#I could not manage to draw more than this. such is the fleeting nature of inspiration

[nugulover69]

Assorted Tusk scribbles 🐘💚

[astrobolical]

Cute as a kitten-

Content Warnings: Suggestive, Satan gets riled up (nothing explicit though), Animalistic behaviour (Purring, growling, protectiveness), biting, as always MDNI.

Reader: Gender Neutral

This took a turn, this was just supposed to be fluff but I have no self control with my second favourite brother, apparently. This has a lot of fluff in the beginning, at least. This was inspired from Satan’s texts about cat behaviours.

I made the banner before I wrote this, the quote is accidentally fitting. Also for Obey Me I’ll use MC rather than Y/N, it just fits better.

There was a calming quiet around you as you lounged on the sofa, the only sounds that met your ears were the crackling of the fireplace as it warmed the room and the occasional turning of a page in Satan’s book from where he sat on the other end of the couch from where you were. In truth, it was rather odd that there was such serenity in the House of Lamentation but for now you didn’t allow yourself to worry over what the brothers’ could be getting into. No, the sight in front of you was far more important.

Your D.D.D. was forgotten in your hand, your eyes instead focused on the blonde who was engrossed in whatever tale he’d picked up. Apart from his furrowed brows when something unanticipated would happen in the story, Satan seemed entirely relaxed. It was a rare sight, indeed, and not one you would trade for anything.

While you by no means disliked his temper, it was an entirely different experience to see him as he was now. You adored that he felt a level of comfort with you that allowed him to lose himself into the words on the page. You couldn’t help the flicker of pride in your chest that this was something very few would witness for such an extended period— that you were someone he held more patience for than anyone else.

You’d been careful not to draw his attention or break this fleeting serenity, knowing that at any moment a flurry of commotion could erupt, chaos bleeding through and cracking this bubble of peace you’d found yourself in. It was bizarre that it hadn’t already happened, but you weren’t about to complain.

However, you were also not infallible. In the back of your mind you could recall messages he’d sent you recently, imagery of cats and their habits that he’d found adorable. A part of you, one not very deep down, wanted to see exactly how Satan would react to you creating such a situation— it was an impulse you’d had a hard time fighting down, though often the chaotic nature of the house helped to curb it. Now, though, it was just the two of you in the quiet of the living room. It was as good a chance as any, and probably the easiest and safest to manage it in. Without his brothers nearby it eliminated the risk of one of them irritating him with their remarks.

So, you began to debate the best way to go about it. Stretching, making little movements to gauge how much of his attention was on you— apart from a small glance your way at the initial stretch, he’d yet to look at you again. When you were satisfied that your fidgeting was of little consequence to him you put your little plan into motion. Admittedly it wasn’t very thought through, but it was a plan regardless.

Quietly you inched your way closer to his end of the couch, though the closer you were to him the more you wondered if this was something he’d find stupid. Sure he’d alluded to it in his text but that didn’t mean he anticipated it in reality, right?

Oh, but the urge just wouldn’t leave you.

Once you were close enough you adjusted on the couch, moving to sit on your knees though before you could get close enough to bunt your head against him those green and yellow eyes turned to you, eyebrow raising at the strange position you’d put yourself into. “MC?” He questioned, though didn’t protest at your sudden close proximity.

When you moved closer again he chuckled, his arm adjusting to allow you to invade his space even more. “If you wanted to read with me you just had to ask. No need to shuffle around like tha—” He paused as your forehead bumped against his cheek, making use of his opened arms to close that gap between you.

There was a small noise of confusion, and then a sharp intake of breath as you continued to rub your head against him in the same manner the cats he loved would.

Unexpectedly, the action was oddly cathartic, a show of affection that was something unique between the two of you. However you were startled from the feeling when you heard his book fall to the floor, jumping slightly and sitting back on your heels to give him his space back. You looked at him tentatively, and were greeted with a sight that warmed your heart more than the calm evening you were sharing could ever have.

In front of you was Satan, covering his mouth with the hand that had dropped the book, his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink as he stared at you with wide eyes. You felt your own face heat up, and you sheepishly laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

He didn’t allow you to continue your half-hearted apology, the hand that had moved to allow you in grasping the back of your neck and dragging you closer, the other moving to your cheek. “Satan?”

His forehead bumped against your own, his eyes closed as he nuzzled you in return. Unsatisfied with the simple bunt he’d given you, though, he moved closer. Mindful of his own horns he quickly returned the favour with fervour. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, your hand finding his soft blonde hair and running your fingers through. He hummed, using his weight to push you back until you were sitting properly, skillfully managing his way between your legs to continue his ministrations in a way that was more comfortable for both of you.

There was a low rumble from his chest, a noise you recognized as a demon’s purr as he nipped at your jaw. Satan’s purr was a low rumble, a sound you hadn’t heard from him before— and wholly different from the purr you’d heard from one of his brothers once. You dared not comment on the noise, instead moving your hands to gently massage the base of his horns as his tail curled possessively around your shin.

This was the happiest you had seen Satan, and your heart nearly melted at how simple it had been to bring him such joy.

However as your fingers continued their gentle work, sharp teeth soon became more daring, the gentle rubs and nuzzles shifting to curious lips tracing where your jaw met your neck. Teeth grazing as he moved downwards, tail tightening in its hold, a large hand moving to your hip as you finally couldn’t keep yourself up, your back hitting the couch behind you as the Avatar of Wrath loomed over you.

You whimpered as he bit down just over where your pulse point betrayed your accelerating heartbeat, hard enough that you were sure there would certainly be marks there for days to come, yet not hard enough to break your skin. The rumbling from his chest faded as new feelings overtook the demon above you, a growl erupting from Satan’s throat as your grip tightened on his hair.

You bit your lip, your breathing quickening as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your shirt—

“Certainly there must be better places for this? Or did the two of you want to put on a show?” The sudden voice interrupting the two of you made your entire body freeze and stiffen, and the growl that escaped Satan now was entirely more vicious as his head snapped up to glare at the eldest of the brothers.

The mood shattered, and your senses returned to you, quickly pushing out from under Satan the best you could with his tail still gripping you as tightly as it was, almost unrelenting. You hid your blush from Lucifer the best you could as you let out a squeak of an apology. “Sorry! Um, we were just—”

“It’s fairly obvious what the two of you were getting up to.” Lucifer’s tone was far from light, and it was clear he was displeased at the situation he’d walked into. “Please refrain from using shared areas for… personal fun.”

Surprisingly there was no protest from Satan, whose glare was so ferocious you’d have been terrified if you weren’t as close with him as you were. He was stiff, the only sound escaping him a low, threatening growl.

You turned your head to look at Lucifer, who rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m so frightened.” He drawled, his words dripping with sarcasm as he smirked at his younger brother. “Take this to somewhere private, or behave yourselves.”

The blonde simply pulled you closer in response, and you realized he was simply unwilling to let Lucifer ‘take’ you. The possessive display made a heat reignite in your belly again, but you tried your best to ignore the feeling— if Lucifer had returned, no doubt the other brothers would filter into the house again soon.

Once Lucifer had left the room, the door closing with a sharp, loud bang Satan’s head fell to your shoulder, his forehead resting there as he sighed heavily. “Damn him.” He murmured, clearly frustrated at being interrupted, especially by Lucifer.

You hummed, carefully maneuvering him to nuzzle your face into his hair.

And then you laughed, and Satan huffed. As you moved back you couldn’t help yourself. “I didn’t think you’d react quite like that.” You admitted, realizing the strange situation that had just transpired.

“How could I not? My human showed me affection in the most adorable, perfect way.” He looked almost proud as he spoke, his eyes mesmerizing as he studied your flustered expression. “It’s a shame… it was just starting to get fun, too.”

You had a feeling you weren’t going to be leaving Satan’s side tonight.

[valenteal]

I’m still relatively new to the mha fandom and don’t know if anyone has already come up with this yet but I haven’t seen it anywhere so Imma post it.

The thing about Bakugou is that his quirk isn’t inherently heroic. In all honesty it’s pretty terrifying. So why was everyone so convinced that it was heroic and such when we know that people discriminate against people with quirks that scare them?

I think that people who work with younger children are actually trained to push kids with those kinds of easily destructive quirks towards becoming a hero. They’re taught to make sure those kids feel safe and accepted so they don’t lash out to much. They’ll indulge those kids because they’re scared but they’ll also try to put them on a path of selflessness from a young age.

It really feels like Bakugou was manipulated from a young age to see being a powerful hero as his destiny or something. And it makes sense in a short term way. Quirks are appearing and kids have a lot of power at their fingertips and the adults don’t know how to handle it. I mean, how can you discipline a child who could accidentally kill you in a fit of rage? The easiest solution is to get them to discipline themselves, make them draw their own line in the sand, regulate their own behavior because going to far will take away the future they think they decided for themselves.

And it’s not just Bakugou either. I mean, Touya kind of hinted at it and it’s entirely possible that pressure to be a hero didn’t just come from Endeavor in regards to both him and Shouto.

Mina too, we don’t know much about her but she has a naturally destructive quirk and her passions aren’t being a hero. I have no idea why she’s a hero student. She doesn’t seem as dedicated to it and honestly I don’t think she would’ve pursued it without some outside pressure. She seems more like someone who would do into entertainment. If she didn’t have a powerful quirk she wouldn’t have gone into law enforcement, which heroics is.

It’s a short sighted plan that is seriously ethically dubious but for like the first generation of quirk users it makes sense, but it’s not sustainable, as the kids from the supplementary classes proved.

Idk just something I’ve been thinking about. Cause neither Bakugou or Touya were particularly heroic by nature but they both became so obsessed with it at such a young age. It doesn’t seem totally natural but if it’s a larger scale thing that pediatricians and school teachers learn to do because it makes powerful kids easier to manage then it makes sense. Of course the culture surrounding heroes could explain it, like how every kid wants to be an astronaut or a rock/pop star at one point or another, but if it’s actively enforced by the adults that explains why they stick with it, why it becomes an obsession rather than a fleeting fantasy.

[notevenanna]

𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲.

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: natasha brings you comfort after many dark months.

genre: fluff and a little bit of hurt/comfort

warnings: mentions and descriptions of depression, reader not taking care of themselves.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: hello <3 i haven’t written in ages, but i got spurred on to finish this fic as im in quite a dark place at the moment. i admit, this one is very self indulgent, but i also wanted to write it in case someone gets even a little bit of comfort from this. if you’re struggling right now, i see you, i feel you, and you’re not alone. im really proud of you. keep fighting.

The abstraction of the ceiling from your tired eyes was gradually tamed by the pressure of your wrists massaging it away until the shapes looked somewhat normal.  You were granted only a few moments of solace before a stagnant ache settled on the tips of your knee caps, eventually burrowing its way down to the lengths of your calves and upwards along your thighs. This elicited an instinctive stretch, legs intertwining with the fabric of your sheets in a mess of curves and soft edges. You revelled in the release of tension your muscles allowed as the reminder struck you rather harshly - as it had each morning for as long as you could remember - that your tireless thoughts would still knock against your skull, and you wondered why it was so difficult for your mind to let go of its pent up pressure that your legs found it so easy to alleviate. Used dishes were stacked up in various areas of the room, mocking, and looking as if they were on the verge of sliding with the way the rims on the opposite ends of the bowls were overlapping. It was like a circular, distasteful game of Jenga.  Shameful, you thought, flitting along the carpet with your blanket draped around your shoulders, meticulously avoiding the mirror.

The top layer of your tea twitched and rippled under the current that tunneled through the high windows of your kitchen. The clock directly in front of where you were seated read 10:59. The cupboard door was slightly ajar. The small collection of strands at the back of your head prickled your scalp, accidentally strung too tight in the limp ponytail. You had gotten used to this feeling. The feeling of things being slightly off. The knock on the door settled your spiral, somehow assertive but respectful - as it always was.

Natasha's forearm was resting on the doorframe as she calculated, by the sounds of muffled footsteps, how long it would take you to open up. This was more of a programmed response than a habit, birthed from her professionalism in espionage. There was a pause as both pairs of your eyes locked, your expression faltering briefly before coating a timid smile on your face. You and Natasha had something that refused to be labelled, stood on the edge of a sort of silent understanding between your mutual reserved natures despite their differences, but neither of you had admitted it out loud. The gaze Natasha stole from you and deciphered was fleeting and choked with desolation, before you instinctually plastered over it with friendly indifference. You exchanged no words. Natasha crossed the threshold of your doorframe, gently, removing any usual vigor she typically asserted herself with. Her movements were benign, and only with you would she water down her militant exterior. As you nudged the door shut until you heard the soft click of the latch, Natasha saw the haphazard stack of school notes waiting on top of your record player, an array of deadlines drawing too near scored in deep crimson marker and study cards dappling the pile. She knew you were trying your best. Dishes piled over each other near the sink looking as deflated as you did, your hair unwashed, the hole you bury yourself in when you manage to make it to the sofa indicated by multiple blankets and pillows which were flushed and creased in the shape of you. She knew you'd made yourself sick from the spin again.

You let your apology slip from your mouth, filled to the brim with the guilt and embarrassment that soaked every mess, every unwashed cup, every minute spent in the haze of sitting in your self made cage while it widdled you away, all of it pouring from somewhere inside you like so much water. Natasha shook her head, speaking so deeply and so softly as if her voice would somehow hurt you. She told you that apologies weren't needed, that it was okay, that she can see you trying, how it's enough that you're just surviving. You ingested those words, chasing them toward their origin, your head now burrowed in the nook below her chin. Her arms, calloused with combat scars and rough edges, felt like thick and delicate linen curtains as they enveloped you, and a dam let loose in the cradle of your heart. She felt the raw state of you reverberate, small and sickening sobs being caught by her shirt with you pressed so closely against her. Once the silent gap in between your weighted breaths grew gradually larger, she walked you to your room. 

