#theme: objects (species)

[radiomogai]

[PT: Plushie. end PT]

[image description: three flags. The first and third flags are identical and not decorated, while the second flag has a symbol in the middle.

The stripes on each flag are in these colors: dark brown, dark orange, bright purple, pinkish purple, beige, light tan, beige, pinkish purple, bright purple, dark orange, and dark brown.

The symbol on the second flag is a purple button with a brown outline and yellowish thread. End ID]

IDs by @lovecore-muppet

PLUSHIE

A species flag for living plushies.

Not a gender, don't tag as such.

[statisticalcats2]

(CW: very vague talk of not-great gorilla welfare practices) -

Zookeeper Chad really is unable to post anything that makes anyone with above-average knowledge of gorilla welfare even slightly more optimistic about baby Kaius's future without very quickly following it up with more stuff that makes me want to punch him in the face

It's so weird to be living and witnessing a situation like

Zoo 1: "Here's our new public education media campaign promoting animal welfare! To our staff, please set an example and think about what you share on social media when it comes to wild/exotic animals." Zoo 2: "Here's our public media campaign where we do everything Zoo 1 says is detrimental to the welfare and protection of wild/exotic animals in this age of social media."

[aleksatia]

🍎Caleb – The Tea, the Rice, and Everything Between (NSFW)

🍎 Thank you so much for 100+ reblogs!

As promised — the cut scene is here, and it’s hot. Like multiple-times hot. No angst this time. No tears. Just heat, tension, and everything you’ve been waiting for.

Enjoy, sinners 💋

Original Story: Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Caleb.

CW/TW: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, emotionally charged sex, mild dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, praise, kitchen setting, bath/shower intimacy, established relationship, break-up/reunion themes, references to past emotional conflict

Pairing: Caleb x ex-wife!you Genre: Second-chance romance with heat and history. Exes-to-lovers (again), soft smut built on old ache. Domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, tenderness with teeth. Kitchen floor confessions, and sex like remembering. Summary: A blind date gone wrong — or exactly right. What begins as awkward reconnection turns into something slower, deeper: a return not just to each other, but to a shared language of touch, trust, and home. Where sex isn’t just sex — it’s communication. And staying. Word Count: 6.3K AN: This was a cut scene, and honestly, I’m terrified to post something this explicit in English — it’s not my first language. I’ve written smut before, but this time I was genuinely afraid it might ruin the tone of the main story. That’s why I’m relying on your feedback and comments more than ever — to understand how I can make intimate scenes better, and whether you’d want to see this kind of content in future stories, where the sex truly means something.

The kitchen was unfamiliar.

Not because it wasn’t yours — it was. Technically. Legally. But the way he moved in it, casual and precise, made you feel like the guest.

He stood barefoot on the cold tile, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, forearms dusted with fine scars and memory. He opened cabinets like he still remembered where everything was. Like no time had passed. Like his hands hadn’t once learned to forget the shape of your cupboard handles.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, voice low, too steady.

“You make it sound like a peace offering.”

“It’s not,” he replied, not missing a beat. “It’s a ritual. And we need a buffer.”

You didn’t argue.

The kettle clicked into place with a hiss and a red glow. The same model you’d bought when you still lived together. Sleek. Quiet. Fast. He filled it, turned it on, leaned back against the counter like the space belonged to him — or like he’d decided not to care whether it did.

You watched him like you were learning a new species.

There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and now it simply had nowhere to hide. His jaw worked — subtle, steady �� as if every moment in this room was a negotiation. With himself. With you.

“You still drink green?” he asked.

“Only if it’s the thyme kind.”

He nodded. Moved to the cabinet.

You saw it before he touched it: the tin. Still there.

Still labeled in your handwriting. Still slightly dented from the time it fell when you were arguing about your night shifts — how he said he missed you, and you said he loved control more than company. You remembered the crash. The silence after. The tea everywhere. You had cried then — not because of the fight, but because the scent reminded you of a week in Kyoto, of a night in a ryokan, of him.

Now, he held it like something sacred. Not romantic — sacred. Like an object recovered from the ruins of something holy.

He didn’t speak as he measured the leaves. The kettle began its low boil, and your breath caught as the room filled with steam and tension and scent.

Caleb glanced at you then — just once. Just enough.

“You always said tea was foreplay for the soul,” he murmured. “Slow. Precise. Intimate.”

You swallowed. The air was too warm. Too full of unsaid things. “And you always made it like you were loading a gun.”

He smiled. Barely. “Still am.”

He poured. No splash. No hesitation. Just a perfect arc of water over leaves, a ritual in slow motion. You watched the steam rise. It curled between you like a phantom limb — reaching, touching, remembering.

Two cups. No sugar. No honey. Just heat and bitterness and memory.

He handed you yours without a word. Your fingers brushed.

Electric.

Your spine straightened like it had heard a command. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The words you wanted weren’t words at all.

He leaned in, just enough to murmur against the shell of your ear:

“Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

The space between you went taut — a livewire stretched thin.

He didn’t move closer. Not physically. But the way he looked at you — steady, slow, eyes dark and locked — made it feel like the room tilted toward him. Like your body might step forward without your consent.

Your breath shallowed.

He lifted a hand — not reaching, just hovering at his side, like a promise left hanging. The kind you could lean into. Or break.

You didn’t touch it. But your fingers curled.

The distance between you hummed. Your chest rose once — deep, instinctual — and you swore he noticed. Like he felt it.

A beat passed. Then another.

And then — as if some invisible string snapped — you turned away. Not retreating. Just breathing. Moving. Giving yourself an anchor.

You crossed the room, slow and careful, and sat across from him.

Now the table was between you. But it felt like nothing at all.

The sun was low, casting long golden lines across the floor, slicing through the room like truth. You didn’t turn on the lights. Neither of you said it aloud, but it was mutual. Sacred.

Shadows suited you both.

The tea was hot. Thyme, heady and clean. You lifted the cup to your lips, slowly, deliberately — not for the ritual, but for the pause it allowed. A shield. A stall. The steam curled upward, catching the light in fleeting halos.

He mirrored you, his fingers curled around the ceramic just a breath tighter than necessary. You noticed that — the way he always held things as if they might vanish. Or combust.

You took a sip.

Too hot. But you didn’t flinch. You swallowed, slow, and he noticed. You felt it — in the brief silence after, in the way his eyes flicked down to your throat and then back up. It wasn’t a leer. It was worse. It was reverence, edged with hunger.

You felt your breath catch.

He watched you like he was cataloguing reactions. Heat. Shiver. Pulse. The involuntary things. The things you didn’t mean to offer, but did.

“Still drink too fast,” he said softly, voice just this side of amused.

“And you still watch like it’s a crime,” you countered, setting your cup down with a sound softer than your own heartbeat.

That earned a ghost of a smile. The dangerous kind. The one he used when he was testing how far he could push before you snapped.

The room smelled like tea and him.

You hated that you could still pick out his scent from the air. Not cologne — that had faded. But the skin-memory of him. Leather and salt. The way a shirt held heat. The phantom weight of him in a hallway, a room, a bed.

He shifted.

Just enough for his knee to brush yours under the table. Not hard. Not even purposeful. But your breath hitched anyway, and the contact lingered a second too long to be nothing.

Your fingers tightened around the cup.

Caleb didn’t comment. He just leaned back slightly, stretching — a move that pulled his shirt across his chest, arms flexed, body all muscle memory and controlled casualness.

You knew better.

This was performance. Precision. The way predators move when they’re circling.

You exhaled through your nose, slow. Collected.

“Still stretch like you want people to notice.”

He raised a brow. “And yet only you ever did.”

There it was. The shift.

You let it land. Let it sit between you like the steam from the cups, slow and rising.

His eyes caught yours — not sharp, not heated, but slow-burning. The kind of look that traced rather than pierced. Like he was remembering you with his pupils. Carving new versions of you in real time.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“What?”

“Looking at me like you’re starving.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.

“I’ve been starving,” he said, simply.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t a plea. It was a biological fact, laid bare like bone.

The sun moved lower.

Light sliced across the floor, catching the dust in the air — or maybe ash. Maybe some part of you had already started to burn.

You shifted slightly, and your leg brushed his again — this time unmistakable. This time yours. His jaw twitched.

Outside, a bird cried. Distant. The world, somehow, was still turning.

“You haven’t asked if I want this,” you said, not blinking.

“I don’t have to,” he said, just as soft. “You breathe differently when you do.”

You blinked once. That was all.

Then you picked up your cup again. Sipped. Let the thyme scald your mouth like penance.

The silence swelled. And it was good.

It was weighted and ripe and full of things with teeth. Things that growled low in the chest. Things that waited to be touched.

He reached out — not to you. To your cup. A finger trailing the rim after you set it down, brushing a spot still warm from your lips.

The motion was casual. The meaning wasn’t.

Your mouth went dry.

And still — still — you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You weren’t ready to break the spell. Not yet.

The air had teeth now. And it was breathing with you.

“Want more tea?” you asked.

You didn’t mean for your voice to sound like that. Too soft. Too deliberate.

But the words were already out, and your body was already halfway to the cabinet, like something inside you had already voted yes.

He didn’t answer.

You moved.

The cabinet clicked open with a familiar sound — that slight hitch in the hinge from years of use. Your fingers weren’t steady. You tried to hide it, but they trembled — just slightly — as you reached inside.

You moved a jar. Then another. Something metal clinked softly. Your hand brushed a tin of loose thyme, nudged a spice grinder. You weren’t really looking — not at first. Just buying yourself seconds. Trying to breathe through the static building under your skin.

Finally, your fingertips found the edge of the tea tin — cool metal, familiar weight — and curled around it.

The weight of the moment settled lightly across your shoulders. But it was growing. And you hadn’t even turned around yet.

Then — you felt him. Behind you.

