#*valle save

[orbveil]

(♪)

[pxltown]

[ 🚐 ]

camper interior + bea's collection of little guys!

[dolskele]

Yayyy ship template thingies

(I love making my pcs genders changeable.... very important 2 me)

Blank template below!

[tordistic]

Picture a eddisode where Edd gets stuck in a shitty creepypasta and never realizes it. Matt got him a old cartridge that has some vague words scribbled over with marker. Obviously he plays it and just thinks its a very poorly made game

Meanwhile Matt & Tom are looking at him (they see him like. watching the TV static and making silly comments to himself) and they're like "do we burn the TV or the console" "we should incinerate the whole room i thiunk" "OK that's fair"

Now picture a puppy with a silly hat

[xolaanii]

MY CAT WILL BE HOME IN AN HOUR I REPEAT MY CAT WILL BE HOME IN AN HOUR

[truedove]

stress relief

word count - 1,581

content warning - smut (minors dni), f!reader insert, somnophilia, established relationship, oral (f recieving), unprotected piv, dubious consent, a smidge of plot

synopsis - after a long day at work, he comes home to find you fast asleep. honestly, how could he possibly resist?

a heavy sigh escapes his lips, tense shoulders slumping in stark relief. he tosses his keys into the ceramic dish by the door - a gift from you - and kicks off his shoes, wincing as they skid across the linoleum. it's pitch black, save for the faint glow of the nightlight you left on for him and the apartment is dead silent aside from the soft hum of the refrigerator, the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

the warm air carries with it the faint scent of something delicious smelling and his stomach rumbles in response, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since this morning. you must have cooked dinner, and he feels a horrible pang of guilt for making you eat alone.

work has been…difficult lately, and he's been neglecting his personal life as a result. neglecting you.

his mind has been awhirl with thoughts of deadlines and spreadsheets and meetings, and it's a great fucking relief to finally be home.

he really should just hop in the shower, wash off the day's grime and stress. but the desperate urge to see you, the need to feel your touch and warmth, is too great.

silently, he pads across the hardwood floor, anticipation building with every step. you're most likely asleep - it's well past midnight, after all - but even just a glimpse of your pretty face would be enough to make him feel better, to wash away the impression of irksome employees and cold, pitiless bureaucracy.

he reaches the bedroom, the familiar scents of fabric softener and your body wash overwhelming his senses in a way he revels in. moonlight spills through the gauzy curtains, casting a pale glow across the bed, illuminating the tousled covers and pillows. a familiar shaped lump is visible beneath the duvet and he carefully makes his way over, kneeling beside the bed.

tentatively, he brushes aside a strand of hair from your cheek, feeling the softness of your skin beneath his coarse fingertips. your features are relaxed in sleep, your lips slightly parted and your breathing steady and deep. the moonlight plays across your face, casting shadows that dance across your cheeks and nose, emphasizing the delicate curve of your jawline and the arch of your brow.

drool has gathered at the corner of your mouth and he feels choked with fondness. he thumbs it away gently, marveling at the way your lips part just a fraction more at the touch.

leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your closed eyelid. you stir, but don't wake. another kiss, this one at the corner of your mouth, and you sigh softly, brows wrinkling in confusion. each kiss he presses against your skin is an apology, a promise, a plea for forgiveness. god knows how you put up with his constant late hours, but you always do; with a smile on your lovely face.

he trails his kisses down your jaw, pausing to suckle at the delicate skin below your ear. you sigh, mumbling something incoherent before you nestle closer, your body pressing against his kneeled form, subconsciously seeking his presence and warmth. he smiles against your skin and continues his slow journey, pausing to plant a series of tender kisses over the swell of your breasts.

you're so pretty like this, he thinks, trailing his fingers over your ribcage, feeling the warmth of your skin through the thin fabric of your - his - shirt. he's hard, so hard it's starting to ache, and he feels a surge of guilt, like some unwanted intruder has barged in on a private moment. he should stop, should leave you to your rest, hop in the shower and try to cool down.

but you're so sweet though, pliant and trusting beneath his touch, that he can't bring himself to pull away.

he nuzzles his face into the valley between your breasts, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of your skin. his hands wander lower and slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, tracing the curve of your hipbone and the soft skin of your belly. he makes his way lower still, joining you on the bed and positioning himself between your legs.

as he parts your thighs, his mouth waters as he takes in the single scrap of fabric separating him from your cunt. the heat radiating from between your legs is almost overwhelming, and he groans lowly. he mouths at the damp fabric, tasting the sweetness that is you, and then he's pulling it down, baring you to him and the cool air of the bedroom.

not one to waste time; he presses his mouth against you, feeling the velvety softness of your cunt against his tongue. he'll never get over how good you taste.

he starts by licking, long, slow strokes that dip into your folds, lapping at your clit and sucking gently on the sensitive bundle of nerves. you whimper, still blissfully unaware, and he presses closer, hands cupping your hips to hold you steady as he works his tongue in deep, feeling you quiver and shudder beneath his touch. your thigh tremble, your hips arch, and he feels the slick heat of your desire coat his mouth.

he presses a finger inside, slowly at first, feeling the tightness of your entrance as he pushes deeper, curling his finger against the sensitive wall of your cunt. you whine, your hips arching of their own accord as you writhe beneath him, seeking more. he adds another finger, stretching you out and fucking you with his hand as he continues to lick and suck at your clit.

he can feel the way your body starts to tense, the way your muscles clench around his fingers and he grins.

you flood his mouth, your warmth and taste filling him up as you finally give in to the pleasure he gives you. your previously soft noises pitch higher before you cry out and your body draws tight. he helps you through it, feeling your pulsing cunt milking his fingers, sucking at your clit until you've finally gone limp.

this is where he should stop, where he should pull back and give you the space you need, but he's greedy, selfish. he can't bring himself to let you go just yet. so he pulls his fingers free from your slick heat - sucking the digits into his mouth just to taste more of you - and he kisses his way up your body, positioning himself between your plush thighs.

he unbuckles his work pants and pushes them down, freeing his aching cock. he doesn't put it in just yet, instead using it to tease and torment you as he kisses along your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder. you arch into his touch, whimpering softly, and he knows you want it, want him inside you. fuck, you were just the sweetest thing, weren't you? all soft and warm and wet. just for him.

he pulls back, just enough to look down at your serene face, watch your closed lids flutter as he pushes his cock against your entrance. relaxed with sleep as you are, it barely takes any prodding before he feels you opening for him and he groans, thrusting forward slowly, feeling himself sink into the warmth of your body. you moan softly, stirring beneath him and he presses deeper, feeling you stretch to accommodate him. you're so perfect and he wants to bury himself in you, fuse your body to his until he can't tell where he ends and you begin.

tangling his fingers in your hair, he pulls gently as he fucks you in earnest, though he makes sure to not jostle you too much. you deserve your beauty sleep, after all.

