what we have been listening to until now. The town looks unnatural: it's lit up artificially and seems so empty.

Then we learn there's a vampire.

And we are already convinced he's real.

Because we no longer seem to be in the world you and I know. We start to believe that the world of Layton is a world of fantasy. We're not in London anymore.

At Herzen Castle, our suspicions are constantly being confirmed: a mysterious carriage enters through the gate; the castle looms precariously over a pit, looking like some kind of giant bat; we are greeted by a butler who looks like a vampire himself and then we meet Anton who, despite everything we know saying he must be over 70 by now, looks like he is only in his late 20s.

And then there's the dream sequence, and then Anton captures us, claiming to want to feast on us. We are convinced we are firmly in the marvellous.

But then we meet Katia and the fog lifts. The castle crumbles into the pit, Anton ages before our eyes, the town fades as the sun rises, illuminating the artifice.

Our sense had fooled us: there was no magic box and no vampire. There was a scientific explanation all along. We are left in the Uncanny. We are reminded, by the town, the box's reputation and the miscommunication of the lovers, that life is often not what it seems and appearances can be deceiving: the objective truth is hard to distil, but it lies there behind all the illusions created by our own minds.

No other Layton game achieves the level of dread that this one does. While Lost Future may make you believe in time travel, plays on the idea of the Fantastic in a very clever way, it never reaches that same level of blood-chilling fear. As a child, I could not stand any place in Folsense because they all left me feeling disquieted.

Despite being an illusion, I don't think any other location in the series has reached beyond the screen and made me feel I was there, made me feel part of its world, the way Folsense did.

It is the atmosphere that makes this game. It is beautiful.

As an addendum, when I played this game I was so into it I made my own Elysian Box out of paper. The thing was, the game had such a sinister aura that I was actually afraid of the box I had made. I felt there was something evil about it, even just a depiction of it.

Of course, now I would look at the box and be reminded of the love of Sophia and Anton, but the point still stands that this game moved me as a child and it moves me as an adult. I love it deeply.

[roscvcins]

chinese personality test go: who's ur fave j.in y.ong ml and fl

[fred-the-dinosaur]

Also. Wear masks. Like. It won't solve everything about being recorded and this is absolutely a bigger problem. But if you're wearing a mask it does reduce the amount of footage your face is in via spyware like door bell cameras and these glasses, and tiktokers being antisocial paparazzi wannabes. And if everyone is wearing them, you're even harder to pick from the crowd.

It’s time.

[chessboredom]

Hey hey! Yeah ive noticed when it comes to actual toxic shadowvanilla (or even closer to cannon) they dont get in depth of it. It feels like theres something MISSING! Ackkkkkkk i am a beliver of them being mutually toxic to each other (especially tr) If TR did for some reason truly became a cookie of decite, it would not end well for either of them! Think about it, shadow milk wants someone who understands BUT how he wants Pure vanilla to be a cookie of decite. And and shadow milk so caught up in his joy didnt even notice the cannon betryal, then take that and up it with truthless recules. Tr would 100% be lying for his own gain, probably notice shadowmilks emotional weakness and twist it like a KNIFE! The roles would be reversed! Shadowmilk is the puppet now, yet he doesnt KNOW it! So blinded by his loneiess, and the need to have someone to understand him! That he allowed himself be used (quite ironic if you think about it) cuz PV normally is not one to show his emotions in his sprites (other than his staff and well shadowmilk meddling) AND HE ISNT A OWO MAN!!! Sick of the owo man treatment! TR is that but UPPED!! A cookie of decite who doesnt express his emotions, able to twist it however he likes. Like i can see this as a Sm thinks hes the puppet master, while being the puppet. Tr lets him think that!!! Its easier to maulipate someone if they think their in control. Its MESSY! (I cannot put into words how messed up this situation would be) shadow milk you FOOL! Youve created your own MONSTER! One who sees you as a means to a end, a PUPPET. False fluff, fapse happiness, false LOVE! What TR gives you is a LIE and even if theres truth in it YOU DONT KNOW IT, YOU COUNDNT EVEN TELL WHEN HE PULL OFF A LIE! (In cannon) YOU are now in the web of lies of your own creation, Tr is your spider!! Anyway uh thats a little bit of what this dymatic makes me go crazy over (i have more ideas....)

ANON YOU FUCKKING GET IT OH MY GOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS REAL!!!!!!! I LOVE TOXIC YAOIIII!!!!

I'm gonna fucking yap about PV characterization (AGAIN.) (I just love him so fucking much.)