No sound. No warning. Just the heat of him. The presence.

His chest hovered a breath away from your spine. Not touching — not yet — but so close you could feel the current of his breath ripple the fine hairs at your nape. And then — he moved.

A single hand slid around your waist, gliding low and sure — not possessive, not greedy.

Just anchoring.

His other hand came up beside yours, fingers brushing over yours as they both closed around the tea tin — steady, intentional.

You both held it for a moment. His thumb grazed the side of your hand, and the touch was light, but it hit like a jolt.

Then, without a word, he guided your movements — the rhythm slow, precise, like teaching a forgotten dance.

You opened the lid together. The scent of thyme rose instantly — earthy, dry, sharp in the back of your throat.

His fingers dipped in first, then yours. He didn’t let go — only moved with you, hand over hand, warm against your skin. 

Together, you scooped the leaves. Together, you dropped them into the teapot — soft rustle, metal click, heat behind your sternum.

He reached for the kettle, still standing behind you, close. Too close.

He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“If your hands keep shaking like that,” he murmured, voice like heat sliding down your spine, “you’re gonna drop the whole damn thing.”

His breath skimmed your skin.

“You always did fall apart in the quiet moments.”

You tried to respond. A sound caught in your throat — something between a breath and a whimper — and it stuttered out, betraying you.

That was when his second hand moved.

Up your spine. Slow.

Palm flat, gliding with unbearable care, tracing every vertebra like reading braille — and then curling gently around the back of your neck. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just claiming.

Your body tightened in response. Knees locked. Fingertips trembled.

He pressed in, finally — chest to back, hips aligned, his breath warm at your temple as his hand guided yours to tilt the kettle.

Water flowed. The hiss of the pour filled the room like breath. Steam rose between you

Steady. 

But your body — it wasn’t. Your shoulders jerked slightly with each breath, each phantom trail of his mouth near your skin. Your hand twitched, betraying you again. A spasm of want.

A soft clatter overhead.

And then —

crash.

The jar of rice tipped from the top shelf, hit the counter with a sickening grace, and burst — a spray of white scattering across the floor like bones or snow or silence breaking.

You gasped, instinctively.

And that’s when his hand — the one at your nape — clenched.

Not hard. But firm.

The kind of grip that made your lungs freeze mid-inhale. That made your throat work around the air like it was thick with heat. His fingers laced into your hair — not rough, not cruel — just decisive. Unmistakable.

He tilted your head back. Slow. Unrelenting.

And then—

His mouth found your skin.

Not lips. Not a kiss.

Mouth. Open. Hungry.

Along the curve of your cheek. Down to your jaw.

Your pulse jumped beneath his tongue when it hit the hollow of your neck. His breath was wet and warm and anchored, like he was planting a flag with every inch of contact. Claiming space that once was his and never stopped being.

Your hands had no grace left. One flew to the edge of the counter — the other clawed back, found his wrist, fingers digging into his skin. Hard.

Not to stop him.

To feel him. To mark him.

His other hand shifted — lower now — palm pressing flat to your belly, then clenching, dragging you into him, spine to chest, making it absolutely, unforgivably clear just how gone he already was.

You whimpered. This time you didn’t hide it.

It slipped out, molten and trembling, and you felt his grip tighten in response — not enough to bruise, but just enough to make you feel kept.

The room pulsed.

Your breath broke.

And still, he didn’t speak. Because he didn’t have to.

The rice lay scattered on the floor like shattered promises. Your breath fogged the inside of your chest like a storm you’d stopped outrunning. And his mouth — god, his mouth — was still at your throat.

Poised. Lingering. Like he hadn’t even started yet.

He only let go of your neck to turn you around — swift, certain, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you flush against him. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours, open, hot, demanding.

No teasing now.

His tongue pushed past your lips like he owned the space, like he’d been dying to taste you for years, and you let him — moaning into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling, clutching, needing.

You wanted him close enough to hurt.

He lifted you, didn’t ask, didn’t warn. Just picked you up by the thighs and laid you down onto the kitchen floor — right where the rice had scattered. Cold tile met your back, shocking at first, but it didn’t matter — not with him above you, between your legs, kneeling, eyes so dark they barely looked human.

He tore your shirt open — buttons flying. No ceremony. Just raw, frantic need.

The leather corset underneath was still on — tight, structured, hugging every breath out of you.

His eyes dragged over it like it was the only thing keeping him sane. And maybe it was.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You grinned, breathless. “Didn’t expect to come home with company.”

His mouth found your nipple instantly — no hesitation, no teasing prelude, just need.

But once there, he slowed.

His tongue drew slow, deliberate circles around the stiffened peak — not touching it directly at first, just building heat, pressure, anticipation. His breath ghosted over the damp skin between passes, and your back arched, seeking more.

Then he closed his lips around you — warm, wet, and steady — sucking just hard enough to make your breath hitch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him there, gasping as his tongue flicked rapidly, then flattened, then flicked again.

You moaned when his teeth grazed you — just a scrape, a warning. Enough to make your hips jerk up against him involuntarily.

And he felt it.

He grunted low in his throat, hand sliding up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing the second nipple with maddening gentleness — then a sudden pinch. Sharp, quick, perfect.

You cried out, biting your lip hard to catch the sound.

He switched sides without a word, mouth latching onto the other nipple like he owned it. This time he bit first — just a nip, followed by a sweep of tongue, a kiss, a suck that made your thighs clench and your breath break into fragments.

You were grinding against him now, fully clothed from the waist down, but soaking through. Desperate.

“Caleb,” you breathed, voice barely holding together. 

His mouth didn’t stop. His hands didn’t stop.

He was unraveling you one nipple at a time, with patience, with precision, with a hunger that had waited too long.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin, “you still make the same sound when you’re about to come.”

“Keep going,” you panted, “and you’ll hear it again.”

He undid your leather pants with one hand — rough, practiced, fingers tugging at the tight laces, then the zipper. You lifted your hips without being asked, breath catching as the cool air met your skin.

The leather peeled off your thighs slowly, sticking where your sweat had slicked the inside, and he paused, looking down — drinking you in.

Lacy black panties. Damp. Barely holding on.

He let out a low, almost reverent whistle.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured, voice thick. “Even your underwear wants an audience.”

You laughed, breathless. “You’re one to talk. You look like you just walked off the set of Colonel Kink.”

He smirked. “I was gonna say we looked like a porn parody of Mr. & Mrs. Smith, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Then — the mood shifted. The heat didn’t go anywhere, but it sharpened.

His hands slid up your thighs again — palms flat, slow, thumbs stroking the insides where the skin was most sensitive. He sank to his knees without breaking eye contact, and you felt your breath stall completely.

“Caleb…”

“I’ve missed this,” he said, voice low, honest, almost reverent. “The way you smell when you want me. The way you taste when you’re soaked through your pretty little lace.”

You moaned, hips twitching as his breath hit your core through the damp fabric. He leaned in — pressed his face right against you — and inhaled.

Long. Deep. Like it centered him.

You gasped, one hand flying back to brace on the counter behind you. The other slid into his hair, tight.

Then —

His teeth caught the edge of your panties. He didn’t use his hands. Just his mouth. Slow, deliberate tugs — the lace catching on your hips, your thighs, your knees, until it fell away entirely.

You were shaking.

He didn’t speak.

He kissed the inside of your thigh — once, twice — then let his lips trail up, open, soft, worshipful.

Then his fingers joined in.

Two, sliding through your folds, slow and steady, spreading your slick as his mouth hovered just above you.

You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch.

“Still so responsive,” he murmured, thumb circling your clit with maddening patience. “You always were. Every twitch. Every breath. I could map you blind.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Lips sealing around your clit. Tongue flicking, then flattening, then dragging up through your folds with obscene precision. He moaned against you, the sound vibrating into your skin, and your knees nearly gave out.

His fingers slid inside — two at once — curling just right.

You cried out, legs trembling, gripping his hair like a lifeline as he devoured you with slow, skilled, devastating intent.

Not rushing. Not teasing. Just giving.

Giving you everything.

His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers — curling inside you, pressing into that spot that made you whimper every time he found it. And he kept finding it. Over and over.

Your thighs started to shake. Your breath turned ragged. Every muscle in your abdomen coiled tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Caleb,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked. “Caleb, I—”

“I know,” he murmured against you. “Don’t fight it.”

And then he flattened his tongue, sucked your clit into his mouth at the exact moment he thrust his fingers deeper — curling, pressing, relentless.

You broke.

Your whole body seized. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as the orgasm tore through you like a wave too big to ride.

And then — you gushed.

Hot, sudden, uncontrollable.

Your release poured over his hand, his wrist, his mouth — and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He kept licking. Kept sucking. His fingers didn’t let up, coaxing you through every spasm, every twitch, every drop.

You tried to pull away — overwhelmed, oversensitive — but he gripped your hips, holding you there as he swallowed everything you gave him.

When you finally collapsed back against the floor, boneless and shaking, he pulled back just enough to breathe.

His mouth glistened. So did his chin.

And his eyes — fuck, his eyes — were dark. Wild. Unhinged.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked up at you.

“You squirted for me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You never used to—”

“I couldn’t,” you whispered, chest heaving. “Not like this. Not until now.”

That broke something in him.

He growled — actually growled — and shoved his own pants down, just enough, cock springing free.

Thick. Hard. Already leaking.

You stared — couldn’t help it — and bit your lip.

He didn’t waste time.

He surged up, caught your mouth in a desperate, wet kiss, and growled into it like he’d explode if he didn’t get inside you right fucking now.

One hand on your thigh, the other lining himself up, he ran the head of his cock along your folds — slow, deliberate, reverent — letting the slick heat of your release coat him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re still dripping for me.” His voice was raw, full of awe and hunger all at once. “You don’t even know what that does to me.”