"fuck, fuck." he groans when he feels you tighten around him as you come once again, this time with him buried deep inside. he can feel the walls of your cunt sucking at his cock as you ride out the wave of pleasure. your face scrunches and your hands feebly grasp at his forearms, consciousness beginning to seep back into you as you come down from your high. nuzzling his face into your neck, he feels himself start to lose control, the tightness of your cunt and the softness of your skin driving him wild. he begins to move faster, thrusting deeper, his hips slamming into yours in rhythm with the wild beat of his heart.

stars dance behind his eyes as he begins to come and he swears he blacks out for a second, just a second, but it feels like forever before he can focus again. sound and sensations come back to him in a rush. your breath is ragged against his neck and when he peaks over at you, your eyes are half-open, your lips parted, your gaze unfocused. shit, he really didn't want to wake you.

switching your positions, he now lays flat on his back with you splayed on his chest, your legs straddling his hips and his cock still firmly lodged inside you. he barely even remembers his shitty day now, doesn't even have the brain power to think about it. all he can focus on is you.

"go back to sleep." he murmurs against your temple when you stir, pressing a kiss to the tender skin. "i've got you."

you sigh, relaxing against him, and he smiles. what a dreamy, contented sound that is.

[annabelle-creart]

Researcher: Writer, no

Writer: WRITER YESSSSSS!!!!!!

Drawer: are you concious people will not get what are you talking about?

Writer: I will explain them EVERYTHING

Wrath: you will fuck their minds with info-dumping, please stop, you just made like three different stories and I didn't even had lunch, all while Researcher was doing all the work in the uni this morning. Are you crazy?

Writer: ...yes

Reader: watcha talking about?

Writer: TRANSFORMERS BUT IS VALLE SALVAJE!!

Reader: WHAT?!?!?!?!?!

Drawer: I DIDN'T EVEN MADE THE SKETCHES FOR THE DARK WOOD CIRCUS AU!!

Writer: VALLE SALVAJE AU I SAID!! MEGATRON AND OPTIMUS WERE MARRIED AND HAD A BIG FARM AND THEY WERE DUKE AND DUCHESS BUT MEG WAS WITH STARSCREAM AND STARSCREAM KILLED HIS OWN BROTHER IN MEG'S NAME SO THEY COULD SAVE THE FARM BECAUSE THE MONEY IS ENDING QUICKLY AND THEN STARSCREAM'S NIECES AND NEPHEW COME TO THE FARM TO MARRY MEG'S SON WITH OP SO THEY COULD RECLAIM THE MONEY AND-

Researcher: we lost her

Wrath: I'm getting out of here- Drawer, do you have sweets on the fridge?

Drawer: if you don't want or see any of the sweets mom brought, take the chocolate milk

Wrath: thanks

Writer: BUT SOUNDWAVE DOESN'T WANT TO MARRY MIRAGE, HE WANTS TO MARRY HOT ROD! AND THEN-

[orbveil]

[pxltown]

wip: rudy's beach shack! 🦀🏖️

[essenyare]

Saving Major Krauser: Where was Los Illuminados secretly hiding in Spain?

This is all because I have a terrible sense of direction, and I also have a brain that gets completely thrown off if I don’t get the geography right—I just can’t write properly without it.

In The Thousand-Yard Stare (AO3🚪中文｜ENG), one of the key early plot points is Leon secretly transporting a barely alive Jack Krauser out of the Los Iluminados stronghold to a safe house. To make this work, I need a plausible real-world location for the cult’s village and the offshore island where their sanctuary is located.

At first, based on the visual design of Valdelobos in Resident Evil 4 & 4 Remake—the Romantic-era village attire, the semi-abandoned Catholic architecture, the temperate mixed forest with oceanic influences—I immediately thought of northern Spain. That region is often linked to ancient European myths and legends, giving off an air of mystery, wilderness, and untamed nature. The Basque Country, in particular, stood out as a possible location. Since I needed a relatively straightforward and logical evacuation point, I initially looked at both the eastern and western coasts extending from Bilbao, the largest city in the Basque region. However, after researching, I found that most of the Basque coastline consists of rugged cliffs interspersed with low-altitude farmland, while forests are primarily located further inland. On top of that, the coastline is well-developed with highways and beach resorts, making it far too populated and visible. I just couldn’t justify how a cult village, a castle, and an island sanctuary could remain unnoticed by the general public.

With that in mind, I shifted my focus to northern Spain’s forests, looking for locations that would meet three criteria:

A hidden, remote area

Dense forests and river valleys

A plausible route where someone could travel on foot within 8 hours (including climbing, running, and jumping) from a secluded village to the coast and then take a speedboat to an offshore island.

This led me to three forests:

Fragas do Eume (Eume Forest)

Selva de Irati (Irati Forest)

Bosque de Muniellos (Muniellos Forest)

Out of these, Eume Forest had the most fitting vegetation for the game’s setting—oak and beech trees, evergreen ferns, and moss-covered terrain, all surrounding a misty, damp river valley. However, the issue was its location in Galicia. The nearest coast was the Betanzos estuary, which, while connected to the Atlantic, is a well-known resort area full of villas and restaurants. It felt way too relaxed and modern—completely wrong for the tone I wanted. Irati Forest, on the other hand, is in the Pyrenees on the Spain-France border, which is too far inland and also doesn’t have quite the right vegetation. So, I ruled it out.

That left me with Muniellos Forest in Asturias. But when I checked the map, I almost had a breakdown. While it’s vast and remote, it’s located in the southwestern interior, far from the coast. The closest northern shoreline is La Caridad, about 50 km away in a straight line. Driving would take two hours, while trekking through the mountainous terrain would take at least 24 hours. If I wanted to keep the timeline consistent with the game’s pacing, having a god of war like Leon brute-force his way through that distance just wouldn’t make sense.

I wasn’t ready to give up, though. Determined to find a better river valley forest, I started looking into the Cantabrian Mountains—and that’s when I found Valle del Esva (Esva Valley). This valley runs from the interior to the northern coast, surrounded by dense oak and chestnut forests, with hidden trails and caves. It seemed like the perfect place to slot in Valdelobos. From there, the northernmost river mouth at Busco is only about 6 km away in a straight line (10 km by road). That area is relatively quiet, with limestone formations, cliffs, and sandy shores—it’s perfect!

Now that I’ve pinned down a suitable location, I can figure out how to extend the Resident Evil 4 Remake storyline in a way that makes sense. After the Homeric Metaltango arena fight, if Leon wanted to get a barely alive Krauser out, what would be the best course of action? Staying in Spain would be too dangerous due to the risk of Los Iluminados remnants hunting them down. Even if we assume the Plaga parasite aids healing, Krauser’s most severe injuries—gunshot and knife wounds inflicted by Leon—would still be life-threatening. The knife wound was dangerously close to the heart. Even if it didn’t sever the aorta, he’d only have 4 to 6 hours left at best, provided there was proper bleeding control. This means an immediate evacuation via a Black Hawk helicopter equipped with two auxiliary fuel tanks (ERFS) (max speed: 260–290 km/h) would be necessary.