You stood there, a hollowed tree, watching Natasha lay out a pair of grey sweats and an oversized shirt. You'd agreed to take a shower as she insisted it would ground you, and let your toes touch the surface of reality again. The steam somehow lifted and emancipated the waters of your mind until you felt whole again, a little more human. 

With your towel tucked under your arms, bound to your body, you perched on the edge of your bed as Natasha was positioned behind you, the faint dip she created in the mattress bringing an odd comfort. You indulged a slight smile. You smelt of watermelon, the clean feeling your body wash left behind was so freeing, so surprising each time you'd forget the sensation of it. She twisted and turned your wet hair into a lengthy plait a quarter of the way down your back, knowing the maintenance of it stressed you. She made sure it was loose, no rouge strands of hair would pinch your scalp or sit painfully tight. Her hands were so very nurturing, the initial tension of being touched was whisked away by the rhythm of the braid she was creating, the tenderness settling on your eyelids as they wavered and closed. You were so at ease, that the honey toned kiss Natasha bedded on the curve of your neck simply enamoured you, which in any other circumstance would've caused your insides to roll about. Instead, it felt like a natural routine, it felt as if it had been done time and time again, it felt familiar. The action lingered sweetly in the air, slowly and simply diminishing without any awkwardness that would usually attach itself to first times. 

The bubble of reserved warmth followed you both all the way along the walk Natasha had took you on. The melting pot of dusk shades pillowed your heart, subtle darkness of the evening comforted you much more than the harshness of daylight. You weren't quite holding hands, pinkies merely hooked around each other with the odd graze of your ring finger against hers. Earlier on, while she insisted you take a nap before your walk, Natasha had cleared most of the empty pots and washed them. She'd left a few of the easier ones on the draining board for you to do together when you got back. ''I thought It'd make it less daunting for you.'' She explained, after you questioned her about it. ''I saved a couple, so it reminds you of how easy small tasks can be. I know it gets hard when everything piles up.'' She released her gentle grip on your finger to reach around your waste, giving you a little squeeze as you spewed out a string of thank yous.

''Careful, you'll squish my camera!'' you deadpanned, earning a smirk from Nat. The teal strap hung from your neck - she'd nonchalantly hooped it over your head before you left the apartment. You would frequently flick through your beloved photo albums, Natasha secretly reading the small notes below each picture - dates they were taken, descriptions, locations. Your excitement used to be so prevalent before it started gathering dust on one of your shelves. You snapped a picture of the sunset while you walked, a backdrop to the dark silhouette of Natasha's side profile sitting in the corner of the frame. You had silently lamented the dreadful amount of time it had been since you'd taken a photo, but as you both giggled over the developed polaroid of Nat pulling a silly face, you remembered your passion. ''This is for your eyes only, okay? Anyone sees this and I'll kill you.'' Her voice picked up on the last few words as she hoisted you up over her shoulder playfully, barely containing your spluttering laugher at the sudden swoop of her arms and being unexpectedly carried home. 

Two teas were warming four hands as you both cupped them on the sofa, your legs intertwined under the shared blanket. You felt at peace. Your mind was silent. Only the warmth of your closeness expanded around you, only your mutual investment in the movie you were watching filled your head. Natasha had agreed to stay the night, fending off any lingering loneliness which tugged at you when you were alone in the deep blue of your dark room. You opened your eyes, felt the routinely ache in your legs from having them tucked below you for so many hours, a habit of comfort. Straightening them, you realised you felt okay this morning. You felt okay counting the breaths of the frame next to you, the rise and fall of her chest lulling you back to sleep. Today will be okay.

thank you for reading <33

* pls excuse the double tags or if there are no tags at all, my tumblr keeps glitching 😭😭

tags: @ameeelia07 @yelenabemylova @dawnoftime22

[moonlight-prose]

THE LAST OF US MASTERLIST

a/n: below you can find all the works that i have created for the show/game the last of us! they're all on this post, but in the future some of the characters might get their own masterlist post.

Under no circumstances may you steal my work, say it’s yours, or post it somewhere else. The writings I put on here are mine unless stated otherwise.

smut =🔥| angst =💫 | fluff =🌙

JOEL MILLER

Hurt (series) | 18+🔥| ONGOING

Summary: Alone and trying to survive, you find your path crossing with a man who’s headed to Boston of all places. He claims he’s looking for a new start, not realizing you might be it.

Pale Rider |💫

Summary: Grief was a noose and he did what he could to loosen it before he lost you too.

From Eden, Love Grows | 18+🔥| dedicated to: @/saradika

Summary: Days spent in flower fields and cooking in a sunbathed kitchen with him.

Marks Of The Damned | 18+🔥

Summary: His scars were his secrets, his pain he never shared.

The Wasteland Of A Bleeding Heart |💫

Summary: Joel’s fears began to interfere.

View From The Bridge |💫

Summary: The past was off limits, but at what cost?

Warm Glow | 18+🔥| dedicated to: @/sunflowersteves

Summary: His love felt as warm as the afternoon sun.

More and More | 18+🔥

Summary: “He wanted to know every part of you, everything you kept hidden for fear of it being rejected. And you let him.”

Be Still My Foolish Heart |🌙

Summary: “Yet somehow—despite you never realizing it—Joel always ended up with you.”

A Poison That Never Stung | 18+🔥| UPCOMING

Way Down We Go | 18+🔥| UPCOMING

Blackthorn Tree | 💫

Summary: You needed to protect him as much as he needed to protect you. The only problem was…Joel believed he didn’t need caring for. He didn’t need protecting.

Thrills | 18+🔥| Kinktober 2023

Summary: “He sought you out in the darkness of your shared home and found what he knew would keep him from dipping beneath the surface again. And you let him.”

Safe Haven | 18+🔥| Kinktober 2023

Summary: “Being with Joel felt like breathing. As if you’d stepped outside for the first time in eons, soaking in the fresh air that emanated from the trees. It was clear. A constant fixated piece of nature that you knew would never fade.”

Sweet Words of Sin | 18+🔥| Kinktober 2023

Summary: “There was a certain high that came from this. Having a man like joel miller relenting to your every word, all to hear those sweet words fall from your lips. As delicious as a glass of wine and just as sinful.”

Sweetened Breath and Tongue So Mean | 18+🔥| Kinktober 2023

Summary: “Joel couldn’t fathom what you saw in him. a man bloodied with the ravages of life. He’d taken life, killed to survive, and there were times he even fucking enjoyed it. But you were soft. You were the good that remained. The light he shouldn’t be allowed to tarnish.”

TOMMY MILLER

It Will Come Back | 18+🔥

Summary: Mornings in the kitchen with him made life worthwhile.

Last Night On Earth | 18+🔥| UPCOMING

Dreadful Need | 18+🔥

Summary: “You wanted to see his smile fade as the realization struck him that he would have to work for it tonight.”

Falling |🌙

Summary: “A fleeting moment of you being tugged forward and wrapped into the safety of his arms. It ignited something in you. caused your heart to quicken its pace whenever he was around—reminding you of what he felt like so close.”

Lover Be Good To Me | 18+🔥| Kinktober 2023

Summary: “How you managed to be the lucky winner in this draw called life, you’d never know. Tommy was kind, good to you in a way no other person ever had been before.”

Wretched and Joyful | 18+🔥| Kinktober 2023

Summary: “He would be your end and all that came next. He’d be your consequence in a world that sought out punishment rather than forgiveness. Your small slice of joy in the wretched ways of reality.”

How Stars Shine in Darkness | 💫

Summary: In darkness stars shine. In pain…your love glows. And when all hope feels lost, Tommy Miller thinks of you.

The Breaking of Glass | 💫

Summary: You could remember his smile most of all. How it shone brighter than the sun on most days. How his curls nearly always fell into his eyes. But most of all…you remembered how he loved you.

First Light (series) | 18+🔥| COMING SOON

Summary: Tommy Miller never thought he would end up alone. Not when he had family behind him - a life that wasn't perfect, but good enough. Yet there he was, kneeling on the cold forest floor - bloodied and bruised - asking to die. Until light streams through the trees, and he sees you.

[patch-doll]

Opening Up

contains: dolls, support

It- No, she was wearing loose fitting clothes and a face mask. She knew it wouldn’t hold up to closer inspection, but it was better than nothing.

Too many times had she been snatched up in an instant, after a quick glance at her joints.

But it- She couldn’t keep avoiding people forever. Though her appearance could be disguised, her nature, what was built into her couldn’t be denied. She needed intimacy as much as a human needed food.

She had been talking to this girl for a couple weeks, always staying at slight distance in the hopes she wouldn’t be found out. But there was no way to accommodate her needs without getting closer.

She prayed that being honest might get her treated slightly better when she was taken.

(A smaller part of it prayed that it might keep its freedom for more than a fleeting moment.)

The girl had said yes to being intimate with her, and as she stood poised to knock on the door to her house she hesitated.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But it’s not like she really had a choice, she would need to get close with someone eventually. She was at least slightly familiar with this person, and her chances probably couldn’t get much better than that.

She knocked on the door, and after just a few moments the click of the lock being undone was heard.

“Hello! Come on in, and feel free to take a seat. Do you want something to drink- Or um, are you okay?”

She couldn’t manage to tear her gaze away from the floor. Everything that could go wrong from this point flashed through her mind, but she pushed on.

“I have something to tell you. I- This one is… actually a doll.”

It braced itself, unsure of what reaction was about to come. It still couldn’t manage to look at her, fearing what it might find on her face.

“Well yeah, I know. Wait, did you think I didn’t know?”

“You but, I- You… Why didn’t you say anything if you could tell before? How did you even know in the first place?”

“It takes one to know one!”

What.

“You okay there? You look a little out of it.”

“But you look just like a person! Why do you look like a person?”

“This one’s Miss designed it as a forever partner! It was made to be indistinguishable from a person, so as to not draw any unwanted attention.”

Out of every possibility it considered for how this could go, this was never even close to being one of them.

“Okay. Um. Where is your Miss anyway?”

“She’s been traveling for the past month or so, and has left this one to manage the house!”

“She lets you take care of everything alone? You’re allowed to go out and just do things without being watched?”

“Yep! This one’s Miss is just amazing like that!”

It falls over into a sort of shocked doll-puddle on the floor.

“This one has never even heard of something like this happening…”

“Oh, poor doll. Do you want a hug?”

“Yes. Yes please.”

[hivefleet-hellbender]

Pink Horrors of Tzeentch, bound to copper masks

I've been building and painting the start of my Tyranids Hive Fleet for the past three months, and towards the end of November I realized I needed a break. Plus, I'd be traveling to an artist residency program in rural Colombia and I knew I'd want something else to do while I was there. So I decided to build a squad of pink horrors but with an eerie and minimalist twist.

Now if you've seen Games Workshop's Pink Horror models, you'd know they're pretty much dogshit. Their faces are more orkish than daemonic, they have these strange long proportions that don't have much weight to them, and despite their ever-shifting chaotic nature, they look like just a stack of little dudes they look like a stack of little dudes with more arms than usual. They’d fit better in an old Betty Boop cartoon than on the battlefield of the 41st millennium. My goal for this project was the present an aesthetic for Tzeentch that fits with my own taste in monstrosity — blank-eyed every-shifting mounds of flesh that hover on the boundary between symbolism and raw horror. 

My journal quickly filled up with drawings of weird masked monsters in the margins. My inspiration came from cubism, along with movies like Mirrormask and Ruban Brandt: Collector. I also was heavily inspired by the copper face on the Abominable Intelligence by John at Ex Profundis. I got really into the idea of the masks as some sort of binding vessel for the Tzeentchian cultists, who could use the daemons as attack dogs by trapping them within copper plates. I wasn't sure if I wanted the models to be 40K or Age of Sigmar, so I tried to keep the designs agnostic and avoid any technology or mechanical bits. 

I knew I wanted to use the pink horror model as a base, but that the number and consistent size of arms would be insufficient for my needs. To make sure my little guys had all the arms they needed, I picked up a box of Mantic Games Zombie Horde. This box comes with forty zombies, and most of the arms are perfect and usable, meaning I’ve got about 72 human-sized arms to accompany the much larger horror arms of my gribblies. Towards the end I also picked up a box of blue horrors, so that I can expand my Tzeentch army once I’m done with my infinite ‘Nids.

I made the mask from a couple different pieces of plastic. At first I used these clear disks I had, but they gave the models a “bobble-head” look which… I didn’t hate, but did obscure the size of the horror and make it look a bit too tiny. For later masks, I took the base of the zombie, tidied it up, and carved a face into it. I intentionally kept the faces very minimalist, focusing on just the bare necessities: two eye-holes, a little slit mouth, and a single haphazard nose. 

I focused on a very improvisational building approach — using a base of either green stuff blob or a pink horror body, which I then superglued the mask onto and then applied as many arms and legs as I could reasonably manage. Often I would trim an arm straight off the spruce and barely clean it before attaching it on, meaning there's a few moldlines or sprue bits that I can't help but stare at. I think if I was to repeat this process I'd trim all the parts and set them aside before I even started working, but I also had no clue how this would go and was just enjoying the process as a way to decompress after a wildly hectic week.

Once the models were all done, I spraypainted them all white and tossed them in a box with me to Colombia, where they got damaged during transit and had to piece a couple back together with superglue.

I painted the bodies with two layers of Volupus Pink contrast paint, followed by a drybrush of 1 part Red to 3 parts White.

I painted the masks with Gunmetal followed by a wash of 1 part Orange to 1 part Mid Brown wash. Then I did a Dark wash with some streaking, followed by a Verdigris effect paint to get that gunky green rust effect at the edges of the copper.

I painted the jewelry and various instruments / standards gold, and did the gems in red with a pink highlight. I did the nails and teeth in white, the tongues in a very light pink mix, and the feathers a light green mix followed by a dark wash. I hope to return to the feathers later to give them more detail if I ever end up doing a Lord of Change, as in my head I imagine those feathers are small gifts from it to its most loyal minions. The fire is yellow, orange, and red, and the OSL was done by mixing the contrast pink with orange.