You moaned, desperate. “Please.”

He didn’t ask again.

He pushed in with one brutal, beautiful thrust — thick stretch, sudden fullness, and your head slammed back against the tile with a moan that echoed off the cabinets.

You were so ready for him — still pulsing from release, still wet and open — and he filled you perfectly. Like he’d been made for this. For you.

“God—” he hissed. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight.”

He pulled out halfway, then slammed in again, harder — and this time, you cried out again. Not from pain. Not from relief.

From the shockwave of it.

From the way his cock hit deeper than his fingers ever could. From the sudden ache of fullness that wasn’t too much — just perfect. Every thrust dragged against oversensitive nerves, still trembling from the last orgasm, and sparked new heat — sharper, lower, hungrier.

Your body clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go. Like it knew this shape. Like it had missed the stretch, the press, the claim of him moving inside.

He felt it.

And you felt him feel it — in the way his hands gripped harder, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way he buried himself deeper, groaning your name like a man being remade from the inside out.

His pace quickened, relentless — no buildup, no mercy — just a driving, desperate rhythm that spoke every word his mouth couldn’t.

He fucked you like he was trying to erase every other man, every ghost, every moment you’d spent apart.

Your back arched. Your heels dug into his ass. Nails raked down his back as he pistoned into you, his dog tags swinging between you with every thrust — cold metal brushing your chest.

You caught them between your lips, sucked them in with a soft moan — and he growled at the sight.

Every thrust slammed your hips into the floor, scattering grains of rice that stuck to your skin like sparks from the fire you’d started.

You were panting, gasping, clawing — but you still wanted more.

“Harder,” you begged. “Fuck — Caleb, harder.”

He snarled, grabbed both your thighs, and bent them up toward your chest, folding you open.

And then he really fucked you. Deep. Rough. Unrelenting.

You felt every inch. Every pulse. His pelvis slammed into your clit with each thrust, sending lightning through your body.

You were close again. So close it hurt.

“I can feel you clenching,” he groaned, eyes locked on yours. “You gonna come on my cock? Right here, on the fucking kitchen floor?”

You nodded — couldn’t speak — hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails biting deep.

“Say it,” he demanded, breath ragged. “Say who’s fucking you like this.”

“You,” you choked. “You are.”

“Louder.”

“You are! Caleb — fuck, I’m—”

Your orgasm hit like a detonation — white-hot, blinding, body convulsing beneath him as your scream tore from your throat. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just fucked you through it, driving deeper, chasing his own end.

And then — with a low, vicious growl — he spilled into you, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside as he came with a force that made your thighs shake.

He collapsed over you, panting, body heavy and warm.

The only sound in the room was your breathing. Intertwined. Labored. Wild.

The floor was a mess — scattered rice, your clothes, his pants around his thighs.

But neither of you moved.

His forehead pressed to yours. His hand found your chest — palm over your racing heart — and just stayed there.

You didn’t say a word. There was nothing left to say.

Only this. Only you, full of him, aching and open and alive.

Still drunk on the wreckage of it all.

His breath was still uneven when he moved — slow, deliberate, like your body was made of something breakable. He slipped his arms beneath you, palms warm under your thighs and back, and lifted you off the tile with a quiet grunt.

You didn’t protest.

You curled into him like muscle memory, like gravity, arms looping around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his temple. He was still inside you — thick, warm, softening but not gone — and you gasped as the movement made everything inside shift.

“Jesus,” you muttered, breath catching. “There’s so much... I can’t hold it all.”

He laughed against your cheek — low, hoarse, completely wrecked.

“Well,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “you did say you were ready to be filled.”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you’re clinging to me like I’m the last piece of furniture on a sinking ship.”

“Shut up,” you breathed, nuzzling into his neck. “You feel like home.”

He eased himself back against the cabinets, still holding you, your legs wrapped around his waist, bodies impossibly close. One of his hands came up to cradle your face — fingers tracing your cheekbone, your temple, your jaw — as if checking that you were real. That this was real.

You kissed him softly. Not with urgency this time. Just presence.

It tasted like salt and breath and belonging.

His thumb swept across your bottom lip. Yours followed the line of his collarbone, the dip of his throat, the stubble on his jaw. You both moved like you had all the time in the world — like the world outside didn’t exist.

Only the kitchen. Only the smell of tea. Only the aftershock still pulsing between your thighs.

“You still shake a little after,” he whispered against your lips. “Always loved that.”

You huffed a breath. “I’m trying to have a moment here, not give you a performance review.”

He grinned, forehead pressed to yours. “You passed.”

Then his hips shifted slightly, just enough for his cock to nudge deeper again — still thick, still present — and you shivered.

“…Are you—?”

You leaned back, just enough to glance between your bodies. Then raised a brow.

“Seriously?” you asked. “Already?”

He gave a slow, sheepish smile. “I mean… you’re still wrapped around me. What’d you expect?”

You tilted your head, faux innocent. “Self-control?”

He scoffed. “We’re past that.”

And god — he was right.

Because even now, you could feel him swelling again, twitching back to life inside you, warmth pooling low in your belly as your body responded without permission. You clenched around him — slowly, deliberately — and watched his jaw tighten.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warned, voice already lower, darker.

You smirked. “I’m not the one starting anything. You’re the one growing like a goddamn resurrection spell.”

He laughed — breathless, wrecked — and kissed you again. Deeper this time. Tongue slow and hungry, hands sliding over your back, your ass, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide what to hold onto first.

You felt the shift again. The air. The way everything started to crackle. Like the storm had only paused. Like it was about to break again — and you were both ready.

You shifted your hips, still seated on him, and he let out a low, strangled breath — head falling back against the cabinet with a quiet thud.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned. “You’re still so tight.”

You placed your palms on his chest, steadying yourself, and rolled your hips once — slow, languid, letting his cock slide deeper inside you inch by inch. You felt every ridge, every twitch, every pulse.

And he felt everything.

His hands gripped your waist — not rough, but grounding. His eyes locked to yours, pupils blown wide, reverent.

This wasn’t desperation anymore. It was worship.

You started to move. Hips swaying in slow, controlled circles, grinding down on him, letting the heat build again — not like fire this time, but like lava. Deep. Slow. Irresistible.

His hands traveled up your sides, over your ribs, to your breasts — thumbs brushing your nipples with just enough pressure to make your head tilt back, lips part.

“You ride me like you own me,” he murmured.

“I do,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You let me.”

“I’d let you do anything.”

He shifted under you, pulling you closer, burying his face in your neck. His lips grazed your collarbone, your jaw, your throat — slow, tasting, not rushing. His cock throbbed inside you every time you clenched, and you could feel how hard he was trying to hold on.

But you didn’t want him to.

You rolled your hips forward — grinding down just right, pressing your clit against the base of him — and both of you gasped.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, forehead pressing to his. “I missed this. I missed you.”

His hands moved to your ass, squeezing, guiding your rhythm — not controlling it, just keeping pace with your body, your want.

Your mouths met again. Open. Deep. Wet. Tongues sliding, lips sucking, breathing into each other like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room unless you shared it.

“I’m close,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to stop. I want to feel this.”

“Then don’t stop,” he said, voice shaking. “Come on me. Stay on me.”

You did.

You kept moving — long, grinding thrusts, pressure building until it was everywhere — your spine, your chest, your teeth.

Your orgasm came slower this time, but deeper — wave after wave rolling through you as your body shook around him, clenching, holding, welcoming.

You cried out his name, over and over, lips pressed to his mouth, hips jerking with each aftershock.

And he was right there with you.

He gripped your hips hard, fucked up into you twice — deep, sharp thrusts — then groaned deep in his chest as he spilled inside you again, heat blooming between your thighs as his body locked and trembled beneath yours.

But you didn’t let go. Neither of you did.

You stayed wrapped around him — arms tight around his neck, forehead to forehead, bodies still joined, breathing in sync, like something sacred had just been rebuilt between your ribs.

His hands stroked your back. Yours rested over his heart.

No words. Just warmth. Just home.

Then —

A soft crinkle beneath your ankle. Another near your knee. Something tiny, hard.

You both froze.

“…is that rice?” you murmured.

He huffed out a breath, low and amused. “We really fucked right on top of dinner.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “I swear to god, if I find a grain inside me—”

“I’m already praying to Saint Basmati,” he grinned. “Patron of questionable kitchen choices.”

You smacked his arm, still laughing. “Okay, okay. Up. Before the floor gets any ideas.”

He eased you off his lap carefully, his hands lingering as you slid away — and even though he was softening inside you, he groaned like letting go physically cost him something.

You stood, legs a little shaky, wincing as you looked around. The scene was chaos: clothes scattered, skin marked, rice everywhere.

And between your thighs, a slow, unmistakable trickle of cum slid down your inner thigh — warm, sticky, impossible to ignore.

You pressed your legs together out of instinct, but it didn’t help. He’d filled you too much. You were still leaking.

He whistled under his breath. “We might need a priest.”

“We need a vacuum,” you muttered, glancing at the rice field around you.

He chuckled, about to respond — and then his eyes drifted downward.

Paused.

Saw the mess between your thighs. The way it glistened. Trailed down your leg. His expression changed — sharp and slow, heat blooming under the amusement.

He met your eyes again — darker now.

“No,” he said, voice lower. “We need a shower.”

You didn’t argue. Not this time.

He picked you up again — less out of need, more out of want. Because he could. Because you let him. Because, despite everything, it felt good to be carried by someone who knew the shape of you from memory.

The bathroom was warm. Quiet. Your reflection in the mirror looked like another version of you — hair wild, skin flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes too full to lie.

The water came first — steam curling like new breath around you both. He reached for the soap, worked it into his hands, and began with your shoulders.

No rush.

His palms slid over your skin slowly — lathering, rinsing, touching. Not to arouse. Not this time.

Just to care.