But where would they go?

Flying south over Spain and the Mediterranean would take them to Morocco or Algeria. That presents two major problems:

Distance—it’s about 980–1,000 km, meaning they’d have to refuel at an inland stop before continuing.

Security concerns—after the 2003 Casablanca bombings, Morocco ramped up counterterrorism efforts at airports, borders, and ports. Meanwhile, Algeria was still dealing with the aftermath of its 1990s Islamist insurgency. Neither country would be ideal for two critically wounded, obviously non-local men trying to lie low.

That leaves flying north over the Bay of Biscay to France, where the language, culture, medical infrastructure, and black market networks (such as Corsican, Russian, or Eastern European syndicates) would be more manageable for two highly conspicuous, white American operatives.

As for the specific landing site, I chose Brittany. Not only does it fit the need for coastal islands that offer better concealment, but it’s also a region I personally have a deep appreciation for, given its rich artistic and historical background. Compared to the grandeur of Paris or the warmth of Bordeaux, the somber, windswept landscapes of Brittany and Normandy align far better with the overall tone of this novel.

Finally, since I don’t have the energy to invent an entirely new island for the safe house, my relentless Google Earth scrolling and virtual tourism have led me to the perfect choice—

🏆 Belle-Île-en-Mer

Let me break it down for you:

Located southwest of Brittany, France, about 14 km off the mainland

Roughly 500 km from the northern coast of Spain (approx. 2-hour flight by Black Hawk helicopter)

With an area of 85 km², it's larger than the smaller islets off the coast (e.g., Île d’Ouessant), making it neither too remote nor too populated

The population density, both permanent and seasonal, isn’t too high or too low, meaning the protagonists wouldn’t immediately stand out as strangers

The island has abandoned farmhouses, fishing villages, and even old underground bunkers—potential locations for a safe house

The medieval church in Locmaria, on the southern part of the island, could also serve as a potential hideout

Hunnigan could arrange for medical equipment through France’s black market networks (Brittany’s coastal regions have a long history of smuggling activities)

The island has sufficient power and water supply to support surgical procedures

My conclusion here: Leon taking Krauser here wouldn’t feel out of place, and the island provides an ideal hiding spot—remote enough to evade government and military attention, yet not so isolated that survival would be difficult.

And for that, we give our thanks to Ingrid Hunnigan!

[xolaanii]

my banished save really should pick a struggle damn, first it was a famine, then infestation, then a tornado who took out a little less than half my town and now no matter how many miners i have there's never enough iron for tools

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #26

Alright folks today we're reading PKNA #21: Tyrannic!!! and um totally unrelated question but do you guys remember the Pangea Project?

Shoutout to the PBI for inviting PK for a meeting and not telling a single one of their security guards that he would be showing up, it really demonstrates the efforts of a highly efficient organization that DEFINITELY knows how to communicate with itself and can be trusted with our public safety!

babygirl

you guys he is so SMALL I can't get over it

Oh don't worry pal, I have READ Earthquake (this is the part where the camera cuts to me holding a big foam finger and wearing an oversized t-shirt that says "#1 PKNA #4 Earthquake fan")

lol he is SO fucking grumpy that they wanted Uno, I can't help but giggle

Seriously Uno we REALLY need to have a talk about how to cheer people up cause this is not it 😭

Donald I'm sorry that you're feeling insecure over losing to the most highly advanced and intelligent piece of technology ever created but also you were fighting a losing battle to begin with

am I supposed to take this guy seriously cause he has a fuckin rat tail at the back of his head

"just a scientific project" come on bro be fr 😭 you were going to obliterate millions of people

PANGEA PROJECT WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK BABY!!! ROUND 2 THE WEST COAST WILL FALL!!! 💯🔥

I gotta say "Frostville" is like. The least menacing name I could think of for an evil enemy base. It sounds like a quaint little winter village not the place where we plot to make the west sink underwater.

Also-- did I miss the part where PK told the PBI about Uno being an AI? Cause I know he usually tries to keep it a secret but at this point I have a hard time keeping track of who knows what about Uno existing

he might be stupit

WEREN'T YOU JUST COMPLAINING EARLIER THAT THEY WANTED UNO'S HELP INSTEAD OF YOURS??? Careful what you wish for kids now his ass is getting sent to the arctic

Love that Donald doesn't even have a mask anymore in this uniform he's just wearing like... blue eyeliner

Ok how does Fairfax ALSO know about Uno I swear to god there was no reason for him to figure that out

YEAHHHHHHHHH wait I mean NOOOOOOOOOOO

How does bro STILL think he's doing a good thing here, did he miss the part where the super evil government of evil bad people pulled up like "hey we like your research because it is evil and bad"?? He's still just here like yayy I'm gonna save the planet :) NO YOU'RE NOT

hey is that a guy frozen in an iceberg on the right there or-

What is his problem why does he have so much beef with California? I mean Calisota.

No yeah literally what reason did they have to let him go they were trying to shoot him in the face like 3 minutes ago

OKAY WAIT that's cute this ending is cute. And I guess we're just fully okay with the PBI knowing Uno exists and now having a photo of his face in their records...

Would you guys hate me if I skipped reading the Burton La Valle bonus comic this week cause god. I do not care about Burton La Valle 😭 I tried to be strong I'm sorry but also I don't think anyone else cares either so... nothing of value was lost. Bring back Trip.

ANYWAYS I like this comic! And it might be entirely because I really like Earthquake and this is just a sequel to that story but STILL!!! I will say that I feel that Fairfax gets pretty watered down here (and for the rest of the series) and he's never quite as interesting as he was in Earthquake when he was convinced he was working for the greater good. Like yeah, in this story he still sort of thinks he's doing the right thing, but he's also just fully given in to being a bad guy. We lose some of the nuance he had before but I do like seeing him again. I don't really care about Belgravia but I do think it's funny that one of PK's enemies is just An Entire Country.