The bases are admittedly an afterthought — I'm in rural Colombia right now and so I can't finish them the way I want to. I'm planning to pick up some resin cobblestone bases and candles, so I can make the models look like they're inside a weird cultist basement, skittering around in the darkness. There's a lot of lessons I've learned for next time I paint models like these, and this was my first time working with contrast paint, but it was still a ton of fun and I'm proud of how they turned out!

[thewhistleblows]

Winter Cold, Dead Grass

WOO! First actual writing posted on Tumbrl! This is short original story with a (kinda) twist towards the end. It may be kinda obvious but I'm not sure. So enjoy! Or don't and throw me some creative criticism.

For years I thought the cold was a detestable thing. It meant the end of the vibrant foliage I so adored in fall, or the gentle greens in summer and spring. The bright snow reflected the sunlight too harshly, burning my eyes. The wind bit me harsher than any other time of year. My face was eternally reddened when I went outside. I hated it. I hated the soggy mud left after the eventual thaw, only to freeze over again into an easy-to-trip-on slickness. 

I knew I hated the winter the day I had a shovel clutched in my hand, the snow and ice unyielding to both the shovel's edge and my strength. A few stray leaves gusted past my face, drawing my gaze back upwards. The forest around me glistened beautifully. Yet far too brightly. My vision was filled with scorching white, unforgivingly bashed with dull brown in harsh strokes. It was what all the Christmas songs always described as a perfect winter's day. Yet I could not be more miserable in it.  

There was no break from all the snow for weeks after I finally managed to break the dirt beneath all of the ice. It was almost a blizzard. The unrelenting torrent of more and more flurries made me dread when I’d have to go and dig again. I decided to be more patient, and wait until it did thaw to take my duties up again. Uncharacteristic of me, sure, but I was far too unwilling to venture back into that miserable cold. 

So wait I did. It took agonizingly long for the powdery white snow to both stop falling, and disappear. Now all that was left was a depressing swathe of brown grass on everyone's lawns. Shriveled, brittle, and very dead. It was almost as bad as the snow, but the dead grass only burned my eyes in the figurative sense. So I returned to my duties in the forest that night. 

Venturing home that night, the stars seemed to glitter more ominously. A prophecy of more misery to come. The moonbeams slinking between the shadows of trees only served to unnerve me further. I went home as quick and quiet as a whisper, the leaves left on the husks of trees muttering as I passed. A twig occasionally snapping beneath my fleet feet as I retreated from the forest. 

The depressing dead browns of nature did not last nearly as long as I hoped, and the sky poured more snow down on the land by the bucket-load. It got to the point where I could no longer wait for a thaw. I collected up the pieces of my hobby, loading them up into the dark bag. I grabbed the shovel from the garage, and pulled on my gloves and coat. 

The snow crunched like broken bones as I walked into the forest. Dark outside like usual. Though tonight, as I ventured in, the black trash bag I dragged through the forest interrupted the blinding white with a streak of scarlet. Scarlet I did not notice was trailing behind me, a hole in the bag having been the one to expose my secret. I brutally jabbed my shovel into the ground, until I finally had dirt break beneath it. I laughed slightly as I set to my work. The moonlight still illuminating the forest brightly. Wind still swiftly weaving around the trees until it reached my hair, flinging it side to side gently. 

Though as I looked up, into the sky, the stars seemed oddly dull. When I looked back down at the snow, it was bathed in flashing blue and red. Alternating between the two. Sirens approaching behind me. I had dug too close to the hiking trails. I glanced in the direction I came in, and saw the scarlet trail. It was then I felt a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. I looked back to the sky, hearing the voices calling out. I chuckled as I viewed the mocking stars. I was tempted to yell something to them. I relented, and instead looked back to the scarlet trail. Funny how the snow I’d always hated, was the one to scream my secrets to the sky and people beneath it. I suppose when you turn your back on what you come from, it is then everyone else loses their blindness to your actions. 

So I waited patiently for the sledgehammer of justice to arrive and lay out my punishment. Relishing the winter, for it may be the last I ever see outside a prison.

[thepatchycat]

Commanders and Children

So @existentialscientist, you mentioned the youngling arc of TCW a while back; took longer to get around to this than I intended, but here's a rough outline of a Youngling Arc AU where Cody actually gets to go pick up the Jedi kids and inevitably gets drawing into the shenanigans!

Plot Stuff:

-Unlike in the show, Cody manages to set out with the pick-up car shuttle before Grievous pops out of hyperspace, but Grievous does still show up to cause problems for the fleet. This prevents Cody from simply returning to the Negotiator with the kids in tow, because it's not a good idea to bring children straight to an active warzone.

-However, it would take a lot longer to get them all the way back to the Temple or the next-nearest Jedi not currently in active combat, and Ahsoka is still stuck with the pirates, so Cody decides to wait for word from the battalion (since the combat could potentially end in just a couple hours, making the original plan still feasible) and help the kids try to fix their ship in the meantime.

-Said ship is still venting coolant and needs to land. On Florrum. Cody is not thrilled by this, and he does his best to make sure they're not close to the pirate base, but the pirates don't exactly broadcast their location so they probably end up landing about where they did in the show.

-The kids want to go rescue Ahsoka. Cody tells them firmly that they are not to perform any heroics and his first priority is to get them home safely, though in the back of his head he's strongly considering sending them to safety on the shuttle he arrived with because he knows R2 is a remarkably capable little droid that could probably pilot that one a lot more easily than the old Jedi ship, and also if they get Professor Huyang fixed they'll have a responsible adult chaperone. Cody could stay on Florrum and start on some recon, because Rex would kill him if he was here and didn't do anything to try to help Ahsoka. Cody himself also does not want to leave Ahsoka with the pirates longer than necessary if there's something he could do about it.

-He's still weighing his options while working on ship repairs (assisted by the tech-savvy Nautolan child while the others work on fixing Huyang or building their lightsabers) and waiting for word from the battalion. At some point he realizes it's gotten suspiciously quiet and his Someone's Getting Up to Trouble Sense is tingling, so he goes back inside the ship proper to find that the kids, naturally, have decided to run off and rescue Ahsoka themselves.

-Cody, naturally, sets out after them. He probably takes the shuttle at least part of the way and hides it in an outcropping as soon as he gets close to any other visible beings.

-Now, one of two things could happen here:

A) Cody catches up just as the kids are convincing the troupe leader that they're a group of acrobats. He claims to be their manager because revealing them as a group of (vulnerable and inexperienced) Force-sensitives and himself as a Republic officer might have Consequences and also he's kind of used to rolling with Jedi Shenanigans. Still, he Does Not Like This Plan. He's very skilled in living up to certain roles, but "acrobat manager" is not one of them, and these are actual children heading straight into the pirates' den. Jedi children, yes, but that just means he has no idea what kind of training they do or do not have. At least with clone cadets he'd know their respective capabilities! But Jedi pull off some wild feats, so there's a possibility this will actually work. He's very insistent that the kids stick strictly to performing and let him go find Ahsoka, which he does by either pretending to help the troupe serve drinks or pretending to join the audience.

B) Cody's just a little too late, finding the point where the kids' tracks end and the troupe's trail keeps going. He follows the troupe to the pirates' base and has to sneak in commando-style. Cue long-suffering facepalm when he sees what the kids are doing, but blowing their cover would be literally the worst course of action so he just makes his way to Ahsoka.

-Option A has more comedy potential, while Option B seems a little more like what Cody might actually do and plays better to his skillset. Also, unless Cody leaves his armor on the ship when setting out after the kids, he'd probably have to either ditch it with the troupe (Not Ideal) or disguise it with a costume coat (or possibly a very large poncho, Rex-style) and mask (in case anyone knows what a clone's face looks like). Option B has him being sneaky anyway, so this is at least somewhat less of a problem--and he could probably steal a guard's coat for camouflage.

-Either way, he makes it to Ahsoka, who senses him and manages to shuffle back behind a crate while the pirates are distracted. He frees her, and they see the kids manage to get the lightsabers, so they start sneaking around and quietly picking out an escape vehicle that they'll inevitably need to steal when the pirates notice Ahsoka is missing.

-The ensuing getaway goes mostly the same in the show, except they actually succeed in outrunning the pirates because with two Commanders around their pursuers don't stand a chance and the transport doesn't crash. Also, Cody and Ahsoka may or may not have performed a little more preemptive interference of the explosive kind on a couple of the vehicles they did not use, if Cody had detonators with him. He might not have brought any for what should've just been a pick-up, but maybe he simply likes to be prepared.

-Anyways, they make it (and Hondo gets to deal with Grievous on his own, not that they know that, but the wily pirate probably manages to escape somehow) back to Cody's shuttle, and the expedition ship meets them somewhere either on-planet or back out in space. The repairs are sufficient to get them to a rendezvous with the Republic fleet, which has made its retreat and given them coordinates to return to. And there's probably some conversations along the way, definitely including a little bonding between the Commanders; I'm a firm believer in the idea that they enjoy addressing each other by rank as a bit, and I wish we got to see them interact in the show.

-At least a few of the kids probably fall asleep on the ride home. Ahsoka definitely needs a nap, but she's probably reluctant to sleep before the kids are safely back. Still, she might doze off in the co-pilot seat.

-The Negotiator still got blown up, sadly, and Obi-Wan might be slightly worse off since Cody wasn't there to help him delay Grievous (rip the cool barrel shot) but not by much; Hondo is not here to demand payment for any generous services, but the kids probably have fun recounting the tale of what happened.

Misc:

-The kids would probably be a lot more divided about running off to rescue Ahsoka, since help did actually come and at least a couple of them would probably be inclined to listen to the adult in charge. Katooni seems like a responsible type, and Byph seems like an anxious sort, but they might both go to try and keep the others out of trouble (and because I don't really wanna leave any of the kids out). Ganodi is still staying behind as back-up pilot and/or to provide distractions to delay Cody's inevitable pursuit. She does not last long against the Big Brother Commander Look, but she tries. She does finish fixing Professor Huyang, and she and the professor and R2 get the expedition ship to rendezvous with the shuttle.

-Is Cody good with kids? I like to think he's got good communication/social skills and experience being an ori'vod, so he's not terrible with them. He's not doting the way Waxer would be, but he's at least used to adjusting his demeanor for different audiences (shinies vs. veterans vs. superior officers). However, he might end up spooking the kids a little by being blunt about the kinds of risks they should not be attempting, even when trying to avoid being pessimistic. It's not easy to balance keeping up morale with imparting seriousness of a situation. There's a moment in the show where Petro brags about how he's going to defeat Obi-Wan Kenobi and also Grievous with his new lightsaber, and I think Cody understands that it's youthful bluster but he's still like "until you have defeated General Kenobi in a lightsaber duel, if you ever see Grievous, you run, do I make myself clear?"

-Cody probably scolds R2 for not stopping the kids from running off, and he also suspects that R2 is the reason their hyperspace jump landed them near Florrum in the first place; R2 whistles, innocent as anything (stranding the kids near Florrum did ensure they got in contact with whichever Jedi was closest to the kidnapped Ahsoka)

-Dunno if I have any further relevant thoughts to include here, but I'd be delighted to hear other ideas about how this arc would go down!

[waheelawhisperer]

Making the story I wrote for the writing prompt its own thing so anyone who wants to comment on it can do so without clogging up the writing prompts blog, putting it under a read more because it's kinda long, commentary always makes my day

Chapter 1

Seven feet and more of demoness looked down her nose at the scrawny, trembling human in the summoning circle in front of her. The little worm trembled as it stared up at her in dumb animal fear, clearly only moments away from soiling itself. She was amazed it hadn’t already.

Ordinarily, something this pathetic never could have bound her. Frankly, the glow of the magic she could sense within him was so weak, so dull and lifeless, that she was surprised that he had managed to pull off a summoning at all. The effort of keeping her bound within the mortal realm seemed like enough to kill him if he tried to maintain it much longer, so limited was his potential for magic.

It was that which had intrigued her enough to answer his summons. She’d felt it before any of her subjects, as she felt all such summons which entered her domain instead of any of the other fiefdoms that made up the Infernal Realms, and the hesitance and the tentative nature of it, the sheer lack of any power or authority or command, had piqued her interest enough that she had followed his call before one of her lesser adherents could seize upon it. It represented… an opportunity, perhaps, or maybe just a snack. Humans were so easily corrupted, the men slaves to the pleasures of the flesh or their lust for gold and glory, the women just as easily broken to her will by careful manipulation of their loneliness, their ambition, their frustration with a world that treated them with a subtle disdain so rarely afforded to their male counterparts as a matter of course. The proof of it was in the rolls locked within the treasure room of her vast stronghold, the great ledger in which she and her retainers had written the names of the damned in blood. It was in the golden topaz and tourmaline that flashed on the choker around her throat and at the lobes of her pointed ears, each a receptacle containing the souls of a thousand fools who had sold themselves to her for wealth or power or the love of a woman, realizing too late what their fleeting victories would cost them. It was in the soft, supple leather of her favorite pair of boots, dyed black and flayed still living from a pet she’d taken a thousand years before, a woman who had unified a continent by fire and the sword before the demoness had gently coaxed her into ruin.

Archduchess Agara of Sha’il, Marshal Paramount of the West of Hell, the Whisper of Desolation, the Jewel of the Infernal Courts, one of the four most powerful nobles outside the ruling family of the Infernal Realms, favored the wretch in front of her with her regard, letting the tension build until it was a mere moment away from breaking her newest diversion. Finally, just before the boy reached his limit, she tossed a lock of jet-black hair behind her in a move designed to draw attention to the smooth curve of her neck and the fullness of her bust beneath her long black dress and spoke at last.

“Why hast thou called upon me, mortal?” she asked. “What bargain dost thou seek?”