You returned the favor — ran your hands over his chest, his arms, his back, fingers smoothing over scars you hadn’t seen in months. He watched you. Like he needed to memorize your hands again.

And then —

You felt him.

Hard again. Pressing against your thigh as his hands moved over your stomach.

You looked down. Then back up.

He raised a brow, unashamed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, biting your lip.

He smirked. “You’re the one rubbing soap all over me. Don’t blame me for biology.”

You chuckled — heart full, body warm — and stepped closer, resting your hand over his chest, right above the beat you trusted more than your own.

“If you’re really ready,” you said quietly, “we can move to the bedroom.”

The implication was clear. And not just about sex.

He saw it. Heard it. Understood.

And didn’t hesitate.

Later —

It was dark. But you didn’t sleep.

You lay tangled together beneath clean sheets, his chest your pillow, his heartbeat your lullaby. One of your hands rested on his stomach, fingers absently playing with his. His other hand threaded through your hair slowly, rhythmically, like he was still washing the day out of it.

The room smelled like skin and steam and thyme. And maybe something new. Or maybe something very, very old.

You didn’t look at him when you asked.

“What does this mean?” your voice was small. Honest. “Are we… together?”

He was silent for a moment. But not because he didn’t have the words.

“I don’t know if we ever weren’t,” he said softly. “Not in my heart. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought I should walk away forever… there was still a thread. Still you.”

You nodded. Bit your lip.

“I get that now,” you whispered. “But I didn’t back then.”

He waited.

You took a breath.

“I think I resented you for how natural it all was. We never really dated. Never had that honeymoon phase. No first kiss under streetlamps or awkward movie nights. No butterflies before a date. Just… us. We grew up together. Shared everything. You saw me cry over my math test, puke with the flu, and have a full-blown breakdown when I didn’t get cast as Juliet in sophomore year.”

You paused, voice thickening.

“I never had to impress you. Never had to put on makeup or play a part. And for a long time, I thought I missed something important. Like I skipped some great adventure.”

He stayed quiet. Let you speak.

“But after you left,” you whispered, “and I tried the whole thing — dating, new people, new experiences — I realized something. None of it mattered. Not without this. Not without you.”

Your fingers tightened slightly in his.

“I don’t need butterflies. I don’t need fireworks. I just need someone who sees me. All of me. And still stays. And god, Caleb, you’re the only man who’s ever done that.”

You finally looked up. Met his eyes in the dark.

“I’m sure now,” you said. “I’m not scared. I don’t need anyone else. You’re it. You’ve always been it.”

He looked at you like you’d just spoken the one truth he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. Then he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you — slow, deep, burning.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I always knew,” he said. “And if all the pain, all the time apart — if all of that was the cost for you to know it too… then it was worth every second.”

You kissed him again, and it wasn’t soft this time. It was full of every promise you hadn’t dared make before.

He rolled you beneath him, slowly, tenderly, and your legs opened for him like instinct. Like welcome. Like forever.

And when he slid into you again — this time in the dark, in the warmth, in the quiet — it didn’t feel like fucking.

It felt like staying. Like choosing.

And when you came, clinging to him, whispering his name into his skin like a prayer — you knew this wasn’t a return.

It was a beginning. And god, it was home.

[orteil42]

some undifferentiated thoughts about my Starfield playthrough as i have them. i am a game developer with a strong interest in procedural generation and i've enjoyed a bunch of other bethesda games so this might get pretty mean sorry

(this is a long one)

starfield dialogue is already exhausting me "oh you must've been living under a moon rock ;)" get it! because they're in space! this would've been too corny for the Jetsons

there's a kind of cheap dusting of space theme over everything. the food isn't salmon but alien salmon. it's not seaweed but alien seaweed. cooking alien stir-fry. come on

cannot get over how clumsily the theming is handled. books, board games, weapon names revolve heavily around space. these people have been living on alien planets for hundreds of years yet have this unending sense of novelty about it. the game takes itself completely seriously but feels like it's attempting to parody itself

people's EYEBALLS are CLIPPING THROUGH THEIR EYELIDS

a woman is speaking to me in french. her accent is about as believable as her haircut

these are some of the worst reflection maps i've ever seen

next to nothing is interactive. you can sit in chairs and sleep in beds and that is about it. can't even drink from people's toilets. disgraceful

game helpfully crashes 5 seconds after i decide i should get some sleep. very handy!

my character has not said a single thing since i started playing. not one peep. this is an unmitigated improvement over Fallout 4 i'm so glad honestly

the more i poke around the big city the more the NPC quips feel like something out of gen-1 pokemon. can't get enough of this coffee :) this city is where it's at :) spacesuits are comfy and easy to wear

very strange sense of altered reality from the quest dialogue too. has anyone at bethesda met a person before? i move on to some mission that has me scanning wildlife on a faraway planet hoping this will, somehow, feel less alien than human conversation

just as with No Man's Sky, every planet is uniformly dotted with equidistantly-placed points of interest that you slowly make your way to (no vehicles besides your jetpack) which always turn out to be some cave or building identical to those you've cleared before

unlike with No Man's Sky, the seamless exploration is faked and the biodiversity is nil. you do get an impressive amount of raw loading screens however

the prefab bases and power stations found everywhere on planets seem to have very sparse, very specific slots for spawning consumables, which results in encountering some giant industrial installation in the middle of nowhere with, i don't know, a loaf of whole-grain sandwich bread just casually sitting next to it all proper. there is no breathable atmosphere here. who is eating this

planetary traversal is a CHORE. i am saying this as someone who loved Death Stranding

heinous "hold to confirm" buttons sprinkled in various flow-breaking places throughout the interface

enemy AI is abominable. nobody is pathing their way to get my ass. "must've been the wind" taken to the next level. an infant playing peekaboo has more object permanence

hoisting yourself up on ledges when jumping is…nice

companions randomly nowhere to be found. persists through multiple fast-travels and loading screens until, just as randomly, they pop back up

storage space is now limited! unlike in Fallout 4 and virtually every other bethesda game, your containers now hold a finite item capacity. god forbid we let the player have fun

baffling inventory UI. i imagine there's a mod out there that completely overhauls it the way SkyUI did for Skyrim. this should not be needed! how are your UIs getting worse a decade later!

scanning the precious few species inhabiting some dusty planet; one of them is this arching red root i've already seen several times before. my job done in this biome, i travel (read: teleport with a loading screen) to the polar region to find some other species. the first one i catalogue is the exact same red root again but this time it's named "boreas root" todd howard is a genius

some alien horror comes at me full fangs out. i hop on a pebble. obscenely, i am safe

procedural terrain generation beyond dull, impossibly unimaginative. these people have not had one critical thought on what makes a procedural world interesting. beginning to feel validated in my belief that only i should be trusted with proc gen. along with perhaps tarn adams

jokes aside this is making me feel genuinely insane. there have been excellent procedural generation techniques that produce compelling explorable maps for decades now. bethesda absolutely has the budget and know-how to do miles better than this yet somehow they just…do not? the same way Pokemon has decided to just no longer bother with their mainline games despite being the highest-grossing media franchise in history? hello? what is for real going on

some of the most cynical breadcrumbing i've seen in years. approaching some random cave and this person in space gear, who in the vast immensity of the infinite cosmos just happens to be snapping pictures right here, tells me more-or-less verbatim "if you like this place, you should see this other place" [other random cave has been added to your map.]

i do not like how good this makes No Man's Sky's gameplay look. it depresses me how much i have to hand it to No Man's Sky for at least not fucking up this bad. please stop making me wish i was playing No Man's Sky instead this is grotesque

i think i've exhausted my interest and patience for this game at the moment. i'll get back to the main story at some point and try some other systems ie. crafting and base-building to see if there's any engagement to be found but so far, my god. my god

[peaterookie]

I made some designs of the lupgang if they were in the world of kirby, and attempted to draw them in the style of the KSSU's key artwork!

More tidbits about their story and design will be revealed after I show the art

beware it is very long

LUPIN DEE THIRD

Lupin, or Lupin Dee Third as I call this character, is a Key Dee, a class of Waddle Dees you commonly see in KRTDL carrying a key as part of a puzzle. The reason I chose this guy over the typical Waddle Dee is because he has the monki-est design out of all dees, and I find that the fact it holds a key for any gate is pretty fitting for Lupin since he can surpass any challenges, no matter how impossible it seems.

His jacket color can be any of the ones in canon, but I chose green to be the main color he sports since it's a good reflection of the Kirby series. A lot of the locations are taken from nature and the peaceful and joyful themes lends the green jacket fitting very nicely. Red is too much of an aggressive color, while pink and blue don't seem as fitting either. Also, I wanted the jacket to share the same color as the money in the illustration, it's much less work if there's less color...!

Lupin Dee Third is a famous thief that travels across different planets to steal whatever he pleases. Often it is extremely valuable objects belonging to very pretigious or powerful people, which makes him become one of the most wanted criminals in Gamble Galaxy. He stores all of the things he's stolen in a secret place where nobody has found yet.

His combat capabilities is not much to be desired, so he relies heavily on the other members of his team to fight for him. However, he has the special ability to take an ability from another person and use it himself. It is not to the extent of Kirby's ability where he can use it as long as he likes and has full mastery over it, but it comes in the form of short bursts such as pouring a stream of water using the Water ability, or propelling himself into the air for a short moment with the Jet ability. He has an arsenal of these abilities kept in his backpockets at all times, so whenever you think you've cornered him, he always has a last minute surprise for you.

MR. DOOMENSION

Jigen, or Mr. Doomension, is a Waddle Doo with a goofy beard. There wasn't much thought behind my decision to make him a Doo iirc, I saw that it would fit to have him be a species that is a counterpart of Lupin's, since in canon they have pretty similar designs. The one eye makes him more menacing and mysterious anyway so it kinda just works lol

Since I wanted his body to be black, his clothes had to be a different color to appear striking. Thus, I've chosen blue, since its a rightfully common color to use for Jigen, and the accent as orange, the complimentary color for blue. Lastly, the shoes being black and shiny makes him appear much more professional and cool than Lupin, which he totally is.