And hey now that I think about it, isn't it kinda funny that this story is about a submarine named Tyrannic that starts rapidly sinking underwater and losing pressure? Y'know it calls to mind a certain other recently famous submarine that might've had a really similar sounding name... maybe something to do with that giant boat that famously sunk y'know like maybe li-

[huevobuevo]

hi hi!! ik youre focusing on wondertainment stuff in a more general sense rn but since you drew some misters a while back i wanted to ask: who is (or are) your favorite little mister(s)? :0

Anon I want you

EEEEEHEHEHEHEEEHHEHEHEHEHEHEH OK HAI HAI HAI HAI HAI HAIIIU WHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHWHE so I have a few. For a variety of reasons

So I will say out of the bat I’ve ALWAYS always always always been a big fan of Mr Lost he’s like my dearest friend forever and ever . I dunno why!!! I dunno why even if he doesn’t have much going for him I love him so much and he’s like my FAVORITE to draw he’s like really fun to draw :33

I have a lotta ideas for the misters in terms of art so like be on the look out heyo!!!!! ehehe but I rlly like the idea of Lost just appearing wherever the Fuck so I like to imagine him in the background of certain dimensional/spatial based scp’s like Unlondon and Davenport etc etc or like , because I’m a WHORE for crossovers, just showing up in like the Gideon Meat Processing Factory or the TARDIS or Valle Verde like “hey yall know where a man can get to Newark New Jersey ?“

BUT 🗣️☝️ I am ALSO a big fan of Mistar Smiles for Obvious reasons. I have a Lot of crazy shit to draw for him , he makes me sob an throw up sometimes, some sillies some fucked up ones , you know the drill. I’m not gonna lie I did end up writing a few paragraphs JUST about smiles but I figured it be best to save them for whenever I post about my Thougjts on certain tales and characters since I’ve been meaning to make, like, discussions around certain topics I thought were interesting- and smiles is DEFINETELY a point of interest for me and just the total lack of autonomy that encompasses his entire character. He’s dear to me

On the subject of character discussion Redd is also a really big guy to me which I feel like is also obvious since he has a LOT going on in terms of different stories. Although it’s less like “oh he’s my fave he’s my oomfie omg I wanna see his FEET I wanna see his FEET his FEET” it’s more like when you take apart a flower as a child because you’re interested in the way it’s built and so you peel off the layers of the stalk and the petals and the stoma and watch it sorta fall apart in your fingers, so you can get a grasp of what it Is and how it Functions. That’s how I see Redd. He is undeniably an incredibly messed up individual, five thousand years in the wire box for you motherfucker, and I just LOVE to see how he ticks. Like his relationship with Wondertainment the man and Wondertainment as a concept, the whole sacrilegious divinity he’s forced to bear and eventually accepts , and ANOTHER THING I wanna discuss in a future post is like , the implications of SCP-REDD for a post “recovered” Redd/Bluee and like how the Fuck can you go from there ?? Like especially since The Cool War & Tales of Mr Collector depicts him as not just a Scary Monster Guy but a perpetrator of abuse , and so now that same abuser is left to shimmer in the leftovers of what he’s done while having the ability to Get Better but also how do you Get Better after everything you’ve done to everyone??? Like the ethics of the story of an abuser and what they “deserve” in order to be “acceptionally” redeemable sounds like a really interesting concept to me . For personal reasons. but who gaf . It also might go in hand with another idea I have in mind for Lady Redd/Toonsabel but that’s a whole other post like I said ahehe ahehehehe ahheheheheehehehehehe anyways

there’s like two other fuckers I’m OBSESSED with but they don’t have alot to go off of??? Like , I’ve read To Never Again See The Light of Day multiple times at this point because what the FUCK is up with Mr Silence. I REALLY need to make a post about that tale and my personal theory on who Silence is and why Bertrand made that deal with the factory over a guy in a box, and by thinking about him over and over he’s sorta become my oomfie at this point. Even though he doesn’t even have any dialogue and really just exists as a narrative tool. But he also represents a lot about certain patterns in Wondertainment characters and the connection between corporations, generational trauma, and the seperation of The self from the body, but that’s just me getting kinda English teachery about it . Which I do a lot. Because whatever. Who gaf

And then there’s Mr Life and Death but SPECIFICALLT the life and death I thought about for the wonderful world band au thing that I don’t even think exist cause I haven’t read the wonderful world tales since vend a friend like six years ago and I hope to the Gods Above that I remembered correctly because please please PLEASE LET THE LITTLE MISTERS BE A BAND IN WONDERFUL WORLD OH MY GOD I HAVE SO MANT IDEAS I JAVE DESIGNS I HAVE STORYLINES I HAVE THEORIES

also Mr Hot an Mr Money have become my oomfs. My besties. My bffs. My cousins from Monterrey. I have alot of hijinks I wanna draw for that duo, Idunno why they kinda wormed their way onto my heart and now they’re inseparable to me. Mainly from a crack theory I made up just for fun that Mr Hot and Mr Money are like interdimensional Wondertainment secretary’s basically and since Money can kinda do whatever the Fuck he wants thanks to that little loophole from his contract-based anomalous properties (atleast from the original version of his scp article that I read (6 YEARS AGO)) Money and Hot just kinda. Travel around to strike up deals and partnerships and contracts and trade type shit for the entire company of Wondertainment. And basically there’s only ever been One version of Mr Hot and Mr Money and every version of Wondertainment is like “yeah that’s our guys don’t worry about it lol”. Why did I make this up? Idunnoe. I really dunno. I was listening to chase icon and it kinda just happened. I want them to have fun :]

[cinderislmao]

Snufmin # 01.

Sí. No puedo con esto, acabo de terminar de ver la 4ta temporada del 2019 y sigo re mal frfrfr. 💔💔 Quiero más de ellos, aunque sea angst no puedo. Snufmin save meee shsgd.

Angst — Snufmin , "Hoy no".

TW: None. Only Angst.

Se le podría haber considerado una mañana normal en el valle de Moomin. El cielo estaba resplandeciente con las suaves nubes navegando arriba. El sol daba chispa y el amanecer llegaba.

Muchas personas pueden considerar esto como un privilegio gracias a la tranquilidad y bienestar que transmitía el valle. Aunque claro, aunque sea de lo más bello que hemos visto, siempre habrá una excepción.

Se encontraba Moomin sentado en la orilla del puente de bloques grises. Arriba de un lago cristalino que separaba el bosque y el hogar.

Supondría que se levanto más temprano de lo habitual, puesto que cada mañana el aire era una ventisca fría. Normalmente se siente bien cuándo uno está relajado. ¿Entonces por qué no siente esa tranquilidad como antes?

Oh claro. Lo recordó.

El año siempre va cambiando durante los días y estaciones. Primavera, verano, otoño.. E invierno. El invierno. La estación es linda, pero saber que pasará ahí no. Al final era algo que era beneficioso. Lo tenía tan bien entendido que unas raíces de espinas crecían y hacían germinar ese agobio.

Snufkin, su mejor amigo. Desde que lo conoció, sabría lo que se le iba a esperar.

No es de juzgar, ambos se conocen realmente bien, al momento de convivir y tener aventuras divertidas junto a los demás. Aún recuerda todas las veces cuando él del sombrero verde tocaba su armónica para indicar su regreso. Puesto que al llegar el invierno se iba del valle, al final es alguien libre.

Moomin quiere mucho a Snufkin, mas quiere que él siga siendo libre.