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She’s… gorgeous.

The incongruous thought slipped through his terror as the creature in the circle spoke. It was her voice that did it to him, a deep, melodious contralto, rich with power and promise and bearing just a hint of an accent that put him in mind of the lochs and burns of his homeland. The waves of hair that fell to her hips rippled like water, swallowing the light, a stark contrast to the way her arresting golden eyes, the same color as the gems she wore, burned brighter than anything else in the room, brighter than all the candles he’d lit when he’d started the ritual.

“Art thou struck dumb, mortal?” the being he’d summoned asked, raising one delicate eyebrow. “Didst thou not summon me for a purpose? Speak thy desires, that I might grant thee what thou seekest.”

Her voice was equal parts amused and impatient, and Calvin MacPherson forced himself to swallow as he tore his eyes away from the red, red skin just above her bodice and met her piercing gaze. His mouth was dry as he looked at her, and his throat worked as he struggled to speak. Power rolled off of her in waves, washing over him like a flood and drowning him in an ocean of arcane might, its vastness swallowing the meager spark of power in him, just barely enough to let him cast spells and earn him a place in the storied halls of O’Malley Academy, without even a thought. She eclipsed him without effort, with casual indifference, and he gave thanks through the fear that the summoning circle kept her bound.

Surely the masters should have sensed this by now, Calvin thought. There’s no way they could’ve missed this much power. It’s like every Archmage on the Academy Board started flexing at once!

“I-I was trying to summon a familiar,” he stammered, barely able to force the words out.

Please don’t eat me…

“Well, it wouldst appear thou hast succeeded,” the woman in the circle informed him, her full lips curling into a knowing smile. “I am Agara, Archduchess of Sha’il, and I accept thy covenant. The details of the contract art known to me. No modification of the terms art required for mine service.”

“You’re kidding me,” Calvin breathed. “I thought I’d be lucky to get an imp or a Beast of Wisdom or a minor Fae. I thought I’d be lucky to get anything at all!”

“There is more to you than you know, young mage,” his new familiar said gently as he felt the contract lock into place. “You summoned me, after all, didn’t you?”

Her words sent a thrill down his spine, hope he hadn’t dared to nurture blossoming in his breast. He could be a mage, a real mage!

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There really wasn’t, Agara thought, hiding a sneer as she watched the effects her words had on the boy, save for the fact that his very inadequacy made him an interesting plaything, his resentments and insecurities fertile ground for her manipulations. She’d seen his like a thousand times: weak, ostracized, pushed down to the bottom of any hierarchy they found themselves in, desperately craving attention and validation and praise… desperately craving power. She’d known what a simple crumb of her regard would do to him, a few words binding him to her and blinkering his eyes to the dangers a contract with an Archduchess represented just as if she were calming a skittish horse. Really, these humans were too easy…

She tested the bonds of the contract, concealing a smile as she realized her new “master” was so weak she could snap his hold over her anytime she pleased. He probably thought that first the circle and then the covenant kept him safe. More fool him. A lesser demon would have been bound as tightly as he believed her to be, but she hadn’t risen to her position without a mastery of the arcane. She knew how to find the weakness of a spell, how to seek the places where the magic was fragile, how to apply her considerable arcane power to shatter bonds that should have been as strong as steel like so much glass. Should her new pet become tiresome, it would be the matter of a moment to devour him and return to her domain.

“Wilt thou not introduce thyself, o Master?” Agara asked courteously, dipping into a curtsy that just coincidentally afforded the sniveling creature before her the opportunity to look down her dress. She pretended not to notice as he jerked his eyes guiltily away from her bodice as she straightened. A virgin, this one, she was certain of it, not that men with more experience with the wiles of a woman were any more proof against her seductions. She’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand soon enough, and then the true fun would begin. She would break this pitiful boy to her will, forge him into a weapon that would soak the heaths and moors and fields in war and cruelty until the tarns and corries were filled with blood and the Macsen River ran red to Idris Bay.

“I’m, uh…” her new master began before losing his nerve. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and started again. “My name is Calvin MacPherson. I’m a student here. A first year. Just finished my first semester.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Calvin,” Agara murmured demurely. It wasn’t even a lie. She’d enjoy using him to break the realms of Tintagel and Tara and the rest of the confederation that her rival Be’hil-Barath had used the warrior-king Beathain Boru to build three centuries ago.

“The, uh… The pleasure is all mine, uh, ma’am,” the boy mumbled, still clearly tongue-tied around her. She’d have to work on that. Reducing men to stammering fools was part and parcel of being a demoness, but her new tool would be useless if he couldn’t even speak a full sentence in her presence without tripping over his tongue. Still, familiarity would come with time.

“Should not your ritual have concluded by now?” she prompted him, raising one eyebrow. He blinked.

“Oh, shit!” he gabbled. “Uh, sorry, ma’am!”

Hmph. How vulgar. Then again, she didn’t expect much from someone whose student robes were of middling quality and whose boots were worn and patched. It was clear this 'Calvin' hadn’t come from money and breeding. A small-town boy, if she had to guess, from a family of farmers or laborers. He didn’t come from soldier stock, of that she was certain, for he lacked the wariness that came from growing up around constables and fighting men, his posture held no readiness for battle, and the way he moved was frightened and timid. Weak. Bullied. Prey.

“Uh, I need to register my familiar real soon,” the boy fretted. “The masters are gonna flip when they see you, though!”

“Worry not on the matter,” Agara answered dismissively. It was the work of but a moment to focus her power, and she saw the wonder on his face as her form flowed and melted, shrinking until what stood before him was not a beautiful woman but a feline the size of a bobcat, its coat the color of obsidian save for the red markings on its legs and stomach.

“A Hellcat!?” her master gasped in delight, leaning down as if he wished to ruffle her fur and then thinking better of it. “Those are pretty hard to bind, though. Not sure how many people will believe I managed to make a contract with one.”

Hellcats are notoriously fickle, she thought at him, hiding a chuckle as he started. Calm yourself, my master. Our bond will allow me to speak to you directly, and for you to speak to me in return. This form’s well-known reputation for choosiness and… unusual standards will help make the fiction believable.

You’re talking differently now, he sent back at her, followed by a surge of chagrin that told her he hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

The act of entering into a contract requires a certain gravitas, she informed him patiently as she leapt from the floor to his shoulder, draping herself around his neck and torso with a purr carefully calculated to sound contented. With the covenant made, there’s no need to stand so on formality. Come, let us not tarry. We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the masters.

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Chapter 2

Agara sat on the table next to her master’s lunch, tail flicking behind her as she surveyed the bustling meal hall. Students hurried to and fro, collecting their meals and taking them to their seats, each accompanies by a familiar. Agara dismissed most of them contemptuously, finding nothing worth noting in the imps and beasts and minor Fae, or even the small number of elemental spirits or angelic beings that seemed to have chosen a few of the luckier aspirant mages. A small number of students seemed to have bound youkai from the far south, which were notable only because forming a contract with such creatures was outside the bounds of traditional wizardry here in the north. They certainly weren’t worth acknowledging for their power.

“Cal, did you hear?” the boy sitting next to her master asked him through a mouthful of roast beef sandwich, narrowly avoiding spraying food on her fur. Her master’s only friend was only slightly less pathetic than her master, the pulse of magic within him weaker than average for a mage, though still much more powerful than her master’s own. He’d likely graduate, she supposed, but Lachlan Wells would never be more than a journeyman mage, selling luck charms and basic enchantments to afford his daily bread. She marked him as the son of a clerk or a journalist, someone who kept records or wrote stories for the Confederation’s many newspapers, for he was slight and held a quill readily and seemed reasonably well-spoken, and his robes were of somewhat finer make than Calvin’s own.

That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t have her master dressed in rags.

“Hear what?” Calvin responded, swallowing his peas before he spoke with a nervous glance at Agara. She sent faint approval brushing against his mind, pleased that he’d remembered his manners this time, and felt a frankly pitiable rush of pride and eagerness to please in response.

“About Camille a’Couralaine’s familiar,” Lachlan continued. “Gwen said she made a contract with a wyvern!”

Oh? That was the first interesting thing she’d heard since Lachlan had sat down. A student strong enough to bind one of the lesser cousins of the great dragons must be a rare talent indeed, perhaps even one worthy of more than her cursory attention. It would be wise to find out more…

“Gwen Adaire talked to you?” Agara’s master asked skeptically. She could understand why. The thought of a woman of any quality sparing a word for these two pathetic whelps was… difficult to understand, to say the least.

“Well, she didn’t say it to me,” Lachlan admitted sheepishly. “She was talking to Sara and Kirsten. I just happened to be in the area.”

And probably closer to this ‘Gwen’ than she would’ve liked, Agara scoffed, making sure to hide her thoughts from her master. She doubted he had enough awareness to pick up on anything she didn’t practically scream into his skull, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She aimed her next question at her master, directing the thought through their bond. Master, who is this ‘Camille a’Couralaine’?

She’s basically the queen of the school, Calvin responded as Lachlan continued waxing poetic about the passing loveliness of Gwen Adaire, or at least the first-year class. Her mother is a high-ranking knight in service to the High Queen of Armorica and her father is the Queen’s chief Battlemage. She’s the most beautiful girl in the school, rich, better at magic than half the upper-level students in the school and probably some of the teachers, and I heard she even won a tournament up at Dun Venydh in Tintagel when she was only fifteen, before she was old enough to enroll at this school.

Agara avoided taking offense only through the knowledge that she was so much more than just a girl and that no coltish adolescent could possibly match her resplendent glory. Still, this ‘Camille’ was intriguing, and would perhaps present an impediment to her master’s ascension… or an opportunity.

“Well, well, well, what do you know? The Failure managed to bind a familiar. How’d you grab that Hellcat, Failure? I didn’t even think you’d figure out how to activate the circle.”

A sneering voice interrupted both her thoughts, and, thankfully, Lachlan’s enthusiastic extolling of the virtues of Gwen Adaire, among which her legs and backside featured prominently. Agara looked up curiously to see a tall, well-built young man of remarkable handsomeness approaching their table with the look of a hunting dog scenting prey, several others of similar apparent status and disposition at his heels. A bully, it was clear as day, and one with wealth and influence besides, his robes made of the finest silk and cut to show off his athletic figure as well as such clothing realistically could.

It seemed he’d set his sights on her master. How interesting.

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“Go away, Eamon,” Calvin groaned. Couldn’t this asshole let him have one day where he felt good about himself? It wasn’t enough that Eamon Aethelred a’Laurant was rich, handsome, noble, and a hit with all the ladies. He had to go out of his way to make sure everyone knew it. Why the guy couldn’t just be happy with being sixth in line to the throne of Armorica, Calvin would never know, but he seemed to have taken offense at the idea of anyone with a hint of common blood or anything less than the standard facility at magic for those few gifted with the talent gracing the halls of the Grace O’Malley Academy of Magecraft. Since Calvin was the son of an iron miner and quite possibly the single least talented student to ever qualify for entry into the Academy, he’d rapidly found himself becoming Lord Eamon’s favorite target.

It wasn’t like bullying was a new experience for Calvin. Growing up poor in a highland mining town in the eastern kingdom of Calidon was rough enough as it was, and being the only boy among his peers inclined toward a life of anything but toil in the dark bowels of the nearby mountains hadn’t made things any easier. His studious nature had set him apart from the other children, and most had responded to the fact that he was different from them with cruelty, as people so often did. Passing the aptitude test one of the Confederation’s mages had set him during the yearly trawl for talented children had been the best thing that had ever happened to him… or so he had thought.

Eamon had singled him out almost immediately. Lachlan thought His Lordship had used his family’s influence to get access to the test results somehow, but Calvin didn’t know and didn’t care. Even if Eamon hadn’t known on the first day, he would have found out during classes, when Calvin struggled to even light a magelamp, a task so simple most mages could do it instinctively. Besides, Lord a’Laurant would’ve taken one look at him and seen the poverty writ large on his face and the condition of his clothes, and that would’ve made him a target as surely as his lack of talent.

“You know, normally I’d give you a beating for talking to your betters that way,” his tormentor said, his entourage chuckling behind him, “but I’m in a pretty good mood today. See, I managed to bind an Armored Elk today.”

Calvin blinked in surprise. He’d done a lot of reading in preparation to try claiming a familiar of his own, and while he hadn’t held out hope of getting anything more interesting or powerful than the most basic of magical creatures or spirits, he’d devoured all the knowledge he could find written in the books the school librarian had allowed him access to, and he knew all about the familiars he imagined the more powerful students would be aiming for, and Armored Elk ranked near the top of the list.

“Congrats, Eamon. Whoop-de-doo for you. Will you please leave me alone?”

“Sounds like you don’t believe me, Failure,” Eamon said. Calvin believed him just fine, actually, but it was clear that Eamon wanted a fight, or at least an excuse to humiliate someone in public, so he wasn’t sure it really mattered what he sounded like. “Check it out.”

Eamon tapped the necklace dangling over his chest. The emerald within the silver setting began to glow, a green mist flowing out of the gem and coalescing behind Eamon. A form took shape in the mist, huge and bulky, standing a good three feet above Lord a’Laurant, who was no small man himself. As the mist faded, Calvin looked upon a creature that resembled nothing so much as an enormous moose, its skull and flanks and shoulders covered with heavy plates of bone. From what he’d read, he knew that Armored Elk were immensely tough and strong, their armor more durable than the finest plate, capable of resisting even the fangs of a dragon or Hrodvitnir for a time. The beasts were favored by battlemages, for they were aggressive, near-fearless, and could be ridden like destriers, and well-versed in the earth magic so valuable in war besides. It figured Eamon had managed to bind one. It was rare for anyone below the rank of master to call an Armored Elk to their side, but if not for the Lady Camille, Eamon would have stood head and shoulders above the rest of the class in magical aptitude. Just one more reason to hate the bastard.