Mr. Doomension primarily fights with his gun instead of using his eyes to fire his beams. He's always had an affinity to them when he was young, as he claims it allows him to focus and fire more accurate and powerful shots. Though he does load bullets in them, he is able to channel his beams through these guns as well. I'd like to believe that Waddle Doos can channel their beams through other body parts or objects (like Kirby) but choose to use their eyes since it's the biggest part of their body, thus more convenient. Mr. Doomension is built different however.

Much like in canon, he first met Lupin during an attempt to assassinate him for money. In Lupin fashion he ends up befriending the person that tried to kill him and they became close partners in crime, with Jigen always backing him up even in the toughest situations.

COMET RONIN / GOEMON

Goemon Ishikawa's kirby design has multiple names. He is commonly referred to as the Comet Ronin, since a famous story told of him cutting a giant comet into pieces to save a town. His real name is Goemon, but few know this name- or anything about him for that matter. He travels alone from town to town, fully cloaked so no one can see his face, requests food and shelter for the night, and disappears the next day. It was like that for years, until Lupin stole something that caught his eye.

---

ayeee its goemon time. He has two versions of his design because he is that cool.

When first thinking of concepts, I knew I wanted to design him in a way where he is able to resemble one of Kirby's multiple knight characters, but also still be able to look like his friendly and cute manga design. I decided to lean much more into his ninja-ronin-like inspirations, since the kirby series very often likes to be straightforward with their designs. I gave him the straw hat that he wore in Fuma Conspiracy to cover his head, and made his hakama into a cape that he can use to cover the bottom half of his body. The rest are typical japanese stuff. The artwork I drew for his cloaked form tries make him look as imposing and mysterious as possible. You know nothing about him, you have no idea what he is capable of.

---

Lupin recently stole another priced object: The Ryusei, a sword forged by meteorites, an heirloom from a family long forgotten from history. It seems like an ordinary sword at first sight, but if a member from the family wield it, they would unlock the power to cut anything. It ended up being sealed away due to the fear of that power being end up in the wrong hands. Goemon's life mission was to reclaim that sword for his family for the greater good, and now that blasted thief has gotten it!!! From then on Lupin and Doomension were always being chased by the Comet Ronin for reasons completely unknown for them, and eventually the ronin succeeds in taking back that sword, along with taking out the thieves for good... or did he?

The two thieves thankfully survived, but their car did not!! It was sliced in half by the ronin, and now they will be the one coming to him with vengeance. Taking the opportunity to take back the sword while Goemon's guard is down, the two get to see his real face and both sides fight it out, unbridled with anger. Thankfully after pummeling each other with their little nubs, they talk it out and come to an understanding. Goemon gets his sword back and the gang gets some money to repair their car, and they become friends yayyyyy

---

So for Goemon's real form, I decided to have his body purple to match the color of Ninja Kirby from KSSU. His hair is a little nod to Discarded Character-kun (the hairball MP draws), and the eyes are much different than the usual type you see from puffball characters. I wanted him to still appear youthful and cute but have a determined look in his eyes, so I used the eyes that Bronto Burt and Burnin Leo has to better show that.

Also, he is supposed to have white wings with black tipped feather, but I sorta forgot to draw that so I might upload future sketches that go further into little details about their designs, where I'll draw his wings then.

If you read the entire thing- that's fucking wild dude this is so long, but thank you!!! and I hope you enjoyed it!! byebye

[animeyanderelover]

Meruem?:>

Last request from the little event. Thanks s lot, I had fun♥.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, isolation

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59

Quick, little Hc's

​👑​Meruem is the King of his species,a being who is aware of his superior status. However, as his partner and lover you have the option of taking a sliver of his power and using it to benefit yourself though only if he approves of it. Little bit of power that allows you to wield is for example to design the interior of the castle he inhabits to your liking or choosing different decorations like paintings or plants. To him it honestly doesn't matter how silly you may end up making the interior look as long as he knows that it makes you happy. Shaiapouf in particular is quick to lament about the choices you make only to be very swiftly silenced by Meruem who clarifies it to his royal servant that your decision is his decision and for that the butterfly should just shut up and obey. Different options to entertain yourself are given to you as well as you can requests for books or games that you would like to keep. Especially objects of personal interest and entertainment are something he likes to indulge in as well in order to understand better what your preference and likings are. That's why he ends up reading your books together with you, his chin resting on your shoulder whilst you sit on his lap.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

"Queer-coding" is only useful for a narrow range of media and it'd be great if we could stop using it for literally everything

Here's my problem with it:

The term originated to discuss negative media depictions of cultural stereotypes for LGBTQ people in the United States. It is inherently tied to the conditions of media censorship at play in the USA during the 1900s, with the Hays Code restricting depictions of anything it deemed "immoral."

Now, for whatever reason, people are using it to refer to literally anything they see as "kind of gay."

The term begins with the premise that making the audience see the character as queer is the creator's explicit intention. The creator knows the stereotype, you know the stereotype, so they are using the stereotype to convey to you something they can't say outright.

However, you can see how this goes awry, right?

The second we cross language, cultural, or even generational lines, this gets messy.

What traits are deemed queer? What behaviors or characteristics are seen as gay? The reality is this is a huge spectrum, and every culture has a different relationship with queerness in its history. For that matter, every nation has its own unique issues with censorship. A viewer from the USA may interpret a Japanese character as exhibiting stereotypically gay characteristics, but does that mean the Japanese creator intended it to be taken that way?

But then, if we try to account for what stereotypes Japanese media might use for queer characters to ascertain what the Japanese creator might have intended, we arrive at the same dead-end: the implication that queerness is only really portrayed via (usually negative) stereotypes.

This suggests that if media does not contain enough "clues" to imply a character is queer to the broadest possible audience, a queer reading of their story is out of the question. "Queer-coding" is treated as a metric of validity, a way to "prove" queer interpretations are allowable, yet it is based in stereotypes, censorship, and presumption of authorial intent.

The way queer-coding is continually brought into discussions about art essentially creates an ultimatum: media needs to be "explicit" by using direct (usually English language) terminology, or characters need to engage in things like kissing, declaring one's love, sexual activity, etc., yet even those are dismissed at times.

This creates a dynamic where art which is intentionally subtle or multifaceted may be seen as exhibiting cowardice rather than artistic complexity. It implies that if something is not "confirmed queer," queer themes cannot be read into it, queer subtext cannot be interpreted from it, and queer people are not allowed to identify with it.

This limits art. This builds walls that diminish human connection; it creates a situation where queer people are discouraged from seeing themselves in media not explicitly designated for them. Because, obviously, queer people are a completely different species from "normal people," right? Their feelings and experiences are so alien and distinct, there's no overlap anyone else could sympathize with.

You don't need permission to see queerness in art. You don't have anything to prove. Queer interpretations are just as valid as any other, and anyone who tells you different is selling something.

As I spoke about in this post, authorial intent is not more important than audience perception, and trying to infer the creator's intentions is a fool's errand. Especially in a situation where censorship is supposedly at play, any public statement from a creator could be reasonably disregarded as dishonest, which leaves us alone with ourselves and the work.

Which, by the way, is the only real way anyone experiences art. It's not you and the creator, it's you and the work. When people try to infer authorial intent, they are not discerning real, objective truth. They are sorting available information through a filter of what they consider believable before arriving at a subjective conclusion, which they then project onto a mental image of the creator.

In literary analysis, we select a "lens" through which to view art. This means that we decide to accept certain ideas as given fact and explore what the works says once we look at it that way. For example, we could accept as fact the idea that a number of the core cast are queer in some way. It posits the question: once we dismiss heterosexuality and cisgender identity as the only options, what do we see?

This is an intellectual concept, but the reality is that everybody naturally applies their own lens to art when they view it. This lens is not nearly so rigid or clearly defined, but it is a lens nonetheless, defined by their experiences, values, and individual personality.

I would love for people to stop using the phrase "queer-coding" quite so freely. It centers a need for validation and hinges that on "what the creator intended."

If you want some ideas for different language about this, consider these:

A theme might be queer by exploring broad topics queer people often struggle with, such as secrecy, shame, or self-acceptance.

The subtext of something might be queer in that one could read a double-meaning or deeper implication to the narrative device or scenario.

A work might contain allegory, symbolism, imagery or parallels that could be interpreted with queerness.

I don't think it's interesting to try to "win" by convincing you I personally know what the creator intended. That leaves the art static, unchanging, and lifeless. I would much rather tell you how I personally see the art and why, because that dynamic allows all of us examine the work more deeply.

In the end, it is not an author's edict in some external statement that gives art meaning. It is the audience. Our feelings are what give art meaning, and connecting with other people about what it all means to us is what keeps art alive.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Insatiable Hunger

It's been some years since I did my overhaul on the lore of the gnolls and how they embody the weird de/humanization that goes on with various monsters over d&d's history. Ever since I've had more than a few folks write in asking about how I would handle the default Gnoll God Yeenoghu, who exists in a similar state of "Kill everything that ever existed" to Orcus and a good portion of the game's other late game threats, thematically flat and not really useful for building stories around.

For a while I've avoided doing this post because I thought it might skew a little too close to my personal philosophy, and risk going from simply being influenced by my views to an outright soapbox. I personally hold that despite being part of our nature hunger is the source of the majority of human cruelty, and if society and cooperation are the tools we developed to best fight against the threat of famine, it is fear of that famine that allows the powerful to control society and secure their positions of privilege.