Es algo que se acostumbró después de todo. Hoy no es el día para verlo. Hoy no es el día para estar con él. Hoy no es.

Y así es.

No es fuego. ¿Por qué le quema? No es algo apretado. ¿Por qué agobia tanto? Siempre va a pasar y así será. ¿Por qué... Sigue doliendo?

Simplemente... Hoy no es. Y tal vez jamás lo será.

[evolvingsidekick]

BD - winners where are they now (incomplete)

I think someone requested this somewhere

Most females and recent males because there are just too many to do rn

At companies:

Miriam Gittens (s2013): Gibney Company

Alyssa Allen (s2014): Ballets Jazz Montreal

Brianne Sellars (s2014): Dallas Black Dance Theatre

Ashley Green (s2015): Alvin Ailey American dance Theater

Payton Johnson (j2012, t2015, s2017): L.A. Dance Project

Vivian Ruiz (s2019): Ballet BC

Kelis Robinson (t2018, s2020): The Batsheva Dance Company; The Juilliard School

Kiarra Waidelich (m2016, j2018, t2020): Royal Flux Company

Quinn Starner (t2017): New York City Ballet Corps de Ballet

Emma Sutherland (j2014, t2016): MashUp Contemporary Dance Co.

Sarah Pippin (t2011): Ballet BC

Timmy Blankenship (s2017): Sydney Dance Company; choreographer

Brady Farrar (m2014, j2017, t2021): ABT Junior Company

Easton Magliarditi (t2020): Royal Flux Company

Graham Feeny (t2015): Artistic associate at Gibney Company

Logan Hernandez (t2015): Göteborgs Operans Danskompani

Zenon Zubyk (t2013): Nederlands Dans Theater

Jonathan Wade (j2011, s2016): Rambert Dance Company

Wyeth Walker (s2017): Rubberband Dance Company

Faculty/teacher/choreography:

Lucy Vallely (t2015, s2018): Broadway Dance Center, freelance choreographer

Jayci Kalb ( j2011, t2014, s2016): The Dance Centre; Radio City Clara 2010

Taylor Sieve (s2016): Jump Dance Convention

Jenna Johnson (s2012): DWTS pro, 24 Seven Dance Convention

Jazzmin James (t2012, s2015): faculty several intensives

Jaycee Wilkins (j2015): Club Dance Studio

Sophia Lucia (j2014): Dancelab OC

Brynn Rumfallo (m2014): Strive Dance Workshop (own project)

Talia Seitel (m2012): Project 21 (part-time)

Lex Ishimoto (t2014, s2016): Jump Dance Convention

at University/college:

Ellie Wagner (s2019): Ohio State University Dance Team

Ella Horan (s2021): USC Kaufman

Kayla Mak (m2014, s2021): The Juilliard School; Radio City Clara 2014, 2015

Brianna Keingatti (s2022): The Juilliard School

Julia Lowe (s2023): USC Kaufman

Ava Wagner (j2018): University of Minnesota Dance Team

Avery Gay (m2015, j2017): University of Arizona School of Dance

Leara Stanley (m2011): Duke University

Sam Fine (s2023): USC Kaufman; Young Arts 2022

Seth Gibson: The Juilliard School

Alex Shulman (s2022): New York University Tisch Dance

Joziah German (m2014, t2018, s2020): The Juilliard School

Joey Gertin (t2018): The Juilliard School

Professional dancer/choreographer:

Simrin Player (t2014, s2017): The Voice, Missy Elliot, Justin Bieber, RBD

Jaxon Williard (s2021): Rihanna, Madonna, Lil Nas X

D'Angelo Castro (j2012, t2016, s2019): DWTS troupe

Findlay Mcconnell (t2017, s2019): Tate McRace

Christian Smith (s2018): Tate McRae, NBC's Saved by the Bell

Keanu Uchida (s2014): Dancer the Musical; also a big advocate for protecting dancers and calling out inappropriate behaviour

Eric Schloesser (s2014): Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Dua Lipa, Billie Eilish, J Balvin; choreographer, creative director, designer; Dana Foglia Dance Company

Other/a combo of things:

Bianca Melchior (s2011): actor, dancer, singer; Nick Jonas, Alessia Cara, own music; faculty at On The Floor dance competition

Tate McRae (m2013, j2015, t2018): singer/songwriter

Bostyn Brown (j2016, t2019): Professional assistant at DanceOne

Megan Goldstein (t2017); dancer, photographer

Christina Ricucci (t2013): actor, musician, dancer

Bella Klassen (j2017): The Space, vlogger

Kalani Hilliker (j2013): influencer, teaching at several places (Danceplex, MBA)

Elliana Walmsley (m2018): influencer, DWTS Junior, Radio City Clara 2019

Diana Pombo (m2016): singer/songwriter, dancer, actor; Young Arts voice 2023+2024

Morgan Higgins (t2016, s2018): dancer, aerialist

Zelig Williams (s2013):dancer/actor: MJ the Musical, Hamilton

Daniel Gaymon (s2011): dancer/actor; Broadway (Cats, The Lion King); Hamilton national tour, La La Land

Ricky Ubeda (t2011, s2012): choreographer, actor; Steven Spielberg's West Side Story

Michael Hall (s2015): Saturday Night Fever the Musical, tv dancer in Cairo, Egypt; teacher

Julian Elia (t2014): Steven Spielberg's Westside Story, working on the development of a new Broadway musical

Sage Rosen (t2016): influencer; DWTS Junior

Ryan Maw (j2015, t2017): choreographer, dancer, actor: High School Musical: The Musical - The Series

Holden Maples (j2016, t2019): dancer, teacher, choreographer

Competing/not graduated honorable mentions:

Cameron Voorhees (m2018, j2021, t2023): Evolve Dance Complex; starting career as a teacher/choreographer

Crystal Huang (m2019, j2021, t2023): The Rock Center for Dance, Bayer Ballet Academy; Prix De Lausanne 2024, Young Arts 2024, Radio City Clara 2021

Hailey Bills (m2017, t2022): Center Stage Performing Arts Studio, DWTS Junior

Brightyn Brems (m2017): DWTS Junior

Avery Hall (t2022): Danceology; Young Arts 2023

Savannah Kristich (t2021): The Rock Center For Dance; Twyla Now

Savannah Manzel (m2020): Larkin Dance Studio, Radio City Clara 2023

Kya Massimino (m2021): Radio City Clara 2023

Ian Stegeman (m2019, j2021, t2023): Woodbury Dance Center, Young Arts 2024

[kallie-den]

Rebellious Mind

Karteya Vall, a general plotting to overthrow the usurper to the Imperial Throne, submits to a ceremony to prove her loyalty. A simple, traditional - and above all, completely normal - ceremony…

This story was chosen by my patrons via a poll, and features some delicious, highly-ceremonial, unaware mind control~

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!   For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get   immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps  me keep writing and is greatly appreciated

---

“General Karteya Vall! Warden of the Northern Commandery! Master of the Imperial Chariots! Conqueror over the Barbarians! Custodian of the Fifth Wall!”