“Wow. Cool,” Calvin said dully, wishing Eamon would just get on with whatever he wanted and leave him alone. There wasn’t much he could do to avoid it if his classmate wanted to hurt or humiliate him. Even leaving Eamon’s wealth, connections, and noble blood aside, Calvin didn’t stand a chance against him in a fight. He’d tried, once, very early on. Having to defend himself from the other children in the town where he grew up meant he’d picked up a few tricks and wasn’t totally useless in a scrap despite his unassuming appearance, but that didn’t mean much against someone who’d been training to fight since he could walk. All surprising Eamon had accomplished was make his beating worse.

“You know what, Failure?” Eamon asked him. “I don’t think I’m inclined to let your lack of manners pass today, after all.”

There was something uglier than usual in his tone, something that sent sick fear shooting down Calvin’s spine to coil in his stomach. He looked around in search of one of the teachers, but none were in sight. Had they simply decided to let the students celebrate alone, or was there a more sinister explanation?

“Crush that Hellcat,” Eamon said, gesturing his Armored Elk forward. The massive creature shuffled forward one step first, and then another, whuffling eagerly.

Agara, who had thus far expressed no interest whatsoever in the confrontation and appeared to be taking a nap on the table, slowly turned her head. Her eyes met those of the Armored Elk… and the enormous familiar stopped in its tracks. She stared at the beast for a long second before it took a step back with a low sound of distress, shaking its colossal head in dismay.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eamon snarled at his familiar. “I gave you an order!”

The Armored Elk ignored him, retreating once more and tossing its head in visible reluctance. Lord a’Laurant’s face twisted in rage, the expression contorting his handsome features.

Eamon moved.

Calvin didn’t even see the punch the other boy drove into the side of his head coming. His head rang as it hit the table, and he saw stars as Eamon grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back for another blow. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but Eamon held him fast. He heard the sound of a scuffle from behind him as Eamon’s cronies prevented Lachlan from coming to his aid, not that there was much his friend could have done in any case.

“You’ve sullied these halls long enough,” Eamon snarled, punching him again. Calvin felt his nose break under the blow. “I don’t ever want to see you in this school again!”

Calvin coughed as his own blood ran into his mouth. Some of it got on Eamon’s robes. With fury burning in his eyes, Eamon hit him a third time. Calvin watched, head lolling, as Eamon drew back his fist again, hoping that this time the bastard would go ahead and knock him out so it would all be over.

“What is the meaning of this!?” a strident voice demanded, blazing through the air like a trumpet’s clarion call. Calvin fell limply on the table as Eamon released him, turning to look at his rescuer as she strode toward them. “You shame yourself and all of Armorica!”

Of all the people to rescue me, it had to be her, Calvin thought in dismay and embarrassment as Lady Camille a’Couralaine placed both hands on her hips and glared at Lord Eamon Aethelflaed a’Laurant, her entourage fanning out behind her to square off with Eamon’s adherents. Bet I look so cool right now.

“The Failure offered me insult,” Eamon growled, glaring right back at her.

“And this gave you leave to beat him half unconscious?” Camille asked in disbelief. “Hardly chivalric of you. The poor boy can’t even stand! Besides,” she sniffed, “I think you offered him insult first with that demeaning nickname you forced upon him. If anyone owes an apology, it’s you!”

“Me!?” Eamon bellowed, flabbergasted. “Apologize to that!?”

“No, Lord Eamon, I’m not so foolish as to hope for you to find some heretofore-undiscovered spark of chivalry or decency somewhere within what passes for your heart,” Lady Camille answered caustically, her deep blue eyes locked on his, “but you will cease beating him, or I will find your wanton brutality unpardonable, and demand that we settle my grievances regarding your manners upon the field!”

Eamon’s face paled and he let go of Calvin, who bounced off the table and promptly flopped bonelessly to the floor.

Yeah, didn’t go well for you last time you tried dueling her, did it, asshole? Calvin thought, trying to look past the long blonde hair filling his vision to catch a glimpse of his tormentor in a rare moment of humility. She kicked your ass up and down the lists, first with magic and then with a sword.

“As you wish, my lady,” Eamon said sarcastically, dismissing his familiar and offering Camille a mocking bow. “The Failure is all yours. I won’t waste any more time on this wretch.”

So saying, he turned on his heel and strode from the hall, his pack of lordlings and sycophants on his heels.

“Are you all right?” Lady Camille asked as she knelt over him. Calvin winced as she fished a handkerchief out of one of the pockets of her robes and dabbed at his bloody lip with it. “Holly! Come fix up his nose!”

Calvin sighed in relief as Holly Halligan crouched at his side and lay her hands on his face, her dark brown hair falling over him in a curtain as she did. She sent a pulse of soothing magic into his nose, the cartilage repairing itself exponentially faster than it would have naturally, the annoying itching sensation nonetheless far superior to the pulsing pain of only moments before.

“That should do it,” Holly said, standing up and brushing off her hands. Calvin prodded his nose carefully, relieved to find that it was completely healed.

Sheesh, he thought. No wonder she’s the best in our class at healing magic.

Lachlan had offered a great deal of lurid speculation regarding the Lady Halligan’s proficiency with life magic, the school that contained within it the manipulation of the human body, and the whispers among the student body had followed suit and had led to more than one foolish proposition, but none dared to speak them aloud, not after the duels to which the Lady Camille had challenged those foolish enough to besmirch her friend and ally’s reputation in her presence. Calvin wasn’t sure he believed a word of the rumors, and in any case was not inclined to be uncharitable to someone who had just fixed up his nose, so he just thanked Lady Halligan politely as Lady Camille pulled him to his feet with a warrior’s strength, the power in her arms far eclipsing his own.

“Don’t take what Eamon says to heart,” Camille a’Couralaine told him, placing her hands on her shoulders to steady him as he wobbled. She was taller than he was by at least an inch or two, able to look into his eyes with little effort. “The Wolf-Mother sends us challenges that we might overcome them. Your courage and your willingness to try does you credit.”

“Thanks,” Calvin mumbled, unable to form coherent sentences between the head trauma and the fact that one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen was standing only a foot away from him. He’d never been this close to her before. He wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“I would recommend avoiding Lord a’Laurant as best you can for a time,” she continued. “The Wolf-Mother may send us challenges, but she has little patience for fools. His temper will cool in time, but for now… He fears me too much to strike back, but his need to avenge himself upon someone may well place you in more danger.”

“It’s almost time for class, milady,” one of the other girls interjected.

“Understood,” the lady replied. “Allow us to depart, my fellow apprentices.”

She clapped Calvin on the shoulder reassuringly, looking into his eyes with utmost seriousness.

“Watch your back.”

Calvin watched as the girls left, blinking slowly as he tried to process the fact that Camille a’Couralaine, the Camille a’Couralaine, had just talked to him. To him!

Well, that was interesting, his familiar said, washing her paws.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Tell me about this… Eamon boy,” Archduchess Agara said nonchalantly as her new master sat at his desk and labored over his schoolwork, injecting just the right air of command into her voice to endure that the whelp would obey without an injury to his pride. That particular edifice was already fragile enough after the scene in the cafeteria and the nature of her inquiry would stress it further, so it was important to ensure that it wasn’t shattered altogether. The boy was little use to her broken, after all.

“I hate him!” Calvin said viciously. “He’s been making me miserable ever since I got here. I thought… I thought I was going to be happy at the Academy. I studied for years in the hopes of getting a scholarship somewhere. I thought it would be one of the universities in Caledonia, or maybe Tara or Tintagel, or even the Royal Academy here in Aquitaine, the one two blocks from here, but I always dreamed that one day I’d be able to do magic, that I’d earn a place here. My dad was a miner, worked himself until he dropped so that I’d have a chance at a better life. He and my mom went hungry some nights so that I could learn to read and write, so that I’d have books to study and something to learn besides how to swing a pick. It all seemed like it was paying off… until I met him.”

Agara listened carefully as he spilled his secrets, as he told her everything she needed to know about how to control him. A wiser man might have guarded his tongue, might have remembered what she was, but she had sensed her new master’s loneliness the moment they’d met, known how desperate he was for anyone to even pretend to care about his petty problems. He was hers, and he didn’t even know it.

“Eamon’s had it out for me from the start,” the boy continued. “I’m too poor, too common, too bad at magic… whatever it is, he’s been trying to force me to drop out since the day we met. I can’t get through a day without him or his stupid friends messing with me.”

“He does sound… trying,” Agata agreed as she lounged on his bed. It was a far cry from the decadent furnishings she was accustomed to, but the Academy took a dim view of luxury for its apprentices, though of course the wealthier and more nobly-born had their ways of circumventing that. She’d exchanged her earlier dress for a more casual shirt and a pair of long pants, much like those her soldiers wore when they trained. With no one but her master to impress, she could afford to dress for comfort.

“That’s one way of putting it,” the boy answered. Agara made a noise of agreement, studying her fingernails, long and sharp and filed like claws. She waited for a moment, knowing he still had more to say, knowing what he was going to ask.

“Hey,” Calvin said brightly, “you’re an Archduchess, right? Can’t you do something about him?”

Hmph… How predictable.

“I could,” Agara agreed, waving her hand. “Should you ask it of me, my master, enacting your vengeance would be child’s play. At your command, I could string a harp with his entrails and serenade you while he danced.”

She hid a smile as his face turned a little green. How delightfully soft her new toy was! Ah, well, she’d harden him in time.

“All that you ask is within your grasp now that I am by your side,” she told him. “There is little indeed outside the realm of your power. I could break your tormentor with a thought, make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams… even help you win the hand of the damsel a’Couralaine.”

“Really?” her master breathed in excitement.

“Really,” Agara assured him, favoring him with a fond smile. “But consider this, my master: would it not be more satisfying to earn these things yourself?”

“What to you mean?” the boy asked, confused.

“As I understand it,” the Archduchess said, holding up a fist, “a trio of desires war for primacy within your heart. Arcane knowledge and power -” she raised a single finger, pointing it toward the ceiling, “the destruction of Eamon Aethelflaed a’Laurant -” she raised a second finger, “and the love of the lady Camille a’Couralaine.” She raised a third finger and waved them at him. “All three are attainable under my guidance. I could grant them to you right now, if you wish, but they would forever ring hollow, and you would live all your days with the knowledge that your triumphs had come at the hand of another.”

“Isn’t that a good thing from your perspective?” Calvin asked. “Aren’t demons supposed to lure people into making deals like that?”

“Ah, but I am your familiar,” Agara answered, waving a hand at him lazily. The boy was a fraction more perceptive than she’d thought, but hardly enough to pose a problem or force her to reevaluate any plans. It wasn’t like she hadn’t prepared for this contingency. “When we formed our covenant, I swore to act in your best interests. I would hardly be doing my duty by allowing my master to take shortcuts.”

“Fine,” he agreed grumpily, crossing his arms and pouting. How childish. “We’ll do it your way. What’s the plan?”

“Tonight, you will go to bed early instead of sneaking out to drink with your friend, for you will need your rest come the morrow,” she answered. “You will wake at first light and make your way to the training yard within Ulvr Company’s barracks, where the knight-cadets train. When you arrive, you will plead with the master-at-arms to accept you as a student. Instruction in the martial arts is open to students of both this school and the Royal Academy, so all you need do is avoid acting the fool to be allowed to join the class. Eamon trains elsewhere, so there should be little risk of you encountering him, and even he is not fool enough to arouse the ire of the Wolf-Knights by bringing his grudges into their territory.”

“Why am I going to the knights?” he asked sullenly. “How is that supposed to make me better at magic? It’s just going to make me look like a fool in front of all the soldiers instead of all the students.”

“Because a sound mind in a sound body is the fundamental principle on which all of the martial and scholarly arts are founded,” Agara said patiently. “Neglect either and the other will suffer. A domain that fails to nurture both body and mind will find its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools.”

“Fine,” Calvin grumbled. “I’ll go to the barracks. I’m putting a lot of faith in you, you know. This better work.”

It’s not as if you have anything else to put faith in, you sniveling cur.

“Good boy,” Agara said approvingly. “I promise you, all that you want will be yours. All you need do… is trust me. Now finish your schoolwork, bathe, and go to bed. You’ll need your strength on the morrow.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where are you going to sleep?” Calvin asked, freshly bathed and just now realizing his newest problem. While he was technically the master and thus entitled to the most luxurious accommodations available, such as they were and what there were of him, it would also be impolite to deny his new familiar the bed, and something told him that expecting an Archduchess to sleep on the floor was a good way to sour the relationship between him and the Lady Agara in a hurry. “I can take the floor if you want.”

“Right here,” his familiar answered, patting the bed with one hand while thumbing through one of his textbooks with the other, “but there’s no need for you to put yourself at such an inconvenience.”

Did she mean… that they were going to share the bed?

He had to admit that the thought of it was enticing. She was beautiful, graceful, alluring, as exotic and exciting as a woman could be. And perhaps she would want to do more than just sleep…?

“H-how does that work?” he asked, not quite managing to hide the tremor in his voice, his mouth suddenly dry as a desert.

“It’s quite simple,” the Archduchess answered. Her body glowed, just as it had before, and moments later she sat upon his pillow in her Hellcat guise.

I’ll take this form during the night, she told him. I’ll guard you in your sleep, should the need arise.

Oh… he thought back, doing his best to conceal his disappointment. That makes sense.

Come, she urged, you need your rest. You have a great deal of work ahead of you.

With a tired sigh, Calvin sank into what passed for his pillows and closed his eyes as his familiar curled up beneath his arm. Weariness overtook him rapidly and he drifted off to sleep to the sound of the Hellcat’s comforting purrs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late, late into the night, Archduchess Agara of Sha’il smiled a wicked, wicked smile. One moment, she was a beast, the next, a woman once more, nestled in the crook of her master’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder and one arm draped over his chest. The Archduchess appraised her master carefully.