I've also dealt with disordered eating in a prior period of my life, alternating between neglecting my body's needs and punishing myself for needing in the first place. I'm well acquainted with hunger and the hollowing effect it can have, though I'd never claim to know it so well as someone who went hungry by anything other than choice and self hatred.

Learning to love food again saved saved my life. The joy of eating, of feeling whole and nourished, yes, but there was also the joy of making: of experimenting, improving, providing, being connected to a great tradition of cultivation which has guided our entire species.

If I was going to talk about an evil god of hunger, I was going to have to touch on all of that, and now that it's out in the open I can continue with a more thematic and narrative discussion on the beast of butchery below the cut.

What's wrong: Going by the default lore, there's not much that really separates Yeenoghu from any other chaotic evil mega-boss. He wants to kill everything in vicious ways, and encourages his followers to do the same. He's there so that the evil clerics can have someone to pray to because the objectively good gods are on the party's side and wouldn't help a bunch of cannibalistic slavers.

This is boring, we've done this song and dance before, and the only reason that there are so many demon lords/evil gods/archdevils like this is because the bioessentialism baked into the older editions of the game's lore was also a theological essentialism, and that every group had to have their own gods which perfectly embodied their ethos and there was no crossover whatsoever, themes be damned.

Normally I'd do a whole section about "what can be salvaged" from an old concept, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel right from the inset. Likewise my trick of combining multiple bits of underwritten d&d mythology to make a sturdier concept isn't going to work as most of d&d's other gods of hunger or famine are similar levels of paper thin.

How do we fix it: I want Yeenoghu to be the opposite of the path I found myself on, a hunger so great and so painful that it percludes happiness, cooperation, or even rational thought. Hunger not as a sumptuous hedonistic gluttony but a hollowing emptiness that compels violence and desperation. More than just psychopathic slaughter and gore, it is becalmed sailors drinking seawater to quench their thirst, the urban poor mixing sawdust and plaster into their food because their wages are not enough to afford grain.

This is where we get the idea of Yeenoghu as an enemy of society, not because violence is antithical to society ( I think we've learned by now how structured violence can really be) but because society fundamentally breaks down when it can't take care of the people who provide its foundations. Contrast the Beast of Butchery with one of my other favourite villainous famine spirits: Caracalla the grim trader, who embodies scarcity as a form of profit and control in to Yeenoghu's scarcity as suffering.

Into this we can also add the idea of the hungry dead, ghouls yes but also vampires, anything cursed with an eternal existence and appetites it no longer has the ability to sate. A large number of cultures across the world share the idea that the dead cannot rest while they are starving, which is why we leave offerings of food by their graves or pour out a glass to the ones we lost along the way.

On that topic, there's also a scrap of lore involving Doresain god of ghouls, who has been depicted as an on and off servant of Yeenoghu. Since I'm already remaking the mythology, I'd have Doresain act as a sort of saint or herald for the demon lord, the wicked but still partially reasonable entity who can villain monolog before the feral and all consuming demon god shows up.

Summing it all up: Yeenoghu isn't a demon you wittingly worship, it's a demon that claims you, marks you as its mouthpiece and through you seeks to consume more of the world. It gives you just enough strength to keep on living, keep on suffering, keep on filling that hole in your belly and feed it in turn.

The greatest of these mouthpieces is Doresain, an elf of ancient times who's unearthly hungers elevated him to demigod status. Known as the knawbone king, he dwells within a dread domain of the shadowfell, and is sought out only for his ability to intercede with the maw-fiend's rampages.

Signs: Unnaturally persistent hunger pangs, excessive drool and gurgling stomach noises, the growth of extra teeth in the mouth, stomachs splitting open into mouths.

Symbols: An animal with three jaws, a three tailed flail or spiked whip. A crown of knawed bones (Doresain)

Titles: Beast of butchery, the maw fiend, the knawing god

Artist

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Made by me

The Masterlist

My BFF is a Vampire 🩸

[SUPERNATURAL AU]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐨𝐭𝟕 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.) 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬, 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫/𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲. 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

>𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.<

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥, 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐦, 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 🩸 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 🩸 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬

𝐎𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone MAD OUT NOW

Five - Spoiler

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING OUT 18/5

Six - Spoiler

FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH COMING SOON

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

MAIN: YOONGI X Y/N

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A Rise From The Shadows (coming soon)

…

FINAL BREATH (coming soon)

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

DROPPED

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

Bunny on the run

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

[yanderecrazysie]

Mermay Day 12: Shark Tooth

Due to working on the game so much, I may end Mermay early- sorry about that but I was having writer's block.

Pairing: Yandere! Tendou Satori x F! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, mershark Tendou

Note: These are all going to be short. Please don’t complain.

The shorelines of your town were barely touched. 

Maybe people on the island took the beach for granted, or maybe they only really felt like going to the beach in the summer. Either way, during the winter, the untouched sand and tide was a perfect place for beachcombing. 

Tourists would arrive come summertime, and you would be ready for them with handmade seashell necklaces and bracelets, freshly cleaned conch shells for hearing the ocean sounds, polished rocks, and little trinkets that the island visitors just couldn’t get enough of.

You picked a good time, while the tide was out, and quickly grabbed your little beach basket, hurrying down to the beach. Sure enough, you were here alone, not a person in sight. 

Just how you liked it.

Today, the sand held many treasures. You found in-tact sand dollars, pretty shells, small hermit crabs that you’d soon be painting the shell of, and… what was that?

You bent over and picked up the strange object. Immediately, you could tell that it was a rare find. A shark tooth- black at the top and pearly white at the bottom. The edge was serrated in a way you’d never seen before.

There was a possibility of turning this into a necklace with the shark tooth as the centerpiece but, for some reason, you felt like this was something special. Something you didn’t want to sell. You slipped it into your pocket and resumed beachcombing, putting the rest of your findings into the basket.

After a couple hours, you returned to your shop, placing the many seashells and other finds in a much larger basket and the hermit crabs in a little tank. You had found quite a few beauties, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate the crowds that flocked here in the summer.

The next day you returned. As soon as you began collecting shells, you felt a presence appear. You looked up and down the beach, but you saw no one. The feeling that someone was watching you was overwhelming.

“Yoohoo!”

You jumped about a foot in the air. You looked behind you, but saw no one. The call came again and you slowly turned your eyes to the sea.

A man with wild red hair and piercing red eyes stared at you from the ocean. A shark’s fin stuck out from his back and you could see a shadow of a tail moving back and forth.

“Hello, little thief!”  he called out, waving cheerily. 

You stared at him, jaw slightly ajar in shock. You rubbed your eyes, expecting him to disappear like a mirage. He didn’t.

“Found something yesterday, didn’t you?” he said in a sing-song voice, “Something big, pointy, mine.”

Your hand instinctively went to your pocket. The shark tooth… belonged to him?

“You saw me?” you asked softly.

He laughed loudly, “Of course I did! I was waiting for someone to pick it up. And you turned it over in your hands so sweetly, so romantic!”

“I- I didn’t realize it belonged to anyone,” you stuttered.

“That’s okay,” the man said, “You kept it. That means you wanted to keep a part of me. I'm flattered.”

“I can give it back,” you said shakily.

“Mersharks drop their teeth when they look for a mate and the first person to pick it up, no matter the species, becomes theirs. Becomes mine.” He grinned a sharp-toothed smile, “How romantic!”

[byeomso]

Introducing OCs, Part 2

🌹 Name: Koré Chrysánthemo

🌟 Age: 19

🍁 Family: Flora Chrysánthemo and Pyrrhos Vulcan

🌿 Dorm: Noctemir (similar to Yuu's dorm) in Royal Sword Academy

🐁 Year: Third year (housewarden)

🌸Inspired by: Persephone from Silly Symphonies

🪷Personality:

Koré is an extremely calm person, very understanding and even therapeutic (which can be a problem).

She takes care of most people's needs, but doesn't take care of her own most of the time. Which leads her to spend some time locked in her room, alone, talking to stuffed animals or suffering with her own unique magic.

Despite everything, she is a good listener, trying to do her best to bring comfort to others.

🐦‍🔥 Magical Ability:

Faunae transfigures: allows Koré to transform into any animal she wishes (she cannot transform into something she does not know), but because she does not know how to properly control her magic due to her very shaken emotions and her mind full of other people's problems, Koré can transform according to her emotional condition as an unconscious defense mechanism.

Although her ability should be associated with flowers, Koré has a great attachment to animals, and most of her friends are little animals.

Flora would be her elemental magic, but not her unique ability.

🏆 Club: Arcane Bio-Studies Club

Club objective:

To study magical creatures, enchanted plants and the connections between living biology and magic. Members observe, catalog, breed and care for rare specimens, in addition to conducting magical experiments with questionable ethics (but with supervision... more or less).

Common activities:

Growing plants that react to human emotions

Raising and caring for magical pets (such as mini griffins, mana slimes, etc.)

Expeditions to forbidden areas of the school (with or without permission) to collect specimens

Studying magical mutations and side effects of biological spells

Studying using Koré itself in some cases (experiments are prohibited)

🎭Fun fact:

The person Koré admires the most would be "Mommy" Shroud (she was "kidnapped" by her once).

Koré wears prescription contact lenses, taking them out when she is in her room to change for round glasses.

She is the cousin of Hercules' representative (My OC Alcides Andrakis), housewarden of the Imitheos house.

Koré can communicate with people, but gets nervous if it is a very large group.

Koré has seen Idia at Sam's store several times, which made her know him and Ortho since first grade.

Her mother, Flora Chrysánthemo, represents The Spirit of the Forest. Her father, Pyrrhos Vulcan, represents the Firebird (both from Fantasia 2000).

Koré can transform into a Harpy naturally due to her father's species (but this causes her to grow feathers depending on her emotional state and lack of control).

The tablet that Koré carries around was a birthday present left by the Shroud brothers.