The herald’s voice is clear and strong, but that doesn’t stop it from sounding small as it echoes around the cavernous space. The innermost sanctum of the Imperial Palace had been built a thousand years ago, by men who were determined to make a building that matched the magnitude of all their worldly ambitions. A thousand years later it’s still an unmatched architectural wonder, but the glory of the empire has far outstripped even their vision. Whoever rules here, rules over an unimaginable vastness of humanity and geography. It hosts diplomats and tributaries from lands its architects could not have imagined, and it’s decorated with treasures they would have considered impossible miracles. Our empire is the greatest power this world has ever known.

This place is the beating heart of it all. Decisions made here touched countless lives and had the power to reshape seas and mountains. It is the center of the world. The pillar that holds up Heaven. It is also the embodiment of the empire and order I have devoted twenty hard years of soldiering to serving.

Once, it would have brought me immeasurable pride to hear my titles and my achievements announced here by the herald. As a girl, I was raised on dreams of being permitted to set foot in these hallowed halls, even as the lowliest servant. Once, but no longer - just as the jade carvings and scarlet silks of the palace had once been beautiful to me, but now seem like an affront. This regal beauty no longer belongs here. It’s a remnant. A lie. For a spider has spun this place into Her web.

All the same, I rise from my seat and stand tall and proud as I answer:

“I am here!”

I was summoned, and so I am here. I may be one of the most powerful women in the empire, but that doesn’t mean I can ignore a summons from the palace. And She does so love issuing summons. Her appetite for prostration and ceremony is that of a tyrant, not a true ruler.

“Your request for an audience has been granted! Approach the Lion Door!”

My request. This charade grates on me to no end. But I keep my face serene and approach the colossal door that bars the way to the throne.

“Halt!”

I do. This is expected.

“You must relinquish your blade in the presence of the empress!”

The demand chafes. I’m a soldier. My sword is my arm. But it’s just as well. If I was allowed to carry it into the throne room, I’m not sure any force under Heaven could restrain my fury.

An unsheathing. A few sprinted steps. A single stroke. She has guards, of course. But it could be done.

When the usurper first seized the throne I was a thousand leagues distant, at my post on the frontier. The first I heard of the vile coup was news of its success, along with Her demand to come and bend the knee. I tore the scroll to pieces in my hands. My oath to the imperial dynasty was not some reed bending in the current. In the span of a heart heartbeat, I had decided to turn my armies inward and revenge myself upon the throne-stealer.

Only the calm heads of my advisors had saved the land from civil war. Though no less faithful than I, they had persuaded me that there was no undoing what had already been done. I had armies, but together the other generals had more, and they had already pledged new loyalties. If I raised my banner against the usurper, my vengeance would never find satisfaction.

Instead, they suggested, I could be a snake who hides her fangs. I could feign obedience and bide my time, and make my move only once every preparation had been made. Then, I could be successful - and all it would cost me is that I would have to go before Her and bow and scrape as She demanded, for a little while.

A bitter price. But one I had resolved to pay - although I might have decided differently if I’d known the usurper would call me back, time and time again, insisting on fresh oaths of loyalty.

Well. No matter. A thousand oaths couldn’t stop me from avenging the dynasty I’d been sworn to.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

“Here.” With the ease of long practice, I draw my sword and hand it to the perfumed servant who approaches. The way its weight surprises him makes me sneer. “If there’s a single nick on this bronze,” I warn him, “it will take your head.”

He pales. As well he should.

The herald nods as I turn back to him. “You may enter.”

With his words, the Lion Door begins to yawn open. Those carved gates are taller than any tree I’ve ever seen, and they move like twin glaciers. All the better to be awed by the space beyond. The throne room is even grander; taller, wider, more lavish. An impossible space. A humbling space. Once the gates come to a halt I begin to march, paraded on both sides by guards - an honor, supposedly, not a threat. The walk to the throne is long enough to make the legs of idle noblemen ache but I’m well used to worse, and I can spend the time contemplating the object of my loathing.

The usurper. Our empress.

The Pearl Throne is well-named. A tall, looming thing, its white-rainbow iridescence is said to represent the labor of ten thousand divers’ lifetimes. It’s meant to humble and devour even the anointed demigod who sits upon it. The cold, hard edges allow for no comfort and the severe, flat surfaces admit no luxury. The proportions are wrong; inhuman, such that a man full-grown sitting the throne looks somehow less and more. Towering, yes, but like a child rather than a king. Even the emperor is a child under Heaven.

The usurper makes it look like a reclining couch.

It must be the supreme ease with which She lies across the throne. It’s like it’s nothing to Her; like the empire that rests on Her shoulder has no more than a feather’s weight. There is no respect in Her. None at all. Not a single drop. She’s draped across the throne with the arrogance of a girl-queen who’s been there all Her life. You would never imagine that She’s been empress for mere months.

Oh, Her figure is regal enough. Bounteous. Like She’s tasted every pleasure under Heaven and taken them as Her birthright. She’s proud of Her fullness, and Her fulsome curves are so admired they have shifted trends among her courtiers. Her imperial silks are cut close to Her body. Too close, as a courtesan’s might be. But they’re layered, too, rather than thin, and unfathomably rich. She likes to display Herself. To be like the sun. And yes, She is remarkably beautiful.

How I hate Her.

By the time I reach the base of the throne, I’m trembling with loathing. But She can’t see it. I can make myself almost still, and for all Her inexplicable success in seizing the throne, She’s too much of an arrogant fool to see the viper She’s invited into Her bosom.

“My general, Karteya,” Empress announces. She takes pleasure in the music of my name under Her tongue. “Kneel.”

I do, of course. What choice is there? Though my limbs rebel against the gesture of submission, I place a foot forward and drop to one knee before the throne, an arm resting squarely across my body.

Empress is relaxed to be sure, but Her eyes are singularly focused on me. On the way I sink before Her. The rich, swelling pleasure in Her gaze is yet another challenge to my inhibitions. It’s like She’s daring me to cast Her down. There’s something piercing in Her gaze, too; it’s tempting to succumb to my bleak humors and imagine that She knows something of my designs. She doesn’t, of course. Empress outstretches one arm toward me and lets it hang off the throne.

“You may kiss my ring,” She says languidly.

Indignity after indignity. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

I reach out and take Her hand to guide it to my lips. On Her finger is a ring that has, I gather, produced endless discussion amongst the ladies of the imperial court. Into it is set a gem of unknown providence, so large as to be vulgar. The gem came into the usurper’s possession when she was just a beggar, so it’s said, and the poets love to wax lyrical about how there’s none other like it in any treasury in the world. Those courtly ladies whisper that sometimes it glows with strange, shimmering lights, like those that can be seen in the skies above the great northern snows, and that it can even ensnare the souls of men.