He was adequate enough, she supposed. He wasn’t much to look at at the moment, but time would allow her to mold him to her liking. His frame was too scrawny, his limbs and torso too thin to be pretty in the manner of some men, but time in the yard would fill him out and give him a fighter’s grace and muscle. His face was nothing special, but that was nothing a little sculpting couldn’t fix, the work of tiny applications of life magic a little at a time, and he was young enough for any observers to assume that her alterations were simply the changes one might expect as a boy became a man, and at least he hadn’t striven to emulate his friend’s inadvisable attempt at a beard. Yes… This boy would do.

It wasn’t time to take him to her bed, not yet, no matter how she’d enjoyed getting his hopes up earlier, wrapping him ever further around her finger. She would welcome him into her embrace in time, once he’d proven his use and sown the seeds of the Boru line’s destruction, but that was a ways away. For now, she had other ways to keep him compliant, other ways to bend him to her will.

Agara smiled, tilting her head to whisper softly in his ear. The little bit of life magic she’d sent into him once he’d closed his eyes would keep him asleep until the time came for him to wake, by which point she’d have donned her disguise once again, but her sweet words would reach his dreams regardless, and his body would remember the scent of her and her warmth against his side. It was a dance she’d danced a thousand times, and soon, he would crave her for the rest of his life, an aching need for which only she could offer solace.

Golden eyes shone in the darkness with an unholy light. Soon, the Confederation of Cornwall would drown in an ocean of blood.

[heavenslapse]

@heartsaligned -- akechi makes akira into an idol 📸

Switching places for a day HAD been Goro's idea. He'd been rather enthusiastic over the prospect when first discussing it over the phone even. But now, that excitement had been snuffed out by his growing disdain. After finding out the shattering revelation that the boy he'd called on that day in June was not only someone who managed to keep pace with Goro and his skill level, he had to discover he was the Phantom Thief leader. Goro had decided to cut contact with Kurusu after that. There was no sense continuing whatever budding relationship was slowly blossoming between the two of them. It was better that way. He had his goal to look toward; he couldn't falter now.

And yet, fate had other plans.

After being chewed out by Shido for the Kaneshiro case--he'd LOVE to see that insufferable man try and win an election without his abilities to cause mental shutdowns, his entire breakdown business going belly-up as backers pulled out--he'd found himself in the familiar company of the only person who ever seemed to want him around. Goro truly had no one. Something he was painfully reminded of every time he plastered on his princely mask and cheerful grin. Ever the unwanted child, but Kurusu had declined all his offers to hang out with his other friends just to spend the evening with him once more. Goro didn't know how to place that emotion. He didn't want to either. He wanted to cut Kurusu out of his life. But something kept drawing him back into the other boy's orbit.

Goro reputation was on a steady decline. Fame was a fleeting thing, and the thieves were rising into the spotlight of his former glory. If he didn't know who Kurusu actually was, he'd easily have blamed him and despised him further for his notoriety. As much as Goro knew he could, the REAL problem was the media. Kurusu wasn't malicious enough to wish the backlash on him. He'd seen how it was effecting him over the last couple weeks since the Kaneshiro incident hit the airways.

Goro's apartment was sparse, to put mildly. It was a place to return to so he could sleep, change clothes, bathe, and occasionally eat when he wasn't going out for his meals. It wasn't a HOME. There were few personal effects. Despite how long he'd lived in the apartment after his last group home, it hadn't gained much in the sense of someone actually residing there. Kurusu was the first person he'd actually invited inside.

❝As I told you before, I'll be dictating everything.❞ Accessories wouldn't be too difficult, Kurusu and him were about the same size anyway. His complexion was so much paler than Goro's though, but it wasn't as though he needed much makeup either. His hair however, seemed to be an UNTAMABLE beast. No matter Goro's efforts, Kurusu's hair refused to cooperate. Soft, shiny curls. Adding more volume would be fine, but he already had enough to make Goro envious. He had to style his hair just to get natural looking waves, and Kurusu woke-up and hardly had to do anything. ❝Nobody will notice you're not really an idol. So many can't see beyond the superficial. You'd be surprised.❞

No one ever cared to see beyond the IDYLLIC mask he wore.

He ran his fingers through the thick black strands. There was much to work with, it just didn't want to work with him. It seemed Kurusu's hair could rival Goro's own stubbornness too. Seconds of the comb going through his dark hair had it caught tightly in his mop. Goro pulled, and then tugged harder until the handle snapped off. He stared, dumbfounded, his lips parted in a silent gasp.

❝My hands get through but not a brush?❞ It seemed the outfit he selected would need to do most of the work and make up for how uncooperative Kurusu's hair was. But that still left the brush stuck on the side of his head. He delicately tried to remove the teeth from the curls, but it refused to slide off. ❝I may have to cut it free...❞

[philippmichelreichold]

on Arena: StarTrek & Fredric Brown

Watching Kirk get bounced and battered by the Gorn in Arena and thinking about Fredric Brown's Arena, which I read in Dave Drake’s Space Galdiators. In the Star Trek episode, Enterprise hotly pursues an alien raider, later identified as Gorn, that destroyed and massacered and Earth colony. Both ships are stopped dead my supernal aliens (Metrons) who object to their disruptive, barbaric, vengeful bloodlust. They remove both captains to a special place for them to battle to the death. The victor's ship and crew are to go on. The victim's ship and crew are to be destroyed. In the same way a human, Bob Carson and a nameless alien "Outsider" are chosen by ineffable aliens to champion, not just their fleets, but their entire civilizations. While the place of combat is similarly prepared, the motive is not one of moral disgust. Both Earth and the alien civilization would be destroyed in the coming fight. This way, one gets to go on.

In the first Star Trek (Kelvin) movie, Capt. Pike refers to Kirk as a "genius". I don't see it here. He seems to be stumbling around looking for a disassembled phaser he can put back together without seeing the raw materials from which to fashion weapons. Throughout the fight, the Gorn makes weapons from materials at hand and pounds the snot out of Kirk hand-to-hand. In the nick of time Kirk puts S + C + KNO3 together and builds a primitive cannon that surprises the Gorn and everyone else.

In the Fredric Brown story, which first appeared in June 1944’s Astounding ,the two contestants are more evenly matched. Bob Carson is a scout-ship pilot in a human fleet awaiting a final showdown with invading aliens, the Outsiders. His opponent is an unnamed Outsider from the invader fleet. Both understand the terms of the Arena. Any weapons and strategems must be made from scratch. They are separated by a barrier. The struggle calls upon them to use the totality of their beings to survive. Though seriously wounded early on, (lucky shot) Carson manages to engage the Outsider on fairly even terms. The Outsider builds a catapult. Carson makes a spear and a knife and fire bombs. The Outsider wounds Carson. Carson burns down the Outsider's catapult. In the end, the Outsider's cruelty and Carson's compassion are the keys to Carson solving his problem and coming to grips with the Outsider.

Kirk's strengths and weaknesses compared to the Gorn's should be more obvious to him. The Gorn is much stronger than Kirk. The Gorn is also much slower than Kirk. Kirk commands a cruiser, for goodness sake. The concept of superior speed and maneuverability should be second nature to him. He throws the biggest rock he can lift at the Gorn. The Gorn throws a rock bigger than Kirk. Kirk should have gathered up a handful of the diamonds behind him and pegged the Gorn from a distance. (smothering the target) He could have fashioned a bolo, or a sling to lengthen his throw. The Gorn reaches out and fashions a club/spear from a tree. Kirk tries to climb his. (I know Kirk knows how to make a spear as well as bow and arrow. Maybe "Friday's Child" came after Arena and he studied up on antiquarian weapons in the meantime.) Despite Kirk's until-he-was-badly-injured speed superiority, the Gorn pursues him. Instead of grappling or running into a snare, Kirk could have run circles around the Gorn pelting him with rocks. At no time should he have attempted close-quarters combat by kicking or wrassling with the Gorn. He comes out the worst for trying it. In the end, his ingenuity finally saves him just as the Metrons are writing his epitaph.

In the Fredric Brown story, Carson wins by drawing his opponent into his grasp. He's almost reached the limits of his endurance and must end the fight or die in the attempt. This strategy, imposed on Carson by necessity, is a trademark of Kirk's. Thrice in the original series Kirk feigns the crippling of Enterprise to draw a superior opponent in for the killing blow. In Arena, Carson's not faking. His situation is truly desperate. (Apparently, William Shatner really got hurt in the filming of this episode. Probably in delivering one of those attacks that would have been fatal to an ordinary human.) If the Gorn were to reach him before he fired, he'd be killed. Of course, Kirk strikes fire to his fuse just as the Gorn hoves into view.

I wonder though about the "advanced quality of mercy" Kirk displays to the Gorn. With the Gorn finally helpless at his feet, Kirk is no longer mad with blood lust and righteous indignation, so he declines to kill the Gorn and asks the Metrons to spare him. Had he not done so, would the Metrons have been so disgusted by the barbarity that they killed both crews?

All of my content should be regarded as attribution required. A link to my content is sufficient.

References

"Arena." Star Trek: The Original Series. January 19, 1967.

Arena-- StarTrek TOS episode & Fredric Brown scifi. Philipp Michel Reichold. April 18, 2019.

Space Gladiators. ed Dave Drake. "Arena." Fredric Brown. 1989.

content is licensed according to Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License A link to my content is sufficient for attribution.

[klcthebookworm]

WIP Wednesday

Things are so good for Vash. He has a relationship with Meryl, he has strange younger children to look after, and maybe future children. So of course it's time for the ugly to show up.

Vash caught the ball bounced up off his knee before the ripple of powerful rot slammed against his mind. The memory of pink light disintegrating a building around him shook loose from his head and almost obscured the man walking across the square. A memorable fellow: white coat down to his feet nothing at all like Meryl’s new one, a skull tied to his left arm, spikes coming out of his right shoulder, and blue hair covering his face so only his right golden eye was visible. And no one in the busy town square was glancing at him as he crossed it to sit on the other side of the monument behind Vash’s back. “I found you, Vash the Stampede,” projected into his mind in an amused male’s voice.

“What? Who are you?” Vash shored up his mental defenses. That cut back the rot to an ignorable level. Was he another independent plant? The stranger didn’t feel like Meryl did even when Vash was ignorant of her true nature. A telepathic human maybe?

“Legato, Legato Bluesummers.”

Milly called for Vash’s attention and he threw her the ball with a silly smile on his face. She moved the game with the children away with Vash prompting her. Or was Bluesummers affecting the whole crowd?

Vash slipped on his sunshades. “What do you want from me?”

“Your life.” Legato chuckled. “Perhaps that was a bit too dramatic. Actually I’m here as a messenger. That’s right, I’ve come here to warn you. I’m afraid your life is going to end. Today.”

“What!”

“Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Chuck winced and kicked the ball Hannah before marching away from the game. He stopped next to Vash and glared at Bluesummers. “Who is he?”

Legato didn’t turn around. “Well, this is new. We knew about the insurance representatives, but you managed to keep a stray little spider without us discovering it until now, Vash?”

“I’m not a spider!” Chuck projected back.

Another memory jarred loose without Vash’s looking for it. Young Knives laughing maniacally as the Fleet made flaming entry into Gunsmoke’s atmosphere and morphing into an adult Knives still laughing the same way. Vash turned is head to see Bluesummers with more of his gaze.

“Bro, who is that?” Chuck looked up at Vash and he could feel the worry from the mouse boy. “Karbunkle and Limburger don’t laugh that crazy.”

“Bro? Brother?” Bluesummers’ interior voice turned from intrigued to disappointed. “Have you gone and replaced your actual family, Vash? My master will be so disappointed to hear that. It probably won’t surprise him though. After all, he found me when you rejected him.” Vash saw Bluesummers’ shoulder shrug in the corner of his eye. Bluesummers continued projecting, “Have I done everything today? I gave you your warning. I haven’t given you the gift yet, have I?”

“Don’t take gifts from strangers, Vash!” Chuck projected.

“And you should learn to stay quiet when adults are talking!”

The powerful rot slammed into Chuck, who dropped to his knees clutching his helmet. Vash whirled around, pressed his hand to the back of Chuck’s furry neck, weaved power into the boy’s natural mental shields, and glared balefully at Bluesummers. “I’m the one you’re here for. Leave him alone!”

Bluesummers laughed mental but no sound comes out of him. “Your reaction is better than I’d hoped. You’re fun. And to think, I could kill every man, woman, and child here in the blink of an eye if I wanted to. The power of death is intoxicating.”

The power bearing down on Chuck eased off and the mouse boy dropped his hands. Vash pulled his hand back, ready to draw.

Bluesummers stood up but doesn’t turn around. “Don’t be in so much of a hurry. You still have a little time left. Or perhaps you don’t. And don’t worry, the boy isn’t harmed.” Bluesummers looked over his shoulder at Vash. “So do you want to draw?”

Vash didn’t move as he seethed.

“A wise choice. Oh, I almost forgot. This is a little farewell gift. It contains a lesson from me. I’ll just leave it here.” Bluesummers waved at a brown sack on the bench that some shopkeepers put goods in if one didn’t walk out wearing or eating the goods. Something was in it, but Vash couldn’t tell what from his side of the monument.

A woman screamed behind Vash, not in the town square yet, but running toward it.

Meryl gripped Vash’s right arm. “What was that? It felt like the thunderstorm had come back. Chuck, are you all right?”

“My head hurts.” Chuck stood. “Who was that wrenchhead?”

Meryl turned her head to look around the square. Vash tore his gaze away from the sack to do the same. “He’s gone,” Meryl said.

“Help me!” the woman running screamed.

“What’s up with her?” someone in square asked.

“That’s Mrs. Belding, the shoemaker’s wife,” someone else answered.

“She looks upset,” a third man commented.

Mrs. Belding collapsed against the second man in the huddle. “It’s murder!” she screamed.