Koré has already talked to Malleus to collect data about dragons, and constantly invites him to have tea (or coffee) on possible occasions.

Koré is addicted to caffeine, but when drinking energy drinks she suffers from rebound and ends up falling asleep.

About S.T.Y.X.... it only follows people, notes progress or (activities that cannot be described)

Her Overblot represents Persephone in various design aspects, carried with the theme of "queen of the underworld"

Has a cat that represents Robber Kitten from Silly Symphonies. He would be the Grim of the RSA

Kulning practice

Others:

Her hair is inspired by Lady Oscar + Abel from Knights of the Zodiac

Her favorite movie would be WolfWalkers

Your favorite singer in real life would be Aurora

The fact that Persephone from Silly Symphonies is the first Disney princess (unfortunately so forgotten to the point of not even being considered), Koré will reference other characters from other Eras, as the musical essence of Silly Symphonies has remained in Disney projects to this day.

[vorecommunitywoes]

Okay, I don’t want this placed on my own blog as I’ve disowned the whole vore community, but as I was a major voice in my teens I really NEED people to hear me when I say this community is not safe for kids and why.

I was Bioluminescent-Bat. I was the coiner of the tag “extreme cuddling.” I do not think people understand what horrible things they’re getting into, so I’m sharing my story here as a cautionary tale.

I was 15 when I was a big name in the community. I left Tumblr’s when I was 18; the overarching community at 21. I was drawn into the community due to my interest in biology & wildlife science; I’d been pretty consistently writing these tropes for most of my life as a mechanism for exploring mutualistic relationships with species. My involvement, however, started on Deviantart at 13. People over there convinced me that this interest was/had to be vore vs just a STEM/character design interest, and that they kept theirs like a “dirty secret” / not to talk about it with others. I was encouraged to write the subject matter into my works up to almost pornographic detail, with their guise of it just being “detailed” biology discussion. The attention I received became a dopamine rush with each new writing piece, where I was desperate to please an audience. An audience with no respect for my boundaries (kept pressing for fatal/digestion, outright smut, some really weird kinks I wasn’t even old enough to process WERE kinks, etc).

On Tumblr, folks adored the little rambles and blurbs I would do on the subject matter. I was not prepared to be put that much on a pedastal in my mid teens, and deeply regret that I was. Several individuals noticed me as I became more known, and pretended to be mentors within that space. Within a Skype group I was discussing with them, they outwardly discussed vore kink-related stuff (by which I mean folks eating strange & dangerous objects for fun) all while being aware I was a teen at the time. This they denied being kink related because they were “nonsexually interested” but supposedly just “respected those who were kinky” as though they weren’t part of that group. Due to Skype’s automatic deletion/hiding of messages two years back, I cannot retrieve these. But this is more so background than anything else.

The individuals within this group (glowinside, tastylittletiny, and Spartaku17) essentially made me the figurehead of the “sfw” side. By telling me that the vore was nonsexual, I believed them and thought it was fine. I was encouraged by them to continue writing the content, posting the writings and asks, and were more or less my biggest fans at the time. They actively packed around me (especially the first two) and told me to ignore anyone trying to convince me otherwise as it was just “harassment.” I was never once told to avoid the kinky spheres (or told how to identify them), and was often pressured to ignore my boundaries to “not exclude the other sides” and therefore pushed much further than I should’ve. They also showed high interest in “recruitment” type efforts wherein I was pressured to “educate” my peers regarding the trope (to those who were with me on that ride, I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am. I hope you are recovering well and have managed to break your chains from that horrible place.)

When I turned 18, I discovered that I was Demisexual. This was immediately used for blackmail. I was told by the nsx side that I had to essentially keep an “UwU wholesome” energy to myself (nonsexual, not a breath of darkness in theme, etc), because if I so much as looked into anything outside of the “SFW” areas as an adult, I would be “proving” I was lying and essentially lose the rights to my autonomy. This also branched into “having permission” to strip my asexual identity away from me. I should not have to explain how fucked that is.

To people outside of the specific cultlike circle I was in, I was presumed to be much older than I was and accused of being a groomer for echoing my abusers’ beliefs. Instead of asking, this was assumed and pushed me in deeper. This was made worse by said groomers insisting I stay away from anything labeled 18+ only - many of which WERE people my age just chilling out and existing. So I was actively therein forced to either give up the right to my autonomy, or be forced to babysit kids to “protect them from people who would hurt them” for two more years. The call was coming from inside the house the whole damn time. This is when I removed myself from the spaces themselves, but only fully processed and disowned it March of this year. I’m still recovering from the damage of a decade’s manipulation.

Now, I do not believe that people who have nonsexual interest in the concept are lying. I’m amidst this group, where my interest is predominantly thematic & Demisexual in nature. However, there is a difference between sexual and “safe for work.” Plenty of nonsexual things can be mature in nature and need to be left to adults. This is where the community falters. Vore still overlaps way too much with the explicit sides, and is NOT for children. I’ve seen far too many people getting chained into this idea that if they just label their work as SFW they’ll be safe - and no. You’re not. The entire community has a common theme of trashing consent for their own kicks; the place isn’t even safe for the ADULTS in it. Anyone who says otherwise is lying, or has been made to think that way.

I’m begging minors not to listen to people coaxing you into a fetish space. Use your mental energy on making some cool monsters & study biology instead. Just don’t believe the “SFW” side of any kink-based community has your best interests at heart. Trust your gut. You’ll thank me later

.

[toastedclownery]

Jawbone as Mictlantecuhtli

Mictlantecuhtli, “Lord of Mictlan”, is the lord of the land of the dead in Aztec mythology. 

Jawbone is Mictlantecuhtli because of his very relevant character design, and because his most important myth is recreated in his introductory episode.

—

First off, Mictlantecuhtli is easy to identify because he will almost always be represented as a skeleton. Jawbone is an Osteon, a species of skeleton aliens (? as far as we know) His jacket has a window showing his ribcage, just like Mictlantecuhtli also has his ribcage exposed most of the time.

Original post from beigetiger

He might also be replicating the pose of the Mictlantecuhtli statue in Museo Templo Mayor in a couple of instances during ep4

Mictlantecuhtli is a skeleton because he’s a god representative of death. If being bones isn’t enough, Jawbone wears all black and carries a scythe with him, just like the grim reaper, a famous Western depiction of death. Yes, the scythe and his pirate group name “Scythelord” are references to his voice actor, but they also add onto the list of Jawbone’s connection with the theme of death. He is called a “Plague Walker” because he goes to the Quarantine Zone, associated in this universe with infection and death.

The Quarantine Zone might as well be Monkey Wrench’s version of Mictlan, the Aztec underworld!

One last bit of iconography I wanna talk about before the bone myth is his tongue. There are several illustrations of Mictlantecuhtli sticking his tongue out in codices, as well as the disk of Mictlantecuhtli in the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City

And like some of the fandom has joked about already, Jawbone has a habit of sticking his tongue out. Even his plushie is doing it!!

Original post from copper-pins

Speaking of! It was a common ritual for the Mexica to pierce their ears and their tongues to offer their blood to the gods, including Mictlantecuhtli. JB is only licking this dart here but I felt that putting a pointy object to his tongue looked too suspicious not to add it.

—

Monkey Wrench has been subtly recreating some of the Aztec myths, but the thing is that in some cases, the characters change their roles to fit somebody else’s myth. Let me explain.

Before the start of the fifth era, Quetzalcoatl went down to Mictlan to retrieve the bones of the previous generation of humans. There he met Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl, Lord and Lady of the land of the dead. 

When Quetzalcoatl asked for the bones, Mictlantecuhtli agreed to give them to him, if he could go around his realm four times blowing on a conch shell trumpet (tecciztli). This was a trick, the shell didn’t have any holes to blow into. Quetzalcoatl noticed this, he called worms to make holes into the shell, and he called bees to get inside the shell and buzz to make noise.

Seeing he completed his request, Mictlantecuhtli had no other choice but to let him go with the bones. But as he was leaving, Mictlantecuhtli ordered his servants to dig a pit for the Feathered Serpent to fall into. In the fall, Quetzalcoatl dropped the sacred bones and they broke.

This myth is reenacted in Tyneen and Jawbone’s side plot. In this case, Tyneen takes the role of Quetzalcoatl. 

Tyneen meets Jawbone in the casino to get back the video game he borrowed from her. He is reluctant to give it back, until she forces him to

Then, when she and Ricket are leaving, Beebs pushes Tyneen making her drop the game, and Ajax storms in and Ricket falls apart. Ricket’s bones fall to the ground, and the game that Jawbone gave to her breaks.

The part where the bones fall is replicated with Ricket's own bones, and the part where they break is represented by the (BONE THEMED) video game.

Also, before Tyneen goes to the bar she goes to the weevils to get her shackles off. The weevils’ workshop is fully decorated with hexagons on the walls, doors and furniture, making it look like a beehive.

This could be a nod to the bees that helped Quetzalcoatl in the same story.

Ricket himself might be a reference to this very myth? Rickety, from “rickety bones”, means something that is unstable and likely to break, mirroring the fate of the bones in the legend. But I’m still not sure about him. 

Original post from monkey-wrench-series

Fun fact, these bones are supposed to be ours, the bones of the current generation. Since they come from the previous era, you could say we inherited them. And the game is called “Marrow Inheritance”!

References to this legend can also be found in JB’s playlist. Uh, boner jokes aside

—

Hello!! Thank you for waiting. I have updated the character list a little bit :o)

Character List

[snackodev]

Snacko's Mines & Magicks update is now live✨

Celebrate the launch of 1.0 with a 25% discount on Steam this week!