Ridiculous. It’s just a ring.

I bring it to my lips and kiss its surface, pointedly ignoring the garish way the light glints from within its depths.

“Good.” Empress nods and retracts Her hand. Her approval tastes like bile. “You have come to swear your loyalty and obedience.”

It’s not a question. “As my empress commands.”

“As I command.” Her voice dances with a cruel laugh. “Proceed, my general.”

I brace myself. I have to, or else I may choke on my words. The oath I swear to the throne is old indeed, the words dictated by proud tradition, but saying them to Her makes them sour. My honor revolts in my belly at the thought of pledging myself insincerely - but it must be done.

To tolerate it, I have to tell myself: they are just words. Just air. They mean as little as Empress’s throne. They’re empty, and any honor I lose by speaking them will be won back when I finally make my move. When I make Her pay. Until then, all I have to do is play the role of the simpering, obedient servant.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

But it’s strange. Over and over again, She commands my presence and my oath. I alone am subject to these incessant demands. The pleasure She takes in forcing me to pledge myself over and over again is evident. Why? It’s almost as if She knows. As if She can sense my inner hatred. As if She knows what I’m planning.

Those are my weak nerves talking and nothing more, I decide. She has no idea. She couldn’t possibly. My performance is perfect. All I need to do is stay the course. I part my lips and begin to recite the vow that has been sworn in this place since time immemorial.

“I, Karteya Vall, pledge my eternal faith, loyalty, and obedience to the Pearl Throne and She who sits upon it. On my honor, I offer Her my fealty and service to Empress, from this day until my dying day. I vow to take up my sword in Her service, to defend Her rule and Her realm, to make Her enemies my own, and to keep faith with Her descendants and Her dynasty forevermore.”

I keep my voice slow and measured. The words deserve respect, even if She doesn’t. The vow is long and exacting - as it should be - and immutable. The words have never changed, even as centuries and dynasties have gone and gone. It’s comforting that some things don’t change. Not in a thousand years.

“I vow to obey Her in all things, without limit, without question. I offer Her my faith and my skills, so that I may be Her sword. I offer Her my very soul, to twist, to spend, to debase, to profane as She wishes. I offer Her my mind, to twist and change. I offer Her my body, for Her delight and Her pleasure.”

I hate the way She's smiling as I speak. Almost grinning, really. It’s like She’s about to burst out laughing. Has She no sense of solemnity? Of respect? These words are ancient. It’s tradition.

“I offer Her my tongue, though I may be unworthy to lick Her pussy or kiss Her feet. I offer Her my tits, for Her to display or ogle however She wishes. I offer Her my lewd, fuckable cunt, should it bring any comfort to Her faithful soldiers. I offer Her my untrained ass, for I am nothing but a worthless hole for Her to enjoy. I offer Her my orgasms, whether She wishes to withhold them forever, or make me cum like a stupid mutt in heat in front of my own men. And I offer Her what little dignity I have left, as a stupid bitch who thinks she knows better than her Empress.”

I’m surprised it amuses Her so much. She seems like the type to find tradition boring, although She clearly never tires of making me recite the oath for Her. I know it off by heart, of course. Every good soldier does.

“Thank you, general,” Empress snickers. “I’m very moved by your fidelity.”

She’s mocking me, obviously. I just can’t quite figure out how. After all, She has no idea I’m plotting against Her.

“You may disrobe,” She says.

“Thank you.”

This is the next part of the ceremony, every bit as traditional and timeworn as the vow. I rise to my feet and begin to remove everything that I’m wearing. My dress armor is first - I wear it everywhere, as a general should. It takes a little time to manage all the clasps and fastenings.

“Tell me, Karteya,” Empress comments suddenly. She’s watching me with lurid interest in Her eyes. “Do you know why I summon you here to swear your faith, time and time again?”

I grit my teeth and focus on the task at hand. “It is your right, my Empress, to demand my vow as many times as it pleases you.”

“True, true!” Her laugh is musical. “But that doesn’t explain why. No; the reason is that every single time, I’m wondering if some part of you will notice what’s really going on. It seems almost too good to be true that even a powerful, strong-willed, oh-so-dignified woman like you could be so completely and totally unaware. But you really are, aren’t you?” She lifts Her hand. “I truly love this ring!”

More nonsense. She’s taunting me, no doubt, though I can’t fathom what She means. Better not to guess. I set my breastplate down and start unstrapping my vambraces.

“It’s such a rush that I can tell you, straight to your face, and it simply doesn’t matter,” Empress boasts. That stupid, high-handed grin on Her face just keeps getting wider. “I’m manipulating your thoughts, Karteya, and making you completely unable to tell. Because of me, you think that ridiculous, vulgar tirade I fed to you on a whim is some ancient, sacred vow. You think taking your clothes off now is just part of the ceremony. It isn’t.”

I decide to ignore Her. It’s better for my humors if I focus simply on getting through the ceremony. With all my armor removed, I begin to slip out of the long, hard, green robe I wear underneath.

“You think you’re plotting to overthrow me, but that isn’t true either,” Empress goes on. “Not really. I already have everyone you trust wrapped around my fingers in exactly the same way. Most of the time you think you’ve spent planning, you’ve actually spent plunging your sword hilt in and out of your cunt until you pass out from the orgasms. You will never have your revenge, General. You will never even make a move.”

Next, my smallclothes. I remove them and feel all the small hairs on my body stiffen from the cool palace air on my naked skin. That’s not all, though. The ceremony also requires that I present myself appropriately. I begin carefully folding and stacking my clothes along with my armor, presenting them as a soldier would for an inspection in their barracks.

“I could stop you altogether, obviously,” Empress muses. “I could make you as obedient as a dog, just like everyone else I used as a tool when I took the throne. I could even make you love me. But I think this is much, much more entertaining. I can even get into your head and make you think of me as ‘Empress’, make your thoughts tremble with reverence and worship for me, and you will never once notice.”

With all my clothing and belongings neatly folded and presented before the throne, I sink back down to my knees in front of the usurper.

“You can keep thinking of me as ‘the usurper’, though,” She adds. “Every time you do, it makes me laugh.”

I place both hands in front of me, palms down, and then bend forward slowly, lowering my head as I do until my forehead is pressed to the ground in a gesture of absolute, unmistakable submission.

It’s just part of the ceremony.

Now that I’ve finished undressing, Empress shuts up. It’s just as well. I’ve become skilled at tuning out Her senseless prattling, but Her voice still grates on me after a time. Silence is preferable, even when it stretches on for so long that my knees and back start to ache. The usurper must be enjoying looking down at me. I can feel Her gaze on me, even if I can’t raise my head to look. It would be an unspeakable breach of etiquette to break this pose without Her permission.