“Hey! Hey! It’s okay! Calm down.”

“Murder? What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“My husband! My husband still sitting there! But his head. His head! My husband!”

The other townspeople tried to calm Mrs. Belding down and make sense of what she was saying. Vash looked back at the sack on the bench, the right size and right lumpy shape to hold a human head.

[barbarab1707-blog]

About Dany the Dragon, chains, and how Jon sealed his fate at the Dragonpit meeting

Daenerys is a dragon. I think no one can argue with that. She calls herself the Mother of Dragons, people call her the Dragon Queen. 

She also sees herself as a dragon, as per this:

And this:

Olenna even tells her: “You’re a dragon, be a dragon” which is also the “counsel” Missandei gives her before her death, “Dracarys” (=be a dragon).

And at the end the showrunners show us this:

Dany has finally completely embraced her inner dragon.

How does this tie in with the Dragonpit meeting? Well, this scene is full of foreshadowing of what is bound to happen in season 08, especially regarding Dany the Dragon and Jon’s fate.

Before the dragonpit meeting, we have this piece of dialogue: “Dragons don’t understand the difference between what’s theirs and what isn’t. Land, livestock, children. Letting them roam free around the city was a problem.”

So, dragons don’t make the distinction between what’s theirs and what isn’t. Dany being a dragon, she is the same. 

Which is shown by this (land):

Dany not making the difference between which lands belong to her or not, could be further illustrated when Dany tells Jon this in s08: “what happens when they demand you press your claim and take what’s MINE.” She considers the 7 Kingdoms to be hers, when they are, by right, Jon’s.

This (livestock):

And this (children):

The second part of the sentence about letting dragons roam free is more important though. The Dragonpit was built in order to contain the dragons and control the damage they could do. 

In Dany’s case, what prevents her doing too great a damage, what controls her inner dragon and prevents it to “roam free” are her counsellors. They are her Dragonpit if one could say. Jorah, Barristan, Tyrion, all helped at one point or another to stop her unleashing her inner dragon, which manifests as anger. They also all failed at one point or another.

From the beginning of season 04, Dany herself started slowly slowly fearing her inner dragon, her own power and anger, which coincided with the moment where she started fearing her children’s power and wildness. This culminated with her locking and chaining Rhaegal and Viseryon in s04e10 and thus, trying to repress her nature.

However, trying to repress her nature didn’t seem to work all that well for her.

Besides, while his brothers were in chains, Drogon was still “roaming free”, which could mean that, as much as Dany tried to repress her impulsive and prone to anger nature, she still couldn’t fight it completely. Something that is confirmed when she feeds Meereenese nobles to the still chained Rhaegal and Viseryon mid-season 05, after Barristan’s death which angered her. 

Moreover, at that point of time, she doesn’t have anyone to keep her in check anymore, as Jorah is in exile, and Barristan is dead. Instead, she has Daario and Missandei encouraging her to embrace her inner dragon. Dany starts reconciling with it when she escapes the fighting pits on Drogon’s back. She is free again to be who she is. She embraces again her inner dragon when she burns the khals and takes over the khalasar (something that isn’t hers to begin with but feels entitled to have).

She wants to go full on dragon when she makes that speech to Tyrion when she returns to Meereen:”I will crucify the masters, I will set their fleets afire, kill every last one of their soldiers and return their cities to the dirt. That, is my plan.” Tyrion, who has taken Jorah’s and Barristan’s vacant positions, manages however to temper her first impulse. 

But, it’s interesting to note that he was the one to set Rhaegal and Viseryon free from their chains which was 2 episodes prior to her unleashing her anger on the khals.

Tyrion freeing them from their chains is interesting on a symbolic level and as foreshadowing as well, as in season 07, Tyrion’s bad decision making is what provokes Dany’s anger more and more, progressively awakening her inner dragon.

That’s when another comes in to help keep it in check once again: Jon.

From mid-season 07 until the end of s08e04, Jon is the one to act as Dany’s chains/Dragonpit.

However, s05 Dany, Jorah, Barristan, Tyrion, Varys and Jon all forgot something important:

You are damn right, Jorah. No one can tame Dany’s inner dragon, not even herself. (Sorry about the typo in the picture, I got it elsewhere, I’m too lazy to make my own).

And they forgot this:

Interesting we got reminded of that at the Dragonpit meeting. I think we heard that one before, didn’t we?

Hey, look! Drogon is in chains…Kraznys is at the other end of the chains, thinking he is in charge. But Dany is actually the one holding the whip in that scene. She is the master, the one with power. And hey, Kraznys even calls Drogon “a beast”. Doesn’t that remind us of something?

I’m not saying Jon is Kraznys, I’m just pointing the fact they both see dragons as beasts and both think dragons can be controlled, bound to their will, or in other words, chained to them. In Kraznys’ case, it was an actual dragon, in Jon’s case, it was Dany. Kraznys fell into Dany’s trap, failed in controlling Drogon and Dany unleashed her anger on Astapor. 

In s07e06, we also have this:

Another dragon in chains! I’m starting to think now that this ridiculous scene had a symbolic purpose. The only one who could actually bind a dragon to his will is the Night King. And it makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, Dany bound her dragons to herself with blood magic and the NK bound Viseryon to himself with his magic. Only Dany’s Ice counterpart to her Fire could do it. No one else.

Let’s have a look at another moment at the Dragonpit. This is what Jon told Cersei when he refused her conditions:

“I am true to my word, or I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

And this was his speech when Tyrion told him he should have lied: “I’m not gonna swear an oath I can’t uphold. Talk about my father if you want, tell me that’s the attitude that got him killed, but when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies, and lies won’t help us in this fight.”

What does that have to do with anything? will you ask in a Sansa fashion. Well, the interesting thing about Jon’s speech on promises and lies is the chain on the floor while he does it.

The chain looks like this after Jon kills the wight:

Then, just before he starts his speech about oaths, promises and lies, it looks like this:

The chain has been rearranged on the floor by the staff, as we can see that on the second picture it is further away from the wight’s remains than on the first picture. Also, its spiral shape looks better. It is supposed to mean something.

Jon steps inside the spiral shaped chain right before his speech about promises and lies. The photo below is taken after he’s finished though:

What does it mean then?

The first meaning I spoke about was the obvious one, Jon is still chained/tied to his mission, as the wight’s remains at the end of the chain show us. Which leads him to:

Fall into a trap he creates for himself. 

When he “bent the knee, but” on the boat, he lied to Daenerys, or, as Tyrion put it so well in s07e03 (when he convinces Dany to let Jon mine the dragonglass), he gave her “something by giving her nothing”. However, at the Dragonpit, Cersei puts him on the spot, and he has to cover up for his previous lie and assure Dany of his loyalty to her. By pledging himself and the North to her in front of everyone, he is swearing an oath he cannot back out of. Even less after talking about upholding oaths and words meaning nothing when false promises are made. Those very words chain him to his public pledge to Dany. That’s what the chains are showing us, Jon, in season 08, feels he has no choice but to be true to his word, it is a matter of honour. This, in turn, leads him to:

engage himself in a spiral of lies and events (spiral shape) he won’t be able to get out of (chains). The only thing that finally frees him of this spiralling is her death.

He thought he could bind her to his will, control her. Instead, he got himself in chains, like the shot below shows:

Jon is inside the spiral while Dany stands at the other end of the chain. Dany, like in the scene with Kraznys, is actually the master, the one in charge. Jon, through his decision to pledge himself to her, has made himself her prisoner. We can say that from the moment he stepped foot on Dragonstone until the moment he killed her, he never ceased being her prisoner. Sansa was right, by going to Dragonstone, Jon walked into a trap. Not only the one he created for himself at the Dragonpit, but also the one Tyrion had set up for him when he invited him to Dragonstone without mentioning he had to bend the knee. 

Anyway, he walked into a trap, then failed in controlling Dany’s inner dragon, and she unleashed her anger on King’s Landing. Just like in the scene with Kraznys really.  It’s worth pointing that Dany is standing in KL (a city she will destroy) when she repeats the same words she told Kraznys in Astapor (a city she destroyed). She freed the people of Astapor, and later on, she “freed” the people of KL (albeit in a tiny bit extreme way). It looks like a kind of echo to me.

For those who would like to say that Jon becomes the dragon in chains, I will say no no no. Jon’s personality has nothing to do with Targaryen mentality, he is a Stark through and through!

Well… except maybe for… falling for his sister? Alright, alright, maybe he is the chained dragon here, but just a little bit, okay? Let’s say he is a winged wolf in chains, yes?

Seriously though, I wonder if, by showing us the two scenes displaying chains in season 07, they weren’t trying to draw a parallel between Viseryon the dragon being bound to the Night King’s will (Ice), and Jon the dragon being bound to Dany’s will (Fire). Without Viseryon nor Jon having a real choice in it either. 

One other thing that I feel foreshadows Jon’s fate in season 08. Before the Dragonpit meeting, Tyrion says: “but in the beginning, when it was home to Balerion the Dread, it must have been the most dangerous place in the world”. Jon in season 08, acts as Dany’s illusory dragonpit/chains, he prevents her from doing damage as best as he can. But she sees him as a threat and he is afraid of her which is understandable, as being too close to a locked and/or chained dragon is still a dangerous position to be in:

It’s interesting to see that the Dragonpit, which is the place where Jon sealed his fate, is a ruin. Jon, who is Dany’s last metaphorical Dragonpit, ends up broken. A dangerous position to be in indeed. 

Am I going too far here?

To conclude this thing, I’d like to mention another scene in that same episode that foreshadows as well Jon’s fate as a prisoner of Dany’s. It is the one with Theon. 

Theon mentions his time as a prisoner of Ramsay’s and how Yara, his sister, was the only one to try and save him. In season 08, Sansa is the only one who tries, in a desperate move, to save Jon, by telling Tyrion his secret. Most importantly, she goes to KL with an army to try and free him at the very end, while he is still a prisoner (but of Grey Worm’s now. Geeez, poor Jon…). The parallel can even go on, as Yara failed in freeing Theon and bringing him back home, and Sansa, although she manages to free Jon, fails in bringing him back home too. Jon is a broken man, Theon was a broken man. In season 08, Theon chooses love for the Starks and Sansa over duty to Yara, his Queen. Jon at the end chooses love for Sansa over duty to Daenerys, his Queen. 

Anyway, those were my latest messy ramblings and that’s all for now.

Thanks for reading!

[kodzumie-archived]

Komaeda eating out a shy fem reader for her first time? She’s nervous but really wants to do this 😔😔

❝PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE❞

Synopsis; Going down on you had always been a fantasy of Nagito’s, and—if you were being honest—yours as well. But will your anxieties allow you to pursue your mutual desire?

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x Fem! Reader

Warning(s); (N)SFW and cunnilingus (oral sex).

Kodzumie’s Note; Of course I will! I apologize for the delay of your request! Thank you so much for requesting and your support. Take care! Muah <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Truth be told, going down on you had always been a thought situated at the back of his mind when engaging in such erotic intimacy with you.

⤷ It’s a sexual fantasy of his; to swipe his tongue along your slit, collecting your dew and suffocating his senses in your clenching cunt. He dreams to taste you; to indulge in you.

⤷ Though despite how much he yearns to please you, and even follow your wishes of indulging in his own fantasies and pleasuring himself as well, he understood to respect your hesitancy to that particular act.

⤷ Nagito was one of many things, but he wasn’t going to force you into something he knew full well you weren’t comfortable with just yet.

⤷ He knew such a position was one that brought flourishes of vulnerability, and an uncomfortable exposure that you wished to ease into rather than dive in head-first.

⤷ You wanted time, and Nagito was more than willing to let you take as long as you need. Because honestly, he assumed you’d reject the idea without hesitancy, so he was more than willing to be patient.

⤷ At first, Nagito had assumed that you didn’t want him to go down on you. His mindset spiraling into the oh-so-familiar state of degradation that he put upon himself. He assumed that he was the problem, but thankfully, you relentlessly reassured him of otherwise.

⤷ Truthfully, you wanted to do it and, of all people, you’d prefer Nagito to be the one you’d allow to see you so vulnerable. You trusted him, you truly did. But there seemingly was always an inkling of fear; insecurity. What if you didn’t live up to the expectations of his fantasy? What if it didn’t feel as good as you assumed? What if something went wrong?

⤷ It was this seed of worry that lead you to avoid such ministrations. Guiding his head back up to press kissed against your neck rather than any lower.

⤷ Months after the first time he’d proposed the idea, and you’ve yet to engage. Postponing further and further as the urge grows suffocatingly tempting. You want to, you truly do, but...to this point, you begin to wonder; what’s holding you back?

⤷ You question this as you find yourself laid atop the blanketed mattress within your shared bedroom, bare and exposed to Nagito’s eyes as he looms above you with a tantalizing hunger in his eyes.

⤷ As his eyes interlock with yours, they soften for a moment before he buries his head in the crook of your neck, capturing a patch of skin between his lips as he licks and suckles. He marks your skin, staking his claim as he continues to travel farther down.

⤷ But once his lips reach between the valley of your breasts, peppering your chest in fleeting kisses before moving to take your right, hardened nipple within his mouth, he doesn’t dare travel further. Even as he loses himself in the curves of your body, he firmly ingrains your comfort with each fervent kiss.

⤷ You notice this. You’ve always noticed this; the way he puts your comfort and wishes as his priority, even when dazed by his craving to ravish you.

⤷ So that’s why, as you reluctantly swallowed back the anxious lump in your throat, you cup his cheeks and direct have a gaze back to you. Confusion sparks within his ghostly green hues as you refer to him with a shaky grin. “I think I’m ready.”

⤷ It took a moment or two before he managed to muster out some sort of reaction. His eyes widened as his mouth gaped open; his visage was composed of pure surprise. Yet there were tracings of ill-disguised happiness as the corners of his lips twitched into a smile.