📌 Over 200 quests to enjoy 🪴 Flexible build system & tons of furniture 🌨️ Explore the new mines utilizing spells, a drill, and your hovering Kart 🎵 ...and do it all while enjoying a beautiful soundtrack composed by Dale North and Camellia

All packed up and ready to go

Explore the island and its four distinct biomes

Customize your journey by combining different gems for different tool effects - each tool and gem has a unique combination, allowing you to tailor your upgrades to your playstyle

Easily manage your goodies and stamina by utilizing an array of tools and features, from auto-deposit to the Lunchbox for auto stamina restore

Never worry about the size of your rucksack when you're out! Craft from storage and the Overflow Storage lets you keep just the essentials on you

Explore the island and its four distinct biomes

Customize your journey by combining different gems for different tool effects - each tool and gem has a unique combination, allowing you to tailor your upgrades to your playstyle

Easily manage your goodies and stamina by utilizing an array of tools and features, from auto-deposit to the Lunchbox for auto stamina restore

Never worry about the size of your rucksack when you're out! Craft from storage and the Overflow Storage lets you keep just the essentials on you

Meet someone new

Invite shopkeepers and villagers based on personality, or work hard and build housing for everyone! With 26 characters of varying personalities (and species) to get to know, you're bound to find someone who clicks with you

Experience romance with 21 characters with no restrictions

Learn more about each character through quests, dialogue, and cutscenes

Get comfortable with these quality-of-life features

Running out of time? After a long day out, simply use the Go Home button or camp outside with a Sleeping Box

You can purchase items from shops when the shopkeeper is off duty - they trust you!

Pick between built in World Themes such as low contrast or dark mode, complete with a dark mode UI and a slider to change the strength

Build up your dream life

A flexible build mode means you get to decorate how you like

Snap to grid, free rotate, undo and redo, float items, dye objects, no building restrictions, and a search box in your catalog for over 300 items to place

Utilize Screenshot Mode and undo/redo to record your own build timelapses

Nudging objects while in Lock mode gives you finer control for decorating your surfaces with clutter... Or get creative and combine objects together

Expand your house, change the wallpaper and floors, and dye each wall a different color!

[scaredycatqlt]

Some silly platonic headcanons of bill cipher x reader pls?

Oh hell yeah!!! I love my lil AroAce triangle >:3

Bill Cipher X Reader [PLATONIC!]

Alright, well, for starters, how you became friends could vary.

Either you’re some messed up otherworldly creature with a thirst for chaos and destruction like him, or some unsuspecting human. Or maybe you knew what you were doing? Who knows! Bill knows.

Regardless, at first he doesn’t pay you much mind. You’re simply another pawn on the chessboard to him.

He can get bored easy, so he hangs out around you a lot. Not for long, mainly frequent short visits.

He finds you amusing, you and your antics! If you’re a dimensional thing like him, he’s quick to invite you to join him in wrecking havoc. If you’re a human, he’s more still in the ‘I’m better lol’ mindset.

When you guys are finally friends, he will try to convince you to let him possess you. Not all the time! And very infrequently! Come on, won’t you help a pal out?

His love language (PLATONICALLY) is acts of service and gift giving. He’s not an emotional being by any means at all, so this is how he expresses his care for you.

As canonically presented, his gifts are kinda…..messed up.

deer teeth, a eternal screaming head, weird shit in general.

Also with acts of service he totally offers to take care of anything bothering you. Someone annoyed you? He can get rid of them! Don’t you worry your fuzzy little head!

A litttlleeee bit of a platonic yandere but who here’s surprised….

He does a lot of small things for you that you might not notice. Like picking something up, summoning an object, giving you whatever small thing you happen to want at that time, yeah.

If something happened to you he’d probably go crazy ngl.

You’re like his partner in crime!

Also, if you’re human he makes sure you’re taking care of your meat-suit properly.

Have you drank water? Eaten? Slept? Done all the human things?

One last thing, I feel like Bill would love Doritos. I know this kinda doesn’t match the theme, but there used to be this whole ‘Bill hates Doritos they’re his species :(‘ kinda thing and while it is funny, personally I disagree. I think he’d find it hilarious, and probably eat them specifically because they look like him. He’s a little creacher.

Here they are!! Again, sorry it took forever. I’ve been busy with school n shit, but I’m working on these requests one by one.

[starwebsonadow]

ー STARWEB MASTERPOST‼️

OWNER/ADMIN : @foddercaptain

☆ Some information on this au and how it works. This WILL be updated overtime, tweaked, adjusted, and referred back to!!

SHORT SUMMARY:

Starweb is an original bug/arthropods themed Sonic (but mostly Sonadow) centered AU in which all mobian characters in canon are bug counterparts to their original species! EX: Hedgehogs = Spiders, Echidnas = Ants, Foxes = Weevils, etc. Instead of just bugs though, they are referred to as Insectians! Basically means mobians. This will be released though 3-5 arcs in a comic format.

REFERENCE SHEETS & LINKS AT THE BOTTOM‼️

• What's it about? ★

The story follows primarily Sonic and Shadow in their lives as Insectians, born under very different circumstances and understanding of nature or how to live, they learn about each other and even if their opinions and ways oppose or clash sometimes they still care about one another to great extents. This is a Sonadow plot, but you can consider it more of constant slow burn, really, it's just never ending slow burn sometimes, it kills me too. This world works on a base of "survival of the fittest," meaning that animals eat bugs & bugs eat other bugs, and that's just reality. They are quite literally just bugs, there are no powers like the characters normally would posses, but instead their abilities depends on their body and species, like making silk or flying. Natural disasters for them are things small to humans but big to them, like rain, wind or even as drastic as forest fires. In addition, in-universe they have their own terminology for certain things, taking some inspiration from A Bugs Life, Mouse Guard, WC, & WoF.

• Terminology! (wip) ★

ー Insectians - The replacement word for mobians, refers to the general bug or population. It does not matter if the insectian in question is an insect in real life, they could be an arachnid and still be considered an insectian. EX: There was another insectian nearby.

ー Forager - An insectian who collects human-made or unnatural objects, whether for use or just having it, this includes those who make homes from said objects, EX: living in a former soup can.

ー Beastie - An insult used against vegan insectians that are not naturally vegan, this would be considered a minor slur, but it is frequently amongst those in tune with their instincts to mock those who aren't, EX: "You're a beastie."

ー Scavenger - Insectians that feed on other dead or decaying insectians. This is commonly used in phrases or insults, as being a scavenger is considered "unclean" by some, EX: "You eat like a scavenger."

ー Tamer - An insectian with the talent of taming animals that aren't bugs, such as birds or rodents.

ー Vagabond - Those insectians with adventure in their veins who cannot or do not want to stay in one place, often insectians that have little fear of their natural world and explore.

ー Dwellers - Insectians who live close to humans or inhabit human homes, this can be infestations or genuine pets with enclosures. Dwellers are commonly lacking instinctive knowledge of the wilderness depending on where they were born and lived.

ー Chao - Farmed or pet: Grub, maggots, or larvae of some kind, they are like the human equivalent of chickens as they are commonly used for an easy food source that doesn't involve hunting or killing other insectians for said food.

ー Maggot - Can be used as an insult towards another insectians intelligence or adolescent behavior, the replacement for idiot or stupid, it means someone's as smart as a maggot, maggots are the baby/larvae stage of some bugs such as flies, EX: "You act like a maggot."

ー Season - Refers to someone's age or time passed in life, being in season means one is of the age of maturity, it's often used to separate old from young insectians, though this doesn't always work as bugs can be big and not be in season, they do not celebrate things like birthdays or keep track of ages. It can also be used to state an insectian is immature, EX: "For your age, you sure are out of season." (No, there won't be age gap ships or weird stuff).

• Story Execution ★

Starweb will consist of comics and writings! Both formats will be used to articulate whatever parts of the plot that are needed. Currently, this will be going in 3 main story arcs, they start at when Sonic and Shadow meet then go from there, it will go in order but have more of an episodic format. I'll makes a comic page every whenever-i-can and post them, I'll put out illustrations, one-shots, and whatnot! I'd like to include multiple mediums and hope everyone will follow and enjoy it until the finale of the story. Even once that happens, i must clarify that won't be the end of the au, there's a huge cast of characters. pre-starweb events, and so just so many things that aren't shoved into the main plot.

• Extra/FAQ! ☆

ー Yes you can make Starweb ocs or convert your ocs into Starweb!! Nothings is a closed species and if you really don't feel the current au design limitations of the bug species fit than don't be afraid to do your own thing! Have FUN!!!

ー Despite the story following Sonadow and everyone being bug sized, i do not mind fanart of your own favorite Sonic ships with my au! Prefer Sonamy? Knuxadow? Alright, you can draw starweb sonamy/knuxadow! Wanna give them clothes or accessories for fun? Cool as hell! I don't mind and would love to be tagged so i can see too! (This does not include proships, if you are making weird art of my au i will block you).

ー Curious about anything or want to submit a drawing request? Go ahead! Of course, keep it sfw, and i will see what i can do! I won't be drawing anyone else's ocs unless you are a mutual, but I'll be happy enough to draw other ideas related to the au!

ー You can in fact make fan designs for characters that have yet to be drawn or have a reference! I know that ultimately i won't be able to do every character I'd like, especially less common ones like Manic (spider) or Sally (moth), some mutuals have already done with with characters like Espio, and even prior- Metal!

ー I don't mind taking inspiration off of my au, but of course if you do I'd love to see and even support ya, so please tag me if you make ocs, your own au, or anything else! If it is really heavy inspiration, then still don't be afraid to ask, i have many mutuals who have requests to so it shouldn't be a problem unless you're taking too much, i love to talk about bug characters!

ー Spider species thingy! I'll make more and better ones in the future for every primary species.

★ If you're interested in this au don't be afraid to send asks anytime, always open here!

🕸 : STARWEB COMIC

🐜 : ARCHIVE/REFERENCES

🐛 : STARWEB DISCORD

🐞 : (wip)