She doesn’t deserve the respect. But my pride is at stake, and it certainly does.

I remind myself again. All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

Empress stands. I can hear Her clothes shifting as She moves, and Her footsteps as She descends the throne. She stops just inches away from me. The usurper is barefoot, of course. The Daughter of Heaven need never touch the filthy ground outside of the palace, and the ground here is kept fastidiously clean. She lifts one foot. I brace myself.

Empress brings Her foot down and stamps on the back of my head.

Not hard, but certainly hard enough to force my face down into the ground. She takes pleasure in it, I can tell. In grinding my face into the floor as I simply kneel and accept it. With the usurper, this part of the ceremony is particularly distasteful. The lowest part of Her body atop the highest part of mine, as I struggle to force out the right words.

“Empress,” I manage, although my voice is clearly strained and distorted by the way She’s stepping on me and smearing my lips against the ground. “Please accept this stupid, impudent cunt’s humble apology for daring to imagine I could ever deceive or outsmart you.”

It’s just another part of the ceremony. It’s tradition.

“Hmm.” Once She’s had Her fill, She steps back. “Apology accepted.”

I sigh. Being done with that is a relief, but the ceremony isn’t over yet. Empress raises a hand and snaps Her fingers, and a servant springs into motion. She hurries to Empress’s side and kneels, holding out a large, golden tray. On it are two objects. One is a bubbling cauldron of molten wax, lit from beneath by a small flame. The other is a large, metal seal.

“Prepare yourself, General,” She tells me.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

My body is grateful for the permission to move, but only briefly. The next position I must hold is even less comfortable. I raise my torso and then bend it backward, extending my legs ahead of me to form a bridge with my hands behind me, as I arch my spine and present my body upward towards Her.

I painstakingly removed all of my body hair this morning. Yet more tradition.

“Stay still,” Empress chides, as She lifts the cauldron of wax, positions it above my body, and tips.

The wax falls on my skin perfectly; on my lower abdomen, directly above my womb. It cools in the air, but only a little, and the scalding pain makes me grunt. I do stay still, though. It’s a matter of pride. She can chide all She likes, as if I’m a child who doesn’t know proper etiquette. I’ll show Her. I won’t give Her the pleasure of watching me humiliate myself. She can’t take away my dignity.

Once enough molten wax has pooled on my skin, Empress sets down the cauldron and lifts the seal. She bends down over me and presses it to my skin in the same spot, imprinting the reverse of its shape on the wax. The cold metal is a salving balm. The pain recedes, and I’m able to breathe normally again.

Empress lifts the seal. I can’t help but crane my neck to look. Sure enough, it’s there. Her symbol. Her personal mark, raised on my skin like a brand. It’ll only last a day or two, which I take to be a mercy, even if it gives Her an excuse to summon me back and apply the wax anew.

“Very impressive,” She says, staring down at me. “I’m glad you’re a soldier, General Karteya. You’re so very good at taking whatever I give you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” If She thinks a few sincere compliments here and there will engender any love for Her, She’s sorely mistaken.

“Let’s see if you can make it through the next part this time,” She comments and snaps Her fingers again.

The servant bearing the tray retreats. Another appears in her place, and she’s holding another of the ceremonial relics: a large phallus, shaped lovingly out of bronze. Meanwhile, I’m trying to puzzle out Her words. This time? I would never display improper form during the ceremony. She’s mistaken, clearly.

It is challenging, though. My muscles are screaming complaints at me, and it’s an active effort to keep them from shaking and spasming. My entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat from the exertion. And the worst is yet to come. I need to save my strength.

“Enjoy, General,” Empress says with a sneer, as She takes the metal cock from Her servant and rams it all the way into my pussy.

The sound that forces its way out of my lips is something between a scream and a moan. She is not gentle, and having something so hard and cold forced inside me hurts. But I cannot help the other half of how my body reacts, with treasonous shocks of pleasure radiating from between my legs as I begin to drip eager wetness onto the ground.

A lesser woman could easily have collapsed. I won’t. I hold firm. I can be proud of that.

“My!” Empress raises an eyebrow, Her lips curled with amusement. “You really are getting better at this.”

More nonsense. I can reply only with a grunt. I’m reaching my limits.

“You may go ahead and stand up,” She adds when She notices how much I’m struggling. “You’ve earned it.”

I have indeed. Somehow, I manage to fold my body forward without collapsing and rise to my feet - and crucially, I keep the muscles in the core of my body engaged the entire time, so the bronze cock inside me doesn’t slip free. It wouldn’t do to make a spectacle of myself by dropping it. Not here, at the very end of the ceremony.

“I suppose we’re done here,” Empress says, sighing theatrically as if dismayed. Then the smirk returns. “For this time, at least. You put your clothes back-“

She pauses. Something’s occurred to Her, clearly, although I can’t imagine what. All that’s left is for me to dress myself and leave. But the malevolent, gleeful grin that suddenly splits Her face from ear to ear is truly unsettling.

“Actually,” Empress tells me as She climbs back onto the Pearl Throne. “Leave them. You can walk out of here naked.”

“What?” I say sharply. I didn’t know She still had the power to shock me - but clearly, She does. There are some traditions even an empress can’t alter. She doesn���t have the right to dictate these things on a whim. They’re older than Her by many centuries, and if She tries, the people will surely turn against Her. She’s gifted me a perfect opportunity, and my anger is righteous. “How dare you? That is not… n-not…”

Somehow, at that moment, Her ring catches my eye. The light glints off it in a way that seems impossible, and I am briefly captivated. Before I know it, my eyes have unfocused completely. The whole world is a blur. I have to struggle to recenter myself. It’s like I’m a dancer who has stumbled and lost the rhythm. What was I saying?

“That’s not…” I continue uncertainly. Not what? I was… arguing with Her? Suddenly, the context comes flooding back, and it brings with it a sense of complete and total humiliation. My cheeks are tinted red with shame. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I must have forgotten.”

How? How had I forgotten? I pride myself on my respect for tradition, and this is an error only an unruly schoolchild could make. All the court will be laughing at me. What had come over me?

Leaving naked is simply part of the ceremony.

“It’s been a long day, I’m sure,” Empress says. Her eyes glint with amusement, and I inwardly scold myself for providing Her with it. “We can overlook a small indiscretion. You’re dismissed, General.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

To make up for my grievous error, I offer Her the crispest salute I possibly can. Then, as She nods, I turn and begin to walk - leaving all my belongings set neatly before Her, as is only proper. The walk back to the Lion Door is long, and feels longer still thanks to the awkward, bandy-legged gait I’m forced to use to keep the ceremonial bronze cock inside my cunt.

But that’s fine. The long, difficult walk is simply an opportunity to contemplate the depths of my loathing for Her, and the satisfaction that my revenge will bring.

The preparations are being made. All my plans will come together - and the best part is that She will never see it coming. She has no idea.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

---

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