⤷ “Are you sure?” He questions. His eyes fixated on your expression of bashfulness, attempting to decipher any traces of possible regret. But you nodded with a smile that seemed much less restless, putting forth faith in your decision; faith in your trust within Nagito.

⤷ At your confirmation, his lips begin to explore realms of your frame that he restrained himself from setting upon before. Kissing and sucking on the plush skin that his mouth had yet to discover. The sensation of his moist mouth clasping over your thighs was electrifying.

⤷ Yet even as his tongue drags over your thighs with such zeal, you couldn’t help the anxieties that bubbled within you, tearing your gaze away from him, muffling your whines.

⤷ And after a few moments of teasing bites and particularly harsh sucks, he noticed your lack of audible moans.

⤷ His first thought was that what he was doing wasn’t what you enjoyed, hence your silence. But as he lifted his quizzical gaze to meet yours, he discovered that your hand had been firmly placed over your mouth; stifling all your harmonious cries.

⤷ Not only that, but your eyes were cast to the side, avoiding his countenance. As much as the sight caused Nagito’s heart to flutter—having always been a sucker for your shy nature—he wanted you to gaze upon him as he devoured you; he wanted to hear you as he pushed you to unravel from the sole use of his mouth.

⤷ Thus, he pushes himself up from between your legs and gently wraps his fingers around your wrists. This causes you to momentarily meet his eyes before hurriedly clenching yours shut, attempting to hide your flustered face behind your hands.

⤷ But Nagito pries them away before you could; his grip gentle yet firm, to assure that you don’t try to hide your beloved face from him.

⤷ “Love,” He begins, waiting for you to open your eyes. But you don’t. Chewing on your bottom lip in nervousness as you try your utmost best to not look at him. Everything in that moment felt so overwhelming, and your poor little heart was struggling to handle it.

⤷ “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You know I only want what you’d enjoy most, right?” He reassures you. His hands atop both of yours as he cradles them so gently. And there it is, again.

⤷ Once more, you wonder what you continuously allow to hold you back from fulfilling your mutual desires; you want this just as much as him.

⤷ And even so, he’s respected every denial and even the current temporary false hope you’d provided. He’s been so patient with you, he’s been so good to you. It’s truly ludicrous that someone as considerate as him even exists. Much less that he also degrades himself constantly; degrading the person you truly believed to be the most respectful significant other to ever exist.

⤷ “No, no. I want to, I promise! It’s just...I’m just—“ You stumble over your words in an attempt to piece together why you keep prolonging this. But you couldn’t formulate the words. Even as you stuttered and tries to come forth with a decent explanation, you couldn’t. Did you even know why?

⤷ Upon your silence, Nagito leaned forward to meet his lips with yours, drawing you in for a kiss. Finally, you open your eyes to meet his softened pair as he pulled away. Time seemed to still as you accepted that you didn’t truly have a reason other than the turmoil of emotions within you.

⤷ “I’m just nervous.” The words that fell from your lips were like mist, so subtle you almost assumed he didn’t hear you. But he did, and a breathy chuckle escaped him as he pecked your lips once more.

⤷ “Is that so?” He hums. You nod, tempted to break eye contact as embarrassment seeps into you. Your mind pacing with a flurry of anxieties. What kind of excuse is that? Nervous? Surely he sees you as pathetic now. What did you have to be nervous of? You trust him, don’t you?

⤷ Wallowing in remorse and self-pity as you suffocated within your shame, you tear your gaze away. But a sigh of relief forces your head to whirl back to gaze upon Nagito; the bearer of that sigh of relief.

⤷ “My hope, it’s okay to be nervous. Honestly, I’d be more alarmed if you weren’t nervous.” He admits. You’re thrown into a state of disbelief; confusion.

⤷ Over and over, he reassures you and promises that your feelings are valid and normal. He promises that it’s okay to be nervous, you’re trying something new, after all.

⤷ His delicate words and consideration cause your heart to swell as your worries have relatively eased up. The fears—the anxiety—that seemed to cage you were eased, almost as though they were never there. It’s almost terrifying how easily he could calm you.

⤷ Nagito allowed his words to hang in the air as you processed it all. He respectively awaited your answer, pleased, regardless of what it’d be. Because Nagito’s relief had stemmed from your ability to confide in him, and that means more than any form of sexual pleasure.

⤷ As you exhale, sighing out the last of your contemplation, you meet his eyes with a much more confident visage.

⤷ “I want to do this. I really do.” A voiced affirmation, and one that you felt assured of. You wanted this and, even through your nervousness, you genuinely wanted this.

⤷ Once again, he trails kisses along your body; from your jaw all the way to your thighs. Each kiss brushed over with a swipe of his tongue, teasingly stimulating you.

⤷ With each peck, he lowers. Closer and closer as you begin to anxiously squirm. It’s still so nervewracking, but you’ve culminated a determination to follow through. Despite your bashfulness causing you to tear your gaze away from Nagito.

⤷ This time, he’s not so forgiving as his teeth gently clamp down onto your thigh. You yelp, moaning out in slight pain and surprise as you turn your head back towards him; gazing as his head was tucked between your thighs, breath fanning over your pussy whilst his green orbs pierced into yours.

⤷ “Keep your eyes on me.” He ordered before tentatively rubbing his tongue over the bite mark as an unspoken apology. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as arousal overcomes you at his unnaturally assertive nature.

⤷ You oblige; keeping your eyes trained on his face as he returns to his ministrations. Heart thumping and ringing in your ears, you gasp as a Nagito dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit.

⤷ He hums, a serene chuckle resonating from the back of his throat before he circles his tongue around your clit. Soon enough, his lips curl around the bud, suckling gently as to avoid hurting you, yet stimulating you enough to release a small shriek.

⤷ After the initial slurp—the testing of new water—Nagito found himself encapsulated within a trance; his lips popping off of your bundle of nerves before plunging his tongue into your tight, drooling cunt repeatedly. Over and over, he continuously yearned for more of you; more of your flavor. You tasted heavenly.

⤷ Restlessly circling his tongue from within you, familiarizing himself with your walls as he douses himself in your juices; his senses engulfed with you in your entirety. And he adored every second of it.

⤷ Just like he adored the squeals of euphoria followed by your alluringly baritone moans that eagerly shot blood to his erection, straining against his pants with full intent to be sheathed within you. But he, too, wanted to savor your tastes.

⤷ With each slurp, you found yourself edging towards your release. Your toes curling, spurts of shock stunning your legs as you twitch and squirm, attempting to make some distance between the nearly unbearable waves of pleasure.

⤷ But Nagito kept a firm grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. His mouth relentless upon his ravishing; he wanted to taste you as you reach your high, and he wants you to ride it out as his tongue swirls within you.

⤷ It only took a mere few seconds before you let out a particularly loud whine, tremors wracking through your body as your cunt squirts your juices; your cum drizzling down Nagito’s chin as he hungrily laps it up.

⤷ “Nagi—Ah!” You attempt to speak—voice hoarse and raspy—but the aftershock of your orgasm causing your pussy to be far more sensitive. Every kitten lick Nagito takes is intensified as you pant.

⤷ And soon enough, everything stills. Your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as Nagito finally arises from between your thighs, his bottom lip and chin drizzled with your cum.

⤷ The sight flusters you as you gaped. His tongue dragged over your nectar, eagerly relishing in the remains of your orgasm as he grinned.

⤷ “So, how was it?” He asks, curious to your perspective; after all, you were very hesitant prior. It warms your heart how, even after everything, your well-being is the main thing on his mind.

⤷ With an exhausted sigh, you wrap your arms around your lover’s neck, tugging him down onto the bed with you. His clothed chest pressed against your bare one as you held him close, the delicate pulsating of your hearts sloppily synchronize. “It was amazing. Thank you, ”

[sgstories123]

Father or Grandfather

Mr Tan opened the door to his flat. He was home much earlier than usual as there was a last minute change in work schedule. He was looking forward to a cold beer and watching some tv. As he entered his flat, he heard someone groaning. He stopped and listened carefully, thinking that it might be a burglar.

He smiled. It was a woman moaning in a manner that was all too familiar to him. It came from his son’s room. That boy is watching too much porn. And he should turn down the volume. But then again, it is only natural that a 20-year old boy should be watching porn, he reasoned.

Mr Tan closed the door softly behind him, not wanting to disturb his son. He moved silently to the kitchen, thinking of his cold beer.

“Yes, NIck, fuck me harder,” moaned a female voice.

Mr Tan stopped in his tracks. Was porn so advanced now that it is customised? Nick was his son’s name. Out of curiosity, he turned to his son’s room. The door was slightly ajar and he could see his son lying naked on top of a woman. Mr Tan looked closely at the woman and realised that it was his son’s latest girlfriend, Tessa. They got together about a month ago and she had been to their house a couple of times. Mr Tan smiled to himself again. Nick was just like him in his younger days. No girlfriend has lasted more than 6 months. He knew that Nick often brought his girlfriends home to have sex but this is the first time he caught him in the act. It must be because his son had not expected him to come home earlier today.

Nick was fucking Tessa in missionary position. He was pushing up against her, making little grunts of pleasure. He seems to be doing it right as Mr Tan could hear Tessa moaning in pleasure, louder with each thrust. As Mr Tan watched, he felt his own cock harden. Perhaps this was because Tessa was quite pretty. Tanned with curly shoulder length hair, she looked like the kind of models that appear on the covers of sports magazines.

Nick seems to be close to cumming. He had quickened his pace and was holding Tessa’s hands above her head. He buried his head in her nape and became more aggressive. Mr Tan’s cock was aching to be released from his pants. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. Pulling his erect cock out of his underwear, he watched his son fucked his girlfriend while stroking his cock.

Nick groaned and made several hard thrusts into Tessa, before collapsing on her. He rested momentarily before rolling off her to the side of the bed.

“Nick, come on. Get up. Fuck me again. I am still horny.” Tessa complained, seeing that Nick seems to be done. “Idiot.”

Tessa did not realise that Mr Tan was watching and still stroking his hard cock. She rubbed her clit with one hand while the other played with her nipples. She slipped a finger into her love hole, feeling the warm sperm that Nick has just left behind. As she fingered herself, she moaned again, softly. It was not as pleasurable as a cock but she was still horny. She closed her eyes, imagining that it was Nick’s cock that was in her cunt, pumping again furiously.

Tessa sensed a presence beside her and opened her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of a large hard cock. She looked up and recognised Mr Tan.

“Uncle, what are you doing?”

Mr Tan did not say anything but put his fingers to his lips, signalling for her to be silent. He took her hand away from her cunt with one hand and replaced it with his other hand. Expertly, he pried open the entrance and slipped his finger into her.

Tessa gasped as the long, knobbly finger slid into her. It was much better than her own fingers. She was already wet with lust and Nick’s sperm. Mr Tan’s finger had little trouble traversing the depth of her cunt.

Mr Tan pressed his fingers upwards, lightly rubbing Tessa’s mound of pleasure as he fingered her. He was promptly rewarded with gasps of pleasure and soft moans. He knew that he had her. He leaned forward and suck on Tessa’s nipples, squeezing her breasts with his free hand. Tessa writhed in pleasure from the simultaneous attack.

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

Mr Tan smiled. He pulled Tessa around so that her cunt now lay exposed to him. He lifted her lands and put them on his shoulder. With one hand, he guided his hard cock into her waiting hole. Even though Tessa was just fucked by his son and he could feel his sperm swimming up to meet his cock, it was still tight. It was after all a young hole. He only managed to get half of his cock in the first thrust. Tessa was gasping. She could feel Mr Tan’s cock reaching much deeper than any other cock.

“Pain. Pain. Slow down.” She pleaded.

Mr Tan paid no heed to her. He pushed in harder and finally, his cock went all the way in. He stopped momentarily to allow Tessa to get used to his cock. When the pain subsided, it was replaced with a warm feeling of pleasure and satisfaction. Tessa moaned softly. Mr Tan smiled to himself and leaned forward to give Tessa a kiss on her lips. As he did so, his hard cock pressed against Tessa’s clit, causing another wave of pleasure through her body.

“Now I am going to show you what it means to be fucked by a man.” Mr Tan whispered in Tessa’s ears.

He pumped her slowly at first, drawing moans of pleasure from Tessa with each thrust. Then he increased his pace with Tessa moaning louder as his pace quickened.

“I am cumming!” Tessa moaned before squirting and convulsing uncontrollably. But Mr Tan only continued fucking her without giving her time to rest. Pleasure coursed through Tessa and she could herself going numb with pleasure.

“Stop! I can’t take it any more!” Tessa pleaded with tears streaming down her face.

Mr Tan paused in his attack, withdrew his cock and turned her over on her knees. He gave a tight slap on her ass and shoved his cock in her cunt again, fucking her in doggy position. Tessa screamed in pleasure. Mr Tan looked worriedly in his son’s direction. He seems to be still asleep.

“Keep quiet. If Nick wakes up, you won’t have this cock any more” He warned Tessa in a low whisper. Tessa nodded, covering her mouth with one hand.

Mr Tan continued to pound her furiously from behind. Tessa tried to muffle her moans of pleasure by pressing her head against the mattress. Mr Tan leaned forward and hugged Tessa from behind. He gave Tessa’s breast a final squeeze before whispering “I am going to flood your womb with my sperm.”

“No, please don’t cum in me. No!” But it was too late. Mr Tan held on to Tessa tightly in his final thrusts, ejaculating his sperm into her. Tessa tried to wriggle out of his hold but Mr Tan only held on to her even more tightly, enjoying the tight warm hole surrounding his cock and the young female body in his grasp.

Tessa started sobbing. “What’s wrong?” For a fleeting moment, Mr Tan was worried that Tessa is going to sue him for rape. “Nick also came in you. Why can’t I come in you?”

Tessa looked at him with a pained expression. “Because if I get pregnant, I won’t know whether the baby should call you father or grandfather.”