Very Long LONG post. XP

I'm so happy right now because you UNDERSTAND that PV isn't just some fucking UwU bean guy. Like, this is why he's so fucking good at being a leader because of his EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE and that he DOESN'T get caught up by his emotions and focuses on the problems even if it's stressful. Like a scene in Odyssey where Dark Cacao gets MAD when Clotted Cream had the idea of wanting the powers of the Soul Jam but Pure Vanilla remained calm as ever(And all of the sprites used this scene have his eyes open. He is SERIOUS.) Out of the WHOLE Ancients, despite his youthful, brighter amd unchanging appearance (and that's why his Korean Va is a girl to convey his youthfulness) he is the nost mature because he tries to Understand the situation and not diving head first. He isn't a warrior, but he is skilled involving emotions BUT he keeps DOUBTING himself at first like "I can't believe I did that! But I'd do anything for my friends to protect them."

AND THEN SHADOW MILK COOKIE COMES IN!!!! Omg Shadow Milk Cookie, DO NOT unlock the full potential of that Skill Pure Vanilla- I man Truthless Recluse has(Emotional Intelligence😇 LEVEL UP! ➡️ Emotional Manipulation😈) that he made you look stupid by making YOU think that YOU are the one IN CONTROL!

LOOK AT HOW HE DOES IT BY MAKING SMILK THINK HE'S IN CONTROL!!

En got "You and I... were meant to be together."❌️ The shadowvanilla shippers are really feeding on this line omg.

Kr got "I guess I have to accept you... Or become a part lf you."✅️ THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO SEE!!!! EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AT IT FINEST BAYBEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! MAKE HIM THINK HE'S THE ONE PULLING YOUR STRINGS WHEN YOU'VE ALREADY SLITHERED YOUR WAY THROUGH HIS MASK!!!! UUUGGHH SMILK YOU MADE HIM BETTER THAN YOUUU

That's why I kept mentioning that PV is KIND, and not Nice and he is pretty much capable of incredible violence. Does anyone even REMEMBER PV having enough seeing his friends suffer when he was the last one standing that he tries TO KILL DARK ENCHANTRESS?? He does a lot of things that involves he SACRIFICING HIMSELF in the process. UGHHH!! FUCK!! PURE VANILLA COOKIE IS NOT NICE!! HE WANTED TO KILL SHADOW MILK COOKIE!!! Remember the "Crash Out" scene? That's his true emotions having throwing a suprise party. He had ENOUGH. Then the scenery changes that made him remember that he wasn't supposed to be a violent person. He's an angel! 😇🙏 Silly Vanillyyy, why would you say "I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!!" that isn't like you at all!! [sarcasm](He is literally holding back the rage every single fucking day of his life.)

As much as people love to draw PV hugging Smilk closing to the end of the Ep, he literally beats him up and people seem to forget that over thinking PV is nice Uwu It doesn't have to be this way Shadow Milk Cookie. Meanwhile in the Korean version, Awakened PV had a dialogue that went, "I like helping people but I had enough of your shit Shadow Milk Cookie.☺️" Pure Vanilla Cookie said calmly. (Link to the video I made with this line.) And then made shooting stars of Truth descend from the sky to attack him. He did say he wanted Smilk to be his friend, but he wouldn't back down in a fight anymore. That's why his Awakened "Compassionate" or "Comprehender"(in Korean) form finally showing his real role that he is a MAGIC TYPE all along who has been disguised under the role of a HEALER.

Anyway TR ♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤ SMILK. TOXIC YAOI REAL!! Two Cookies of Deceit. One emotional and one empty. Smilk may be the best at psychological warfare and torture, but he got himself an emotional manipulator. Tr easily takes advantage of his emotions because he acts like a child!! Just give him what he wants then he'll be satisfied in no time. Take it away from him, he's gonna have his tantrums again.

Noe I couldn't add more tbh. You explained it well and all I could do is smash the TRUE over and over.

Even with my interpretation of canon that Tr won't last long with Smilk because of the Friendship Gang and "the universe couldn't allow this! One of you turn "good" now!", I like to think the toxicity still lives through Awakened PV since he's both Truth AND Deceit. Like a bright star from light years away that's actually dead, he could still act as of he were still TR to make Smilk more paranoid and obsessed with him in a more fucked up secretive way that other people wouldn't even notice because PV is already good! He wouldn't do evil things again, right? Hehe.

Also sharing this twt post of Tr ripping Smilk's eye as well. 🥰🥰🥰

https://x.com/41n4v15/status/1896085874628087843

[flm-linkedfissures]

I’ve been genuinely insanely busy recently it’s not even funny so I’ve been struggling to have any time to finish the next update but I’m slowly getting there! Will most likely be out next week ^_^ meanwhile here’s a quick doodle of the hw trio if that’s anything hehe

I’ll get to answering asks after the next update is out!